EQUATORIAL AMERICA

DESCRIPTIVE OF A VISIT TO ST. THOMAS
MARTINIQUE, BARBADOES, AND
THE PRINCIPAL CAPITALS
OF SOUTH AMERICA

BY

MATURIN M. BALLOU

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1892

Copyright, 1892,
By MATURIN M. BALLOU.

All rights reserved.

The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company.

DEDICATED
TO
CAPTAIN E. C. BAKER
OF THE
STEAMSHIP VIGILANCIA
WITH WARM APPRECIATION OF HIS QUALITIES
AS A GENTLEMAN
AND AN ACCOMPLISHED SEAMAN

PREFACE.

"I am a part of all that I have seen," says Tennyson, a sentiment which every one of large experience will heartily indorse. With the extraordinary facilities for travel available in modern times, it is a serious mistake in those who possess the means, not to become familiar with the various sections of the globe. Vivid descriptions and excellent photographs give us a certain knowledge of the great monuments of the world, both natural and artificial, but the traveler always finds the reality a new revelation, whether it be the marvels of a Yellowstone Park, a vast oriental temple, Alaskan glaciers, or the Pyramids of Ghiza. The latter, for instance, do not differ from the statistics which we have so often seen recorded, their great, dominating outlines are the same as pictorially delineated, but when we actually stand before them, they are touched by the wand of enchantment, and spring into visible life. Heretofore they have been shadows, henceforth they are tangible and real. The best descriptions fail to inspire us, experience alone can do that. What words can adequately depict the confused grandeur of the Falls of Schaffhausen; the magnificence of the Himalayan range,—roof-tree of the world; the thrilling beauty of the Yosemite Valley; the architectural loveliness of the Taj Mahal, of India; the starry splendor of equatorial nights; the maritime charms of the Bay of Naples; or the marvel of the Midnight Sun at the North Cape? It is personal observation alone which truly satisfies, educating the eye and enriching the understanding. If we can succeed in imparting, a portion of our enjoyment to others, we enhance our own pleasure, and therefore these notes of travel are given to the public.

M. M. B.

EQUATORIAL AMERICA.

CHAPTER I.

Commencement of a Long Journey.—The Gulf Stream.—Hayti.—Sighting St. Thomas.—Ship Rock.—Expert Divers.—Fidgety Old Lady.—An Important Island.—The Old Slaver.—Aborigines.—St. Thomas Cigars.—Population.—Tri-Mountain.—Negro Paradise.—Hurricanes.—Variety of Fish.—Coaling Ship.—The Firefly Dane.—A Weird Scene.—An Antique Anchor.

In starting upon foreign travel, one drops into the familiar routine on shipboard much after the same fashion wherever bound, whether crossing the Atlantic eastward, or steaming to the south through the waters of the Caribbean Sea; whether in a Peninsular and Oriental ship in the Indian Ocean, or on a White Star liner in the Pacific bound for Japan. The steward brings a cup of hot coffee and a slice of dry toast to one's cabin soon after the sun rises, as a sort of eye-opener; and having swallowed that excellent stimulant, one feels better fortified for the struggle to dress on the uneven floor of a rolling and pitching ship. Then comes the brief promenade on deck before breakfast, a liberal inhalation of fresh air insuring a good appetite. There is no hurry at this meal. There is so little to do at sea, and so much time to do it in, that passengers are apt to linger at table as a pastime, and even multiply their meals in number. As a rule, we make up our mind to follow some instructive course of reading while at sea, but, alas! we never fulfill the good resolution. An entire change of habits and associations for the time being is not favorable to such a purpose. The tonic of the sea braces one up to an unwonted degree, evinced by great activity of body and mind. Favored by the unavoidable companionship of individuals in the circumscribed space of a ship, acquaintances are formed which often ripen into lasting friendship. Inexperienced voyagers are apt to become effusive and over-confiding, abrupt intimacies and unreasonable dislikes are of frequent occurrence, and before the day of separation, the student of human nature has seen many phases exhibited for his analysis.

Our vessel, the Vigilancia, is a large, commodious, and well-appointed ship, embracing all the modern appliances for comfort and safety at sea. She is lighted by electricity, having a donkey engine which sets in motion a dynamo machine, converting mechanical energy into electric energy. Perhaps the reader, though familiar with the effect of this mode of lighting, has never paused to analyze the very simple manner in which it is produced. The current is led from the dynamos to the various points where light is desired by means of insulated wires. The lamps consist of a fine thread of carbon inclosed in a glass bulb from which air has been entirely excluded. This offers such resistance to the current passing through it that the energy is expended in raising the carbon to a white heat, thus forming the light. The permanence of the carbon is insured by the absence of oxygen. If the glass bulb is broken and atmospheric air comes in contact with the carbon, it is at once destroyed by combustion, and all light from this source ceases. These lamps are so arranged that each one can be turned off or on at will without affecting others. The absence of offensive smell or smoke, the steadiness of the light, unaffected by the motion of the ship, and its superior brilliancy, all join to make this mode of lighting a vessel a positive luxury.

Some pleasant hours were passed on board the Vigilancia, between New York and the West Indies, in the study of the Gulf Stream, through which we were sailing,—that river in the ocean with its banks and bottom of cold water, while its current is always warm. Who can explain the mystery of its motive power? What keeps its tepid water, in a course of thousands of miles, from mingling with the rest of the sea? Whence does it really come? The accepted theories are familiar enough, but we place little reliance upon them, the statements of scientists are so easily formulated, but often so difficult to prove. As Professor Maury tells us, there is in the world no other flow of water so majestic as this; it has a course more rapid than either the Mississippi or the Amazon, and a volume more than a thousand times greater. The color of this remarkable stream, whose fountain is supposed to be the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea, is so deep a blue off our southern shore that the line of demarcation from its surroundings is quite obvious, the Gulf water having apparently a decided reluctance to mingling with the rest of the ocean, a peculiarity which has been long and vainly discussed without a satisfactory solution having been reached. The same phenomenon has been observed in the Pacific, where the Japanese current comes up from the equator, along the shore of that country, crossing Behring's Sea to the continent of North America, and, turning southward along the coast of California, finally disappears. Throughout all this ocean passage, like the Gulf Stream in the Atlantic, it retains its individuality, and is quite separate from the rest of the ocean. The fact that the water is saltier than that of the Atlantic is by some supposed to account for the indigo blue of the Gulf Stream.

The temperature of this water is carefully taken on board all well regulated ships, and is recorded in the log. On this voyage it was found to vary from 75° to 80° Fahrenheit.

Our ship had touched at Newport News, Va., after leaving New York, to take the U. S. mail on board; thence the course was south-southeast, giving the American continent a wide berth, and heading for the Danish island of St. Thomas, which lies in the latitude of Hayti, but a long way to the eastward of that uninteresting island. We say uninteresting with due consideration, though its history is vivid enough to satisfy the most sensational taste. It has produced its share of native heroes, as well as native traitors, while the frequent upheavals of its mingled races have been no less erratic than destructive. The ignorance and confusion which reign among the masses on the island are deplorable. Minister Douglass utterly failed to make anything out of Hayti. The lower classes of the people living inland come next to the inhabitants of Terra del Fuego in the scale of humanity, and are much inferior to the Maoris of New Zealand, or the savage tribes of Australia. It is satisfactorily proven that cannibalism still exists among them in its most repulsive form, so revolting, indeed, that we hesitate to detail the experience of a creditable eye-witness relating to this matter, as personally described to us.

Upon looking at the map it would seem, to one unaccustomed to the ocean, that a ship could not lay her course direct, in these island dotted waters, without running down one or more of them; but the distances which are so circumscribed upon the chart are extended for many a league at sea, and a good navigator may sail his ship from New York to Barbadoes, if he so desires, without sighting the land. Not a sailing vessel or steamship was seen, on the brief voyage from the American continent to the West Indies, these latitudes being far less frequented by passenger and freighting ships than the transatlantic route further north.

It is quite natural that the heart should throb with increased animation, the spirits become more elate, and the eyes more than usually appreciative, when the land of one's destination heaves in sight after long days and nights passed at sea. This is especially the case if the change from home scenes is so radical in all particulars as when coming from our bleak Northern States in the early days of spring, before the trees have donned their leaves, to the soft temperature and exuberant verdure of the low latitudes. Commencing the voyage herein described, the author left the Brooklyn shore of New York harbor about the first of May, during a sharp snow-squall, though, as Governor's Island was passed on the one hand, and the Statue of Liberty on the other, the sun burst forth from its cloudy environment, as if to smile a cheerful farewell. Thus we passed out upon the broad Atlantic, bound southward, soon feeling its half suppressed force in the regular sway and roll of the vessel. She was heavily laden, and measured considerably over four thousand tons, drawing twenty-two feet of water, yet she was like an eggshell upon the heaving breast of the ocean. As these mammoth ships lie in port beside the wharf, it seems as though their size and enormous weight would place them beyond the influence of the wind and waves: but the power of the latter is so great as to be beyond computation, and makes a mere toy of the largest hull that floats. No one can realize the great strength of the waves who has not watched the sea in all of its varying moods.

"Land O!" shouts the lookout on the forecastle.

A wave of the hand signifies that the occupant of the bridge has already made out the mote far away upon the glassy surface of the sea, which now rapidly grows into definite form.

When the mountain which rises near the centre of St. Thomas was fairly in view from the deck of the Vigilancia, it seemed as if beckoning us to its hospitable shore. The light breeze which fanned the sea came from off the land flavored with an odor of tropical vegetation, a suggestion of fragrant blossoms, and a promise of luscious fruits. On our starboard bow there soon came into view the well known Ship Rock, which appears, when seen from a short distance, almost precisely like a full-rigged ship under canvas. If the sky is clouded and the atmosphere hazy, the delusion is remarkable.

This story is told of a French corvette which was cruising in these latitudes at the time when the buccaneers were creating such havoc with legitimate commerce in the West Indies. It seems that the coast was partially hidden by a fog, when the corvette made out the rock through the haze, and, supposing it to be what it so much resembles, a ship under sail, fired a gun to leeward for her to heave to. Of course there was no response to the shot, so the Frenchman brought his ship closer, at the same time clearing for action. Being satisfied that he had to do with a powerful adversary, he resolved to obtain the advantage by promptly crippling the enemy, and so discharged the whole of his starboard broadside into the supposed ship, looming through the mist. The fog quietly dispersed as the corvette went about and prepared to deliver her port guns in a similar manner. As the deceptive rock stood in precisely the same place when the guns came once more to bear upon it, the true character of the object was discovered. It is doubtful whether the Frenchman's surprise or mortification predominated.

An hour of steady progress served to raise the veil of distance, and to reveal the spacious bay of Charlotte Amalie, with its strong background of abrupt hills and dense greenery of tropical foliage. How wonderfully blue was the water round about the island,—an emerald set in a sea of molten sapphire! It seemed as if the sky had been melted and poured all over the ebbing tide. About the Bahamas, especially off the shore at Nassau, the water is green,—a delicate bright green; here it exhibits only the true azure blue,—Mediterranean blue. It is seen at its best and in marvelous glow during the brief moments of twilight, when a glance of golden sunset tinges its mottled surface with iris hues, like the opaline flashes from a humming-bird's throat.

The steamer gradually lost headway, the vibrating hull ceased to throb with the action of its motive power, as though pausing to take breath after long days and nights of sustained effort, and presently the anchor was let go in the excellent harbor of St. Thomas, latitude 18° 20' north, longitude 64° 48' west. Our forecastle gun, fired to announce arrival, awakened the echoes in the hills, so that all seemed to join in clapping their hands to welcome us. Thus amid the Norwegian fiords the report of the steamer's single gun becomes a whole broadside, as it is reverberated from the grim and rocky elevations which line that iron-bound coast.

There was soon gathered about the ship a bevy of naked colored boys, a score or more, jabbering like a lot of monkeys, some in canoes of home construction, it would seem, consisting of a sugar box sawed in two parts, or a few small planks nailed together, forming more of a tub than a boat, and leaking at every joint. These frail floats were propelled with a couple of flat boards used as paddles. The young fellows came out from the shore to dive for sixpences and shillings, cast into the sea by passengers. The moment a piece of silver was thrown, every canoe was instantly emptied of its occupant, all diving pell-mell for the money. Presently one of the crowd was sure to come to the surface with the silver exhibited above his head between his fingers, after which, monkey-like, it was securely deposited inside of his cheek. Similar scenes often occur in tropical regions. The last which the author can recall, and at which he assisted, was at Aden, where the Indian Ocean and the Red Sea meet. Another experience of the sort is also well remembered as witnessed in the South Pacific off the Samoan islands. On this occasion the most expert of the natives, among the naked divers, was a young Samoan girl, whose agility in the water was such that she easily secured more than half the bright coins which were thrown overboard, though a dozen male competitors were her rivals in the pursuit. Nothing but an otter could have excelled this bronzed, unclad, exquisitely formed girl of Tutuila as a diver and swimmer.

But let us not stray to the far South Pacific, forgetting that we are all this time in the snug harbor of St. Thomas, in the West Indies.

A fidgety old lady passenger, half hidden in an avalanche of wraps, while the thermometer indicated 80° Fahr., one who had gone into partial hysterics several times during the past few days, upon the slightest provocation, declared that this was the worst region for hurricanes in the known world, adding that there were dark, ominous clouds forming to windward which she was sure portended a cyclone. One might have told her truthfully that May was not a hurricane month in these latitudes, but we were just then too earnestly engaged in preparing for a stroll on shore, too full of charming anticipations, to discuss possible hurricanes, and so, without giving the matter any special thought, admitted that it did look a little threatening in the northwest. This was quite enough to frighten the old lady half out of her senses, and to call the stewardess into prompt requisition, while the deck was soon permeated with the odor of camphor, sal volatile, and valerian. We did not wait to see how she survived the attack, but hastened into a shore boat and soon landed at what is known as King's wharf, when the temperature seemed instantly to rise about twenty degrees. Near the landing was a small plaza, shaded by tall ferns and cabbage palms, with here and there an umbrageous mango. Ladies and servant girls were seen promenading with merry children, whites and blacks mingling indiscriminately, while the Danish military band were producing most shocking strains with their brass instruments. One could hardly conceive of a more futile attempt at harmony.

There is always something exciting in first setting foot upon a foreign soil, in mingling with utter strangers, in listening to the voluble utterances and jargon of unfamiliar tongues, while noting the manners, dress, and faces of a new people. The current language of the mass of St. Thomas is a curious compound of negro grammar, Yankee accent, and English drawl. Though somewhat familiar with the West Indies, the author had never before landed upon this island. Everything strikes one as curious, each turn affords increased novelty, and every moment is full of interest. Black, yellow, and white men are seen in groups, the former with very little covering on their bodies, the latter in diaphanous costumes. Negresses sporting high colors in their scanty clothing, set off by rainbow kerchiefs bound round their heads, turban fashion; little naked blacks with impossible paunches; here and there a shuffling negro bearing baskets of fish balanced on either end of a long pole resting across his shoulders; peddlers of shells and corals; old women carrying trays upon their heads containing cakes sprinkled with granulated sugar, and displayed upon neat linen towels, seeking for customers among the newly arrived passengers,—all together form a unique picture of local life. The constantly shifting scene moves before the observer like a panorama unrolled for exhibition, seeming quite as theatrical and artificial.

St. Thomas is one of the Danish West Indian Islands, of which there are three belonging to Denmark, namely, St. Thomas, St. Croix, and St. John. For the possession of the first named Mr. Seward, when Secretary of State, in 1866, offered the King of Denmark five million dollars in gold, which proposition was finally accepted, and it would have been a cheap purchase for us at that price; but after all detail had been duly agreed upon, the United States Congress refused to vote the necessary funds wherewith to pay for the title deed. So when Mr. Seward consummated the purchase of Alaska, for a little over seven million dollars, there were nearly enough of the small-fry politicians in Congress to defeat the bargain with Russia in the same manner. The income from the lease of two islands alone belonging to Alaska—St. George and St. Paul—has paid four and one half per cent. per annum upon the purchase money ever since the territory came into our possession. There is one gold mine on Douglas Island, Alaska, not to mention its other rich and inexhaustible products, for which a French syndicate has offered fourteen million dollars. We doubt if St. Thomas could be purchased from the Danes to-day for ten million dollars, while the estimated value of Alaska would be at least a hundred million or more, with its vast mineral wealth, its invaluable salmon fisheries, its inexhaustible forests of giant timber, and its abundance of seal, otter, and other rich furs. A penny-wise and pound-foolish Congress made a huge mistake in opposing Mr. Seward's purpose as regarded the purchase of St. Thomas. The strategic position of the island is quite sufficient to justify our government in wishing to possess it, for it is geographically the keystone of the West Indies. The principal object which Mr. Seward had in view was to secure a coaling and refitting station for our national ships in time of war, for which St. Thomas would actually be worth more than the island of Cuba. Opposite to it is the continent of Africa; equidistant are the eastern shores of North and South America; on one side is western Europe, on the other the route to India and the Pacific Ocean; in the rear are Central America, the West Indies, and Mexico, together with those great inland bodies of salt water, the Caribbean Sea and the Gulf of Mexico. It requires no argument to show how important the possession of such an outpost might prove to this country.

Since these notes were written, it is currently reported that our government has once more awakened to the necessity of obtaining possession of this island, and fresh negotiations have been entered into. One thing is very certain, if we do not seize the opportunity to purchase St. Thomas at the present time, England, or some other important power, will promptly do so, to our serious detriment and just mortification.

St. Thomas has an area of nearly fifty square miles, and supports a population of about fourteen thousand. In many respects the capital is unique, and being our first landing-place after leaving home, was of more than ordinary interest to the writer. The highest point on the island, which comes first into view from the deck of a southern bound steamer, is West Mountain, rising sixteen hundred feet above the level of the surrounding waters. Geologists would describe St. Thomas as being the top of a small chain of submerged mountains, which would be quite correct, since the topography of the bottom of the sea is but a counterpart of that upon the more familiar surface of the earth we occupy. When ocean electric cables for connecting islands and continents are laid, engineers find that there are the same sort of plains, mountains, valleys, and gorges beneath as above the waters of the ocean. The skeletons of whales, and natural beds of deep-sea shells, found in valleys and hills many hundred feet above the present level of tide waters, tell us plainly enough that in the long ages which have passed, the diversified surface of the earth which we now behold has changed places with these submerged regions, which probably once formed the dry land. The history of the far past is full of instances showing the slow but continuous retreat of the water from the land in certain regions and its encroachment in others, the drying up of lakes and rivers, as well as the upheaval of single islands and groups from the bed of the ocean.

A range of dome-shaped hills runs through the entire length of this island of St. Thomas, fifteen miles from west to east, being considerably highest at the west end. As we passed between the two headlands which mark the entrance to the harbor, the town was seen spread over three hills of nearly uniform height, also occupying the gentle valleys between. Two stone structures, on separate hills, form a prominent feature; these are known respectively as Blue Beard and Black Beard tower, but their origin is a myth, though there are plenty of legends extant about them. Both are now utilized as residences, having mostly lost their original crudeness and picturesque appearance. The town, as a whole, forms a pleasing and effective background to the land-locked bay, which is large enough to afford safe anchorage for two hundred ships at the same time, except when a hurricane prevails; then the safest place for shipping is as far away from the land as possible. It is a busy port, considering the small number of inhabitants, steamers arriving and departing constantly, besides many small coasting vessels which ply between this and the neighboring islands. St. Thomas is certainly the most available commercially of the Virgin group of islands. Columbus named them "Las Vergines," in reference to the familiar Romish legend of the eleven thousand virgins, about as inappropriate a title as the fable it refers to is ridiculous.

Close in shore, at the time of our visit, there lay a schooner-rigged craft of more than ordinary interest, her jaunty set upon the water, her graceful lines, tall, raking masts, and long bowsprit suggesting the model of the famous old Baltimore clippers. There is a fascinating individuality about sailing vessels which does not attach to steamships. Seamen form romantic attachments for the former. The officers and crew of the Vigilancia were observed to cast admiring eyes upon this handsome schooner, anchored under our lee. A sort of mysterious quiet hung about her; every rope was hauled taut, made fast, and the slack neatly coiled. Her anchor was atrip, that is, the cable was hove short, showing that she was ready to sail at a moment's notice. The only person visible on board was a bareheaded, white-haired old seaman, who sat on the transom near the wheel, quietly smoking his pipe. On inquiry it was found that the schooner had a notable history and bore the name of the Vigilant, having been first launched a hundred and thirty years ago. It appeared that she was a successful slaver in former days, running between the coast of Africa and these islands. She was twice captured by English cruisers, but somehow found her way back again to the old and nefarious business. Of course, she had been overhauled, repaired, and re-rigged many times, but it is still the same old frame and hull that so often made the middle passage, as it was called. To-day she serves as a mail boat running between Santa Cruz and St. Thomas, and, it is said, can make forty leagues, with a fair wind, as quick as any steamer on the coast. The same evening the Vigilant spread her broad white wings and glided silently out of the harbor, gathering rapid way as she passed its entrance, until feeling the spur of the wind and the open sea, she quickly vanished from sight. It was easy to imagine her bound upon her old piratical business, screened by the shadows of the night.

Though it no longer produces a single article of export on its own soil, St. Thomas was, in the days of negro slavery, one of the most prolific sugar yielding islands of this region. It will be remembered that the emancipation of the blacks took place here in 1848. It was never before impressed upon us, if we were aware of the fact, that the sugar-cane is not indigenous to the West Indies. It seems that the plant came originally from Asia, and was introduced into these islands by Columbus and his followers. As is often the case with other representatives of the vegetable kingdom, it appears to have flourished better here than in the land of its nativity, new climatic combinations, together with the soil, developing in the saccharine plant better qualities and increased productiveness, for a long series of years enriching many enterprising planters.

When Columbus discovered St. Thomas, in 1493, it was inhabited by two tribes of Indians, the Caribs and the Arrowauks, both of which soon disappeared under the oppression and hardships imposed by the Spaniards. It is also stated that from this island, as well as from Cuba and Hayti, many natives were transported to Spain and there sold into slavery, in the days following close upon its discovery. Thus Spain, from the earliest date, characterized her operations in the New World by a heartlessness and injustice which ever attended upon her conquests, both among the islands and upon the continent of America. The Caribs were of the red Indian race, and appear to have been addicted to cannibalism. Indeed, the very word, by which the surrounding sea is also known, is supposed to be a corruption of the name of this tribe. "These Caribs did not eat their own babies," says an old writer apologetically, "like some sorts of wild beasts, but only roasted and ate their prisoners of war."

The island was originally covered with a dense forest growth, but is now comparatively denuded of trees, leaving the land open to the full force of the sun, and causing it to suffer at times from serious droughts. There is said to be but one natural spring of water on the island. This shows itself at the surface, and is of very limited capacity; the scanty rains which occur here are almost entirely depended upon to supply water for domestic use.

St. Thomas being so convenient a port of call for steamers from Europe and America, and having so excellent a harbor, is improved as a depot for merchandise by several of the neighboring islands, thus enjoying a considerable commerce, though it is only in transitu. It is also the regular coaling station of several steamship lines. Judging from appearances, however, it would seem that the town is not growing in population or business relations, but is rather retrograding. The value of the imports in 1880 was less than half the aggregate amount of 1870. We were told that green groceries nearly all come from the United States, and that even eggs and poultry are imported from the neighboring islands, showing an improvidence on the part of the people difficult to account for, since these sources of food supply can be profitably produced at almost any spot upon the earth where vegetation will grow. Cigars are brought hither from Havana in considerable quantities, and having no duty to pay, can be sold very cheap by the dealers at St. Thomas, and still afford a reasonable profit. Quite a trade is thus carried on with the passengers of the several steamers which call here regularly, and travelers avail themselves of the opportunity to lay in an ample supply. Cuban cigars of the quality which would cost nine or ten dollars a hundred in Boston are sold at St. Thomas for five or six dollars, and lower grades even cheaper in proportion. There is said to be considerable smuggling successfully carried on between this island and the Florida shore, in the article of cigars as well as in tobacco in the unmanufactured state. The high duty on these has always incited to smuggling, thus defeating the very object for which it is imposed. Probably a moderate duty would yield more to the government in the aggregate, by rendering it so much less of an object to smuggle.

Though the island is Danish in nationality, there are few surroundings calculated to recall the fact, save that the flag of that country floats over the old fort and the one or two official buildings, just as it has done for the last two centuries. The prominent officials are Danes, as well as the officers of the small body of soldiers maintained on the island. English is almost exclusively spoken, though there are French, Spanish, and Italian residents here. English is also the language taught in the public schools. People have come here to make what money they can, but with the fixed purpose of spending it and enjoying it elsewhere. As a rule, all Europeans who come to the West Indies and embark in business do so with exactly this purpose. In Cuba the Spaniards from the continent, among whom are many Jews, have a proverb the significance of which is: "Ten years of starvation, and a fortune," and most of them live up to this axiom. They leave all principles of honor, all sense of moral responsibility, all sacred domestic ties, behind them, forgetting, or at least ignoring, the significant query, namely, "What shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?"

About one third of the population is Roman Catholic. The Jews have a synagogue, and a membership of six hundred. They have a record on the island dating as far back as the year 1757, and add much to the activity and thrift of St. Thomas. No matter where we find the Jews, in Mexico, Warsaw, California, or the West Indies, they are all alike intent upon money making, and are nearly always successful. Their irrepressible energy wins for them the goal for which they so earnestly strive. That soldier of fortune, Santa Anna, formerly ruler of Mexico, when banished as a traitor from his native country, made his home on this island, and the house which he built and occupied is still pointed out to visitors as one of the local curiosities. The social life of St. Thomas is naturally very circumscribed, but is good so far as it goes. A few cultured people, who have made it their home for some years, have become sincerely attached to the place, and enjoy the climate. There are a small public library, a hospital, several charitable institutions, and a theatre, which is occupied semi-occasionally. The island is connected with the continent by cable, and has a large floating dock and marine railway, which causes vessels in distress to visit the port for needed repairs. The town is situated on the north side of the bay which indents the middle of the south side of the island. The harbor has a depth of water varying from eighteen to thirty-six feet, and has the advantage of being a free port, a fact, perhaps, of not much account to a place which has neither exports nor imports of its own. St. Thomas is the only town of any importance on the island, and is known locally as Charlotte Amalie, a fact which sometimes leads to a confusion of ideas.

The reader need not encounter the intense heat, which so nearly wilted us, in an effort to obtain a good lookout from some elevated spot; but the result will perhaps interest him, as it fully repaid the writer for all the consequent discomfort.

From the brow of a moderate elevation just behind the town, a delightful and far-reaching view is afforded, embracing St. Thomas in the foreground, the well-sheltered bay, dotted with vessels bearing the flags of various nations, an archipelago of islets scattered over the near waters, and numerous small bays indenting the coast. At a distance of some forty miles across the sea looms the island of Santa Cruz; and farther away, on the horizon's most distant limit, are seen the tall hills and mountains of Porto Rico; while the sky is fringed by a long trailing plume of smoke, indicating the course of some passing steamship. The three hills upon which the town stands are spurs of West Mountain, and the place is quite as well entitled to the name of Tremont—"tri-mountain"—as was the capital of Massachusetts, before its hills were laid low to accommodate business demands. On the seaward side of these elevations the red tiled roofs of the white houses rise in regular terraces from the street which borders the harbor, forming a very picturesque group as seen from the bay.

Though it has not often been visited by epidemics, Mr. Anthony Trollope pronounces the island, in his usual irresponsible way, to be "one of the hottest and one of the most unhealthy spots among all these hot and unhealthy regions," and adds that he would perhaps be justified in saying "that of all such spots it is the hottest and most unhealthy." This is calculated to give an incorrect idea of St. Thomas. True, it is liable to periods of unhealthiness, when a species of low fever prevails, proving more or less fatal. This is thought to originate from the surface drainage, and the miasma arising from the bay. All the drains of the town flow into the waters of the harbor, which has not sufficient flow of tide to carry seaward the foul matter thus accumulated. The hot sun pouring its heat down upon this tainted water causes a dangerous exhalation. Still, sharks do not seem to be sensitive as to this matter, for they much abound. It is yet to be discovered why these tigers of the sea do not attack the negroes, who fearlessly leap overboard; a white man could not do this with impunity. The Asiatics of the Malacca Straits do not enjoy any such immunity from danger, though they have skins as dark as the divers of St. Thomas. Sharks appear in the West Indies in small schools, or at least there are nearly always two or three together, but in Oriental waters they are only seen singly. Thus a Malay of Singapore, for a compensation, say an English sovereign, will place a long, sharp knife between his teeth and leap naked into the sea to attack a shark. He adroitly dives beneath the creature, and as it turns its body to bring its awkward mouth into use, with his knife the Malay slashes a deep, long opening in its exposed belly, at the same time forcing himself out of the creature's reach. The knife is sure and fatal. After a few moments the huge body of the fish is seen to rise and float lifeless upon the surface of the water.

A large majority of the people are colored, exhibiting some peculiarly interesting types, intermarriage with whites of various nationalities having produced among the descendants of Africans many changes of color and of features. One feels sure that there is also a trace of Carib or Indian blood mingled with the rest,—a trace of the aborigines whom Columbus found here. The outcome is not entirely a race with flat noses and protruding lips; straight Grecian profiles are not uncommon, accompanied by thin nostrils and Anglo-Saxon lips. Faultless teeth, soft blue eyes, and hair nearly straight are sometimes met with among the creoles. As to the style of walking and of carrying the head and body, the common class of women of St. Thomas have arrived at perfection. Some of them are notable examples of unconscious dignity and grace combined. This has been brought about by carrying burdens upon their heads from childhood, without the supporting aid of the hands. Modesty, or rather conventionality, does not require boys or girls under eight years of age to encumber themselves with clothing. The costume of the market women and the lower classes generally is picturesque, composed of a Madras kerchief carefully twisted into a turban of many colors, yellow predominating, a cotton chemise which leaves the neck and shoulders exposed, reaching just below the knees, the legs and feet being bare. The men wear cotton drawers reaching nearly to the knee, the rest of the body being uncovered, except the head, which is usually sheltered under a broad brimmed straw hat, the sides of which are perforated by many ventilating holes. The whites generally, and also the better class of natives, dress very much after the fashion which prevails in North America.

This is the negroes' paradise, but it is a climate in which the white race gradually wanes. The heat of the tropics is modified by the constant and grateful trade winds, a most merciful dispensation, without which the West Indies would be uninhabitable by man. On the hillsides of St. Thomas these winds insure cool nights at least, and a comparatively temperate state of the atmosphere during the day. Vegetation is abundant, the fruit trees are perennial, bearing leaf, blossom, and fruit in profusion, month after month, year after year. Little, if any, cultivation is required. The few sugar plantations which are still carried on yield from three to four successive years without replanting. It is a notable fact that where vegetation is at its best, where the soil is most rank and prolific, where fruits and flowers grow in wild exuberance, elevated humanity thrives the least. The lower the grade of man, the nearer he approximates to the animals, the less civilized he is in mind and body, the better he appears to be adapted to such localities. The birds and the butterflies are in exact harmony with the loveliness of tropical nature, however prolific she may be; the flowers are glorious and beautiful: it is man alone who seems out of place. A great variety of fruits are indigenous here, such as the orange, lime, alligator pear, moss-apple, and mango, but none of them are cultivated to any extent; the people seem to lack the energy requisite to improve the grand possibilities of their fertile soil and prolific climate.

We were reminded by a resident of the town, before we left the harbor of St. Thomas, that the nervous old lady referred to was not entirely without reason for her anxiety. Some of our readers will remember, perhaps, that in October, 1867, a most disastrous hurricane swept over these Virgin Islands, leaving widespread desolation in its track. The shipping which happened to be in the bay of St. Thomas was nearly all destroyed, together with hundreds of lives, while on the land scores of houses and many lives were also sacrificed to the terrible cyclone of that date. Even the thoroughly built iron and stone lighthouse was completely obliterated. There is a theory that such visitations come in this region about once in every twelve or fifteen years, and upon looking up the matter we find them to have occurred, with more or less destructive force, in the years 1793, 1819, 1837, 1867, 1871, and so late as August, 1891. Other hurricanes have passed over these islands during the period covered by these dates, but of a mitigated character. August, September, and October are the months in which the hurricanes are most likely to occur, and all vessels navigating the West Indian seas during these months take extra precautions to secure themselves against accidents from this source. When such visitations happen, the event is sure to develop heroic deeds. In the hurricane of 1867, the captain of a Spanish man-of-war, who was a practical sailor, brought up from boyhood upon the ocean, seeing the oncoming cyclone, and knowing by experience what to expect, ordered the masts of his vessel to be cut away at once, and every portion of exposed top hamper to be cast into the sea. When thus stripped he exposed little but the bare hull of his steamer to the fury of the storm. After the cyclone had passed, it was found that he had not lost a man, and that the steamer's hull, though severely battered, was substantially unharmed. Keeping up all steam during the awful scene, this captain devoted himself and his ship to the saving of human life, promptly taking his vessel wherever he could be of the most service. Hundreds of seamen were saved from death by the coolness and intrepidity of this heroic sailor.

Since these notes were written among the islands, a terrible cyclone has visited them. This was on August 18, last past, and proved more destructive to human life, to marine and other property, than any occurrence of the kind during the last century. At Martinique a sharp shock of earthquake added to the horror of the occasion, the town of Fort de France being very nearly leveled with the ground. Many tall and noble palms, the growth of half a hundred years, were utterly demolished in the twinkling of an eye, and other trees were uprooted by the score.

The waters of this neighborhood teem with strange forms of animal and vegetable life. Here we saw specimens of red and blue snappers, the angel-fish, king-fish, gurnets, cow-fish, whip-ray, peacock-fish, zebra-fish, and so on, all, or nearly all, unfamiliar to us, each species individualized either in shape, color, or both. The whip-ray, with a body like a flounder, has a tail six or seven feet long, tapering from an inch and over to less than a quarter of an inch at the small end. When dried, it still retains a degree of elasticity, and is used by the natives as a whip with which to drive horses and donkeys. In some places, so singularly clear is the water that the bottom is distinctly visible five or six fathoms below the surface, where fishes of various sorts are seen in ceaseless motion. White shells, corals, star-fish, and sea-urchins mingle their various forms and colors, objects and hues seeming to be intensified by the strong reflected light from the surface, so that one could easily fancy them to be flowers blooming in the fairy gardens of the mermaids. The early morning, just after the sun begins to gild the surface of the sea, is the favorite time for the flying-fishes to display their aerial proclivities. They are always attracted by a strong light, and are thus lured to their destruction by the torches of the fishermen, who often go out for the purpose at night and take them in nets. In the early morning, as seen from the ship's deck, they scoot above the rippling waves in schools of a hundred and more, so compact as to cast fleeting shadows over the blue enameled surface of the waters. At St. Thomas, Martinique, and Barbadoes, as well as among the other islands bordering the Caribbean Sea, they form no inconsiderable source of food for the humble natives, who fry them in batter mixed with onions, making a savory and nutritious dish.

St. Thomas is, as we have said, a coaling station for steamships, and when the business is in progress a most unique picture is presented. The ship is moored alongside of the dock for this purpose, two side ports being thrown open, one for ingress, the other for egress. A hundred women and girls, wearing one scanty garment reaching to the knees, are in line, and commence at once to trot on board in single file, each one bearing a bushel basket of coal upon her head, weighing, say sixty pounds. Another gang fill empty baskets where the coal is stored, so that there is a continuous line of negresses trotting into the ship at one port and, after dumping their loads into the coal bunkers, out at the other, hastening back to the source of supply for more. Their step is quick, their pose straight as an arrow, while their feet keep time to a wild chant in which all join, the purport of which it is not possible to clearly understand. Now and again their voices rise in softly mingled harmony, floating very sweetly over the still waters of the bay. The scene we describe occurred at night, but the moon had not yet risen. Along the wharf, to the coal deposits, iron frames were erected containing burning bituminous coal, and the blaze, fanned by the open air, formed the light by which the women worked. It was a weird picture. Everything seemed quite in harmony: the hour, the darkness of night relieved by the flaming brackets of coal, the strange, dark figures hastening into the glare of light and quickly vanishing, the harmony of high-pitched voices occasionally broken in upon by the sharp, stern voice of their leader,—all was highly dramatic and effective.

Not unfrequently three or four steamers are coaling at the same time from different wharves. Hundreds of women and girls of St. Thomas make this labor their special occupation, and gain a respectable living by it, doubtless supporting any number of lazy, worthless husbands, fathers, and brothers.

After our ship was supplied with coal, these women, having put three hundred tons on board in a surprisingly short period of time, formed a group upon the wharf and held what they called a firefly dance, indescribably quaint and grotesque, performed by the flickering light of the flaming coal. Their voices were joined in a wild, quick chant, as they twisted and turned, clapping their hands at intervals to emphasize the chorus. Now and again a couple of the girls would separate from the rest for a moment, then dance toward and from each other, throwing their arms wildly about their heads, and finally, gathering their scanty drapery in one hand and extending the other, perform a movement similar to the French cancan. Once more springing back among their companions, all joined hands, and a roundabout romp closed the firefly dance. Could such a scene be produced in a city theatre au naturel, with proper accessories and by these actual performers, it would surely prove an attraction good for one hundred nights. Of course this would be impossible. Conventionality would object to such diaphanous costumes, and bare limbs, though they were of a bronzed hue, would shock Puritanic eyes.

Upon first entering the harbor, the Vigilancia anchored at a short distance from the shore; but when it became necessary to haul alongside the wharf, the attempt was made to get up the anchor, when it was found to require far more than the usual expenditure of power to do so. Finally, however, the anchor was secured, but attached to its flukes there came also, from the bottom of the bay, a second anchor, of antique shape, covered with rust and barnacles. It was such a one as was carried by the galleons of the fifteenth century, and had doubtless lain for over four hundred years just where the anchor of our ship had got entangled with it. What a remarkable link this corroded piece of iron formed, uniting the present with the far past, and how it stimulated the mind in forming romantic possibilities! It may have been the holding iron of Columbus's own caravel, or have been the anchor of one of Cortez's fleet, which touched here on its way into the Gulf of Mexico, or, indeed, it may have belonged to some Caribbean buccaneer, who was obliged to let slip his cable and hasten away to escape capture.

It was deemed a fortunate circumstance to have secured this ancient relic, and a sure sign of future good luck to the ship, so it was duly stored away in the lower hold of the Vigilancia.

That same night on which the coal bunkers were filled, our good ship was got under way, while the rising moon made the harbor and its surroundings as clearly visible as though it were midday. The light from the burning coal brackets had waned, only a few sparks bursting forth now and again, disturbed by a passing breeze which fanned them into life for a moment. When we passed through the narrow entrance by the lighthouse, and stood out once more upon the open sea, it was mottled, far and near, with argent ripples, that waltzed merrily in the soft, clear moonlight, rivaling the firefly dance on shore. Even to the very horizon the water presented a white, silvery, tremulous sheen of liquid light. One gazed in silent enjoyment until the eyes were weary with the lavish beauty of the scene, and the brain became giddy with its splendor. Is it idle and commonplace to be enthusiastic? Perhaps so; but we hope never to outlive such inspiration.

CHAPTER II.

Curious Seaweed.—Professor Agassiz.—Myth of a Lost Continent.—Island of Martinique.—An Attractive Place.—Statue of the Empress Josephine.—Birthplace of Madame de Maintenon.—City of St. Pierre.—Mont Pelée.—High Flavored Specialty.—Grisettes of Martinique.—A Botanical Garden.—Defective Drainage.—A Fatal Enemy.—A Cannibal Snake.—The Climate.

Between St. Thomas and the island of Martinique, we fell in with some floating seaweed, so peculiar in appearance that an obliging quartermaster picked up a spray for closer examination. It is a strange, sponge-like plant, which propagates itself on the ocean, unharmed by the fiercest agitation of the waves, or the wildest raging of the winds, at the same time giving shelter to zoöphytes and mollusks of a species, like itself, found nowhere else. Sailors call it Gulf weed, but it has nothing to do with the Gulf Stream, though sometimes clusters get astray and are carried far away on the bosom of that grand ocean current. The author has seen small bodies of it, after a fierce storm in the Caribbean Sea, a thousand miles to the eastward of Barbadoes. Its special home is a broad space of ocean surface between the Gulf Stream and the equatorial current, known as the Sargasso Sea. Its limits, however, change somewhat with the seasons. It was first noticed by Columbus in 1492, and in this region it has remained for centuries, even to the present day. Sometimes this peculiar weed is so abundant as to present the appearance of a submerged meadow, through which the ship ploughs its way as though sailing upon the land. We are told that Professor Agassiz, while at sea, having got possession of a small branch of this marine growth, kept himself busily absorbed with it and its products for twelve hours, forgetting all the intervening meals. Science was more than food and drink to this grand savant. His years from boyhood were devoted to the study of nature in her various forms. "Life is so short," said he, "one can hardly find space to become familiar with a single science, much less to acquire knowledge of many." When he was applied to by a lyceum committee to come to a certain town and lecture, he replied that he was too busy. "But we will pay you double price, Mr. Agassiz, if you will come," said the applicant. "I cannot waste time to make money," was the noble reply.

The myth of a lost continent is doubtless familiar to the reader,—a continent supposed to have existed in these waters thousands of years ago, but which, by some evolution of nature, became submerged, sinking from sight forever. It was the Atlantis which is mentioned by Plato; the land in which the Elysian Fields were placed, and the Garden of Hesperides, from which the early civilization of Greece, Egypt, and Asia Minor were derived, and whose kings and heroes were the Olympian deities of a later time. The poetical idea prevails that this plant, which once grew in those gardens, having lost its original home, has become a floating waif on the sapphire sea of the tropics. The color of the Sargasso weed is a faint orange shade; the leaves are pointed, delicate, and exquisitely formed, like those of the weeping willow in their youthful freshness, having a tiny, round, light green berry near the base of each leaf. Mother Cary's chickens are said to be fond of these berries, and that bird abounds in these waters.

Probably the main portion of the West Indian islands was once a part of the continent of America, many, many ages ago. There are trees of the locust family growing among the group to-day, similar to those found on our southern coast, which are declared to be four thousand years old. This statement is partially corroborated by known characteristics of the growth of the locust, and there are arborists who fully credit this great longevity. It is interesting to look upon an object which had a vital existence two thousand years and more before Christ was upon earth, and which is still animate.

* * * * *

Each new island which one visits in the West Indies seems more lovely than its predecessor, always leaving Hayti out of the question; but Martinique, at this moment of writing, appears to rival all those with which the author is familiar. It might be a choice bit out of Cuba, Singapore, or far-away Hawaii. Its liability to destructive hurricanes is its only visible drawback. Having been discovered on St. Martin's day, Columbus gave it the name it now bears.

St. Pierre is the commercial capital of Martinique, one of the French West Indies, and the largest of the group belonging to that nation. Fort de France is the political capital, situated about thirty miles from St. Pierre. It was nearly ruined by the cyclone of last August, a few weeks after the author's visit. St. Pierre is the best built town in the Lesser Antilles, and has a population of about twenty-five thousand. The streets are well paved, and the principal avenues are beautified by ornamental trees uniformly planted. The grateful shade thus obtained, and the long lines of charming arboreal perspective which are formed, are desirable accessories to any locality, but doubly so in tropical regions. The houses are very attractive, while there is a prevailing aspect of order, cleanliness, and thrift everywhere apparent. It was not our experience to meet one beggar in the streets of St. Pierre. More or less of poverty must exist everywhere, but it does not stalk abroad here, as it does in many rich and pretentious capitals of the great world. The island is situated midway between Dominica and St. Lucia, and is admitted by all visitors to be one of the most picturesque of the West Indian groups. Irregular in shape, it is also high and rocky, thus forming one of the most prominent of the large volcanic family which sprang up so many ages ago in these seas. Its apex, Mont Pelée, an only partially extinct volcano, rises between four and five thousand feet above the level of the ocean, and is the first point visible on approaching the island from the north. It would be interesting to dilate upon the past history of Martinique, for it has known not a little of the checkered vicissitudes of these Antilles, having been twice captured by the English, and twice restored to France. But this would not be in accordance with the design of these pages.

St. Pierre is situated on the lee side of the island, something less than two thousand miles, by the course we have steered, from New York, and three hundred miles from St. Thomas. It comes down to the very water's edge, with its parti-colored houses and red-tiled roofs, which mingle here and there with tall, overhanging cocoa-palms. This is the most lavishly beautiful tree in the world, and one which never fails to impart special interest to its surroundings.

A marble statue in the Place de la Savane, at Fort de France, on the same side of the island as St. Pierre, recalls the fact that this was the birthplace of the Empress Josephine, born in 1763. Her memorable history is too familiar for us to repeat any portion of it here, but the brain becomes very active at the mere mention of her name, in recalling the romantic and tragic episodes of her life, so closely interwoven with the career of the first Napoleon. One instinctively recalls the small boudoir in the palace of Trianon, where her husband signed the divorce from Josephine. That he loved her with his whole power for loving is plain enough, as is also his well known reason for the separation, namely, the desire for offspring to transmit his name to posterity. There is one legend which is always rehearsed to strangers, relating to Josephine's youth upon the island. We refer to that of the old negress fortune-teller who prognosticated the grandeur of her future career, together with its melancholy termination, a story so tinctured with local color that, if it be not absolutely true, it surely ought to be. The statue, unless we are misinformed, was the gift of that colossal fraud, Napoleon III., though it purports to have been raised to the memory of Josephine by the people of Martinique, who certainly feel great pride in the fact of her having been born here, and who truly venerate her memory. The statue represents the empress dressed in the fashion of the First Empire, with bare arms and shoulders, one hand resting on a medallion bearing a profile of the emperor to whom she was devoted. The whole is partially shaded by a half dozen grand old palms. The group teems with historic suggestiveness, recalling one of the most tragic chapters of modern European history. It seemed to us that the artist had succeeded in imparting to the figure an expression indicating something of the sad story of the original.

This beautiful island, it will be remembered, also gave to France another remarkable historic character, Françoise d'Aubigné, afterwards Madame Scarron, but better known to the world at large as Madame de Maintenon. She, too, was the wife of a king, though the marriage was a left-handed one, but as the power behind the throne, she is well known to have shaped for years the political destinies of France.

St. Pierre has several schools, a very good hotel, a theatre, a public library, together with some other modern and progressive institutions; yet somehow everything looked quaint and olden, a sixteenth century atmosphere seeming to pervade the town. The windows of the ordinary dwellings have no glass, which is very naturally considered to be a superfluity in this climate; but these windows have iron bars and wooden shutters behind them, relics of the days of slavery, when every white man's house was his castle, and great precautions were taken to guard against the possible uprising of the blacks, who outnumbered their masters twenty to one.

Though so large a portion of the population are of negro descent, yet they are very French-like in character. The native women especially seem to be frivolous and coquettish, not to say rather lax in morals. They appear to be very fond of dress. The young negresses have learned from their white mistresses how to put on their diaphanous clothing in a jaunty and telling fashion, leaving one bronzed arm and shoulder bare, which strikes the eye in strong contrast with the snow white of their cotton chemises. They are Parisian grisettes in ebony, and with their large, roguish eyes, well-rounded figures, straight pose, and dainty ways, the half-breeds are certainly very attractive, and only too ready for a lark with a stranger. They strongly remind one of the pretty quadroons of Louisiana, in their manners, complexion, and general appearance; and like those handsome offspring of mingled blood, so often seen in our Southern States, we suspect that these of Martinique enjoy but a brief space of existence. The average life of a quadroon is less than thirty years.

Martinique is eight times as large as St. Thomas, containing a population of about one hundred and seventy-five thousand. Within its borders there are at least five extinct volcanoes, one of which has an enormous crater, exceeded by only three or four others in the known world. The island rises from the sea in three groups of rugged peaks, and contains some very fertile valleys. So late as 1851, Mont Pelée burst forth furiously with flames and smoke, which naturally threw the people into a serious panic, many persons taking refuge temporarily on board the shipping in the harbor. The eruption on this occasion did not amount to anything very serious, only covering some hundreds of acres with sulphurous débris, yet serving to show that the volcano was not dead, but sleeping. Once or twice since that date ominous mutterings have been heard from Mont Pelée, which it is confidently predicted will one day deluge St. Pierre with ashes and lava, repeating the story of Pompeii.

Sugar, rum, coffee, and cotton are the staple products here, supplemented by tobacco, manioc flour, bread-fruit, and bananas. Rum is very extensively manufactured, and has a good mercantile reputation for its excellence, commanding as high prices as the more famous article of the same nature produced at Jamaica. The purpose of the author is mainly to record personal impressions, but a certain sprinkling of statistics and detail is inevitable, if we would inform, as well as amuse, the average reader.

The flora of Martinique is the marvel and delight of all who have enjoyed its extraordinary beauty, while the great abundance and variety of its fruits are believed to be unsurpassed even in the prolific tropics. Of that favorite, the mango, the island produces some forty varieties, and probably in no other region has the muscatel grape reached to such perfection in size and flavor. The whole island looks like a maze of greenery, as it is approached from the sea, vividly recalling Tutuila of the Samoan group in the South Pacific. Like most of the West Indian islands, Martinique was once densely covered with trees, and a remnant of these ancient woods creeps down to the neighborhood of St. Pierre to-day.

The principal landing is crowded at all times with hogsheads of sugar and molasses, and other casks containing the highly scented island rum, the two sweets, together with the spirits, causing a nauseous odor under the powerful heat of a vertical sun. We must not forget to mention, however, that St. Pierre has a specific for bad odors in her somewhat peculiar specialty, namely, eau-de-cologne, which is manufactured on this island, and is equal to the European article of the same name, distilled at the famous city on the Rhine. No one visits the port, if it be for but a single day, without bringing away a sample bottle of this delicate perfumery, a small portion of which, added to the morning bath, is delightfully refreshing, especially when one uses salt water at sea, it so effectively removes the saline stickiness which is apt to remain upon the limbs and body after a cold bath.

The town is blessed with an inexhaustible supply of good, fresh, mountain water, which, besides furnishing the necessary quantity for several large drinking fountains, feeds some ornamental ones, and purifies the streets by a flow through the gutters, after the fashion of Salt Lake City, Utah. This is in fact the only system of drainage at St. Pierre. A bronze fountain in the Place Bertin is fed from this source, and is an object of great pleasure in a climate where cold water in abundance is an inestimable boon. This elaborate fountain was the gift of a colored man, named Alfred Agnew, who was at one time mayor of the city. Many of the gardens attached to the dwelling-houses are ornamented with ever-flowing fountains, which impart a refreshing coolness to the tropical atmosphere.

The Rue Victor Hugo is the main thoroughfare, traversing the whole length of the town parallel with the shore, up hill and down, crossing a small bridge, and finally losing itself in the environs. It is nicely kept, well paved, and, though it is rather narrow, it is the Broadway of St. Pierre. Some of the streets are so abrupt in grade as to recall similar avenues in the English portion of Hong Kong, too steep for the passage of vehicles, or even for donkeys, being ascended by means of much worn stone steps. Fine, broad roadways surround the town and form pleasant drives.

The cathedral has a sweet chime of bells, whose soft, liquid notes came to us across the water of the bay with touching cadence at the Angelus hour. It must be a sadly calloused heart which fails to respond to these twilight sounds in an isle of the Caribbean Sea. Millet's impressive picture was vividly recalled as we sat upon the deck and listened to those bells, whose notes floated softly upon the air as if bidding farewell to the lingering daylight. At the moment, all else being so still, it seemed as though one's heartbeat could be heard, while the senses were bathed in a tranquil gladness incited by the surrounding scenery and the suggestiveness of the hour.

Three fourths of the population are half-breeds, born of whites, blacks, or mulattoes, with a possible strain of Carib blood in their veins, the result of which is sometimes a very handsome type of bronzed hue, but of Circassian features. Some of the young women of the better class are very attractive, with complexions of a gypsy color, like the artists' models who frequent the "Spanish Stairs" leading to the Trinità di Monti, at Rome. These girls possess deep, dark eyes, pearly teeth, with good figures, upright and supple as the palms. In dress they affect all the colors of the rainbow, presenting oftentimes a charming audacity of contrasts, and somehow it seems to be quite the thing for them to do so; it accords perfectly with their complexions, with the climate, with everything tropical. The many-colored Madras kerchief is universally worn by the common class of women, twisted into a jaunty turban, with one well-starched end ingeniously arranged so as to stand upright like a soldier's plume. The love of ornament is displayed by the wearing of hoop earrings of enormous size, together with triple strings of gold beads, and bracelets of the same material. If any one imagines he has seen larger sized hoop earrings this side of Africa, he is mistaken. They are more like bangles than earrings, hanging down so as to rest upon the neck and shoulders. Those who cannot afford the genuine article satisfy their vanity with gaudy imitations. They form a very curious and interesting study, these black, brown, and yellow people, both men and women. In the market-place at the north end of the town, the women preside over their bananas, oranges, and other fruits, in groups, squatting like Asiatics on their heels. In the Havana fish market, one compares the variety of colors exhibited by the fishes exposed for sale to those of the kaleidoscope, but here the Cuban display is equaled if not surpassed.

St. Pierre has a botanical garden, situated about a mile from the centre of the town, so located as to admit of utilizing a portion of the native forest yet left standing, with here and there an impenetrable growth of the feathery bamboo, king of the grasses, interspersed with the royal palm and lighter green tree-ferns. The bamboo is a marvel, single stems of it often attaining a height in tropical regions of a hundred and seventy feet, and a diameter of a foot. So rapid is its growth that it is sometimes known to attain the height of a hundred feet in sixty days. Art has done something to improve the advantages afforded by nature in this botanical garden, arranging some pretty lakes, fountains, and cascades. Vistas have been cut through the dense undergrowth, and driveways have been made, thus improving the rather neglected grounds. One pretty lake of considerable size contains three or four small islands, covered with flowering plants, while on the shore are pretty summer houses and inviting arbors. The frangipanni, tall and almost leafless, but with thick, fleshy shoots and a broad-spread, single leaf, was recognized here among other interesting plants. This is the fragrant flower mentioned by the early discoverers. There was also the parti-colored passion-flower, and groups of odd-shaped cacti, whose thick, green leaves were daintily rimmed with an odorless yellow bloom. Here, also, is an interesting example of the ceba-tree, in whose shade a hundred persons might banquet together. The author has seen specimens of the ceba superbly developed in Cuba and the Bahamas, with its massive and curiously buttressed trunk, having the large roots half above ground. It is a solitary tree, growing to a large size and enjoying great longevity. Mangoes abound here, the finest known as the mango d'or. There is a certain air about the public garden of St. Pierre, indicating that nature is permitted in a large degree to have her own sweet will. Evidences enough remain to show the visitor that these grounds must once have been in a much more presentable condition. There is a musical cascade, which is well worth a long walk to see and enjoy. Just inside of the entrance, one spot was all ablaze with a tiny yellow flower, best known to us as English broom, Cytisus genista. Its profuse but delicate bloom was dazzling beneath the bright sun's rays. Could it possibly be indigenous? No one could tell us. Probably some resident brought it hither from his home across the ocean, and it has kindly adapted itself to the new soil and climate.

We were cautioned to look out for and to avoid a certain poisonous snake, a malignant reptile, with fatal fangs, which is the dread of the inhabitants, some of whom are said to die every year from the venom of the creature. It will be remembered that one of these snakes, known here as the fer-de-lance, bit Josephine, the future empress, when she was very young, and that her faithful negro nurse saved the child's life by instantly drawing the poison from the wound with her own lips. It is singular that this island, and that of St. Lucia, directly south of it, should be cursed by the presence of these poisonous creatures, which do not exist in any other of the West Indian islands, and, indeed, so far as we know, are not to be found anywhere else. The fer-de-lance has one fatal enemy. This is a large snake, harmless so far as poisonous fangs are concerned, called the cribo. This reptile fearlessly attacks the fer-de-lance, and kills and eats him in spite of his venom, a perfectly justifiable if not gratifying instance of cannibalism, where a creature eats and relishes the body of one of its own species. The domestic cat is said also to be more than a match for the dreaded snake, and instinctively adopts a style of attack which, while protecting itself, finally closes the contest by the death of the fer-de-lance, which it seizes just back of the head at the spine, and does not let go until it has severed the head from the body; and even then instinct teaches the cat to avoid the head, for though it be severed from the body, like the mouth of a turtle under similar circumstances, it can still inflict a serious wound.

The fer-de-lance is a great destroyer of rats, this rodent forming its principal source of food. Now as rats are almost as much of a pest upon the island, and especially on the sugar plantations, as rabbits are in New Zealand, it will be seen that even the existence of this poisonous snake is not an unmitigated evil.

Crosses and wayside shrines of a very humble character are to be seen in all directions on the roadsides leading from St. Pierre, recalling similar structures which line the inland roads of Japan, where the local religion finds like public expression, only varying in the character of the emblems. At Martinique it is a Christ or a Madonna; in Japan it is a crude idol of some sort, the more hideous, the more appropriate. The same idea is to be seen carried out in the streets of Canton and Shanghai, only Chinese idols are a degree more unlike anything upon or below the earth than they are elsewhere.

It was observed that while there were plenty of masculine loafers and careless idlers of various colors, whose whole occupation seemed to be sucking at some form of burning tobacco in the shape of cigarette, cigar, or pipe, the women, of whatever complexion, seen in public, were all usefully employed. They are industrious by instinct; one almost never sees them in repose. In the transportation of all articles of domestic use, women bear them upon their heads, whether the article weighs one pound or fifty, balancing their load without making use of the hands except to place the article in position. The women not infrequently have also a baby upon their backs at the same time. Negresses and donkeys perform nine tenths of the transportation of merchandise. Wheeled vehicles are very little used in the West Indian islands. As we have seen, even in coaling ship, it is the women who do the work.

The Hotel des Bains, at St. Pierre, is an excellent hostelry, as such places go in this part of the world. The stranger will find here most of the requisites for domestic comfort, and at reasonable prices. As a health resort the place has its advantages, and a northern invalid, wishing to escape the rigor of a New England winter, would doubtless find much to occupy and recuperate him here. St. Pierre, however, has times of serious epidemic sickness, though this does not often happen in the winter season. Three or four years ago the island was visited by a sweeping epidemic of small-pox, but it raged almost entirely among the lowest classes, principally among the negroes, who seem to have a great prejudice and superstitious fear relating to vaccination, and its employment as a preventive against contracting the disease. In the yellow fever season the city suffers more or less, but the health of St. Pierre will average as good as that of our extreme Southern States; and yet, after all, with the earthquakes, hurricanes, tarantulas, scorpions, and deadly fer-de-lance, as Artemus Ward would say, Martinique presents many characteristics to recommend protracted absence. A brief visit is like a poem to be remembered, but one soon gets a surfeit of the circumscribed island.

Our next objective point was Barbadoes, to reach which we sailed one hundred and fifty miles to the eastward, this most important of the Lesser Antilles being situated further to windward, that is, nearer the continent of Europe. Our ponderous anchor came up at early morning, just as the sun rose out of the long, level reach of waters. It looked like a mammoth ball of fire, which had been immersed during the hours of the night countless fathoms below the sea. Presently everything was aglow with light and warmth, while the atmosphere seemed full of infinitesimal particles of glittering gold. At first one could watch the face of the rising sun, as it came peering above the sea, a sort of fascination impelling the observer to do so, but after a few moments, no human eye could bear its dazzling splendor.

Said an honest old Marshfield farmer, in 1776, who met the clergyman of the village very early in the opening day: "Ah, good mornin', Parson, another fine day," nodding significantly towards the sun just appearing above the cloudless horizon of Massachusetts Bay. "They do say the airth moves, and the sun stands still; but you and I, Parson, we git up airly and we see it rise!"

CHAPTER III.

English Island of Barbadoes.—Bridgetown the Capital.—The Manufacture of Rum.—A Geographical Expert.—Very English.—A Pest of Ants.—Exports.—The Ice House.—A Dense Population.—Educational.—Marine Hotel.—Habits of Gambling.—Hurricanes.—Curious Antiquities.—The Barbadoes Leg.—Wakeful Dreams.—Absence of Twilight.—Departure from the Island.

Bridgetown is the capital of Barbadoes, an English island which, unlike St. Thomas, is a highly cultivated sugar plantation from shore to shore. In natural beauty, however, it will not compare with Martinique. It is by no means picturesquely beautiful, like most of the West Indian islands, being quite devoid of their thick tropical verdure. Nature is here absolutely beaten out of the field by excessive cultivation. Thirty thousand acres of sugar-cane are cut annually, yielding, according to late statistics, about seventy thousand hogsheads of sugar. We are sorry to add that there are twenty-three rum distilleries on the island, which do pecuniarily a thriving business. "The poorest molasses makes the best rum," said an experienced manager to us. He might well have added that it is also the poorest use to which it could be put. This spirit, like all produced in the West Indies, is called Jamaica rum, and though a certain amount of it is still shipped to the coast of Africa, the return cargoes no longer consist of kidnapped negroes. The article known as New England rum, still manufactured in the neighborhood of Boston, has always disputed the African market, so to speak, with the product of these islands. Rum is the bane of Africa, just as opium is of China, the former thrust upon the native races by Americans, the latter upon the Chinese by English merchants, backed by the British government. Events follow each other so swiftly in modern times as to become half forgotten by contemporary people, but there are those among us who remember when China as a nation tried to stop the importation of the deadly drug yielded by the poppy fields of India, whereupon England forced the article upon her at the point of the bayonet.

Bridgetown is situated at the west end of the island on the open roadstead of Carlisle Bay, and has a population of over twenty-five thousand. Barbadoes lies about eighty miles to the windward of St. Vincent, its nearest neighbor, and is separated from Europe by four thousand miles of the Atlantic Ocean. It is comparatively removed from the chain formed by the Windward Isles, its situation being so isolated that it remained almost unnoticed until a century had passed after Columbus's first discovery in these waters. The area of the British possessions in the West Indies is about one seventh of the islands. It is often stated that Barbadoes is nearly as large as the Isle of Wight, but the fact is, it exceeds that island in superficial area, being a little over fifty-five miles in circumference. The reader will perhaps remember that it was here Addison laid the scene of his touching story of "Inkle and Yarico," published so many years ago in the "Spectator."

Though it is not particularly well laid out, Bridgetown makes a very pleasing picture, as a whole, when seen from the harbor. Here and there a busy windmill is mixed with tall and verdant tropical trees, backed by far-reaching fields of yellow sugar-cane, together with low, sloping hills. The buildings are mostly of stone, or coral rock, and the town follows the graceful curve of the bay. The streets are macadamized and lighted with gas, but are far too narrow for business purposes. The island is about twenty-one miles long and between fourteen and fifteen broad, the shores being nearly inclosed in a cordon of coral reefs, some of which extend for two or three miles seaward, demanding of navigators the greatest care on seeking a landing, though the course into the roads to a suitable anchorage is carefully buoyed.

Barbadoes was originally settled by the Portuguese, who here found the branches of a certain forest tree covered with hair-like hanging moss, from whence its somewhat peculiar name, Barbadoes, or the "bearded place," is supposed to have been derived. Probably this was the Indian fig-tree, still found here, and which lives for many centuries, growing to enormous proportions. In India, Ceylon, and elsewhere in Asia, it is held sacred. The author has seen one of these trees at Kandy, in the island of Ceylon, under which sacred rites have taken place constantly for a thousand years or more, and whose widespread branches could shelter five hundred people from the heat of the sun. It stands close by the famous old Buddhist temple wherein is preserved the tooth of the prophet, and before which devout Indians prostrate themselves daily, coming from long distances to do so. Indeed, Kandy is the Mecca of Ceylon.

A good share of even the reading public of England would be puzzled to tell an inquirer exactly where Barbadoes is situated, while most of those who have any idea about it have gained such knowledge as they possess from Captain Marryat's clever novel of "Peter Simple," where the account is, to be sure, meagre enough. Still later, those who have read Anthony Trollope's "West Indies and the Spanish Main" have got from the flippant pages of that book some idea of the island, though it is a very disagreeable example of Trollope's pedantic style.

"Barbadoes? Barbadoes?" said a society man to the writer of these pages, in all seriousness, just as he was about to sail from New York, "that's on the coast of Africa, is it not?" "Oh, no," was the reply, "it is one of the islands of the Lesser Antilles."

"Where are the Antilles, pray?" "You must surely know."

"But I do not, nevertheless; haven't the remotest idea. Fact is, geography never was one of my strong points."

With which remark we silently agreed, and yet our friend is reckoned to be a fairly educated, cultured person, as these expressions are commonly used. Probably he represents the average geographical knowledge of one half the people to be met with in miscellaneous society.

This is the first English possession where the sugarcane was planted, and is one of the most ancient colonies of Great Britain. It bears no resemblance to the other islands in these waters, that is, topographically, nor, indeed, in the character of its population, being entirely English. The place might be a bit taken out of any shire town of the British home island, were it only a little more cleanly and less unsavory; still it is more English than West Indian. The manners and customs are all similar to those of the people of that nationality; the negroes, and their descendants of mixed blood, speak the same tongue as the denizens of St. Giles, London. The island has often been called "Little England." There is no reliable history of Barbadoes before the period when Great Britain took possession of it, some two hundred and sixty years ago. Government House is a rather plain but pretentious dwelling, where the governor has his official and domestic residence. In its rear there is a garden, often spoken of by visitors, which is beautified by some of the choicest trees and shrubs of this latitude. It is really surprising how much a refined taste and skillful gardening can accomplish in so circumscribed a space.

Barbadoes is somewhat remarkable as producing a variety of minerals; among which are coal, manganese, iron, kaolin, and yellow ochre. There are also one or two localities on the island where a flow of petroleum is found, of which some use is made. It is called Barbadoes tar, and were the supply sufficient to warrant the use of refining machinery, it would undoubtedly produce a good burning fluid. There is a "burning well," situated in what is known as the Scotland District, where the water emerging from the earth forms a pool, which is kept in a state of ebullition from the inflammable air or gas which passes through it. This gas, when lighted by a match, burns freely until extinguished by artificial means, not rising in large enough quantities to make a great flame, but still sufficient to create the effect of burning water, and forming quite a curiosity.

There are no mountains on the island, but the land is undulating, and broken into hills and dales; one elevation, known as Mount Hillaby, reaches a thousand feet and more above the level of tide waters.

One of the most serious pests ever known at Barbadoes was the introduction of ants, by slave-ships from Africa. No expedient of human ingenuity served to rid the place of their destructive presence, and it was at one time seriously proposed to abandon the island on this account. After a certain period nature came to the rescue. She does all things royally, and the hurricane of 1780 completely annihilated the vermin. Verily, it was appropriate to call Barbadoes in those days the Antilles! It appears that there is no affliction quite unmixed with good, and that we must put a certain degree of faith in the law of compensation, however great the seeming evil under which we suffer. To our limited power of comprehension, a destructive hurricane does seem an extreme resort by which to crush out an insect pest. The query might even arise, with some minds, whether the cure was not worse than the disorder.

The exports from the island consist almost wholly of molasses, sugar, and rum, products of the cane, which grows all over the place, in every nook and corner, from hilltop to water's edge. The annual export, as already intimated, is considerably over sixty thousand hogsheads. Sugar cannot, however, be called king of any one section, since half of the amount manufactured in the whole world is the product of the beet root, the growth of which is liberally subsidized by more than one European government, in order to foster local industry. Like St. Thomas, this island has been almost denuded of its forest growth, and is occasionally liable, as we have seen, to destructive hurricanes.

Bridgetown is a place of considerable progress, having several benevolent and educational institutions; it also possesses railway, telephone, and telegraphic service. Its export trade aggregates over seven million dollars per annum, to accommodate which amount of commerce causes a busy scene nearly all the time in the harbor. The steam railway referred to connects the capital with the Parish of St. Andrews, twenty-one miles away on the other side of the island, its terminus being at the thrifty little town of Bathsheba, a popular resort, which is noted for its fine beach and excellent sea bathing.

The cathedral is consecrated to the established religion of the Church of England, and is a picturesque, time-worn building, surrounded, after the style of rural England, by a quaint old graveyard, the monuments and slabs of which are gray and moss-grown, some of them bearing dates of the earlier portion of the sixteenth century. This spot forms a very lovely, peaceful picture, where the graves are shaded by tree-ferns and stately palms. Somehow one cannot but miss the tall, slim cypress, which to the European and American eye seems so especially appropriate to such a spot. There were clusters of low-growing mignonette, which gave out a faint perfume exactly suited to the solemn shades which prevailed, and here and there bits of ground enameled with blue-eyed violets. The walls of the inside of the church are covered with memorial tablets, and there is an organ of great power and sweetness of tone.

The "Ice House," so called, at Bridgetown is a popular resort, which everybody visits who comes to Barbadoes. Here one can find files of all the latest American and European papers, an excellent café, with drinks and refreshments of every conceivable character, and can purchase almost any desired article from a toothpick to a set of parlor furniture. It is a public library, an exchange, a "Bon Marché," and an artificial ice manufactory, all combined. Strangers naturally make it a place of rendezvous. It seemed to command rather more of the average citizen's attention than did legitimate business, and one is forced to admit that although the drinks which were so generously dispensed were cool and appetizing, they were also very potent. It was observed that some individuals, who came into the hospitable doors rather sober and dejected in expression of features, were apt to go out just a little jolly.

The Ice House is an institution of these islands, to be found at St. Thomas, Demerara, and Trinidad, as well as at Barbadoes. Havana has a similar retreat, but calls it a café, situated on the Paseo, near the Tacon Theatre.

The population of the island amounts to about one hundred and seventy-two thousand,—the census of 1881 showed it to be a trifle less than this,—giving the remarkable density of one thousand and more persons to the square mile, thus forming an immense human beehive. It is the only one of the West Indian islands from which a certain amount of emigration is necessary annually. The large negro population makes labor almost incredibly cheap, field-hands on the plantations being paid only one shilling per day; and yet, so ardent is their love of home—and the island is home to them—that only a few can be induced to leave it in search of better wages. When it is remembered that the State of Massachusetts, which is considered to be one of the most thickly populated sections of the United States, contains but two hundred and twenty persons to the square mile, the fact that this West Indian island supports over one thousand inhabitants in the same average space will be more fully appreciated. Notwithstanding this crowded state of the population, we were intelligently informed that while petty offenses are common, there is a marked absence of serious crimes.

One sees few if any signs of poverty here. It is a land of sugar-cane, yams, and sweet potatoes, very prolific, and very easily tilled. Some of the most prosperous men on the island are colored planters, who own their large establishments, though born slaves, perhaps on the very ground they now own. They have by strict economy and industry saved money enough to make a fair beginning, and in the course of years have gradually acquired wealth. One plantation, owned by a colored man, born of slave parents, was pointed out to us, with the information that it was worth twenty thousand pounds sterling, and that its last year's crop yielded over three hundred hogsheads of sugar, besides a considerable quantity of molasses.

England maintains at heavy expense a military depot here, from which to draw under certain circumstances. There is no local necessity for supporting such a force. Georgetown is a busy place. Being the most seaward of the West Indies, it has become the chief port of call for ships navigating these seas. The Caribbees are divided by geographers into the Windward and Leeward islands, in accordance with the direction in which they lie with regard to the prevailing winds. They are in very deep water, the neighboring sea having a mean depth of fifteen hundred fathoms. Being so far eastward, Barbadoes enjoys an exceptionally equable climate, and it is claimed for it that it has a lower thermometer than any other West Indian island. Its latitude is 13° 4' north, longitude 59° 37' west, within eight hundred miles of the equator. The prevailing wind blows from the northeast, over the broad, unobstructed Atlantic, rendering the evenings almost always delightfully cool, tempered by this grateful tonic breath of the ocean.

Trafalgar Square, Bridgetown, contains a handsome fountain, and a bronze statue of Nelson which, as a work of art, is simply atrocious. From this broad, open square the tramway cars start, and it also forms a general business centre.

The home government supports, besides its other troops, a regiment of negroes uniformed as Zouaves and officered by white men. The police of Bridgetown are also colored men. Slavery was abolished here in 1833. Everything is so thoroughly English, that only the temperature, together with the vegetation, tells the story of latitude and longitude. The soil has been so closely cultivated as to have become partially exhausted, and this is the only West Indian island, if we are correctly informed, where artificial enrichment is considered necessary to stimulate the native soil, or where it has ever been freely used. "I question," said an intelligent planter to us, "whether we should not be better off to-day, if we had not so overstimulated, in fact, burned out, our land with guano and phosphates." These are to the ground like intoxicants to human beings,—if over-indulged in they are fatal, and even the partial use is of questionable advantage. The Chinese and Japanese apply only domestic refuse in their fields as a manure, and no people obtain such grand results as they do in agriculture. They know nothing of patent preparations employed for such purposes, and yet will render a spot of ground profitable which a European would look upon as absolutely not worth cultivating.

In any direction from Bridgetown going inland, miles upon miles of plantations are seen bearing the bright green sugar-cane, turning to yellow as it ripens, and giving splendid promise for the harvest. Here and there are grouped a low cluster of cabins, which form the quarters of the negroes attached to the plantation, while close at hand the tall chimney of the sugar mill looms over the surrounding foliage. A little one side, shaded by some palms, is the planter's neat and attractive residence, painted snow white, in contrast to the deep greenery surrounding it, and having a few flower beds in its front.

The Marine Hotel, which is admirably situated on a rocky point at Hastings, three hundred feet above the beach, is about a league from the city, and forms a favorite resort for the townspeople. The house is capable of accommodating three hundred guests at a time. Its spacious piazzas fronting the ocean are constantly fanned by the northeast trades from October to March. Some New York families regard the place as a choice winter resort, the thermometer rarely indicating over 80° Fahr., or falling below 70°. This suburb of Hastings is the location of the army barracks, where a broad plain affords admirable space for drill and military manœuvres. There is a monument at Hastings, raised to the memory of the victims of the hurricane of 1831, which seems to be rather unpleasantly suggestive of future possibilities. Near at hand is a well-arranged mile racecourse, a spot very dear to the army officers, where during the racing season any amount of money is lost and won. There seems to be something in this tropical climate which incites to all sorts of gambling, and the habit among the people is so common as to be looked upon with great leniency. Just so, at some of the summer resorts of the south of France, Italy, and Germany, ladies or gentlemen will frankly say, "I am going to the Casino for a little gambling, but will be back again by and by."

The roads in the vicinity of Bridgetown are admirably kept, all being macadamized, but the dust which rises from the pulverized coral rock is nearly blinding, and together with the reflection caused by the sun on the snow white roads proves very trying to the eyesight. The dust and glare are serious drawbacks to the enjoyment of these environs.

As we have said, hurricanes have proved very fatal at Barbadoes. In 1780, four thousand persons were swept out of existence in a few hours by the irresistible fury of a tornado. So late as 1831, the loss of life by a similar visitation was over two thousand, while the loss of property aggregated some two million pounds sterling. The experience has not, however, been so severe here as at several of the other islands. At the time of the hurricane just referred to, Barbadoes was covered with a coat of sulphurous ashes nearly an inch thick, which was afterwards found to have come from the island of St. Vincent, where what is called Brimstone Mountain burst forth in flames and laid that island also in ashes. It is interesting to note that there should have been such intimate relationship shown between a great atmospheric disturbance like a hurricane and an underground agitation as evinced by the eruption of a volcano.

It should be mentioned that these hurricanes have never been known to pass a certain limit north or south, their ravages having always been confined between the eleventh and twenty-first degrees of north latitude.

It appears that some curious Carib implements were found not long since just below the surface of the earth on the south shore of the bay, which are to be forwarded to the British Museum, London. These were of hard stone, and were thought by the finders to have been used by the aborigines to fell trees. Some were thick shells, doubtless employed by the Indians in the rude cultivation of maize, grown here four or five hundred years ago. It was said that these stone implements resembled those which have been found from time to time in Norway and Sweden. If this is correct, it is an important fact for antiquarians to base a theory upon. Some scientists believe that there was, in prehistoric times, an intimate relationship between Scandinavia and the continent of America.

Though there are several public schools in Bridgetown, both primary and advanced, we were somehow impressed with the idea that education for the common people was not fostered in a manner worthy of a British colony of so long standing; but this is the impression of a casual observer only. There is a college situated ten or twelve miles from the city, founded by Sir Christopher Codrington, which has achieved a high reputation as an educational institution in its chosen field of operation. It is a large structure of white stone, well-arranged, and is, as we were told, consistent with the spirit of the times. It has the dignity of ripened experience, having been opened in 1744. The professors are from Europe. A delicious fresh water spring rises to the surface of the land just below the cliff, at Codrington College, a blessing which people who live in the tropics know how to appreciate. There is also at Bridgetown what is known as Harrison's College, which, however, is simply a high school devoted exclusively to girls.

The island is not exempt from occasional prevalence of tropical fevers, but may be considered a healthy resort upon the whole. Leprosy is not unknown among the lower classes, and elephantiasis is frequently to be met with. This disease is known in the West Indies as the "Barbadoes Leg." Sometimes a native may be seen on the streets with one of his legs swollen to the size of his body. There is no known cure for this disease except the surgeon's knife, and the removal of the victim from the region where it first developed itself. The author has seen terrible cases of elephantiasis among the natives of the Samoan group of islands, where this strange and unaccountable disease is thought to have reached its most extreme and repulsive development. Foreigners are seldom if ever afflicted with it, either in the West Indies or the South Pacific.

We are to sail to-night. A few passengers and a quantity of freight have been landed, while some heavy merchandise has been received on board, designed for continental ports to the southward. The afternoon shadows lengthen upon the shore, and the sunset hour, so brief in this latitude, approaches. The traveler who has learned to love the lingering twilight of the north misses these most charming hours when in equatorial regions, but as the goddess of night wraps her sombre mantle about her, it is so superbly decked with diamond stars that the departed daylight is hardly regretted. It is like the prompter's ringing up of the curtain upon a complete theatrical scene; the glory of the tropical sky bursts at once upon the vision in all its completeness, its burning constellations, its solitaire brilliants, its depth of azure, and its mysterious Milky Way.

While sitting under the awning upon deck, watching the gentle swaying palms and tall fern-trees, listening to the low drone of busy life in the town, and breathing the sweet exhalations of tropical fruits and flowers, a trance-like sensation suffuses the brain. Is this the dolce far niente of the Italians, the sweet do-nothing of the tropics? To us, however defined, it was a waking dream of sensuous delight, of entire content. How far away sounds the noise of the steam-winch, the sharp chafing of the iron pulleys, the prompt orders of the officer of the deck, the swinging of the ponderous yards, the rattling of the anchor chain as it comes in through the hawse hole, while the ship gradually loses her hold upon the land. With half closed eyes we scarcely heard these many significant sounds, but floated peacefully on in an Eden of fancy, quietly leaving Carlisle Bay far behind.

Our course was to the southward, while everything, high and low, was bathed in a flood of shimmering moonlight, the magic alchemy of the sky, whose influence etherealizes all upon which it rests.

CHAPTER IV.

Curious Ocean Experiences.—The Delicate Nautilus.—Flying-Fish.—The Southern Cross.—Speaking a Ship at Sea.—Scientific Navigation.—South America as a Whole.—Fauna and Flora.—Natural Resources of a Wonderful Land.—Rivers, Plains, and Mountain Ranges.—Aboriginal Tribes.—Population.—Political Divisions.—Civil Wars.—Weakness of South American States.

The sudden appearance of a school of flying-fish gliding swiftly through the air for six or eight rods just above the rippling waves, and then sinking from sight; the sportive escort of half a hundred slate-colored porpoises, leaping high out of the water on either bow of the ship only to plunge back again, describing graceful curves; the constant presence of that sullen tiger of the ocean, the voracious, man-eating shark, betrayed by its dorsal fin showing above the surface of the sea; the sporting of mammoth whales, sending columns of water high in air from their blowholes, and lashing the waves playfully with their broad-spread tails, are events at sea too commonplace to comment upon in detail, though they tend to while away the inevitable monotony of a long voyage.

Speaking of flying-fish, there is more in the flying capacity of this little creature than is generally admitted, else why has it wings on the forward part of its body, each measuring seven inches in length? If designed only for fins, they are altogether out of proportion to the rest of its body. They are manifestly intended for just the use to which the creature puts them. One was brought to us by a seaman; how it got on board we know not, but it measured eleven inches from the nose to the tip of the tail fin, and was in shape and size very much like a small mackerel. After leaving Barbadoes, we got into what sailors call the flying-fish latitudes, where they appear constantly in their low, rapid flight, sometimes singly, but oftener in small schools of a score or more, creating flashes of silvery-blue lustre. The most careful observation could detect no vibration of the long, extended fins; the tiny fish sailed, as it were, upon the wind, the flight of the giant albatross in miniature.

One afternoon, when the sea was scarcely dimpled by the soft trade wind, we came suddenly upon myriads of that little fairy of the ocean, the gossamer nautilus, with its Greek galleon shape, and as frail, apparently, as a spider's web. What a gondola it would make for Queen Mab! How delicate and transparent it is, while radiating prismatic colors! A touch might dismember it, yet what a daring navigator, floating confidently upon the sea where the depth is a thousand fathoms, liable at any moment to be changed into raging billows by an angry storm! How minute the vitality of this graceful atom, a creature whose existence is perhaps for only a single day; yet how grand and limitless the system of life and creation of which it is so humble a representative! Sailors call these frail marine creatures Portuguese men-of-war. Possessing some singular facility for doing so, if they are disturbed, they quickly furl their sails and sink below the surface of the buoyant waves into deep water, the home of the octopus, the squid, and the voracious shark. Did they, one is led to query, navigate these seas after this fashion before the Northmen came across the ocean, and before Columbus landed at San Salvador? At night the glory of the southern hemisphere, as revealed in new constellations and brighter stars brought into view, was observed with keenest interest,—"Everlasting Night, with her star diadems, with her silence, and her verities." The phosphorescence of the sea, with its scintillations of brilliant light, its ripples of liquid fire, the crest of each wave a flaming cascade, was a charming phenomenon one never tired of watching. If it be the combination of millions and billions of animalculæ which thus illumines the waters, then these infinitesimal creatures are the fireflies of the ocean, as the cucuios, that fairy torch-bearer, is of the land. Gliding on the magic mirror of the South Atlantic, in which the combined glory of the sky was reflected with singular clearness, it seemed as though we were sailing over a starry world below.

While observing the moon in its beautiful series of changes, lighting our way by its chaste effulgence night after night, it was difficult to realize that it shines entirely by the light which it borrows from the sun; but it was easy to believe the simpler fact, that of all the countless hosts of the celestial bodies, she is our nearest neighbor. "An eighteen-foot telescope reveals to the human eye over forty million stars," said Captain Baker, as we stood together gazing at the luminous heavens. "And if we entertain the generally accepted idea," he continued, "we must believe that each one of that enormous aggregate of stars is the centre of a solar system similar to our own." The known facts relating to the stars, like stellar distances, are almost incomprehensible.

One cannot but realize that there is always a certain amount of sentiment wasted on the constellation known as the Southern Cross by passengers bound to the lands and seas over which it hangs. Orion or the Pleiades, either of them, is infinitely superior in point of brilliancy, symmetry, and individuality. A lively imagination is necessary to endow this irregular cluster of stars with any real resemblance to the Christian emblem for which it is named. It serves the navigator in the southern hemisphere, in part, the same purpose which the north star does in our portion of the globe, and there our own respect for it as a constellation ends. Much poetic talent has been expended for ages to idealize the Southern Cross, which is, alas! no cross at all. We have seen a person unfamiliar with the locality of this constellation strive long and patiently, but in vain, to find it. It should be remembered that two prominent stars in Centaurus point directly to it. The one furthest from the so called cross is held to be the fixed star nearest to the earth, but its distance from us is twenty thousand times farther than that of the sun.

We have never yet met a person, looking upon this cluster of the heavens for the first time, who did not frankly express his disappointment. Anticipation and fruition are oftenest at antipodes.

The graceful marine birds which follow the ship, day after day, darting hither and thither with arrowy swiftness, lured by the occasional refuse thrown from on board, would be seriously missed were they to leave us. Watching their aerial movements and untiring power of wing, while listening to their sharp complaining cries, is a source of constant amusement. Even rough weather and a raging sea, if not accompanied by too serious a storm, is sometimes welcome, serving to awaken the ship from its dull propriety, and to put officers, crew, and passengers upon their mettle. To speak a strange vessel at sea is always interesting. If it is a steamer, a long, black wake of smoke hanging among the clouds at the horizon betrays her proximity long before the hull is sighted. All eyes are on the watch until she comes clearly within the line of vision, gradually increasing in size and distinctness of outline, until presently the spars and rigging are minutely delineated. Then speculation is rife as to whence she comes and where she is going. By and by the two ships approach so near that signal flags can be read, and the captains talk with each other, exchanging names, whither bound, and so on. Then each commander dips his flag in compliment to the other, and the ships rapidly separate. All of this is commonplace enough, but serves to while away an hour, and insures a report of our progress and safety at the date of meeting, when the stranger reaches his port of destination.

We have spoken of the pleasure experienced at sea in watching intelligently the various phases of the moon. The subject is a prolific one; a whole chapter might be written upon it.

It is perhaps hardly realized by the average landsman, and indeed by few who constantly cross the ocean, with their thoughts and interests absorbed by the many attractive novelties of the ocean, how important a part this great luminary plays in the navigation of a ship. It is to the intelligent and observant mariner the never-failing watch of the sky, the stars performing the part of hands to designate the proper figure upon the dial. If there is occasion to doubt the correctness of his chronometer, the captain of the ship can verify its figures or correct them by this planet. Every minute that the chronometer is wrong, assuming that it be so, may put him fifteen miles out of his reckoning, which, under some circumstances, might prove to be a fatal error, even leading to the loss of his ship and all on board. To find his precise location upon the ocean, the navigator requires both Greenwich time and local meridian time, the latter obtained by the sun on shipboard, exactly at midday. To get Greenwich time by lunar observation, the captain, for example, finds that the moon is three degrees from the star Regulus. By referring to his nautical almanac he sees recorded there the Greenwich time at which the moon was three degrees from that particular star. He then compares his chronometer with these figures, and either confirms or corrects its indication. It is interesting to the traveler to observe and understand these important resources, which science has brought to bear in perfecting his safety on the ocean, promoting the interests of commerce, and in aid of correct navigation. The experienced captain of a ship now lays his course as surely by compass, after satisfying himself by these various means of his exact position, as though the point of his destination was straight before him all the while, and visible from the pilot house.

How indescribable is the grandeur of these serene nights on the ocean, fanned by the somnolent trade winds; a little lonely, perhaps, but so blessed with the hallowed benediction of the moonlight, so gorgeously decorated by the glittering images of the studded heavens, so sweet and pure and fragrant is the breath of the sleeping wind! If one listens intently, there seems to come to the senses a whispering of the waves, as though the sea in confidence would tell its secrets to a willing ear.

The ship heads almost due south after leaving Barbadoes, when her destination is, as in our case, Pará, twelve hundred miles away. On this course we encounter the equatorial current, which runs northward at a rate of two miles in an hour, and at some points reaches a much higher rate of speed.

As eternal vigilance is the price of liberty, so eternal scrubbing is the price of cleanliness on shipboard. The deck hands are at it from five o'clock in the morning until sunset. Our good ship looks as if she had just come out of dock. Last night's gale, which in its angry turmoil tossed us about so recklessly, covered her with a saline, sticky deposit; but with the rising of the sun all this disappears as if by magic. The many brass mountings shine with dazzling lustre, and the white paint contrasts with the well-tarred cordage which forms the standing rigging.

While the ship pursues her course through the far-reaching ocean, let us sketch in outline the general characteristics of South America, whither we are bound.

It is a country containing twice the area, though not quite one half the amount of population, of the United States, a land which, though now presenting nearly all phases of civilization, was four centuries ago mostly inhabited by nomadic tribes of savages, who knew nothing of the horse, the ox, or the sheep, which to-day form so great and important a source of its wealth, and where wheat, its prevailing staple, was also unknown. It is a land overflowing with native riches, which possesses an unlimited capacity of production, and whose large and increasing population requires just such domestic supplies as we of the north can profitably furnish. The important treaty of reciprocity, so lately arranged between the giant province of Brazil—or rather we should say the Republic of Brazil—and our own country, is already developing new and increasing channels of trade for our shippers and producers of the great staples, as well as throwing open to us a new nation of consumers for our special articles of manufacture. Facts speak louder than words. On the voyage in which the author sailed in the Vigilancia, she took over twenty thousand barrels of flour to Brazil from the United States, and would have taken more had her capacity admitted. Every foot of space on board was engaged for the return voyage, twelve thousand bags of coffee being shipped from Rio Janeiro alone, besides nearly as large a consignment of coffee from Santos, in the same republic. The great mutual benefit which must accrue from this friendly compact with an enterprising foreign country can hardly be overestimated. These considerations lead to a community of interests, which will grow by every reasonable means of familiarizing the people of the two countries with each other. Hence the possible and practical value of such a work as the one in hand.

By briefly consulting one of the many cheap and excellent maps of the western hemisphere, the patient reader will be enabled to follow the route taken by the author with increased interest and a clearer understanding.

It is surprising, in conversing with otherwise intelligent and well-informed people, to find how few there are, comparatively speaking, who have any fixed and clear idea relative to so large a portion of the habitable globe as South America. The average individual seems to know less of the gigantic river Amazon than he does of the mysterious Nile, and is less familiar with that grand, far-reaching water-way, the Plate, than he is with the sacred Ganges; yet one can ride from Buenos Ayres in the Argentine Republic, across the wild pampas, to the base of the Andes in a Pullman palace car. There is no part of the globe concerning which so little is written, and no other portion which is not more sought by travelers; in short, it is less known to the average North American than New Zealand or Australia.

The vast peninsula which we call South America is connected with our own part of the continent by the Isthmus of Panama and the territory designated as Central America. Its configuration is triangular, and exhibits in many respects a strong similarity to the continents of Africa and Australia, if the latter gigantic island may be called a continent. It extends north and south nearly five thousand miles, or from latitude 12° 30' north to Cape Horn in latitude 55° 59' south. Its greatest width from east to west is a little over three thousand miles, and its area, according to the best authorities, is nearly seven million square miles. Three fourths of this country lie in the torrid zone, though as a whole it has every variety of climate, from equatorial heat to the biting frosts of alpine peaks. Its widespread surface consists principally of three immense plains, watered respectively by the Amazon, Plate, and Orinoco rivers. This spacious country has a coast line of over sixteen thousand miles on the two great oceans, with comparatively few indentures, headlands, or bays, though at the extreme south it consists of a maze of countless small islands, capes, and promontories, of which Cape Horn forms the outermost point.

The Cordillera of the Andes extends through the whole length of this giant peninsula, from the Strait of Magellan to the Isthmus of Panama, a distance of forty-five hundred miles, forming one of the most remarkable physical features of the globe, and presenting the highest mountains on its surface, except those of the snowy Himalayas which separate India from Thibet. The principal range of the Andes runs nearly parallel with the Pacific coast, at an average distance of about one hundred miles from it, and contains several active volcanoes. If we were to believe a late school geography, published in London, Cotopaxi, one famous peak of this Andean range, throws up flames three thousand feet above the brink of its crater, which is eighteen thousand feet above tide water; but to be on the safe side, let us reduce these extraordinary figures at least one half, as regards the eruptive power of Cotopaxi. This mountain chain, near the border between Chili and Peru, divides into two branches, the principal one still called the Cordillera of the Andes, and the other, nearer to the ocean, the Cordillera de la Costa. Between these ranges, about three thousand feet above the sea, is a vast table-land with an area larger than that of France.

It will be observed that we are dealing with a country which, like our own, is one of magnificent distances. It is difficult for the nations of the old world, where the population is hived together in such circumscribed space, to realize the geographical extent of the American continent. When informed that it required six days and nights, at express speed upon well-equipped railroads, to cross the United States from ocean to ocean, a certain editor in London doubted the statement. Outside of Her Majesty's dominions, the average Englishman has only superficial ideas of geography. The frequent blunders of some British newspapers in these matters are simply ridiculous.

It should be understood that South America is a land of plains as well as of lofty mountains, having the llanos of the Orinoco region, the selvas of the Amazon, and the pampas of the Argentine Republic. The llanos are composed of a region about as large as the New England States, so level that the motion of the rivers can hardly be discerned. The selvas are for the most part vast unbroken forests, in which giant trees, thick undergrowth, and entwining creepers combine to form a nearly impenetrable region. The pampas lie between the Andes and the Atlantic Ocean, stretching southward from northern Brazil to southern Patagonia, affording grass sufficient to feed innumerable herds of wild cattle, but at the extreme south the country sinks into half overflowed marshes and lagoons, resembling the glades and savannahs of Florida.

The largest river in the world, namely, the Amazon, rises in the Peruvian Andes, within sixty miles of the Pacific Ocean, and flows thousands of miles in a general east-northeast direction, finally emptying into the Atlantic Ocean. This unequaled river course is navigable for over two thousand miles from its mouth, which is situated on the equatorial line, where its outflow is partially impeded by the island of Marajo, a nearly round formation, one hundred and fifty miles or thereabouts in diameter. This remarkable island divides the river's outlet into two passages, the largest of which is a hundred and fifty miles in width, forming an estuary of extraordinary dimensions. The Amazon has twelve tributaries, each one of which is a thousand miles in length, not to count its hundreds of smaller ones, while the main stream affords water communication from the Atlantic Ocean to near the foothills of the Andes.

We are simply stating a series of condensed geographical facts, from which the intelligent reader can form his own deductions as regards the undeveloped possibilities of this great southland.

Our own mammoth river, the Mississippi, is a comparatively shallow stream, with a shifting channel and dangerous sandbanks, which impede navigation throughout the most of its course; while the Amazon shows an average depth of over one hundred feet for the first thousand miles of its flow from the Atlantic, forming inland seas in many places, so spacious that the opposite banks are not within sight of each other. It is computed by good authority that this river, with its numerous affluents, forms a system of navigable water twenty-four thousand miles in length! There are comparatively few towns or settlements of any importance on the banks of the Amazon, which flows mostly through a dense, unpeopled evergreen forest, not absolutely without human beings, but for very long distances nearly so. Wild animals, anacondas and other reptiles, together with many varieties of birds and numerous tribes of monkeys, make up the animal life. Now and again a settlement of European colonists is found, or a rude Indian village is seen near the banks, but they are few and far between. There are occasional regions of low, marshy ground, which are malarious at certain seasons, but the average country is salubrious, and capable of supporting a population of millions.

This is only one of the large rivers of South America; there are many others of grand proportions. The Plate comes next to it in magnitude, having a length of two thousand miles, and being navigable for one half the distance from its mouth at all seasons. It is over sixty miles wide at Montevideo, and is therefore the widest known river. Like the great stream already described, it traverses a country remarkable for the fertility of its soil, but very thinly settled. The Plate carries to the ocean four fifths as much, in volume of water, as does the mighty Amazon, the watershed drained by it exceeding a million and a half square miles. One can only conceive of the true magnitude of such figures when applied to the land by comparing the number of square miles contained in any one European nation, or any dozen of our own States.

Juan Diaz de Solis discovered the estuary of the Plate in 1508, and believed it at that time to be a gulf, but on a second voyage from Europe, in 1516, he ascended the river a considerable distance, and called it Mar Dulce, on account of the character of the waters. Unfortunately, this intelligent discoverer was killed by Indian arrows on attempting to land at a certain point. For a considerable period the river was called after him, and we think should have continued to be so, but its name was changed to the Plate on account of the conspicuous silver ornaments worn in great profusion by the natives, which they freely exchanged for European gewgaws.

Though nearly four hundred years have passed since its discovery, a large portion of the country still remains comparatively unexplored, much of it being a wilderness sparsely inhabited by Indians, many of whom are without a vestige of civilization. We know as little of portions of the continent as we do of Central Africa, yet there is no section of the globe which suggests a greater degree of physical interest, or which would respond more readily and profitably to intelligent effort at development. When the Spaniards first came to South America, it was only in Peru, the land of the Incas, that they found natives who had made any substantial progress in civilization. The earliest history extant relating to this region of the globe is that of the Incas, a warlike race of sun-worshipers, who possessed enormous treasures of gold and silver, and who erected magnificent temples enriched with the precious metals. It was the almost fabulous wealth of the Incas that led to their destruction, tempting the cupidity of the avaricious Spaniards, and causing them to institute a system of cruelty, oppression, robbery, and bloodshed which finally obliterated an entire people from the face of the globe. The empire of the Incas extended from Quito, in Ecuador (on the equator), to the river Monté in Chili, and eastward to the Andes. The romantic career of Pizarro and Cortez is familiar to us all. There are few palliating circumstances connected with the advent of the Spaniards, either here, in the West Indies, or in Mexico. The actual motive which prompted their invasion of this foreign soil was to search for mineral treasures, though policy led them to cover their bloodthirsty deeds with a pretense of religious zeal. Their first acts were reckless, cruel, and sanguinary, followed by a systematic oppression of the native races which was an outrage upon humanity. The world at large profited little by the extortion and golden harvest reaped by Spain, to realize which she adopted a policy of extermination, both in Peru and in Mexico; but let it be remembered that her own national ruin was brought about with poetical justice by the very excess of her ill-gotten, blood-stained treasures. The Spanish historians tell us, as an evidence of the persistent bravery of their ancestors, that it took them eight hundred years of constant warfare to wrest Spain from her Moorish conquerors. It is for us to remind them how brief has been the continuance of their glory, how rapid their decline from splendid continental and colonial possessions to their present condition, that of the weakest and most insignificant power in Europe.

There are localities which have been visited by adventurous explorers, especially in Chili and Peru, where ruins have been found, and various monuments of antiquity examined, of vast interest to archæologists, but of which scarcely more than their mere existence is recorded. Some of these ruins are believed to antedate by centuries the period of the Incas, and are supposed to be the remains of tribes which, judging from their pottery and other domestic utensils, were possibly of Asiatic origin. Comparatively few travelers have visited Lake Titicaca, in the Peruvian Andes, with its sacred islands and mysterious ruins, from whence the Incas dated their mythical origin. The substantial remains of some grand temples are still to be seen on the islands near the borders of the lake, the decaying masonry decked here and there with a wild growth of hardy cactus. This remarkable body of water, Lake Titicaca, in the mountain range of Peru, lies more than twelve thousand feet above the level of the Pacific; yet it never freezes, and its average depth is given as six hundred feet, representing an immense body of water. It covers an area of four thousand square miles, which is about four fifths as large as our own Lake Ontario, the average depth being about the same. Titicaca is the largest lake in the world occupying so elevated a site.

The population of South America is mostly to be found on the coast, and is thought to be about thirty-five millions, though, all things considered, we are disposed to believe this an overestimate. There are tribes far inland who are not brought in contact with civilization at all, and whose numbers are not known. The magnitude and density of the forests are remarkable; they cover, it is intelligently stated, nearly two thirds of the country. The vegetation, in its various forms, is rich beyond comparison. Professor Agassiz, who explored the valley of the Amazon under the most favorable auspices, tells us that he found within an area of half a mile square over one hundred species of trees, among which were nearly all of the choicest cabinet and dye woods known to the tropics, besides others suitable for shipbuilding. Some of these trees are remarkable for their gigantic size, others for their beauty of form, and still others are valuable for their gums and resins. Of the latter, the india-rubber tree is the most prolific and important known to commerce. From Brazil comes four fifths of the world's supply of the raw material of rubber.

The great fertility of the soil generally would seem to militate against the true progress of the people of South America, absolutely discouraging, rather than stimulating national industry. One cannot but contrast the state of affairs in this respect with that of North America, where the soil is so much less productive, and where the climate is so universally rigorous. The deduction is inevitable that, to find man at his best, we must observe him where his skill, energy, and perseverance are all required to achieve a livelihood, and not where exuberant nature is over-indulgent, over-productive. The coast, the valleys, and indeed the main portion of South America are tropical, but a considerable section of the country is so elevated that its climate is that of perpetual spring, resembling the great Mexican plateau, both physically and as regards temperature. The population is largely of Spanish descent, and that language is almost universally spoken, though Portuguese is the current tongue in Brazil. These languages are so similar, in fact, that the people of the two nations can easily understand each other. It is said to be true that, in the wild regions of the country, there are tribes of Indians found to-day living close to each other, separated by no physical barriers, who differ materially in language, physiognomy, manners, and customs, having absolutely nothing in common but their brown or copper colored skins. Furthermore, these tribes live most frequently in deadly feuds with each other. That cannibalism is still practiced among these interior tribes is positively believed, especially among some of the tribes of the extreme south, that is, among the Patagonians and the wild, nomadic race of Terra del Fuego. These two tribes, on opposite sides of the Strait of Magellan, are quite different from each other in nearly every respect, especially in size, nor will they attempt to hold friendly intercourse of any sort with each other.

There are certain domestic animals which are believed to be improved by crossing them with others of a different type, but this does not seem to apply, very often, advantageously to different races of human beings. It is plain enough in South America that the amalgamation of foreigners and natives rapidly effaces the original better qualities of each, the result being a mongrel, nondescript type, hard to analyze and hard to improve. That keen observer, Professor Agassiz, especially noticed this during his year of scientific research in Brazil. This has also been the author's experience, as illustrated in many lands, where strictly different races, the one highly civilized, the other barbarian, have unitedly produced children. It is a sort of amalgamation which nature does not favor, recording her objections in an unmistakable manner. It is the flow of European emigration towards these southern republics which will infuse new life and progress among them. The aboriginal race is slowly receding, and fading out, as was the case in Australia, in New Zealand, and in the instance of our western Indians. A new people will eventually possess the land, composed of the several European nationalities, who are already the virtual masters of South America so far as regards numbers, intelligence, and possession.

Since these notes were written, the Argentine government has sold to Baron Hirsch three thousand square leagues of land in the province of Chaco, for the formation of a Jewish colony. Agents are already at work, aided by competent engineers and practical individuals, in preparing for the early reception of the new occupants of the country. The first contingent, of about one thousand Jews, have already arrived and are becoming domesticated. Argentina wants men perhaps more than money; indeed, one will make the other. A part of Baron Hirsch's scheme is to lend these people money, to be repaid in small installments extending over a considerable period. For this extensive territory the Baron paid one million three hundred thousand dollars in gold, thus making himself the owner of the largest connected area of land in the world possessed by a single individual. It exceeds that of the kingdom of Montenegro.

As to the zoölogy of this part of the continent, it is different from that of Europe, Africa, Asia, and North America. The number of dangerous beasts of prey is quite limited. There is nothing here to answer to the African lion, the Asiatic tiger, the elephant of Ceylon, or the grisly bear of Alaska. The jaguar is perhaps the most formidable animal, and resembles the leopard. There are also the cougar, tiger-cat, black bear, hyena, wolf, and ocelot. The llama, alpaca, and vicuña are peculiar to this country. The monkey tribe exceeds all others in variety and number. There are said to be nearly two hundred species of them in South America, each distinctly marked, and varying from each other, in size, from twelve pounds to less than two. The smallest of the little marmosets weigh less than a pound and a half each, and are the most intelligent animal of their size known to man. There are also the deer, tapir, armadillo, anteater, and a few other minor animals. The pampas swarm with wild cattle and horses, descended from animals originally brought from Europe. In the low, marshy grounds the boa-constrictor and other reptiles abound. Eagles, vultures, and parrots are found in a wild state all over the country, while the rivers and the waters near the coast are well filled with fish, crocodiles, and turtles. Scientists have found over two thousand species of fish in the Amazon River alone.

The pure aboriginal race are copper colored, resembling the Mexicans in character and appearance. Like most natives of equatorial regions, they are indolent, ignorant, superstitious, sensuous, and by no means warlike. Forced into the ranks and drilled by Europeans, they make fairly good soldiers, and when well led will obey orders and fight. There can be no esprit de corps in soldiers thus organized; the men neither know nor care what they fight for, their incentive in action being first a natural instinct for brutality, and second the promise of booty. In some parts of the country the half-breeds show themselves skillful workmen in certain simple lines of manufacture, but the native pure and simple will not work except to keep from starving.

The Spaniards conquered nearly all parts of South America except Brazil, which was subject to Portugal until 1823, when it achieved its independence. The Spanish colonies also revolted, one by one, until they all became independent of the mother country. The history of these republics, as in the instance of Mexico, has been both stormy and sanguinary. Foreign and civil wars have reigned among them incessantly for half a century and more.

The present political divisions are: Brazil, British Guiana, Dutch Guiana, French Guiana, Ecuador, United States of Colombia, Venezuela, Bolivia, Chili, Peru, Argentine Republic, Uruguay, and Paraguay. Brazil is the most extensive of these states, and is thought to enjoy the largest share of natural advantages, including in its area nearly one half as many square miles as all the rest combined. Its seaboard at Parahiba, and for hundreds of miles north and south of it, projects into the Atlantic a thousand miles to the east of the direct line between its northern and southern extremities. Besides her diamond and gold mines, she possesses what is much more desirable, namely, valuable deposits of iron, copper, silver, and other metals. We have before us statistics which give the result of diamond mining in Brazil from 1740 to 1823, when national independence was won, which show the aggregate for that entire period to have been less than ten million dollars in value; while that of the coffee alone, exported from Rio Janeiro in one year, exceeded twenty million dollars, showing that, however dazzling the precious stones may appear in the abstract, they are not even of secondary consideration when compared with the agricultural products of the country. The export of coffee has increased very much since the year 1851, which happens to be that from which we have quoted. It must also be admitted that probably twice the amount of diamonds recorded were actually found and enriched somebody, all which were duly reported, having to pay a government royalty according to the pecuniary exigency of those in authority.

The population of Brazil is between fourteen and fifteen million, and it is thought to be more advanced in civilization than other parts of South America, though in the light of our own experience we should place the Argentine Republic first in this respect. Indeed, so far as a transient observer may speak, we are inclined to place Argentina far and away in advance of Brazil as regards everything calculated to invite the would-be emigrant who is in search of a new home in a foreign land. Were it not that intestine wars are of such frequent occurrence among these states, and national bankruptcy so common, voluntary emigration would tend towards South America in far larger numbers than it does now. The revolutions are solely to promote personal aggrandizement; it is individual interest, not principle, for which these people fight so often. Unfortunately, every fresh outbreak throws the country back a full decade as regards national progress. The late civil wars in Chili and the Argentine Republic are illustrations in point. The first-named section of South America has suddenly sunk from a condition of remarkable pecuniary prosperity to one of actual poverty. Thousands of valuable lives have been sacrificed, an immense amount of property has been destroyed, her commerce crippled, and for the time being paralyzed. Ten years of peace and reasonable prosperity could hardly restore Chili to the position she was in twelve months ago. The country is to-day in a terrible condition, while many of the best families mourn the death of a father, a son, or both, whose lives have been sacrificed to the mad ambition of a usurper. Numerous families, once rich, have now become impoverished by the confiscation of their entire property. The Chilians do not carry on warfare in European style, by organized armies; there is a semblance only of such bodies. The fighting is mostly after the fashion of free lances, guerrilla bands, and highwaymen. There seems to be no sense of honor or chivalry among the common people, while the only idea of the soldiery is to plunder and destroy.

The Peruvians whose cities were despoiled by Chili must have regarded the recent cutting of each other's throats by the Chilian soldiery with something like grim satisfaction.

The obvious weakness of the South American states lies in their bitter rivalry towards each other, a condition which might be at once obviated by their joining together to form one united nation. The instability which characterizes their several governments in their present isolated interests has passed into a byword. Divided into nine unimportant states,—leaving out the three Guianas, which are dependent upon European powers,—any one of them could be erased from the map and absorbed by its stronger neighbor, or by a covetous foreign power. On the contrary, by forming one grand republic, it would stand eighth in the rank of nations as regards wealth, importance, and power, amply able to take care of itself, and to maintain the integrity of its territory. A community of interest would also be established between our government and that of these South American provinces, which would be of immense commercial and political importance to both nations.

To those who have visited the country, and who have carefully observed the conditions, it is clear that this division of the continent will never thrive and fully reap the benefit of its great natural advantages until the independent republics assume the position of sovereign states, subservient to a central power, a purpose which has already been so successfully accomplished in Mexico.

While we have been considering the great southern continent as a whole, our good ship, having crossed the equator, has been rapidly approaching its northern shore. After entering the broad mouth of the Amazon and ascending its course for many miles, we are now in sight of the thriving metropolis of Pará.

CHAPTER V.

City of Pará.—The Equatorial Line.—Spanish History.—The King of Waters.—Private Gardens.—Domestic Life in Northern Brazil.—Delicious Pineapples.—Family Pets.—Opera House.—Mendicants.—A Grand Avenue.—Botanical Garden.—India-Rubber Tree.—Gathering the Raw Material.—Monkeys.—The Royal Palm.—Splendor of Equatorial Nights.

Pará is the most northerly city of Brazil. It also bears the name of Belem on some maps, and is the capital of a province of the first designation. The full official title of the place is, in the usual style of Portuguese and Spanish hyperbole, Santa Maria do Belem do Grão Pará, which has fortunately and naturally simplified itself to Pará. It was founded in 1615, and the province of which it is the capital was the last in Brazil to declare its independence of the mother country, and to acknowledge the authority of the first emperor, Dom Pedro. It is the largest political division of the republic, and in some respects the most thriving. The city is situated about ninety miles south of the equator, and eighty miles from the Atlantic Ocean on the Pará River, so called, but which is really one of the mouths of the Amazon. It is thus the principal city at the mouth of the largest river in the world, a fact quite sufficient to indicate its present, and to insure its continued commercial importance.

As we entered the muddy estuary of the river, whose wide expanse was lashed into short, angry waves by a strong wind, large tree trunks were seen floating seaward, rising and sinking on the undulating surface of the water. Some were quite entire, with all of their branches still attached to the main trunk. They came, perhaps, from two thousand miles inland, borne upon the swift current from where it had undermined the roots in their forest home. Among the rest was a cocoa-palm with its full tufted head, some large brown nuts still hanging tenaciously to the parent stem. It had fallen bodily, while in its prime and full bearing, suddenly unearthed by some swift deviation of the river, which brooks no trifling impediment to its triumphal march seaward. How long, one would be glad to know, has this vast stream, fed by the melted snow of the Andes, poured its accumulated waters into the bosom of the ocean? A thousand years is but as a day, in reckoning the age of a mountain range or of a mammoth river.

As we approached the city, the channel became gradually narrowed by several prominent islands, crowded with rich green vegetation, forest trees of various sorts, mangoes, bananas, and regal palms. Though it is thus broken by islands, the river is here over twenty miles in width.

Pará is yielded precedence over the other cities on the east coast of South America in many respects, and is appreciatively called "Queen of the Amazon," her water communication reaching into the very heart of some of the most fertile valleys on the continent. One incorporated company has established a score of well-appointed steamers, averaging five hundred tons each, which navigate the river for a distance of two thousand miles from its mouth. Pará has an excellent harbor, of large capacity, accommodating an extensive commerce, a considerable portion of which is with the United States of North America. It has a mixed population of about fifty thousand, composed of an amalgamation of Portuguese, Italians, Indians, and negroes, and is the only town of any importance, except Quito, situated so near to the equatorial line, where the interested observer has the privilege of beholding the starry constellations of both hemispheres. Ships of five thousand tons measurement can lie within a hundred yards of the wharves of Pará, where the accumulation of coffee, dyewoods, drugs, tobacco, cotton, cocoa, rice, sugar, and raw india-rubber, indicates the character of the principal exports. Of all these staples, the last named is the most important, in a commercial point of view, occupying the third place on the list of national exports. As we have shown, the import and export trade of the Amazon valley naturally centres here, and Pará need fear no commercial rival.

For a considerable period this unequaled water-way, forming the spacious port, and conveying the drainage of nearly half of South America into the Atlantic, bore the name of its discoverer, Orellana, one of Pizarro's captains; but the fabulous story of a priest called Friar Gaspar, self-constituted chronicler of the expedition, gave to it the designation which it now bears. All the Spanish records of the history and conquests in the New World, relating to the doings of Columbus, Cortez, Pizarro, and others, without an exception, were written in the same spirit of exaggeration and untruthfulness, leading that pious witness and contemporary writer, Las Casas, to pronounce them, with honest indignation, to be a tissue of falsehoods. Even our own popular historian, Prescott, who drew so largely upon these sources for his poetical productions, was forced to admit their manifest incongruities, contradictions, and general irresponsibility. This Munchausen of a priest, Friar Gaspar, recorded that a tribe of Amazons, or fighting women, was encountered far inland, on the banks of the mighty river, who were tall in stature, symmetrical in form, and had a profusion of long hair, which hung in braids down their backs. They were represented to be as warlike as they were beautiful, and as carrying shields and spears, the latter of which they could use with great skill and effect. It was this foolish story of the Amazons, hatched in the prolific brain of Friar Gaspar, which gave the river its lasting name.

The Indian designation of the mammoth watercourse was significant and appropriate, as their names always are. They called it Parana-tinga, meaning "King of Waters," and it seems to us a great pity that the name could not have been retained.

Pará has the advantage of being much nearer to the United States and to Europe than Rio Janeiro, the capital of Brazil. Though the commerce of Rio is constantly increasing, in spite of its miserable sanitary condition, it is confidently believed by intelligent persons engaged in the South American trade, that Pará will equal it erelong in the aggregate of its shipments. All freight is now landed by means of lighters, a process which is an awkward drawback upon commerce, and what makes it still more aggravating is that it seems to be an entirely needless one. Certainly a good, substantial, capacious pier might be easily built, which would obviate this objection, accommodating a dozen large vessels at the same time. The Brazilians are slow to adopt any modern improvement. Portuguese and Spaniards are very much alike in this respect. Wharves will be built at Pará by and by, after a few more millions have been wasted upon the inconvenient process now in vogue, which involves not only needless expense, but causes most awkward and unreasonable delay, both in landing merchandise and in shipping freight for export. This serious objection applies to all the ports along the east coast of South America. There is always some private interest which exerts itself to prevent any progressive movement, and it is this which retards improved facilities for unloading and shipping of cargoes at Pará. In this instance the owners of the steam tugs which tow the flat-bottomed lighters from ship to shore, and vice versa, oppose the building of piers, because, if they were in existence, these individuals would find their profitable occupation gone. If proper wharf facilities were to be furnished, commerce generally would be much benefited, though a few persons would suffer some pecuniary loss. As we have said, the wharves will come by and by, when the people realize that private interest must be subservient to the public good.

The city of Pará is situated upon slightly elevated ground, and makes a fine appearance from the river, with its lofty cathedral, numerous churches, convents, custom house, and arsenal standing forth in bold relief against an intensely blue sky, while fronting the harbor, like a line of sentinels, is a row of tall, majestic palms, harmonizing admirably with the local surroundings, though in the very midst of a busy commercial centre. The buildings are painted yellow, blue, or pink, the façades contrasting strongly with the dark red of the heavily tiled roofs, which, having no chimneys, present an odd appearance to a northern eye. Here and there a mass of greenery indicates some domestic garden, or a plaza presided over by tall groups of trees, among which the thick, umbrageous mangoes prevail. The Rua da Imperatriz is the principal wholesale street of the city, where the large warehouses are to be found, but the Rua dos Mercadores is the fashionable shopping street, through which the tramway also passes. The shops are rather small, but have a fair stock of goods offered at reasonable rates, though strangers are apt to be victimized by considerably higher prices than a native would pay.

This, however, is not unusual in all foreign countries, so far as our experience goes. North Americans are looked upon as possessing unlimited pecuniary means, and as lavish in their expenditures, prices being gauged accordingly. This is a universal practice in Europe, and especially so in Germany.

The climate is very moist, and it has been facetiously remarked that it rains here eight days in the week. One cannot speak approvingly of the sanitary condition of a place where turkey buzzards are depended upon to remove the garbage which accumulates in the thoroughfares. It is unaccountable that the citizens should submit to such filthy surroundings, especially in a locality where malarial fever is acknowledged to prevail in the summer season. Though at this writing it is the latter part of May, yellow fever is still rife here, and we hear of many particularly sad cases, ending fatally, all about us. This destroyer is especially apt to carry off people who have newly arrived in the country. The present year has been unusually fatal among the residents of Pará, as regards yellow fever, which seems to linger longer and longer each year of its visitation. Our own conviction is that the people have themselves to thank for this lingering of the pest into the winter months, since the sanitary conditions of the place are inexcusably defective.

Gardens in and about the city quickly catch and delight the eye,—gardens where flowers and fruits grow in great luxuriance. Among the latter are oranges, mangoes, guavas, figs, and bananas. The glossy green fronds of the bananas throw other verdure altogether into the shade, while in dignity and beauty the cocoanut palms excel all other trees. The tall, straight stem of the palm rises from the roots without leaf or branch until the plumed head is reached, which bends slightly under its wealth of pinnated leaves and fruit combined. If you happen to pass these gardens after nightfall, especially those in the immediate environs of the city, mark the phosphorescent clouds of dancing lights which fill the still atmosphere round about the vegetation. This peculiar effect is produced by the busy cucuios, or tropical fireflies, each vigorously flashing its individual torch. Do they shine thus in the daytime, we are led to wonder, like the constellations in the heavens, though hidden by the greater light of the sun? They are always demonstrative in the night, be it never so cloudy, foggy, or damp in the low latitudes. They keep their sparkling revels, their torchlight dances, all heedless of the grim and deadly fever which lurks in the surrounding atmosphere, claiming human victims right and left, among high and low, from the ranks of age and of youth. Insect life is redundant here. It is the very paradise of butterflies, whose size, wide spread of wing, variety, and striking beauty of colors, we have only seen equaled at Penang and Singapore, in the Malacca Straits. Some of the avenues leading to the environs are lined with handsome trees, which add greatly to their attractiveness and comfort. The silk cotton tree and the almond are favorites here as ornamental shade trees. The cape jessamine is universally cultivated at Pará, and grows to a large size, filling the air with its agreeable fragrance. Here the oleander, covered with clusters of bloom, grows to the height of twenty feet and more. The lime, with its fine acid fruit, which is in great request in making cooling drinks, also abounds.

The glimpses of domestic life which one gets in passing the better class of dwellings reveal rooms with tiled or polished wooden floors, cane-finished chairs, sofas, and rockers to match, a small foot rug here and there, a group of flowering plants in one corner, while hammocks seem to take the place of bedsteads. The temperature is high at Pará in summer, and woolen carpets, or even mattresses, are too warm for use in this climate. Bignonias, oleanders, and other blooming plants abound in the flower-plots about the city, besides many flowering vines which are strangers to us, half orchids, half creepers. One is apt to jump at conclusions. These people dearly love flowers, so we conclude they cannot be very wicked.

The families live, as it were, in the open patios, which form the centres of their dwellings, are shaded by broad verandas, and upon which the domestic apartments all open. The accessories are few, and not entirely convenient, according to a northerner's ideas of comfort; but this is compensated for by the fragrance of flowers, the picturesqueness of the surroundings, and the free and easy out-of-door atmosphere which ignores conventionalities. These attractive interiors suggest a sort of picnic mode of life which has conformed itself to climatic influences. Everything is very quiet, there is no hurry, and the stillness is occasionally interrupted by the musical laughter of children, which rings out clear and pleasantly, entirely in harmony with the surroundings. And such children! Artists' models, every one of them. It all seems to a stranger to be the very poetry of living, yet we venture to say that each household has its skeleton in the closet, and some a whole anatomical museum!

At Bahia, further south, a revelation awaits the traveler in the delicious richness, size, and delicacy of the oranges which grow there in lavish abundance, and which are famous, all along the coast. Here at Pará, the same may be said of the pineapple, the raising of which is a local specialty. These are not picked until fully ripe, and often weigh ten pounds each. When cut open, the inside can be eaten with a spoon, if one fancies that mode. They require no sugar; nature has supplied the saccharine principle in abundance. They are absolutely perfect in themselves alone. People sailing northward lay in a great store of this admirable fruit, which is as cheap as it is delicious and appetizing. In New England, the pines of which we partake have been picked in a green condition in Bermuda, the Bahamas, or Florida, to enable them to bear transportation. They ripen only partially off the stem, and after a very poor style, decay setting in at the same time; consequently the pulp is not suitable to swallow, and is always more or less indigestible. The Pará pines are seedless, and are propagated by replanting the suckers. The crown, we were told, would also thrive and reproduce the fruit if properly planted, but the first named process is that generally employed, and is probably the best.

In the neighborhood of Pará are many large and profitable cocoa plantations, the industry connected with which is a growing one, representing a considerable amount of capital. But above all others, the gathering and preparing of raw india-rubber for exportation is the prevailing industry of this Brazilian capital.

The common people seem to be an uncertain mixture of races, confounding all attempts properly to analyze their antecedents. They have touches of refinement and underlying tenderness of instinct, as exhibited in their home associations, but also evince a coarseness which is not inviting, to say the least. They are universal lovers of pet birds and small animals. No household seems to be complete without some representatives of the sort. Among these are cranes, ibises, herons, turtle-doves, parrots, macaws, and paroquets. Monkeys of various tribes, the little marmoset being the favorite, are seen domesticated in almost every private garden, full of fun and mischief, and affording infinite amusement to the youthful members of the household. Young anacondas, sometimes ten feet long, are kept in and about the dwellings, to catch and drive away the rats! The reader smiles half incredulously at this, and we do not wonder. If one of these rodents be caught in a trap and killed, it is useless to offer it to an anaconda as food. That fastidious reptile will eat only such creatures as it kills itself. This is also characteristic of the African lion and the tiger of India, when in the wild state; neither will molest a dead body, of man or beast, which they have not themselves deprived of life, though hyenas, wolves, and some other animals will even rob the graves of human bodies for food. We had never heard of anacondas employed as ratters before we came to Pará, but we were assured by those who should know that they are especially effective in warfare against this domestic pest.

Broad verandas give a grateful shade to most of the dwelling-houses, which are seldom over one story in height, each one, however, extending over considerable ground space. In the business part of the town, fronting the harbor, the houses are generally two or even three stories in height, it being necessary in such localities to economize the square feet of ground occupied. The same sort of external ornamentation is seen here as upon the house fronts in Mexico, namely, the profuse decoration of the walls with glazed earthen tiles, often of fancy colors, which gives a checkerboard appearance to a dwelling-house not calculated to please a critical eye.

The Opera House of Pará is a large and imposing structure, one of the finest edifices in the town, and the largest theatre, we believe, in South America, quite uncalled for, it would seem, by any local demand. It is built of brick, finished in stucco, the front being decorated with marble columns having handsome and elaborate Corinthian capitals. The house lights up brilliantly at night, being finished in red, white, and gold. It has four narrow galleries supported upon brackets, thus obviating the necessity for the objectionable upright posts which so provokingly interfere with the line of sight. The cathedral is a substantial and handsome structure, with a couple of tall towers, after the usual Spanish style, each containing a dozen bells. The interior has all the florid and tawdry ornamentation always to be found in Roman Catholic churches, together with the usual complement of bleeding figures, arrow-pierced saints, high-colored paper rosettes, utterly meaningless, together with any amount of glittering tinsel, calculated to catch the eye and captivate the imagination of the grossly ignorant native population.

There are many minor churches in the city, and judging by the number seen in the streets, there must be at least a thousand priests, whose sole occupation, when they are not gambling or cock-fighting, is to cajole and impoverish the common people. It was a church festival when we visited the cathedral. There are over two hundred such days, out of every three hundred and sixty-five, in Roman Catholic countries,—not days of humiliation and prayer, but days of gross latitude, of bull-fights, occasions when the decent amenities of life are ignored, days when the broadest license prevails, and all excesses are condoned. There were a large number of women present in the cathedral on this day, but scarcely half a dozen men. The better class were dressed gayly, and wore some rich jewelry. The love of finery prevails, and pervades all classes. Some of the ladies were clad in costly silks and laces, set off by brilliants and pearls. Diamonds and precious stones are very common in this country, and a certain class seem to carry a large share of their worldly possessions showily displayed upon their persons. What the humbler class lacked in richness of material, they made up in gaudy colors, blazing scarfs, and imitation gold and silver jewelry. Nature sets the example of bright colors in these latitudes, in gaudy plumed birds and high-tinted flowers and fruits. The natives only follow her. The few men who were present came to ogle the women, and having satisfied their low-bred curiosity, soon retired to the neighboring bar-rooms and gambling saloons. On special festal days temporary booths are erected in the squares, in which intoxicants are sold, together with toys, cakes, cigars, and charms, the latter said to have been blessed by the priests, and therefore sure to prevent any injury from the evil eye!

As in most of the South American cities, there are several elaborate buildings here, formerly used as convents, which are now devoted to more creditable purposes. The present custom house occupies one of these edifices, which is crowned with two lofty towers.

There are plenty of mendicants in the streets of Pará, who are very ready with their importunities, especially in appealing to strangers. The average citizens seemed to be liberal in dealing with these beggars. Saturday is called "poor day" in Pará, as it is also in Havana, Matanzas, Cienfuegos, etc., when every housekeeper who is able to give something does so, if it be only a small roll of bread, to each visiting beggar. At most houses these small rolls are baked regularly for this purpose, and the applicant is nearly sure to get one upon calling, and if he represents a large family he may receive two. Money is rarely, if ever, given by residents, nor is it expected; but strangers are surrounded as by an army with banners, and vigorously importuned for centavos. The Spaniards and Portuguese are natural beggars.

Here let us digress for a moment. The system of beggary prevailing in Spanish countries is very trying to all sensitive travelers. In Italy, Spain, and the south of France, especially at the watering-places, it is a terrible pest. Naples has become almost unendurable on this account. At every rod one is constantly importuned and followed by beggars of all sizes, ages, and of both sexes,—individuals who should be placed in asylums and cared for by the state. No reasonable person would object to paying a certain sum on entering these resorts, to be honestly devoted to charitable purposes, provided it would insure him against the disgusting importunities of which strangers are now the victims. Visitors hasten away from the localities where these things are not only permitted but are encouraged. It is thought to be quite the thing to fleece foreigners of every possible penny, and by every possible means. The contrast in this respect between the cities of the United States and those of Europe and South America is eminently creditable to the former. In the beautiful little watering-place known as Luchon, in the south of France, at the foot of the Pyrenees, with scarcely four thousand inhabitants, there are over one hundred professional beggars, who constantly beset and drive away visitors. Some of these, as usual in such cases, are known to be well off pecuniarily, but are marked by some physical deformity upon which they trade. If the stranger gives, he is oftenest encouraging a swindle, rarely performing a true charity. This is one of the increasing disgraces of Paris. Beggars know too much to importune citizens, but strangers are beset at every corner of the boulevards and public gardens, particularly by children, girls and boys, trained for the purpose.

Of all the races seen in Brazil, the half-breed Indian girls are the most attractive, and until they are past the age of twenty-five or thirty years they are almost universally handsome, no matter to what class they belong. Those who have the advantage of domestic comforts, good food, and delicate associations develop accordingly, and are especially beautiful. They would make charming artists' models. The remarkably straight figure of the native women is noticeable, caused by the practice referred to of carrying burdens on the head. As already mentioned, if a negro or Indian woman has an article to transport, even if it be but a quart bottle, or an umbrella, it is placed at once upon the head. The article may weigh five pounds or fifty, it is all the same; everything but the babies is thus transported. These little naked creatures, always suggestive of monkeys, are supported on the mother's back, held there by a shawl or rebozo tied securely across the chest. When the children are six or eight years old, they are promoted to the dignity of wearing one small garment, an abbreviated shirt or chemise.

The principal food of the common people of northern Brazil is farina and dried fish, with fried plantains and ripe bananas. Crabs and oysters of a poor description abound along the coast, and are eaten by the people, both in a raw and cooked condition. But the white people avoid the coast oysters, which sometimes poison those not accustomed to them.

The finest avenue in Pará is the Estrada de São José, bordered by grand old palms, which form a beautiful perspective and a welcome shade, the feathery tops nearly embracing each other overhead. The tramway takes one through the environs by the Rua de Nazareth, for five miles to Marco da Legua, where the public wells of the city are situated. The way thither is lined with neat and handsome dwellings, shaded by noble trees. The botanical garden is well worth a visit by all lovers of horticulture. The forest creeps up towards the environs of the town, wherein many of the trees are rendered beautiful by clinging orchids of gorgeous blue; others are of blood red, and some of orange yellow, presenting also a great diversity of form. One has not far to go to see specimens of the india-rubber tree, growing from ninety to a hundred feet in height, while measuring from four to five feet in diameter. This tree begins to produce gum at the age of fifteen years. The trunk is smooth and perfectly round, the bark of a buff color. It bears a curious fruit, of which some animals are said to be fond. The author has seen the india-rubber tree growing in the island of Ceylon, where it seemed to reach a greater height and dimensions than it does in the district of Pará. A considerable portion of the roots lie above ground, stretching away from the base of the tree like huge anacondas, and finally disappearing in the earth half a rod or more from the parent trunk. The reader can hardly fail to be familiar with the simple wild plant, which grows so abundantly by our New England roadsides, known as the milk-weed, which, when the stem is cut or broken, emits a creamy, pungent smelling liquid. In the latitude of Pará, this little weed, of the same family, assumes the form of a colossal tree, and is known as the india-rubber tree. The United States takes of Brazilian rubber, in the crude state, over twenty-five thousand tons annually. As to coffee, Brazil supplies one half of all which is consumed in the civilized world; but we should frankly tell the reader, if he does not already realize the fact, that it is most frequently marked and sold for "Old Government Java."

The india-rubber tree is tapped annually very much after the same style in which we treat the sugar-maple in Vermont, and elsewhere, to procure its sap. A yellow, creamy liquid flows forth from the rubber tree into small cups placed beneath an incision made in the trunk. When the cup becomes full, its contents is emptied into a large common receptacle, where it is allowed to partially harden, and in which form it is called caoutchouc. The tapping of the trees and attending to the gathering of the sap furnish employment to hundreds of the natives, who, however, make but small wages, being employed by contractors, who either lease the trees of certain districts, or own large tracts of forest land. These Brazilian forests are very grand, abounding in valuable aromatic plants, precious woods, gaudy birds, and various wild animals. The number of monkeys is absolutely marvelous, including many curious varieties. A native will not kill a monkey; indeed, it must be difficult for a European to make up his mind to shoot a creature so nearly human in its actions, and whose pleading cries when wounded are said to be so pitiable.

One of the peculiar street sights in Pará is that of native women with a dozen young monkeys of different species for sale. Marmosets can be bought for a quarter of a dollar each. So tame are the little creatures that they cling about the woman's person, fastening upon her hair, arms, and neck, not in the least inclined to escape from her. It is remarkable and interesting to see how very fond they become of their owner, if he is kind to them. Like the dog and the cat, they seem to have a strong desire for human companionship. When seen running wild in the woods, leaping from tree to tree, and from branch to branch, they do not try to get far away from the presence of man, but only to keep, in their untamed state, just out of reach of his hands. Ships sailing hence generally take away a few of these animals, but as they are delicate, and very sensitive to climatic changes, many of them die before reaching Europe or North America.

The great beauty of Pará is its abundance of palm trees. The palm is always an interesting object, as well as a most valuable one; interesting because of its historical and legendary associations, and valuable, since it would be almost impossible to enumerate the number of important uses to which it and its products are put. To the people of the tropics it is the prolific source of food, shelter, clothing, fuel, fibre for several uses, sugar, oil, wax, and wine. It has been aptly termed the "princess of the vegetable world." One indigenous species, the Piassaba, is a palm which yields a most valuable fibre, extensively manufactured into cordage and ships' cables, for which purpose it is much in use on the coast of South America. It is found to be stronger and more elastic than hemp when thus employed, besides which it is far more durable. The product of this species of palm is also exported in large quantities to North America and to England, for the purpose of making brushes, brooms, and various sorts of domestic matting.

The nights are especially beautiful in this region. We were interested in observing the remarkable brilliancy of the sky; the stars do not seem to sparkle, as with us at the north, but shed a soft, steady light, making all things luminous. This is the natural result of the clearness of the atmosphere. One is surprised at first to find the moon apparently so much increased in size and effulgency. The Southern Cross is ever present, though it is dominated by the Centaur. Orion is seen in his glory, and the Scorpion is clearly defined. In the author's estimation, there is no exhibition of the heavens in these regions which surpasses the magnificence of the far-reaching Milky Way.

CHAPTER VI.

Island of Marajo.—Rare and Beautiful Birds.—Original Mode of Securing Humming-Birds.—Maranhão.—Educational.—Value of Native Forests.—Pernambuco.—Difficulty of Landing.—An Ill-chosen Name.—Local Scenes.—Uncleanly Habits of the People.—Great Sugar Mart.—Native Houses.—A Quaint Hostelry.—Catamarans.—A Natural Breakwater.—Sailing down the Coast.

The island of Marajo, situated at the mouth of the Amazon, opposite Pará, and belonging to the province or state of that name, is a hundred and eighty miles in length and about one hundred and sixty in width, nearly identical in size with the island of Sicily, and almost oval in form. One of the principal shore settlements is Breves, on the southeastern corner of the island, which lies somewhat low, and consists of remarkably fertile soil, so abounding in wild and beautiful vegetation and exquisite floral varieties, that it is called in this region "the Island of Flowers." We can easily believe the name to be appropriately chosen, since, as we skirt its verdant shores hour after hour, they seem to emit the drowsy, caressing sweetness of fragrant flowers so sensibly as to almost produce a narcotic effect. The easterly or most seaward part of Marajo is open, marshy, sandy land, but back from the shore the soil is of a rich, black alluvium, supporting in very large tracts a dense forest growth, similar to all the low-lying tropical lands of South America. The population is recorded as numbering about twenty thousand, divided into several settlements, mostly on the coast, and consists largely of the aboriginal race found by the first comers upon this island, who, on account of their somewhat isolated condition, have amalgamated less with Europeans and the imported colored race than any other tribe on the east coast of the continent.

The extensive meadows of Marajo are the grazing fields of numerous herds of wild horses and horned cattle, the former of a superior breed, highly prized on the mainland; and yet so rapidly do they increase in this climate, in the wild state, that every few years they are killed in large numbers for their hides alone. The exports from the island consist of rice, cattle, horses, and hides. There are some large plantations devoted to the cultivation of rice, the soil and water supply of certain districts being especially favorable to this crop. As intimated, a considerable portion of Marajo is covered with a forest growth so dense as to be compared to the jungles of Africa and India, and which, so far as is known, has never been penetrated by the foot of man. Travelers who have visited the borders of this leafy wilderness expatiate upon the strange, inexplicable sounds which are heard at times, amid the prevailing stillness and sombre aspect of these primeval woods. Sometimes there comes, it is said, from out the forest depth a wild cry, like that of a human being in distress, but which, however long one may listen, is not repeated. Again, there is heard an awful crash, like the falling of some ponderous forest giant, then stillness once more settles over the mysterious, tangled woods. Every time the silence is broken it seems to be by some new and inexplicable sound, not to be satisfactorily accounted for.

The lagoons near the centre of Marajo are said to abound in alligators, which are sometimes sought for by the natives for their hides, for which a fair price is realized, since fashion has rendered this article popular in a hundred different forms. The number and variety of birds and lesser animals to be found upon the island are marvelous. Certain species of birds seem to have retreated to this spot from the mainland, before the tide of European immigration; indeed, it has for a long time been considered the paradise of the naturalist. Over thirty species of that peculiar bird, the toucan, have been secured here.

When Professor Agassiz was engaged in his scientific exploration of the Amazon, he dispatched a small but competent party especially to obtain specimens from this island, the result being both a surprise and a source of great gratification to the king of naturalists. Many of the objects secured by these explorers were rare and beautiful birds, not a few of which are unique, and of which no previous record existed. There were also many curious insects and other specimens particularly valuable to naturalists, most of which are preserved to-day in the Agassiz Museum at Cambridge, Massachusetts. The toucan, just spoken of, is most remarkable for its beauty and variety of colors, as well as for the very peculiar form and size of its elephantine bill, which makes it look singularly ill-balanced. This ludicrous appendage is nine inches long and three in circumference; the color is vermilion and yellow delicately mingled. The toucan is much coveted for special collections by all naturalists, and is becoming very scarce, except in this one equatorial locality. Scarlet ibises and roseate spoonbills are also found at Marajo, both remarkably fine examples of semi-aquatic fowl, and when these are secured in good condition for preservation, the natives realize good prices for them. In order to procure desirable specimens of the humming-bird species, which are also abundant on this island, the native hunters resort to an ingenious device, so as not to injure the skin or the extremely delicate plumage of this butterfly-bird. For this purpose they use a peculiar syringe made from reeds, and charged with a solution of adhesive gum, which, when directed by an experienced hand, clogs the bird's wings at once, stopping its flight and causing it to fall to the ground. Some are caught by means of nets set on the end of long bamboo poles, such as are used to secure butterflies, but this method is poorly adapted to catch so quick moving a creature as a humming-bird. The author has seen, in southern India, butterflies of gaudiest texture with bodies as large as small humming-birds, which were quite as brilliant as they in lovely colors. The variety and beauty of this insect, as found anywhere from Tuticorin to Darjeeling, is notable. Wherever British troops are permanently settled, the wives of the common soldiers become very expert in catching and arranging these attractive objects, preserving them in frames under glass. These find ready purchasers for museums and private collections all over Europe, and are sold at moderate prices, but serve to add a welcome trifle to the extremely poor pay of a common soldier having perhaps a wife and one or two children to support.

The island of Marajo was not formed at the Amazon's mouth of soil brought down from the interior by the river's current, as is often the case with islands thus situated, but is a natural, rocky formation which serves to divide the channel and give the river a double outlet into the Atlantic. Agassiz studied its character, and gives us an interesting statement as the result. He declared, after careful geological examination, that it is an island which was once situated far inland, away from the river's mouth, but which is now brought near to it by the gradual encroachment of the Atlantic Ocean, whose waves and restless currents have slowly worn away the northeastern part of the continent. This abrasion must have been going on for many thousand years, to have produced such a decided topographical change. For the word years, upon second thought, read ages, which will undoubtedly express the true idea much more correctly.

There are over twenty species of palms indigenous to Marajo, which, as one skirts the water front, are seen growing along the far-reaching shore, fostered by the humidity of the atmosphere arising from the ever-flowing waters of the great river. Among these the peach-palm is quite conspicuous, with its spiny stems and mealy, nutritious fruit. There are also the cocoa-palm and the assai-palm, the latter gayly decorated with its delicate green plumes and long spear pointing heavenward, an emblem borne by no other tree in existence. The great variety of forms of plant life and giant grasses is extremely curious and beautiful on this interesting island. We heard, while at Pará, of a proposal made by some European party to thoroughly explore Marajo, which has never yet been done, so far as is known to our time, and it is believed that some very interesting and valuable discoveries may be the result of such an expedition, composed of engineers, scientists, and naturalists.

A day's sail to the eastward, bearing a little to the south along the coast, brings us to the port of Maranhão, which is the capital of a province of Brazil known by the same name, situated a little over three hundred miles from Pará. The place is picturesquely nestled, as it were, in the very lap of the mountains, which come boldly down to the coast at this point. It was founded nearly three hundred years ago, is regularly built, and contains between thirty and forty thousand inhabitants. Nearly all of the houses, which are generally of two stories, are ornamented with attractive balconies, and have handsome gardens attached to them, where the luxurious verdure is with difficulty kept within proper bounds. Vegetation runs riot in equatorial regions. It is the one pleasing outlet of nature, whose overcharged vitality, spurred on by the climate, must find vent either in teeming vegetation or in raging volcanoes, tidal waves, and unwelcome earthquakes, though sometimes, to be sure, we find them all combined in the tropics.

The harbor of Maranhão is excellent and sheltered, the depth of water permitting the entrance of ships drawing full twenty feet, an advantage which some of the ports to the southward would give millions of dollars to possess. According to published statistics, the exports during 1890 were as follows: thirty-six hundred tons of cotton, six hundred tons of sugar, seven hundred tons of hides, a large amount of rice, and some other minor articles. The imports for the same period were estimated at something less than three million dollars in value. This is the entrepôt of several populous districts, besides that of which it is the capital. The province itself contains a number of navigable rivers, with some thrifty towns on their banks. The bay gives ample evidence of commercial activity, containing at all times a number of foreign steamships, with a goodly show of coasting vessels. The place is slowly but steadily growing in its business relations, and in the number of its permanent population.

It cannot make any pretension to architectural excellence, though the Bishop's palace and the cathedral are handsome structures. There are two or three other prominent edifices, quaint and Moorish, which were once nunneries or monasteries; also a foundling institution, a special necessity in all Roman Catholic countries. We found here a public library, and a botanical garden. Not far inland there are some extensive rice plantations, the province in some portions being specially adapted to producing this valuable staple. We were informed by those whose opinion was worthy of respect, that educational advantages are rather remarkable here, the Lyceum having in the past few years graduated some of the most prominent statesmen and professionals in Brazil. One thing is very certain, the authorities cannot multiply educational facilities any too rapidly in this country, nor give the subject any too much attention, especially as regards the rising generation of both sexes. So far as we could learn by inquiry, or judge by careful observation, the ignorance of the mass of the people is simply deplorable.

Maranhão is situated about fourteen hundred miles north of Rio Janeiro, with which port it carries on an extensive coasting trade. The exports, besides the staples already spoken of, are various, including annotto, sarsaparilla, balsam copaiba, and other medicinal extracts, together with rum and crude india-rubber. The climate is torrid, the city being one hundred and fifty miles south of the equator; and though, like most of the towns on the eastern coast of the continent, it is rather an unhealthy locality, it is much less so than Pará, and is a far more cleanly place than that city, its situation giving it the advantage of a system of natural drainage. The country near Maranhão abounds in native forests of exuberant richness, producing a valuable quality of timber, and affording some of the finest cabinet woods known to commerce, as well as a practically inexhaustible supply of various dyewoods, a considerable business being done in the export of the latter article. It was observed that the assai-palm, from which the palm wine is made, was also a prominent feature here. The trunk is quite smooth, the fruit growing in heavy bunches like grapes, dark brown in color, and about the size of cranberries, hanging in heavy clusters just below the bunch of long leaves which forms the top of the tree. The native drink which is made from these palm grapes is a favorite beverage in northern Brazil, and when properly fermented it contains about the same percentage of alcohol as English pale ale.

To the author, the town of Maranhão was quite unknown; even its place upon the maps had never attracted his attention until after it was seen lying peacefully in an amphitheatre of tall hills, which come down close to the rock-ribbed shore of the Atlantic Ocean. This acknowledgment is between ourselves, for such a confession would sound very ridiculous to the good people of Maranhão.

After leaving its harbor, our next objective point was Pernambuco, which is situated about four days' sail from Pará by steamship, and about three from Maranhão.

This well known port, with its one hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, is reckoned as the third city of Brazil in point of size and commercial importance. It lacks elevation to produce a good effect, and recalls the low-lying city of Havana in general appearance, as one approaches it from the sea. The harbor is not what could be desired for a commercial city, having hardly sufficient depth of water for vessels of heavy tonnage, and being also too narrow for a modern long steamship to safely turn in. The American line of steamships come to a mooring inside the harbor, but the European lines, or at least the Pacific Mail, in which we made the home passage, anchor in the open roadstead, three quarters of a mile from the shore. The harbor is formed by a long natural reef, which makes a breakwater between it and the open sea, a portion of the reef having been built up with solid masonry to render it more effective. This remarkable coral formation, which is more or less clearly defined, extends along the coast for a considerable distance,—it is said for four hundred miles. Opposite Pernambuco it rises six feet above the water, that is, above high-water mark, and runs parallel to the front street of the city at the distance from it of about a third of a mile or less. A wide opening in the reef at the northern end of the town makes the entrance to the harbor. Off the northeast coast of Australia, there is a very similar reef-formation, fully as long as this on the South American coast, but situated much further from the shore.

It is a serious drawback that passengers by large ocean steamers cannot enter the harbor of Pernambuco except by lighters or open boats; all freight brought by these steamers must also be transhipped. Landing here is often accomplished at considerable personal risk, and a thorough ducking with salt water is not at all uncommon in the attempt to reach the shore. To pull a boat from the open roadstead into the harbor, or vice versa, requires six stout oarsmen and an experienced man at the helm, so that landing from the Pacific Mail steamers is both a serious and an expensive affair. If a very heavy sea is running, the thing cannot be done, and no one will attempt it. The powerful wind which so often prevails on the coast occasionally creates quite a commotion even inside the harbor, among the shipping moored there, causing the largest cables to part and vessels to drag their anchors. Of course a vessel lying in the open roadstead, outside of the reef, has no protection whatever, and is in a critical situation if the wind blows towards the land. If it comes on to blow suddenly, she buoys and slips her anchor at once; she dares not waste the time to hoist it, but gets away as quickly as possible to where there is plenty of sea room and no lee shore to fear. Fortunately, though so fierce for the time being, and of a cyclonic character, the storms upon the coast are generally of brief duration, and like the furious pamperos, which are so dreaded by mariners further south, they blow themselves out in a few hours.

The geographical situation of Pernambuco is such, in the track of commerce, that vessels bound north or south, from Europe or from North America, naturally make it a port of call to obtain late advices and provisions. The name has been singularly chosen, no one can say how or by whom, but it signifies "the mouth of hell," a cognomen which we do not think the place at all deserves. It is a narrow, crowded, picturesque old seaport.

The town is situated at the mouth of the Biberibe River, just five hundred miles south of the equator, and is divided in rather a peculiar manner into three distinct parts: Recife, on a narrow peninsula; Boa Vista, on the river shore; and San Antonio, on an island in the river; all being connected, however, by six or eight substantial iron bridges. The first named division is the business portion of the capital, about whose water front the commercial life of Pernambuco centres, but the streets of Recife are very narrow and often confusingly crooked. Boa Vista is beautified by pleasant domestic residences, delightful gardens, and attractive promenades, far beyond anything which a stranger anticipates meeting in this part of the world. Though the business portion of the city is so low, the other sections are of better and more recent construction.

The view of the town and harbor to be had from some portions of Olinda is very fine and comprehensive, taking in a wide reach of land and ocean. When a brief storm is raging, spending its force against the reef, the view from this point is indeed grand. The sea, angered at meeting a substantial impediment, seethes and foams in wild excitement, dashing fifty feet into the air, and, falling over the reef, lashes the inner waters of the harbor into waves which mount the landing piers, and set everything afloat in the broad plaza which lines the shore. The big ships rock and sway incessantly, straining at their anchors, or chafing dangerously at their moorings. Precautions are taken to avert damage, but man's strength and skill count for little when opposed by the enraged elements.

This plaza, or quay, is shaded by aged magnolias of great height, and is the resort of unemployed seamen, fruit dealers, and idlers of all degrees. The house fronts in the various sections of the town are brilliantly colored, yellow, blue, white, and pink, also sometimes being covered halfway up the first story with glittering tiles of various hues. At nearly every turn one comes upon the moss-grown, crumbling façade of some old church, about the corners of which there is often a grossly filthy receptacle, the vile odor from which permeates the surrounding atmosphere. This was found to be almost insupportable with the thermometer standing at 90° Fahr. in the shade, forming so obvious a means for propagating malarial fever and sickness generally as to be absolutely exasperating. Notwithstanding all appearances, the American consul assured us that Pernambuco is one of the healthiest cities on the east coast of South America. The yellow fever, however, does not by any means forget to visit the place annually. Experience showed us that the residents along the coast were accustomed to give their own city precedence in the matter of hygienic conditions, and to admit, with serious faces, that the other capitals, north and south, were sadly afflicted by epidemics at nearly all seasons.

Pernambuco has several quite small but well-arranged public squares, decorated with fountains, trees, and flowers of many species. Two of these plazas have handsome pagodas, from which outdoor concerts are often given by military bands. The city is a thriving and progressive place, has extensive gas works, an admirable system of water supply, tramways, good public schools, and one college or high school. We must not forget to add to this list a very flourishing foundling asylum, where any number of poor little waifs are constantly being received, and no questions asked. A revolving box or cradle is placed in a wall of the hospital, next to the street, in which any person can deposit an infant, ring the bell, and the cradle will revolve, leaving the child on the inside of the establishment, where the little deserted object will be duly cared for. Connected with the hospital are several outlying buildings, where children are placed at various stages of growth. We were told that about forty per cent. of such children live to grow up to maturity, and leave the care of the government fairly well fitted to take their place in the world, and to fight the battle of life so very inauspiciously begun. It has been strongly argued that such an establishment offers a premium upon illegitimacy and immorality; but one thing is to be considered, it prevents the terrible crime of infanticide, which is said to have prevailed here to an alarming extent before this hospital was founded.

There is a passably good system of drainage, which was certainly very much needed, and since its completion the general health of the place is said to have considerably improved. This is not all that is required, however. There should be a decided reform in the habits of the people as regards cleanliness. At present they are positively revolting. The inhabitants are the very reverse of neat in their domestic associations, and home arrangements for natural conveniences are inexcusably objectionable; such, indeed, as would in a North American city, or even small town, call for the prompt interference of the local board of health. These remarks do not apply to isolated cases; the trouble is universal. Families living otherwise in comparative affluence utterly disregard neatness and decency in the matter to which we allude.

The districts neighboring to Pernambuco form extensive plains, well adapted to the raising of sugar, coffee, and cotton, as well as all sorts of tropical fruits and vegetables. There are many flourishing plantations representing these several interests, more especially that of sugar. The storehouses on the wharves and in the business sections of the city, the oxcarts passing through the streets, drawn each by a single animal, and even the very atmosphere, seem to be full of sugar. It is, in fact, the great sugar mart of South America. The annual amount of the article which is exported averages some twelve hundred thousand tons. Sugar is certainly king at Pernambuco. People not only drink, but they talk sugar. It is the one great interest about which all other business revolves. The article is mostly of the lower grade, and requires to be refined before it is suitable for the market. The refining process is being generally adopted at the plantations. American machinery is introduced for the purpose with entire success. The export of the crude article will, it is believed, be much less every year for the future, until it ceases altogether. It was a singular sight to observe the naked negroes carrying canvas bags of crude sugar upon their heads through the streets, each bag weighing a hundred pounds or more. The intense heat caused the canvas to exude quantities of syrup or molasses, which covered their dark, glossy bodies with small streams of fluid. They trotted along in single file, and at a quick pace, towards their destination, unheeding the sticky condition of their woolly heads and naked bodies.

Not far inland there are extensive meadows, where large herds of horned cattle are raised, together with a breed of half-wild horses, the breaking and domesticating of which, as here practiced, is a most cruel process. A certain set of men devote themselves to this business; rough riders, we should call them, very rough. Good horses are to be had at extraordinarily low prices. In the back country there are some grand and extensive forests, which produce fine cabinet woods and superior dye woods.

By consulting a map of the western hemisphere, it will be seen that Pernambuco is situated on the great eastern shoulder of South America, where it pushes farthest into the Atlantic Ocean, fifteen hundred miles south of Pará, and about five hundred north of Bahia. On the long coral reef which separates the harbor from the open sea is a picturesque lighthouse, also a quaint old watch tower which dates from the time of the Dutch dominion here. It is proposed to build additional layers of heavy granite blocks upon the reef, so as to raise it about six or eight feet higher and make it of a uniform elevation along the entire city front, and thus afford almost complete protection for the inner anchorage. It will be only possible to make any real improvement of the harbor by adopting a thorough system of dredging and deepening. There was evidence of such a purpose being already in progress on our second visit, two large steam dredging machines being anchored at the southerly end of the harbor.

The people of this hot region know the great value of shade trees, consequently they abound, half hiding from view the numerous handsome villas which form the attractive suburbs of the city. Everywhere one sees tall cocoanut palms, clusters of feathery bamboos, widespread mangoes, prolific bananas, guavas, and plantains growing among other graceful tropical trees, rich in the green texture of their foliage, and thrice rich in their luscious and abundant fruits. Among the vine products we must not forget to mention a rich, high flavored grape, which is native here, and which all people praise after once tasting. The water, which is brought into the city by a system of double iron pipes, comes from a neighboring lake, and is a pure and wholesome drink, a most incomparable blessing in equatorial regions, which no person who has not suffered for the want of it can duly appreciate.

The International Hotel is the favorite resort of strangers, and is situated a couple of miles from the harbor. It is surrounded by beautiful trees and flowers, the golden oranges weighing down the branches nearly to the ground by their size and abundance, while the young blossoms fill the air with their delicate perfume,—fruit and blossoms on the tree at the same time. The garden is thronged by household pets, and contains a spacious aviary. The monkey tribe is fully represented; gaudy winged parrots dazzle the eye with impossible colors. One partakes here, in the open air, of the refreshing viands amid the songs of birds, the occasional scream of the cockatoo, the cooing of turtle-doves, and the fragrance of a profusion of tropical flowers. The native servants are well-trained, and there is a French chef. We were told that this attractive place had once belonged to a very wealthy Brazilian, a planter, who had come to grief financially, and as the house was offered for sale, it had been purchased for one fifth of its original cost and adapted to hotel purposes. While enjoying our fruit at dessert, a somewhat similar experience was recalled as having taken place at Christiania, in Norway, where visitors enjoy the meals in a sort of outdoor museum and garden, surrounded by curious preserved birds mingled with living ones, the latter so tame as to alight fearlessly upon the table and await any choice bit guests may offer them.

We shall not soon forget the very appetizing dinner of which we partook, amid such attractive surroundings, in the gardens of the International Hotel at Pernambuco. One fruit which was served to us is known by the name of the loquat. It is round, dark yellow, and about the size of a Tangerine orange,—a great favorite with the natives, though it is mostly stone and skin, and tastes like turpentine.

This city is often called the Venice of Brazil, but why, it is difficult for one to understand. It is only poetical license, for there is not the first actual resemblance between the two cities. True, there are several watercourses, and half a dozen bridges, intersecting this Brazilian capital. One would be equally justified in calling the frail catamarans which are used by the fishermen in these waters, gondolas. This singular craft, by the way, consists of four or five logs of the cork-palm tree, confined together by a series of strong lashings, no nails being used, thus securing a necessary degree of elasticity. One end of the logs is hewn down to a smaller size or width than the other, thus forming stem and stern, while a single thick plank serves as a keel. There are no bulwarks to this crazy craft,—for it can hardly be called anything else,—the whole being freely washed by the sea; but yet, with a rude mast carrying a triangular sail, and with a couple of oars, two or three fishermen venture far away from the shore; indeed, we encountered them out of sight of land. A couple of upright stakes are driven into the logs, to hold on by when occasion requires. It is really wonderful to see how weatherly such a frail affair can be, and how literally safe in a rough seaway. The boatmen who navigate these catamarans (they are called here janguardas) manage to keep the market of Pernambuco abundantly supplied with the strange, fantastic fish which so prevail along the Atlantic coast in equatorial regions.

We have seen a craft very similar to these catamarans in use off the Coromandel coast, between Madras and the mouth of the Hoogly River, which leads up to Calcutta. Here the natives manage them in a sea so rough that an ordinary ship's boat, if exposed, would surely be swamped. The Madras catamaran consists of three pieces of timber, mere logs twelve or fourteen feet long, securely bound together with ropes made from the fibre of the cocoanut palm. Nails are no more available here than in the former crafts we have named. No nails could withstand the wrenching which this raft is subjected to. The middle log is a little longer than the two outside ones, and is given a slight upward turn at the end which forms the prow. No sail is used, but two fishermen generally go out with each of these rafts, propelling them with broad-bladed paddles, used alternately on either side. Of course the natives who navigate these crafts are naked, with the exception of a breech-cloth at the loins. They are very frequently thrown off by the sea, but regain their places with remarkable agility. They manage also, somehow, to secure their fishing gear, and generally to bring in a remunerative fare from their excursions. Strange as the catamaran is, it must yet be described as breezy, watery, and safe—for amphibious creatures. There is one enemy these fishermen have to look out for, namely the shark, both on the coast of Madras and South America. It is more common to say when one is lost that the sharks got him, than it is to say he was drowned.

The reef so often referred to, forming the breakwater opposite Pernambuco, is about forty feet in width at the surface, and is the marvelous architecture of that tiny coral builder which works beneath these southern seas. When it has reared a pyramid reaching from the far bottom of the ocean to the surface, its mission is performed and it dies. It lives and works only beneath the surface of the sea; atmospheric air is fatal to it. The pyramids of Egypt cannot compare with these submerged structures for height, solidity, or magnitude. One is the product of a creature of such seeming unimportance as to require microscopic aid to detect its existence; the other are monuments erected by ancient kings commanding infinite resources; the former being the process of nature in carrying out her great and mysterious plan; the latter, the ambitious work of men whose very identity is now questionable. If we were to enter into a calculation based upon known scientific facts, as to how many thousands of years were required for this minute animal to rear this massive structure, the result would astonish the average reader.

On approaching Pernambuco from the sea, the first object to attract the eye is the long line of snow white breakers, caused by the incessant swell of the sea striking against the firmly planted reef with a deafening surge, breaking into foam and spray which are thrown forty feet and more into the air. As we drew near for the first time, the extended line of breakers was illumined by the early morning sun, making fancy rainbows and misty pictures in the mingled air and water. We were escorted by myriads of sea-birds, whose sharp cries came close upon the ear, as they flew in and about the rigging. Behind the reef lay the comparatively smooth waters of the harbor, dotted here and there by tiny white sails, curious-shaped coasting craft, rowboats, and steam tugs, while the background was formed by a leafless forest of tall ships' masts which lined the wharves, and partially screened the low-lying capital from view.

We have remained quite long enough at this city of the reef, and now turn southward towards the more attractive port of Bahia.

In running down the coast, the Brazilian shore is so near as to be distinctly visible, with its surf-fringed beach of golden sands extending mile after mile, beyond which, far inland, rise ranges of forest-clad hills, and beyond these, sky-reaching alps. It is often necessary to give the land a wide berth, as at certain points dangerous sandbars make out from it far to seaward; but whenever near enough to the coast to make out the character of the vegetation, it was of deepest green and exuberantly tropical. With the exception of one or two small towns, and an occasional fisherman's hamlet, the shore presented no signs of habitation, being mostly a sandy waste adjoining the sea, where heavy rollers spent their force upon the smooth, water-worn, yellow beach.

CHAPTER VII.

Port of Bahia.—A Quaint Old City.—Former Capital of Brazil.—Whaling Interests.—Beautiful Panorama.—Tramways.—No Color Line Here.—The Sedan Chair.—Feather Flowers.—Great Orange Mart.—Passion Flower Fruit.—Coffee, Sugar, and Tobacco.—A Coffee Plantation.—Something about Diamonds.—Health of the City.—Curious Tropical Street Scenes.

Bahia,—pronounced Bah-ee´ah,—situated three hundred and fifty miles south of Pernambuco, is the capital of a province of the same name in Brazil, and contains nearly two hundred thousand inhabitants. It is admirably situated on elevated ground at the entrance of All Saints Bay,—Todos os Santos,—just within Cape San Antonio, eight hundred miles or thereabouts north of Rio Janeiro. The entrance of the bay is seven miles broad. For its size, there are few harbors in the world which present a more attractive picture as one first beholds it on entering from the open Atlantic. The elevated site of the city, with its close array of neat, white three and four story houses, breaks the sky-line in front of the anchorage, while the town forms a half moon in shape, extending for a couple of miles each way, right and left. Near the water's edge, on the lower line of the city, are many substantial warehouses, official establishments, the custom house, and the like. Between the lower and the upper town is a long reach of green terraced embankment, intense in its bright verdure. Probably no other city on the globe, certainly not so far as our experience extends, is so peculiarly divided.

A sad episode marked our first experience here. We came to anchor in the harbor, according to custom, at what is known as the Quarantine. About a cable's length from us lay a large European steamship, flying the yellow flag at the fore. She came into port from Rio Janeiro on the previous evening; five of her passengers who had died of yellow fever on the passage were buried at sea, while two more were down with it, and were being taken to the lazaretto on shore, as we dropped our anchor. Probably they went there to die. This was naturally depressing, more so, perhaps, as we were bound direct for Rio Janeiro; but as we now came from a northern port with a clean bill of health, we were finally released from quarantine and permitted to land. It is late in the season—last of May—for this pest of the coast to prevail, but the year 1891 has been one of unusual fatality in the South American ports, and none of them have been entirely exempt from the scourge, some showing a fearful list of mortality among both citizens and strangers. We were conversant with many instances of a particularly trying and sad nature, if any distinction can be made where death intervenes with such a rude hand. Victims who were in apparent good health in the morning were not infrequently buried on the evening of the same day! But we will spare the reader harrowing details.

Americus Vespucius discovered Bahia in 1503, while sailing under the patronage of Portugal, and as it was settled in 1511, it is the oldest city in the country, being also the second in size, though not in commercial importance. The excellent harbor is so spacious as to form a small inland sea, the far-reaching shores of which are beautified by mingled green foliage and pretty villas stretching along the bay, while the business portion gives evidence of a growing and important foreign trade. This deduction is also corroborated by the presence of numerous European steamships, and full-rigged sailing vessels devoted to the transportation of merchandise. The buildings are generally of a substantial appearance, whether designed as residences or for business purposes, but are mostly of an antique pattern, old and dingy. Though the city is divided into the lower and the upper town, the latter two or three hundred feet above the former, it is made easily accessible by mechanical means. A large elevator, run by hydraulic power, is employed for the purpose, which was built by an energetic Yankee, and has been in successful operation several years, taking the citizens from the lower to the upper town, as we pass from basement to attic in our tall North American buildings. Between the two portions of Bahia there are streets for the transportation of merchandise, which wind zigzag fashion along the ravine to avoid the abruptness of the ascent. Besides these means, there are narrow stone steps leading upwards to the first level, among the tropical verdure, the deep green branches and leaves nodding to one from out of narrow lanes and quiet nooks. There is still another way of reaching the upper town, namely, a cable road, of very steep grade, one car ascending while another descends, thus forming a sort of counterbalance. By all these facilities united, the population manage very comfortably to overcome the topographical difficulties of the situation.

Though there are few buildings of any special note in Bahia, the general architecture being quaint and nondescript, still the combined view of the city, as we have endeavored to show, is of no inconsiderable beauty. We approached it from the north, doubling Light House Point in the early morning, just as the rising sun lighted up the bay. Seen from the harbor, the large dome of the cathedral overlooks the whole town very much like the gilded dome which forms so conspicuous an object on approaching the city of Boston. The dark, low-lying, grim-looking fort, which presides over the quarantine anchorage, is built upon a natural ledge of rock, half a mile from the shore of the town, and looks like a huge cheese-box.

In the upper portion of Bahia the streets are narrow, and the houses so tall as to nearly exclude the sun when it is not in the zenith. They are built of a native stone, and differ from the majority of South American dwellings, which are rarely over two stories in height, and generally of one only. We have heard it argued that it is advantageous to build tropical cities with narrow streets, so as to exclude the heat of the sun's rays and thus keep the houses cooler. This is not logical. Wide avenues and broad streets give ventilation which cannot be obtained in any other way in populous centres. Narrow lanes invite epidemics, fevers, and malarial diseases; broad thoroughfares give less opportunity for their lodgment. A beehive of human beings, crowded together in a narrow space, exhausts the life-giving principle of the surrounding atmosphere, but this is impossible where plenty of room is given for the circulation of fresh air.

These tall houses of Bahia have overhanging ornamental balconies, which towards evening are filled with the female portion of the families, laughing, chatting, singing, and smoking, for the ladies of these latitudes smoke in their domestic circles. Narrow as the streets of Bahia are, room is found for a well patronized tramway to run through them. No one thinks of walking, if it be for only a couple of hundred rods, on the line of the street cars. All of the civilized world seems to have grown lazy since the introduction of this modern facility for cheap transportation.

Bahia was the capital of Brazil until 1763, during which year the headquarters of the government were removed to Rio Janeiro.

This is a sort of New Bedford, so to speak, having been for more than a century extensively engaged in the whaling business, an occupation which is still pursued to a limited extent. Whales frequent the bay of Bahia, where they are sometimes captured by small boats from the shore. It is supposed that the favorite food of this big game is found in these waters. There was a time when the close pursuit by fishing fleets fitted out in nearly all parts of the world rendered the whales wary and scarce. The catching and killing of so many seemed to have thinned out their number in most of the seas of the globe. Then came the great discovery of rock oil, which rapidly superseded the whale oil of commerce in general use. Thereupon the pursuit of the gigantic animal ceased to be of any great moment, while there was oil enough spontaneously pouring out of the wells of Pennsylvania, and elsewhere, to fully satisfy the demand of the world at large. Being no longer hunted, the whales gradually became tame and increased in numbers, so that to-day there are probably as many in the usual haunts of these leviathans in either hemisphere as there ever were. The briefest sea voyage can hardly be made without sighting one or more of them, and sometimes in large schools.

There is a portion of the elevated section of Bahia which is called Victoria, a really beautiful locality, having delightful gardens, attractive walks, and myriads of noble shade trees. From here the visitor overlooks the bay, with its islands and curving shore decked with graceful palms, bamboos, and mango groves; upon the water are numerous tiny boats, while white winged sailing ships and dark, begrimed steamers unite in forming a picture of active life and maritime beauty. In the distance lies the ever green island of Itaparica, named after the first governor's Indian bride, while still farther away is seen range after range of tall, purple hills, multiplied until lost in the distance.

A few grim looking convents and monasteries, which have gradually come into the possession of the government, are now used as free schools, libraries, and hospitals. There is a medical college here which has a national reputation for general excellence, and many students come from Rio Janeiro, eight hundred miles away, to avail themselves of its advantages, receiving a diploma after attending upon its three years' course of studies. From subsequent inquiry, however, not only here but in Rio and elsewhere, we are satisfied that the science of medicine and surgery stands at a very low ebb throughout this great southland. Foreign doctors are looked upon with great distrust and jealousy; indeed, it is very difficult for them to obtain a suitable license to practice in Brazil. This does not apply to dentistry, of which profession there are many American experts in the country, who have realized decided pecuniary and professional success. There were six or eight on board the Vigilancia, who had been on a visit to their North American homes during the summer season, at which time the fever is most to be dreaded here.

The city contains over sixty churches, some of which are fine edifices, built of stone brought from Europe. This could easily be done without much extra expense, as the vessels visiting the port in those early days required ballast with which to cross the ocean. They brought no other cargo of any account, but were sure at certain seasons of the year to obtain a suitable return freight, which paid a good profit on the round voyage. Several of these churches are in a very dilapidated condition, and probably will not be repaired. The cathedral is one of the largest structures of the sort in Brazil, and is thought by many to be one of the finest. The cathedral at Rio, however, is a much more elaborate structure, and far more costly. It takes enormous sums, wrung from the poorest class of people, to maintain these gorgeous temples and support the horde of fat, licentious, useless priests attached to them, while the mass of humanity find life a daily struggle with abject want and poverty. Does any thoughtful person believe for one moment that such hollow service can be grateful to a just and merciful Supreme Being?

Bahia was a flourishing port before Rio Janeiro was known commercially, and was the first place of settlement by English traders on this coast. The present population is of a very mixed character, composed of nearly all nationalities, white and black, European and natives. There is no prejudice evinced as regards color. Mulatto or negro may once have been a slave, but he is a freeman now, both socially and in the eyes of the law. He is eligible for any position of trust, public or private, if he develops the requisite degree of intelligence. Men who have been slaves in their youth are now filling political offices here, with credit to themselves and satisfaction to the public. The actual reform from being a degraded land of slavery to one of human freedom is much more radical and thorough in Brazil than it is in our own Southern States, where the pretended equality of the colored race is simply a burlesque upon constitutional liberty.

The occasional use of that quaint mode of conveyance, the sedan chair, was observable, taking one back to the days of Queen Anne. Only a few years ago it was the one mode of transportation from the lower to the upper part of the town; but modern facilities, already referred to, have thrown the sedan chair nearly out of use. A few antique representatives of this style of vehicle, some quite expensive and elaborately ornamented, are still seen obstructing the entrances to the houses. The local name they bear is cadeira. When these chairs are used, they are borne upon the shoulders of two or four stalwart blacks, and are hung upon long poles, like a palanquin, after the fashion so often seen in old pictures and ancient tapestry.

We have spoken of the narrowness of the streets through which the tramways pass. In many places, pedestrians are compelled to step into the doorways of dwellings to permit the cars to pass them. This is not only the case at Bahia, but also in half the busy portion of South American cities. These mule propelled cars are now adopted all over this country and Mexico; even fourth class cities have tramways, and many towns which have not yet risen to the dignity of having a city organization are thus supplied with transportation. The Bahia tramway, on its route to the suburbs, passes through fertile districts of great rural beauty, among groves of tropical fruits, orange orchards, tall overshadowing mangoes, and cultivated flowers. There is an attempt at a public garden, though it is an idea only half carried out; but there is a terrace in connection here called "The Bluff," from whence one gets a magnificent view, more especially of the near and the distant sea. These delightful and comprehensive natural pictures are photographed upon the memory, forming a charming cabinet of scenic views appertaining to each special locality, choice, original, and never to be effaced.

We must not omit to mention a specialty of this city, an article produced in one or two of the charitable institutions, as well as in many humble family circles, namely, artificial flowers made from the choicest feathers of the most brilliant colored birds. None of these articles are poor, while some of them are exquisite in design and execution, produced entirely from the plumage of native birds. A considerable aggregate sum of money is realized by a certain portion of the community, in the regular manufacture of these delicate ornaments. Girls begin to learn the art at a very early age, and in a few years arrive at a marvelous degree of perfection, producing realistic pictures which rival the brush and pencil of a more pretentious department of art. Nearly all visitors carry away with them dainty examples of this exquisite and artistic work, which has a reputation beyond the seas. Thousands of beautiful birds are annually sacrificed to furnish the necessary material. Thus the delicate family of the humming-bird, whose variety is infinite in Brazil, has been almost exterminated in some parts of the country. There is one other specialty here, namely, the manufacture of lace, which gives constant employment to many women of Bahia, their product being much esteemed all over South America for the beauty of the designs and the perfection of the manufacture.

The special fruit of this province, as already intimated, is oranges, and it is safe to say that none produced elsewhere can excel them. They are not picked until they are thoroughly ripe, and are therefore too delicate, in their prime condition, to sustain transportation to any considerable distance. Those sold in our northern cities are picked in a green condition and ripened off the trees, a process which does not injure some fruits, but which detracts very materially from the orange and the pineapple. The oranges of Bahia average from five to six inches in diameter, have a rather thin skin, are full of juice, and contain no pips; in short, they are perfectly delicious, being delicately sweet, with a slight subacid flavor. The first enjoyment of this special fruit in Bahia is a gastronomic revelation. The maracajus is also a favorite fruit here, but hardly to be named beside the orange. It is the product of the vine which bears the passion flower, but this we could not relish. It is a common fruit in Australia and New Zealand, where the author found it equally unpalatable, yet people who have once acquired the taste become very fond of it. The vine with its flower is common enough in the United States, but we have never seen it in a fruit-bearing condition in our country.

The province of Bahia has an area of two hundred thousand square miles, and is represented as containing some of the most fertile land in Brazil, capable of producing immense crops of several important staples. It is especially fertile near the coast, where there are some large and thriving tobacco, sugar, and coffee plantations. The first mentioned article, owing to some favorable peculiarity of the soil in this vicinity, is held to be nearly equal to the average Cuban product, and it is being more and more extensively cultivated each year. Bahia cigars are not only very cheap, but they are remarkably fine in flavor. It was observed that old travelers on this coast made haste to lay in a goodly supply of them for personal use.

A coffee plantation situated not far from this city was visited, affording a small party of strangers to the place much pleasure and information. The coffee plant is an evergreen, and thus the foliage is always fresh in appearance, yielding two harvests annually. Boa Vista, the plantation referred to, covers about one hundred acres, much of which is also devoted to the raising of fodder, fruit, corn, and beans, with some special vegetables, forming the principal sustenance of the people and animals employed upon the estate. At first, in laying out such a plantation, the coffee sprouts are started in a nursery, and when they have had a year's growth are transplanted to the open field, where they are placed with strict uniformity in long rows at equal distances apart. After the second year these young plants begin to bear, and continue to do so for twenty-five or thirty years, at which period both the trees and the soil become in a measure exhausted, and a new tract of land is again selected for a plantation. By proper management the new plantation can be made to begin bearing at the same time that the old one ceases to be sufficiently productive and remunerative to cultivate for the same purpose. The coffee-tree is thought to be in its prime at from five to ten years of age. Fruit trees, such as bananas, oranges, mandioca, guavas, and so on, are planted among the coffee-trees to afford them a partial shelter, which, to a certain degree, is requisite to their best success, especially when they are young and throwing out thin roots. The coffee bushes are kept trimmed down to about the height of one's head, which facilitates the harvesting of the crop, and also throws the sap into the formation and growth of berries. The coffee-tree, when permitted to grow to its natural height, reaches between twenty and thirty feet, and, with its deep green foliage, is a handsome ornamental garden tree, much used for this purpose in Brazil. The coffee pods, when ripe, are scarlet in color, and resemble cherries, though they are much smaller. Each berry contains two seeds, which, when detached from the pod and properly dried, form the familiar article of such universal domestic use. A coffee plantation well managed, in Brazil, is an almost certain source of ample fortune. The crop is sure; that is to say, it has scarcely any drawbacks, and is always in demand. Of course there are inconveniences of climate, and other things needless to enumerate, as regards entering into the business, but the growth and ripening of a coffee crop very seldom fail.

As has been intimated, this port is famous for the production of oranges and tobacco; so Rio is famous for coffee, Pernambuco for sugar, and Pará for crude india-rubber.

We must not forget to mention one other, and by no means insignificant product of Brazil which is exported from Bahia, namely, diamonds of the very first quality, which for purity of color far exceed those of Africa and elsewhere. It appears that a syndicate in London control the world's supply of this peculiar gem from all the mines on the globe, permitting only a certain quantity of diamonds to go on to the market annually, and thus keeping up the selling price and the market value. No one is permitted to know the real product of the mines but the managers of this syndicate. The quantity of the sparkling gems which are held back by the dealers in London, Paris, and Vienna is really enormous; were they to be placed in the retail dealers' hands as fast as they are produced from the various sources of supply, they would be erelong as cheap and plenty as moonstones. This sounds like an extravagant assertion, but still there is far more truth in it than is generally realized. One of the public journals of London lately spoke of a proposed corporation, to be known as the "Diamond Trust," which is certainly a significant evidence that the market requires to be carefully controlled as to the quantity which is annually put upon it. In old times a diamond was simply valued as a diamond; its cutting and polishing were of the simplest character. A series of irregular plane surfaces were thought to sufficiently bring out its reflective qualities, but the stone is now treated with far more care and intelligence. A large portion of the value of a diamond has come to consist in the artistic, and we may say scientific, manner in which it is cut. By this means its latent qualities of reflection of light are brought to perfection, developing its real brilliancy. Accomplished workmen realize fabulous wages in this employment. A stone of comparatively little value, by being cut in the best manner, can be made to outshine a much finer stone which is cut after the old style. Amsterdam used to control the business of diamond cutting, but it is now as well done in Boston and New York as in any part of the world.

The largest diamond yet discovered came from Brazil, and is known as the Braganza. The first European expert in precious stones has valued this extraordinary gem, which is still in the rough, at three hundred million sterling! Its actual weight is something over one pound troy. In the light of such a statement, we pause to ask ourselves, What is a diamond? Simply carbon crystallized, that is, in its greatest purity, and carbon is the combustible principle of charcoal. The author was told, both here and in Rio Janeiro, that there is a considerable and profitable mining industry carried on in this country, of which the general public hear nothing. The results are only known to prominent and interested Brazilians, the whole matter being kept as secret as possible for commercial reasons. No one reads anything about the products of the diamond mines in the local papers.

We cannot say that the city of Bahia is a very healthy locality, though it certainly seems that it ought to be, it is so admirably situated. Yellow fever and other epidemics prevail more or less every year. The lower part of the town, on the water front, is so shamefully filthy as to induce fever. Upon first landing, the stranger finds himself almost nauseated by the vile smells which greet him. This section of the town is also very hot, the cliff, or upper town, shutting off almost entirely the circulation of air. It is here that sailors, particularly, indulge in all sorts of excesses, especially in drinking the vile, raw liquor sold by negresses, besides eating unripe and overripe fruit, thus inviting disease. One favorite drink produced here, very cheap and very potent, is a poisonous but seductive white rum.

The trade and people in this part of the town form a strange conglomerate,—monkeys, parrots, caged birds, tame jaguars, mongrel puppies, pineapples, oranges, mangoes, and bananas, these being flanked by vegetables and flowers. The throng is made up of half-naked boatmen, indolent natives from the country, with negresses, both as venders and purchasers. As we look at the scene, in addition to what we have depicted there is a jovial group of sailors from a man-of-war in the harbor enjoying their shore leave, while not far away a small party of yachtsmen from an English craft are amusing themselves with petty bargains, close followed by half a dozen Americans, who came hither in the last mail steamer. A polyglot scene of mixed tongues and gay colors.

In passing into and out of the harbor of Bahia, one can count a dozen forts and batteries, all constructed after the old style, and armed in the most ineffective manner. These would count as nothing in a contest with modern ships of war having plated hulls and arms of precision. Land fortifications, designed to protect commercial ports from foreign enemies, have not kept pace with the progress in naval armament.

Bahia is connected by submarine telegraph with Pernambuco, Pará, and Rio Janeiro, and through them with all parts of the civilized world.

CHAPTER VIII.

Cape Frio.—Rio Janeiro.—A Splendid Harbor.—Various Mountains.—Botafogo Bay.—The Hunchback.—Farewell to the Vigilancia.—Tijuca.—Italian Emigrants.—City Institutions.—Public Amusements.—Street Musicians.—Churches.—Narrow Thoroughfares.—Merchants' Clerks.—Railroads in Brazil.—Natural Advantages of the City.—The Public Plazas.—Exports.

After a three days' voyage down the coast, between Bahia and Rio Janeiro, the tall lighthouse of Cape Frio—"Cool Cape"—was sighted. This promontory is a large oval mass of granite, sixteen hundred feet in height, quite isolated from other highlands, protruding boldly into the Atlantic Ocean. It forms the southeastern extremity of the coast of Brazil, and in clear weather can be seen, it is said, forty miles or more away. Here the long swell of the open sea is unobstructed and finds full sway, asserting its giant power at all seasons of the year. Experienced travelers who rarely suffer from seasickness are apt to succumb to this trying illness off Cape Frio. It is situated in latitude 22° 59' south, longitude 41° 57' west, which is particularly specified because the line of no magnetic variation touches on this cape,—that line which Columbus was so amazed at discovering one hundred leagues west of Flores, in the Azores, nearly four hundred years ago. We had been running almost due south for the last eight hundred miles, but in doubling Cape Frio, and making for Rio harbor, the ship was headed to the westward, while the mountains on the coast assumed the most grotesque and singular shapes, the range extending from west to east until it ends at Cape Frio. The continent of South America here forms a sharp angle, but we were too full of expectancy as to the king of harbors towards which we were heading, to speculate much about Cape Frio and its ocean-swept surroundings.

Rio Janeiro, the capital of Brazil, is also the largest, if not the most important city in South America, situated about twelve hundred miles north of Montevideo and Buenos Ayres, just within the borders of the southern torrid zone. The distance of Rio from New York direct is five thousand miles, but most voyagers, on the way through the West Indies, stop at three or four of these islands, and also at some of the northern ports of the continent of South America, the same as in our own case, so that about five hundred miles may be fairly added to the distance we have just named. Though the vessel was a month in making the voyage to this port, had we sailed direct it might have been done in two thirds of the time.

After doubling the cape and sailing some sixty or eighty miles, we steered boldly towards the mouth of the harbor of Rio. For a few moments the ship's prow pointed towards Raza Island, on which stands the lighthouse, but a slight turn of the wheel soon changed its relative position, and we entered the passage leading into the bay. After passing the "Sugar Loaf," a rock twelve hundred feet in height, the city lay off our port bow. All is so well defined, the water is so deep and free from obstructions of any sort, that no pilot is required and none is taken, and thus we crept slowly up towards our moorings. As the reader may well suppose, to eyes weary of the monotony of the sea, the panorama which opened before us was one of intense interest. Everything seemed matured and olden. There was no sign of newness; indeed, we recalled the fact that Rio was an established commercial port half a century before New York had a local habitation or a name. The town lies on the west side of the port, between a mountain range and the bay, running back less than two miles in depth, but extending along the shore for a distance of some eight miles, fronting one of the finest and most spacious harbors in the world, famous for its manifold scenic beauties, which, from the moment of passing within the narrow entrance, are ever changing and ever lovely. The most prominent features are the verdure-clad hills of Gloria, Theresa, and Castello, behind which extend ranges of steep, everlasting mountains, one line beyond another, until lost among the clouds. Few natural spectacles can equal the grand contour of this famous bay. People who have visited it always speak in superlative language of Rio harbor, but we hardly think it could be overpraised. It is the grand entrance to a tropical paradise, so far as nature is concerned, amid clustering mountains, abrupt headlands, inviting inlets, and beautiful islands, covered with palms, tree-ferns, bananas, acacias, and other delights of tropical vegetation, which, when seen depicted in books, impress one as an exaggeration, but seen here thrill us with vivid reality. It is only in the torrid zone that one sees these lavish developments of verdure, these labyrinths of charming arboreous effect.

Though so well known and so often written about, the harbor of Rio is less famous than beautiful. The bay is said to contain about one hundred islands, its area extending inland some seventeen or eighteen miles. The largest of these is Governor's Island, nearly fronting the city, being six miles long. Some idea of the extent of the bay may be had from the fact that there are fifty square miles of good anchorage for ships within its compass. Into the bay flows the water of two inconsiderable rivers, the Macacu and the Iguaçu, the first named coming in at the northeast and the latter at the northwest corner of the harbor.

The Organ Mountains,—Serra dos Orgãos,—capped with soft, fleecy clouds, formed the lofty background of the picture towards the north, as we entered upon the scene, the immediate surroundings being dominated by the sky-reaching Sugar Loaf Rock,—Pão d'Assucar,—which is also the navigator's guiding mark while yet far away at sea. This bold, irregular rock of red sandstone rises abruptly from the water, like a giant standing waist-high in the sea, and forms the western boundary of the entrance to the harbor, opposite to which, crowning a small but bold promontory, is the fort of Santa Cruz, the two highlands forming an appropriate portal to the grandeur which is to greet one within. The distance between these bounds is about a mile, inside of which the water widens at once to lake-like proportions. Clouds of frigate birds, gulls, and gannets fly gracefully about each incoming ship, as if to welcome them to the harbor where anchorage might be had for the combined shipping of the whole world. We have lately seen the harbor of Rio compared to that of Queenstown, on the Irish coast, twenty times magnified; but the infinite superiority of the former in every respect makes the allusion quite pointless.

The Organ Mountains, to which we have referred, and which form so conspicuous a portion of the scene in and about Rio, are so called because of their fancied resemblance in shape to the pipes of an organ; but though blessed with the usual share of imagination, we were quite unable to trace any such resemblance. However, one must not be hypercritical. The gigantic recumbent form of a human being, so often spoken of as discernible along this mountain range, is no poetical fancy, but is certainly clear enough to any eye, recalling the likeness to a crouching lion outlined by the promontory of Gibraltar as one first sees the rock, either on entering the strait or coming from Malta.

One of the most beautiful indentures of the shore, earliest to catch the eye after passing into the harbor of Rio from the sea, is called the Bay of Botafogo. The word means "thrown into the fire," and alludes to the inhuman autos-da-fé which occurred here when the natives, on refusing to subscribe to the Roman Catholic faith, were committed by the priests to the flames! This is the way in which the Romish creed was introduced into Mexico and South America, and the means by which it was sustained.

The principal charm of this lovely bay within a bay—Botafogo—is its flowers and exposition of soaring royal palms. The attractiveness of the handsome residences is quite secondary to that of nature, here revealed with a lavish profusion. This part of Rio is overshadowed by the tall peak of the Corcovado, "the Hunchback," one of the mass of hills which occupy a large area west of the city, and the nearest mountain to it. From its never-failing springs comes a large share of the water supply of the capital. The aqueduct is some ten miles long, crossing a valley at one point seven hundred feet in width, at a height of ninety feet, upon double arches. Another large aqueduct is in contemplation, besides which some other sources are now in actual operation, as Rio has long since outgrown the capacity of the original supply derived from the Corcovado. The drainage of the town suffers seriously for want of sufficient water wherewith to flush the conduits, which at this writing, with the deadly fever claiming victims on all hands, are permitted to remain in a stagnant condition! And yet there are hundreds of hills round about, within long cannon range, which would readily yield the required element in almost limitless quantity.

We left the Vigilancia, and our good friend Captain Baker, with regret. The noble ship had borne us in safety thousands of miles during the past month, through storms and calms, amid intense tropical heat, and such floods of rain as are only encountered in southern seas. Watching from her deck, there had been revealed to us the glories of the changing latitudes, and particularly the grandeur of the radiant heavens in equatorial regions. A sense of all-absorbing curiosity prevailed as we landed at the stone steps, overlooked by the yellow ochre walls of the arsenal, in the picturesque, though pestilential city. The nauseous odors which greet one as he steps on shore are very discordant elements in connection with the intense interest created by the novel sights that engage the eye of a stranger.

With a population, including the immediate suburbs, of over half a million,—estimated at six hundred and fifty thousand,—Rio has most of the belongings of a North American city of the first class, though we cannot refrain from mentioning one remarkable exception, namely, the entire absence of good hotels. There is not a really good and comfortable public house in all Brazil. Those which do exist in Rio charge exorbitantly for the most indifferent service, and strangers are often puzzled to find a sleeping-room for a single night on first arriving here. Tijuca, situated in the hills a few miles from the city, is perhaps the most desirable place of temporary sojourn for the newly arrived traveler, who will find at least one large and comfortable public house there, favorably known to travelers as Whyte's Hotel. It is some little distance from the city, but is easily reached by tramway, which takes one to the foot of the hills of the Tijuca range, whose tallest peak is thirty-four hundred feet above tide-water. This place abounds in attractive villas, tropical vegetation, and beautiful flowers, both wild and cultivated. From here also one gets a most charming view of the distant city, the famous bay, and the broad Atlantic; indeed, the view alone will repay one for making this brief excursion. The loftiest village in these hills is called Boa Vista. There are mountains, however, on either side, which are five or six hundred feet higher than the village containing the hotel. American enterprise is engaged at this writing in constructing a narrow gauge electric tramway to the summit of Tijuca. The driving road from the base to the top is an admirable piece of engineering, and is kept in the very best condition possible.

The objectionable character of the Italian emigrants, who come hither as well as to our own States, was demonstrated by a party of them robbing and nearly murdering a resident of Tijuca who happened to be a short distance from his own house, the evening previous to the day which we spent at this resort. These Italians are mostly employed as workmen upon the railroad, though some are gardeners on the neighboring estates. In town they act as porters and day laborers on the wharves, as boatmen, and so on, but, as we were assured, are a lawless, vagabond element of the community, giving the police force a great deal of trouble.

Rio has many large and commodious public buildings and some elegant private residences, the latter generally of a half Moorish type of architecture. Some of the edifices date back a couple of centuries. The early Portuguese built of stone and cement, hence the somewhat remarkable durability of these houses. The large edifice devoted to the department of agriculture and public works is one of the most noticeable in the city. The Bank of Brazil occupies a building which is classic in its fine architecture, being elaborately constructed of hammered granite. There is no more superb example of masonry in the country. The National Mint, on the Square of the Republic, is also a fine granite building; so is that devoted to the Bourse, where enormous values change hands daily. Educational institutions are numerous, well organized, and generally availed of by the rising generation. The National College is of notable influence in the dissemination of general intelligence, and the same may be said of the Polytechnic College, an excellent and practical institution. It should be observed that any well organized educational establishment is called a college in this country.

The public library of Rio contains some two hundred thousand volumes, besides many valuable Spanish and Portuguese documents in manuscript. It is liberally conducted; black and white people alike, as well as all respectable strangers, have free access and liberal accommodations within the walls. This institution is an honor to Brazil.

Rio has a new and well organized navy yard, a large arsenal, cotton mills, and several extensive manufacturing establishments. Among the latter is the largest flour mill we have ever seen. This is an English enterprise; but so far as we could learn, it had been found impossible to compete profitably with the American flour, as now landed at Rio. A foundling hospital on the Rua Everesta de Veiga is worthy of mention. Here, as already described in relation to another Brazilian city, infants are freely received and cared for, without any inquiry being made of those who deposit them. These little ones at the outset become children of the state, and are registered and numbered as such. Oftentimes the mother pins to the little deserted one's clothes the name she desires should be given to it, and the wish is usually regarded by the officials of the institution. The authorities put each child out to nurse for a year, but receive it back again at the expiration of that time, and at a proper period send it to school, and endeavor to rear it to some useful employment or trade. While the child is thus disposed of, the payment for its board and care is very moderate in amount, and is also contingent upon its good health and physical condition. Thus the deserted one is likely to have good attention, if not for humanity's sake, then from mercenary motives. This plan is copied from that which is pursued by the great foundling hospitals of St. Petersburg and Moscow, which are certainly the best organized and largest institutions of the sort in the world. Where so large a percentage of the children born are illegitimate, such a hospital becomes a real necessity. There has been no year since this establishment was opened, in 1738, as we were told, in which less than four hundred infants were received. Sometimes parents, whose worldly conditions have greatly improved, come forward after the lapse of years and claim their children. This right on their part is duly respected by their properly proving the relationship beyond all possible doubt, and paying a sum of money equal to that which has been actually expended by the state in the child's behalf.

In the line of public amusements there is a large and well-appointed opera house besides eight other fairly good theatres, together with an excellent museum. The performances at the theatres are given in French, Spanish, and Portuguese. Italian opera is presented three times a week during the season. This year the performances were summarily stopped by the principal tenor dying of yellow fever. The theatre bearing the name of the late emperor is a sort of mammoth cave in size, and is capable of seating six thousand people, not one half of whom can hear what is said or sung upon the stage by the performers. Street bands of German musicians perform here as they do in Boston and New York; the mass of the people, being music loving, patronize these itinerants liberally. One band posted themselves daily before the popular Globe Restaurant, at the hour of the midday meal (breakfast), and performed admirably, reaping a generous response from the habitués. Most of the patrons of this excellent establishment were observed to be American, English, and French merchants, who attended to business in Rio during the day, but who went home to the elevated environs to dine and to sleep. "I have been here in business nine years," said one of these gentlemen to us, "and have been down with the fever once; but I would not sleep in Rio overnight for any amount of money, at this season of the year." This was early in June. He added: "The fever should have disappeared before this time, which is our winter, but it seems to linger later and later each succeeding year." This was a conclusion which we heard expressed by other observant individuals, but all joined in ascribing its persistency in no small degree to the imperfect drainage, and the vile personal habits of the mass of the common people, who make no effort to be cleanly, or to regard the decencies of life in this respect.

As to churches, Rio has between sixty and seventy, none of which are very remarkable, all being dim, dirty, and offensive to the olfactories. The cause of the foul air being so noticeable in all of these Romish churches is the fact that no provision whatever is made for proper ventilation, and this, too, in places of all others where it is most imperatively necessary. The offense is created by exhalations from the bodies of the least cleanly class of the population. It is such who mostly fill these churches all over the continent of Europe, Mexico, South America, and the United States. Precisely the same disgusting odor greets the senses of the visitor to these edifices, be it in one hemisphere or another, but especially in Italy and Spain.

The cathedral of Rio is a large, showy edifice, surrounded by narrow streets, and thus hidden by other buildings, so that no general and satisfactory outside effect can be had. The front and sides are of solid granite, and the whole is known to have cost a mint of money, yet the safety of the foundation is more than questionable. Like the grand church of St. Isaacs, in the Russian capital of St. Petersburg, great expense will doubtless have to be incurred to renew and strengthen it in this respect. It is believed that the site upon which Rio stands was once under the sea, and, geologically speaking, at no very remote period, which accounts for considerable trouble being experienced in obtaining secure and solid foundations for any heavy superstructure. At this writing, the cathedral is undergoing extensive repairs, inside and out, but in spite of the noise of workmen, the disagreeable lime dust, and the interference of a network of interior staging, it is still very striking in its architectural effect.

In the old part of the town, two prominent cupolas dominate the surroundings. These belong respectively to the churches of Candelaria and San Luigi. The most popular church in Rio is undoubtedly that which crowns the Gloria Hill, called the Igreja da Gloria do Onterio, which overlooks the bay. Its commanding situation is very remarkable. In shape it is octagonal, and seems to be very solidly built. In front of the church there is a broad terrace, from whence a fine view may be enjoyed. On a moonlight night the picture presented from the Gloria Hill is something worth going miles on foot to behold. This church was the favorite resort of the late royal family when they were in the city, though much of their home life and all of their summers were passed in the hills of the Organ Mountains at the emperor's favorite resort,—Petropolis.

The shops of Rio, notwithstanding they are generally small and situated upon streets so narrow that they would be called only lanes in North America,—close, confined, half-strangled thoroughfares,—will compare favorably in many respects with those of continental Europe. The larger number of the merchants here are French, together with a considerable sprinkling of German Jews. Indeed, can any one tell us where we shall not find this peculiar race represented in the trade centres of the wide world? In many of the fancy-goods stores the famous Brazilian feather flowers are exhibited for sale, but the best place to purchase these is at Bahia, where they are a specialty, and where their manufacture is said to have originated. The narrow streets, traversed by tramways, are at times almost impassable for pedestrians, and are often blocked by heavy mule teams for fifteen minutes at a time. By and by some lazy policeman makes his appearance and quietly begins to unravel the snarl, which he at length succeeds in doing, and the ordinary traffic of the thoroughfare is once more resumed. An unsightly gutter runs through the middle of some of these thoroughfares, which adds to the annoyances incident to ordinary travel. All are regularly laid out, chess-board fashion, very ill smelling, and harbor an infinite number of beggars and mangy dogs.

It is customary for local merchants who employ European clerks—and there are many English, French, and Brazilians in Rio who do so,—to give them a fixed salary, quite moderate in amount, and to furnish them with lodgings also. The latter are of a very rude and undesirable character, in the business establishment itself, either over the store, or in the back part of it. The bedding which is furnished is of a makeshift character, rarely changed, and never properly aired. Exceedingly uncleanly domestic arrangements, or the entire absence of them, are also a serious matter in this connection, from a sanitary point of view. The clerks get their food at some neighboring restaurant, and contract irregular habits, all of which is both mentally and physically demoralizing. It is among this class of foreigners that the yellow fever finds the most ready victims. To sleep in these crowded business centres, in ill-ventilated apartments, with far from cleanly surroundings, is simply to provoke fatal illness, and during an epidemic of fever these places furnish fuel for the flames. Neatness and cleanliness among domestic associations in this city are entirely lost sight of and are totally disregarded by men and women.

The Rua Direita is the State Street or Wall Street of Rio; a new name, which escapes us at this moment, has been given to it, but the old one is still the favorite and in common use. Here brokers, bankers, and commission merchants meet and bargain, and fiercely speculate in coffee. The principal shopping street is the Rua de Ouvidor, where the best stores and choicest retail goods are to be found. In the Rua dos Ourives,—"Goldsmith's Street,"—the display of fine jewelry, diamonds, and other precious stones recalls the Rue de la Paix of Paris. Diamonds are held at quite as high prices as in London or New York, and those of the best quality can be bought better at retail out of this country than in it. A poor quality of stone, off color, is imported and offered here as being of native production, and careless purchasers are not infrequently deceived by cunning dealers in these matters.

Two vehicles cannot pass each other in this avenue without driving upon the narrow sidewalk. At times a deafening uproar prevails along these circumscribed lanes. The rough grinding of wheels, noisy bootblacks, whooping orange-sellers, screaming newspaper boys, howling dogs, the rattle of the street peddler, lottery ticket venders, fighting street gamins, all join to swell the mingled chorus. And yet these crowded thoroughfares would lose half of their picturesqueness were these elements to be banished from them. They each and all add a certain crude element of interest to this every-day picture of Vanity Fair.

In their ambition to copy European and North American fashions, the gentlemen of Rio utterly disregard the eternal fitness of things, wearing broadcloth suits of black, with tall, stove-pipe hats, neither of which articles should be adopted for a moment in their torrid climate. Nothing could be more inappropriate. Linen clothing and light straw hats are the true costume for the tropics, naturally suggesting themselves in hot climates to the exclusion of woolen, heat-brewing costumes, which are necessary articles of wear in the north. Fashion, however, ignores climate and is omnipotent everywhere; comfort is subsidiary. Wear woolen clothing by all means, gentlemen of Rio, even when the thermometer hangs persistently at 95° Fahr. in the shade, and the human body perspires like a mountain stream.

The tramway system of Rio is excellent in a crude way. Statistics show that fifty million passengers are annually transported by this popular means from one part of the city to another, and into the suburbs. The street railway was first introduced here by North American enterprise, the pioneer route being that between the city proper and the botanical garden. The prices of passage vary according to distances, as is the case with the London omnibuses. The cars are all open ones, of cheap, coarse construction, and far from inviting in appearance, being entirely unupholstered, and affording only hard board seats for passengers to sit upon. They are usually drawn by one small donkey, whose strength is quite overtasked, but the ground in the city is so nearly level that the cars move very easily and rapidly.

There is one delightful excursion from Rio which nearly all strangers are sure to enjoy. We refer to the ascent of Corcovado, the mountain which looms over Botafogo Bay to the height of twenty-two hundred feet, and to the summit of which a railway has been constructed. The grades are extremely steep, and the road is what is called a centre line, worked upon the cog-wheel system, the ascent being very slow and winding. The principle is the same as that of the railway by which Mount Washington is ascended, in New Hampshire, or the Righi, in Switzerland. This road was built by the national government, but as a pecuniary speculation it does not pay, though it is of considerable indirect benefit to the city. We will not dilate upon the grand outlook to be had from the summit of the Hunchback, which takes in a bird's-eye view of the harbor and its surroundings, but will add that no one should come hither without ascending Corcovado. The top consists of two rounded masses of bare rock, and is walled in to prevent accident, there being on one side a perpendicular descent of a thousand feet. It gives one at first a dizzy sensation to look down upon the vast city spread out over the plain, from whence a hum of mingled sounds comes up with singular distinctness. Even the bells upon the mules which are attached to the tram-cars can be distinguished, and other sounds still more delicate and minute. Just so balloonists tell us that at two or three thousand feet in mid-air they can distinguish the voices of individuals upon the earth below them. The experienced traveler learns to be astonished at nothing, but there are degrees of pleasure induced by beautiful and majestic views which mount to the apex of our capacity for admiration. One can safely promise such a realizing sense to him who ascends the Corcovado.

A tramway which starts from the centre of the city will take the traveler to the base of the hill, through roads lined by palms of great age and beauty, finally leaving him near the point from whence the steam road begins the upward journey.

Nictheroy, just across the harbor of Rio, on the east side of the bay, is a sort of faubourg of the capital, with which it is connected by a line of steam ferry-boats, as Chelsea is with Boston, or Brooklyn with the city of New York. It is the capital of the province of Rio Janeiro, and has broader streets, is more reasonably laid out, and is kept more cleanly than Rio itself. Space is found for a profusion of attractive gardens, and the senses are greeted by sweet odors in the place of needlessly offensive smells, which attack one on all sides in the metropolis so near at hand. It is quite a relief to get on to one of the ferry-boats and cross over to Nictheroy occasionally, for a breath of pure air. This is the native Indian name of the place, and signifies "hidden water," particularly applicable when these land-locked bays were shrouded in dense tropical woods.

Unlike Pará, Montevideo, and Buenos Ayres, this city has no special river communication with the interior, but her commerce is large and increasing. Railroads are more reliable feeders for business than either rivers or canals. It is a fact which is not generally realized, that Brazil has over six thousand miles of well-constructed railways in operation, besides having a telegraph system covering seven thousand miles of land service. In the construction of the railroads, the cost, so far as the ground work and grading was concerned, was reduced to the minimum, owing to the level nature of the country. As was the case in New Zealand, many of these railways were constructed at great expense, in anticipation of the wants of a future population, who it was hoped would settle rapidly upon the route which they followed. That is to say, many of these roads did not open communication between populous districts already in existence. This would have been perfectly legitimate. They run to no particular objective point, and seem to stop finally nowhere. The natural sequence followed. After being built and equipped with borrowed money, they were anything but self-supporting, and pecuniary aid from the government was freely given to enable them to be kept in operation.

There must always come a day of reckoning for all such forced schemes, and the Brazilian railways were no exception to the rule. This is largely the primary cause of the present monetary troubles in this country, as well as in the Argentine Republic. The capital for the construction of these roads came mostly from England, and that country has been accordingly a heavy pecuniary sufferer. The rates charged for transportation upon most of the lines are also exorbitant, if we were rightly informed; so much so, in fact, as to prove nearly prohibitory. Scarcely any species of merchandise brought from a considerable distance inland will bear such freight charges and leave a margin for profit to the producer and shipper. Would-be planters of coffee and sugar-cane dare not enter upon raising these staples for the market, unless situated very near the shipping point, or near some available river's course, the latter means being naturally much cheaper than any form of railway transportation.

Situated on the border of two zones, Rio Janeiro has the products of both within her reach, and thus possesses peculiar advantages for extensive trade and general commerce. It is in this latter direction that her progressive and enterprising merchants are endeavoring to extend the facilities of the port. The passenger landings—not wharves—which border the water front of the city here and there are of solid granite, from which at suitable intervals broad stone steps lead down to the water's edge, as on the borders of the Neva at St. Petersburg. We have few, if any, such substantial landing-places in our North American ports. We know of no harbor on the globe which enjoys a more eligible situation as regards the commerce of foreign countries, both of the New and the Old World. The one convenience so imperatively demanded is proper wharves for the landing and shipping of cargoes, thus obviating the necessity of the expensive and tedious lighter system. It is her many natural and extraordinary advantages which has led to so steady a growth of the city, notwithstanding the very serious drawback of an unwholesome climate, aggravated by the indolence and incapacity of the local authorities in sanitary matters. Both consumption and yellow fever have proved more fatal here than at any other port in South America, so far as we could draw comparisons.

The well-equipped marine arsenal of Rio is of considerable interest and importance, as there is no other port on the Atlantic coast, between the Gulf of Mexico and Cape Horn, where a large modern vessel can go into dry dock for needed repairs. This receptacle is ample in size, and is substantially built of granite. Such an establishment as a national shipyard is a prime necessity to a commercial country like Brazil, which has eleven hundred leagues of seacoast.