Page:A narrative of travels on the Amazon and Rio Negro.djvu/162

 ttf TRAVELS ON THE RIO NEGRO. {September,

only two families inhabiting it, a blacksmith, and a Brazilian, who bore the title of Capitao Vasconcellos, a good-humoured, civil man, who treated us very well the day we remained with him. For dinner we had turtle, with silver knives and forks, but our table was a mat on the ground. In the afternoon the Capitao got drunk with his old friend Senhor L., and then became very violent, and abused him as a vile, unworthy, skulking Portuguese villain, and used many more epithets, of which the language has a copious store. Senhor L., who prides himself on never getting intoxicated, took it very coolly, and the next morning the Capitao expressed his heartfelt contrition, vowed eternal friendship, and regretted much that he should have given the " estrangeiro " so much reason to think ill of his countrymen.

Proceeding on our journey, we entered on a labyrinth of small islands, so flooded that they appeared like masses of bushes growing out of the water. Though Senhor L. is well acquainted with the river, we here almost lost our way, and met another canoe which had quite done so. As it was late, we stayed at a point of dry land for the night, and hung our hammocks under the trees. The next day we called at the house of a man who owed Senhor L. some money, and who paid him in turtles, eight or nine of which we embarked.

The two shores of the river had only been seen for a moment. Again we plunged into a sea of islands, and channels opening among them often stretched out to the horizon. Some- times a distant shore continued for days unbroken, but was at last found to be but a far-stretching island. All was now again alluvial soil, and we sometimes had a difficulty in finding dry land to cook our meals on. In a few days more we reached Earcellos, once the capital of the Rio Negro, but now depopu- lated and almost deserted. On the shore lie several blocks of marble, brought from Portugal for some public buildings which were never erected. The lines of the old streets are now paths through a jungle, where orange and other fruit-trees are mingled with cassias and tall tropical weeds. The houses that remain are mostly ruinous mud-huts, with here and there one more neatly finished and white-washed.

We called on an old Italian, who has the reputation of being rich, but a great miser. He was, however, merry enough. He gave us coffee sweetened with molasses, and pressed us to slay