We frequently fell in with an old Indian woman, named Cecilia, who had a small clearing in the woods.She had the reputation of being a witch (feiticeira), and I found, on talking with her, that she prided herself on her knowledge of the black art.Her slightly curled hair showed that she was not a pureblood Indian--I was told her father was a dark mulatto.She was always very civil to our party, showing us the best paths, explaining the virtues and uses of different plants, and so forth.I was much amused at the accounts she gave of the place.Her solitary life and the gloom of the woods seemed to have filled her with superstitious fancies.She said gold was contained in the bed of the brook, and that the murmur of the water over the little cascades was the voice of the "water-mother" revealing the hidden treasure.A narrow pass between two hillsides was the portao or gate, and all within, along the wooded banks of the stream, was enchanted ground.The hill underneath which we were encamped was the enchanter's abode, and she gravely told us she often had long conversations with him.These myths were of her own invention, and in the same way an endless number of other similar ones have originated in the childish imaginations of the poor Indian and half-breed inhabitants of different parts of the country.It is to be remarked, however, that the Indian men all become sceptics after a little intercourse with the whites.The witchcraft of poor Cecilia was of a very weak quality.It consisted of throwing pinches of powdered bark of a certain tree, and other substances, into the fire while muttering a spell--a prayer repeated backwards--and adding the name of the person on whom she wished the incantation to operate.Some of the feiticeiras, however, play more dangerous tricks than this harmless mummery.They are acquainted with many poisonous plants, and although they seldom have the courage to administer a fatal dose, sometimes contrive to convey to their victim sufficient to cause serious illness.
The motive by which they are actuated is usually jealousy of other women in love matters.While I resided in Santarem, a case of what was called witchcraft was tried by the sub-delegado, in which a highly respectable white lady was the complainant.It appeared that some feiticeira had sprinkled a quantity of the acrid juice of a large arum on her linen as it was hanging out to dry, and it was thought this had caused a serious eruption under which the lady suffered.
I seldom met with any of the larger animals in these excursions.
