St.Paulo is built on a high hill, on the southern bank of the river.The hill is formed of the same Tabatinga clay, which occurs at intervals over the whole valley of the Amazons, but nowhere rises to so great an elevation as here, the height being about 100 feet above the mean level of the river.The ascent from the port is steep and slippery; steps and resting-places have been made to lighten the fatigue of mounting, otherwise the village would be almost inaccessible, especially to porters of luggage and cargo, for there are no means of making a circuitous road of more moderate slope, the hill being steep on all sides, and surrounded by dense forests and swamps.The place contains about 500 inhabitants, chiefly half-castes and Indians of the Tucuna and Collina tribes, who are very little improved from their primitive state.The streets are narrow, and in rainy weather inches deep in mud; many houses are of substantial structure, but in a ruinous condition, and the place altogether presents the appearance, like Fonte Boa, of having seen better days.Signs of commerce, such as meet the eye at Ega, could scarcely be expected in this remote spot, situate 1800 miles, or seven months' round voyage by sailing-vessels, from Para, the nearest market for produce.A very short experience showed that the inhabitants were utterly debased, the few Portuguese and other immigrants having, instead of promoting industry, adopted the lazy mode of life of the Indians, spiced with the practice of a few strong vices of their own introduction.
The head-man of the village, Senor Antonio Ribeiro, half-white half-Tucuna, prepared a house for me on landing, and introduced me to the principal people.The summit of the hill is grassy table-land, of two or three hundred acres in extent.The soil is not wholly clay, but partly sand and gravel; the village itself, however, stands chiefly on clay, and the streets therefore after heavy rains, become filled with muddy puddles.On damp nights the chorus of frogs and toads which swarm in weedy back-yards creates such a bewildering uproar that it is impossible to carry on a conversation indoors except by shouting.My house was damper even than the one I occupied at Fonte Boa, and this made it extremely difficult to keep my collections from being spoilt by mould.But the general humidity of the atmosphere in this part of the river was evidently much greater than it is lower down; it appears to increase gradually in ascending from the Atlantic to the Andes.
It was impossible at St.Paulo to keep salt for many days in a solid state, which was not the case at Ega, when the baskets in which it is contained were well wrapped in leaves.Six degrees further westward, namely, at the foot of the Andes, the dampness of the climate of the Amazonian forest region appears to reach its acme, for Poeppig found at Chinchao that the most refined sugar, in a few days, dissolved into syrup, and the best gunpowder became liquid, even when enclosed in canisters.At St.
Paulo refined sugar kept pretty well in tin boxes, and I had no difficulty in keeping my gunpowder dry in canisters, although a gun loaded overnight could very seldom be fired off in the morning.
The principal residents at St.Paulo were the priest, a white from Para, who spent his days and most of his nights in gambling and rum-drinking, corrupting the young fellows and setting the vilest example to the Indians; the sub-delegado, an upright, open-hearted, and loyal negro, whom I have before mentioned, Senor Jose Patricio; the Juiz de Paz, a half-caste named Geraldo, and lastly, Senor Antonio Ribeiro, who was Director of the Indians.Geraldo and Ribeiro were my near neighbours, but they took offence at me after the first few days, because I would not join them in their drinking bouts, which took place about every third day.They used to begin early in the morning with Cashaca mixed with grated ginger, a powerful drink, which used to excite them almost to madness.Neighbour Geraldo, after these morning potations, used to station himself opposite my house and rave about foreigners, gesticulating in a threatening manner towards me by the hour.After becoming sober in the evening, he usually came to offer me the humblest apologies, driven to it, I believe, by his wife, he himself being quite unconscious of this breach of good manners.The wives of the St.Paulo worthies, however, were generally as bad as their husbands; nearly all the women being hard drinkers, and corrupt to the last degree.Wifebeating naturally flourished under such a state of things.I found it always best to lock myself indoors after sunset, and take no notice of the thumps and screams which used to rouse the village in different quarters throughout the night, especially at festival times.
The only companionable man I found in the place, except Jose Patricio, who was absent most part of the time, was the negro tailor of the village, a tall, thin, grave young man, named Mestre Chico (Master Frank), whose acquaintance I had made at Para several years previously.He was a free negro by birth, but had had the advantage of kind treatment in his younger days, having been brought up by a humane and sensible man, one Captain Basilio, of Pernambuco, his padrinho, or godfather.He neither drank, smoked, nor gambled, and was thoroughly disgusted at the depravity of all classes in this wretched little settlement, which he intended to quit as soon as possible.
