The house was very large and most substantially built, but consisted of only one story.I was told it was built by the Jesuits more than a century ago.The front had no veranda, the doors opening upon a slightly elevated terrace about a hundred yards distant from the broad sandy beach.Around the residence the ground had been cleared to the extent of two or three acres, and was planted with fruit trees.Well-trodden pathways through the forest led to little colonies of the natives on the banks of retired creeks and rivulets in the interior.I led here a solitary but not unpleasant life; for there was a great charm in the loneliness of the place.The swell of the river beating on the sloping beach caused an unceasing murmur, which lulled me to sleep at night, and seemed appropriate music in those midday hours when all nature was pausing breathless under the rays of a vertical sun.Here I spent my first Christmas Day in a foreign land.The festival was celebrated by the negroes of their own free will and in a very pleasing manner.The room next to the one I had chosen was the capella, or chapel.It had a little altar which was neatly arranged, and the room was furnished with a magnificent brass chandelier.Men, women, and children were busy in the chapel all day on the 24th of December decorating the altar with flowers and strewing the floor with orange-leaves.
They invited some of their neighbours to the evening prayers, and when the simple ceremony began an hour before midnight, the chapel was crowded.They were obliged to dispense with the mass, for they had no priest; the service therefore consisted merely of a long litany and a few hymns.There was placed on the altar a small image of the infant Christ, the "Menino Deos" as they called it, or the child-god, which had a long ribbon depending from its waist.An old white-haired negro led off the litany, and the rest of the people joined in the responses.After the service was over they all went up to the altar, one by one, and kissed the end of the ribbon.The gravity and earnestness shown throughout the proceedings were remarkable.Some of the hymns were very simple and beautiful, especially one beginning "Virgensoberana," a trace of whose melody springs to my recollection whenever I think on the dreamy solitude of Caripi.
The next day after I arrived, two blue-eyed and red-haired boys came up and spoke to me in English, and presently their father made his appearance.They proved to be a German family named Petzell, who were living in the woods, Indian fashion, about a mile from Caripi.Petzell explained to me how he came here.He said that thirteen years ago he came to Brazil with a number of other Germans under engagement to serve in the Brazilian army.
When his time had expired he came to Para to see the country, but after a few months' rambling left the place to establish himself in the United States.There he married, went to Illinois, and settled as farmer near St.Louis.He remained on his farm seven or eight years, and had a family of five children.He could never forget, however, the free river-life and perpetual summer of the banks of the Amazons; so, he persuaded his wife to consent to break up their home in North America, and migrate to Para.No one can imagine the difficulties the poor fellow had to go through before reaching the land of his choice.He first descended the Mississippi, feeling sure that a passage to Para could be got at New Orleans.He was there told that the only port in North America he could start from was New York, so away he sailed for New York; but there was no chance of a vessel sailing thence to Para, so he took a passage to Demerara, as bringing him, at any rate, near to the desired land.There is no communication whatever between Demerara and Para, and he was forced to remain here with his family four or five months, during which they all caught the yellow fever, and one of his children died.At length, he heard of a small coasting vessel going to Cayenne, so he embarked, and thereby got another stage nearer the end of his journey.A short time after reaching Cayenne, he shipped in a schooner that was going to Para, or rather the island of Marajo, for a cargo of cattle.He had now fixed himself, after all his wanderings, in a healthy and fertile little nook on the banks of a rivulet near Caripi, built himself a log-hut, and planted a large patch of mandioca and Indian corn.He seemed to be quite happy, but his wife complained much of the want of wholesome food, meat, and wheaten bread.I asked the children whether they liked the country; they shook their heads, and said they would rather be in Illinois.Petzell told me that his Indian neighbours treated him very kindly; one or other of them called almost every day to see how he was getting on, and they had helped him in many ways.He had a high opinion of the Tapuyos, and said, "If you treat them well, they will go through fire to serve you."Petzell and his family were expert insect-collectors, so Iemployed them at this work during my stay at Caripi.The daily occurrences here were after a uniform fashion.I rose with the dawn, took a cup of coffee, and then sallied forth after birds.
At ten I breakfasted, and devoted the hours from ten until three to entomology.The evening was occupied in preserving and storing my captures.Petzell and I sometimes undertook long excursions, occupying the whole day.Our neighbours used to bring me all the quadrupeds, birds, reptiles, and shells they met with, and so altogether I was enabled to acquire a good collection of the productions of the district.
