On the morning of the 13th, I was on deck at break of day. The helmsman led me to the side of the vessel, and told me to hold my head overboard, and inhale the air. I breathed a most beautiful perfume of flowers. I looked round in astonishment, and imagined that I must already be able to see the land: it was, however, still far distant, the soft perfume being merely drifted to us by the wind. It was very remarkable that inside the ship this perfume was not at all perceptible.
The sea itself was covered with innumerable dead butterflies and moths, which had been carried out to sea by the storm. Two pretty little birds, quite exhausted by their long flight, were resting upon one of the yards.
For us, who, during two months and a half, had seen nothing but sky and water, all these things were most satisfactory; and we looked out anxiously for Cape Frio, which we were very near. The horizon, however, was lowering and hazy, and the sun had not force enough to tear the murky veil asunder. We looked forward with joy to the next morning, but during the night were overtaken by another storm, which lasted until 2 o’clock. The ship’s course was changed, and she was driven as far as possible into the open sea; so that, in the end, we were glad enough to reach, the next day, the same position we had occupied the morning before.
Today we caught no glimpse of land; but a few gulls and albatrosses from Cape Frio warned us that we were near it, and afforded us some little amusement. They swam close up to the ship’s side, and eagerly swallowed every morsel of bread or meat that was thrown to them. The sailors tried to catch some with a hook and line, and were fortunate enough to succeed. They were placed upon the deck, and, to my great surprise, I perceived that they were unable to raise themselves from it. If we touched them, they merely dragged themselves, with great difficulty, a few paces further, although they could rise very easily from the surface of the water, and fly extremely high.
One of the gentlemen was exceedingly anxious to kill and stuff one of them, but the superstition of the sailors was opposed to this. They said that if birds were killed on board ship, their death would be followed by long calms. We yielded to their wishes and restored the little creatures to the air and waves, their native elements.
This was another proof that superstition is still deep-rooted in the minds of sailors. Of this we had afterwards many other instances. The captain, for example, was always very averse to the passengers amusing themselves with cards or any other game of chance; in another vessel, as I was informed, no one was allowed to write on Sunday, etc. Empty casks or logs of wood were also very frequently thrown overboard during a calm—probably as sacrifices to the deities of the winds.
On the morning of the 16th of September we at last had the good fortune to perceive the mountains before Rio Janeiro, and soon singled out the Sugarloaf. At 2 o’clock, P.M., we entered the bay and port of Rio Janeiro.
Immediately at the entrance of the bay are several conical rocks, some of which, like the Sugarloaf, rise singly from the sea, while others are joined at the base, and are almost inaccessible. {13} Between these “ocean mountains,” if I may be allowed the expression, are seen the most remarkably beautiful views; now extraordinary ravines, then some charmingly situated quarter of the town, presently the open sea, and the moment after some delightful bay. From the bay itself, at the end of which the capital is built, rise masses of rock, serving as foundations to different fortifications. On some of these eminences are chapels and fortresses. Ships are obliged to pass as near as possible to one of the largest of the latter, namely, Santa Cruz, in order that their papers may be examined.
From this fortress, to the right, stretches the beautiful mountain range of the Serados-Orgõas, which, in conjunction with other mountains and hills, fringes a lovely bay, on the shores of which lie the little town of Praya-grande, some few villages and detached farmhouses.
At the extremity of the principal bay, stands Rio Janeiro, surrounded by a tolerably high chain of mountains (among which is the Corcovado, 2,100 feet high), behind which, more inland, is the Organ Mountain, which owes its name to its many gigantic peaks placed upright one against the other like the pipes of an organ. The highest peak is 5,000 feet high.
One portion of the town is concealed by the Telegraph Mountain, and several hills, on which, besides the Telegraph, there is a monastery of Capuchin monks and other smaller buildings. Of the town itself are seen several rows of houses and open squares, the Great Hospital, the Monasteries of St. Luzia and Moro do Castello, the Convent of St. Bento, the fine Church of St. Candelaria, and some portions of the really magnificent aqueduct. Close to the sea is the Public Garden (passeo publico) of the town, which, from its fine palm trees, and elegant stone gallery, with two summer-houses, forms a striking object. To the left, upon eminences, stand some isolated churches and monasteries, such as St. Gloria, St. Theresa, etc. Near these are the Praya Flamingo and Botafogo, large villages with beautiful villas, pretty buildings, and gardens, which stretch far away until lost in the neighbourhood of the Sugarloaf, and thus close this most wonderful panorama. In addition to all this, the many vessels, partly in the harbour before the town, partly anchored in the different bays, the rich and luxuriant vegetation, and the foreign and novel appearance of the whole, help to form a picture, of whose beauties my pen, unfortunately, can never convey an adequate idea.
It rarely happens that a person is so lucky as to enjoy, immediately on his arrival, so beautiful and extensive a view as fell to my lot; fogs, clouds, or a hazy state of the atmosphere, very often conceal certain portions, and thus disturb the wonderful impression of the whole. Whenever this is the case, I would advise every one, who intends stopping any time in Rio Janeiro, to take a boat, on a perfectly clear day, as far as Santa Cruz, in order to behold this peculiarly beautiful prospect.
It was almost dark before we reached the place of anchorage. We were first obliged to stop at Santa Cruz to have the ship’s papers examined, and then appear before an officer, who took from us our passports and sealed letters; then before a surgeon, who inspected us to see that we had not brought the plague or yellow fever; and lastly, before another officer, who took possession of different packets and boxes, and assigned us the spot to anchor in.
It was now too late for us to land, and the captain alone proceeded on shore. We, however, remained for a long time on deck, contemplating the magnificent picture before us, until both land and sea lay shrouded in night.
With a light heart did we all retire to rest; the goal of our long voyage had been attained without any misfortune worthy of being mentioned. A cruel piece of intelligence was in store for the poor tailor’s wife alone; but the good captain did not break it to her today, in order to let her enjoy an undisturbed night’s rest. As soon as the tailor heard that his wife was really on her passage out, he ran off with a negress, and left nought behind but—debts.
The poor woman had given up a sure means of subsistence in her native land (she supported herself by cleaning lace and ladies’ apparel), and had devoted her little savings to pay the expenses of her voyage, and all to find herself deserted and helpless in a strange hemisphere. {14}
From Hamburgh to Rio Janeiro is about 8,750 miles.
CHAPTER II. ARRIVAL AND SOJOURN IN RIO JANEIRO.
INTRODUCTION—ARRIVAL—DESCRIPTION OF THE TOWN—THE BLACKS AND THEIR RELATIONS TO THE WHITES—ARTS AND SCIENCES—FESTIVALS OF THE CHURCH—BAPTISM OF THE IMPERIAL PRINCESS—FETE IN THE BARRACKS—CLIMATE AND VEGETATION—MANNERS AND CUSTOMS—A FEW WORDS TO EMIGRANTS.
I remained in Rio Janeiro above two months, exclusive of the time devoted to my different excursions into the interior of the country; it is very far from my intention, however, to tire the reader with a regular catalogue of every trifling and ordinary occurrence. I shall content myself with describing the most striking