[Illustration: CHORA MENINAS—THE PLACE OF THE WAILING CHILDREN.]
NOTE TO THE SECOND ILLUSTRATION.—DOMESTIC LIFE AMONG THE BRAZILIAN PLANTERS.—Chora Meninas, the place represented in the second of the larger sketches in this chapter on Pernambuco, is in the environs of the city of the Recife, situated at an angle formed by two high roads, both leading to localities much liked by the foreign merchants, and consequently selected by them for their country residences. The road shown in the engraving leads to the Magdalena Bridge, over the river Capibaribe, beyond which the Sitios, or country houses, thickly scattered on either side, with their mango, bread-fruits and orange trees, and their fragrant flowery shrubs, convey to the stranger most pleasing sensations as he rides leisurely past them. The other road turn to the right of Chora Meninas, and passing the Manguinho, leads to the Ponte d’Uchoa, the other locality much frequented by foreigners. The two places lie, indeed, in the vicinity of the same river, the Capibaribe, the one on the right bank, and the other on the left. Chora Meninas means, literally, the Place of Wailing Infants, an appellation given to it from the spot having been the scene of much bloodshed in a civil conflict in times gone by, when the children of the slain filled the air with their lamentations over the bodies that strewed the ground. The edifice shown in the sketch was once the dwelling house of the owner of a sugar factory situated on that spot, and the chapel was erected by the planter. The buildings are old, and it is many years since the plantations of canes have been discontinued there, as suburbs of the increasing city of Pernambuco have encroached upon the lands. No vestige even now remains of the out-buildings, once destined for the manufacture of the sugar. The dwelling and chapel are built in the ancient Portuguese style, and exhibit signs of Moorish architecture in various parts. The house is a very good sample of many to be found upon the old sugar estates that are in the hands of rustic proprietors, who are very far behind in all those things that indicate an advanced state of civilization. The low roofs, the small unglazed windows, situated under the very eaves of the building, the lean-to roof over a long veranda, the unceiled rooms, the uninhabited ground-floor, partly used for store rooms, and partly abandoned to toads and serpents, and to the sheep and goats, which, as well as a decrepid ox or two, will, at times, enter by the doorless apertures to procure shelter from the heavy tropical rains,—all are characteristics of many of the residences of the less educated planters, who were born and bred to the occupation of cane-planting, as their fathers and grandfathers were before them. If some old and comfortless brick building does not exist upon the estate, you will find the planter domiciled in an edifice of his own constructing. It will then consist of but few rooms, all on the ground-floor. These will not be ceiled, neither will the partition walls be carried up to the roof, so that in one apartment everything is overheard that passes in the others. Often has the writer of this note had to occupy for the night one of these small partitions, without even a window or aperture to admit the light, and has had to listen to many a curtain lecture, while lying on a camp bedstead or stretcher, rolled up in a piece of printed calico in his uncomfortable dormitory. The following is a specimen of many occurrences of the kind that may be witnessed by a traveller when quartered at such plantations.—_Wife._ Zuza, have you bolted the strangers in? _Planter._ No, I forgot it; but never mind. _Wife._ Never mind, indeed! but I do mind. Gertruda! _Black Girl._ Nhora! (meaning senhora). _Wife._ Get up, and bolt the door in the passage leading to the stranger’s room. _Black Girl._ Nhora, sim, (meaning, sim, senhora.) Pause, during which the stranger hears somebody in his room, and heavy articles being moved across the floor, and he asks who is there? _Wife._ Gertruda, you baggage! what are you doing? Why don’t you bolt the door? _Gertruda._ There are some things in the way, and I can’t shut it.—A pack saddle, two panniers full of dried beef, and half a cask of salt cod-fish have been lying near the door, inside the unfortunate stranger’s room, the aroma from the beef and fish being more intolerable than any one not having slept under similar circumstances can possibly conceive.