72 



A JOURNEY IN BRAZIL. 



upon the road were often as amusing as they were pic- 

 turesque. Now we came upon a troop of pack mules 

 with a tropeiro (driver) at their head ; if a large troop, 

 they were divided into companies of eight, with a man 

 to guide each company. The guard wound his horn to 

 give warning of our coming, and a general struggle, gar- 

 nished with kicks, oaths, and many lashes, ensued, to 

 induce the mules to make way for the coach. These 

 troops of mules are beginning to disappear from the sea- 

 board since the modern improvements in railroads and 

 stage lines, making transportation so much easier ; but 

 until lately it was the only way of bringing down the 

 produce from the interior. Or again we fell in with a 

 line of country wagons made of plaited bamboo, a kind of 

 fabric which is put to a variety of uses here, such as the 

 building of fences and lining of ceilings or roofs, as well 

 as the construction of carts. Here and there the laborers 

 were sitting in groups at the roadside, their work suspended 

 while they cooked their midday meal, their kettles hanging 

 over the fire, their coffee-pot simmering over the coals, 

 and they themselves lying about in gypsy-like freedom 

 of attitude. 



At Posse, the third stage of our road, after having 

 gone some thirty miles, we also stopped to breakfast, a 

 meal which was by no means unacceptable after our three 

 hours' ride. It is an almost universal custom with the 

 Brazilians, especially when travelling, to take their cup of 

 black coffee on rising, and defer their more solid break- 

 fast till ten or eleven o'clock. I do not know whether 

 my readers will sympathize with me, but I am always dis- 

 appointed myself if any book of travels, having led me 

 along the weary road, does not tell me what the liungry 



