Staple Dietary Ingredients Secured | My Web Site Page 245 Chapter 01 Page 05

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The archeologist's answer is that the real drama of daily life of the settlers--the life they knew 24 hours a day--is locked in the unwritten history beneath humus and tangled vegetation of the island. Here a brass thimble from the ruins of a cottage still retains a pellet of paper to keep it on a tiny finger that wore it 300 years ago. A bent halberd in an abandoned well, a discarded sword, and a piece of armor tell again the passing of terror of the unknown, after the Indians retreated forever into the distant hills and forests. Rust-eaten axes, wedges, mattocks, and saws recall the struggle to clear a wilderness. The simple essentials of life in the first desperate years have largely vanished with traces of the first fort and its frame buildings. But in later houses the evidence of Venetian glass, Dutch and English delftware, pewter, and silver eating utensils, and other comforts and little luxuries tell of new-found security and the beginning of wealth. In all, a half-million individual artifacts at the Jamestown museum represent the largest collection from any 17th-century colonial site in North America.

Next morning, all as happy as possible, we steamed down full speed on our way back to Manaos. We came in for dirty weather all the time, which obliged us to halt for several hours and put into Itaquatiara for shelter. A few hours later we were once more in the capital of the Amazonas, in the city of jewellers' shops and filthy food. On landing I found Maxim guns and artillery on one side of the principal square, with police troops in charge of them ready to fire; while on the other side were the Federal troops, also with their artillery ready for battle. It was with some concern that I found myself obliged to pass between those warlike bodies in order to enter the hotel. I was not so anxious for myself as I was for my photographic negatives and note-books, after I had taken all that trouble to save them.

Two months passed, and the weather was becoming cold. The old man was up earlier than usual one morning; still he seemed more feeble. He tottered about the cabin, his frame shook and trembled, and his whole system seemed to be under some new excitement. He had formed a strong attachment for Tite, whom he now approached with his hands extended. "Like you," he said, grasping his hand firmly and looking up imploringly into his face, "I was young and handsome once. I am old and ugly now. Crime has written its ugly finger all over my face; has thrust its poison into this poor heart of mine. Never let it lay one ugly finger on your face. Make yours a life of joy, so that you may die happy. Oh, these poor old gray hairs of mine, this head that has sinned so much." And he raised his hard, bony hand to his head, and tossed the long white hair back over his shoulders.

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