Portuguese are so similar to those of the Indians that they have
become blended with them. One of the commonest songs is very wild
and pretty. It has for refrain the words "Mai, Mai" ("Mother,
Mother"), with a long drawl on the second word. The stanzas are
quite variable; the best wit on board starts the verse,
improvising as he goes on, and the others join in the chorus.
They all relate to the lonely river life and the events of the
voyage-- the shoals, the wind, how far they shall go before they
stop to sleep, and so forth. The sonorous native names of places,
Goajara, Tucumanduba, etc., add greatly to the charm of the wild
music. Sometimes they bring in the stars thus:

A lua esta sahindo, Mai, Mai! A lua esta sahindo, Mai, Mai! As
sete estrellas estao chorando, Mai, Mai! Por s'acharem
desamparados, Mai, Mai!

The moon is rising, Mother, Mother! The moon is rising, Mother,
Mother! The seven stars (Pleiades) are weeping, Mother, Mother!
To find themselves forsaken, Mother, mother!

I fell asleep about ten o'clock, but at four in the morning John
Mendez woke me to enjoy the sight of the little schooner tearing
through the waves before a spanking breeze. The night was
transparently clear and almost cold, the moon appeared sharply
defined against the dark blue sky, and a ridge of foam marked
where the prow of the vessel was cleaving its way through the
water. The men had made a fire in the galley to make tea of an
acid herb, called erva cidreira, a quantity of which they had
gathered at the last landing-place, and the flames sparkled
cheerily upwards. It is at such times as these that Amazon