Full Chapter Princess To Pleasure Slave Chronicles Book Eight Last Stand of The War Priestess 1St Edition Amanda Clover Jay Aury Clover PDF

Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles
(Book Eight): Last Stand of the War

Priestess 1st Edition Amanda Clover &
Jay Aury [Clover
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Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicle
Book Eight
Last Stand of the War Priestess
By Amanda Clover and Jay Aury
@amandasmut
Cover artwork by Deilan12
This book and all its contents are copyright 2019 by Amanda Clover. All
rights are reserved and no portions may be reproduced unless for the use of
brief quotations for review purposes.
All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18. This is a work
of parody and any resemblance to real people or situations is coincidental.
Map of the Empire of Istanov
The Chronicle
The time of monsters was said to be at an end.

The rise of the great human empires of Istanov, Heimsvak, and the
desert kingdom of Shaddobar brought the elves to heel and drove the tribes of
orcs, goblins, and stranger monsters to the margins.
The last great monster uprising occurred more than 50 years ago,
when a brave huntress named Penelope Helsdottir prevented the ascension of
a new monster god and formed the Huntresses of Ctharne. These unique
warrior women were dispatched throughout the known world wherever
trouble arose to tame what monsters they could and destroy those that could
not be made into allies.
But within the borders of Istanov, trouble brews. Long years of peace
and prosperity have blinded the Istanov dynasty and the people of this nation
to a new danger. As monsters gather, seemingly heeding the call of a
powerful human leader, will the nobles of Istanov react in time? Or will
overconfidence prove the undoing of an empire?
These are the Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles.
Battle
“By Arsenus be gone!”

The hammer struck with all the might of the god of war, shattering
the orc’s ribs with a thunderous crack. The monster crumpled to the ground
and Safira Grenn turned to face another enemy. The war priestess flicked
some of her long blonde hair away and back beneath her hood. Her robes
swished about her, her gauntlets and greaves all the armour she wore. It did
little to hide the generous curves which pressed against the black fabric. She
panted, her tanned complexion flushed, her eyes sparking as she brought
about her war hammer again, the impact crushing the head of a ghoul like an
overripe melon.
But there were too many. Far too many. She stood for a moment in
an island of calm and corpses, looking over the camp of the Emperor of
Istanov. Monsters ran rampant, slaughtering soldiers and camp followers
alike. A rout. A massacre. And, she realized, a hopeless fight for humanity.
She grit her teeth, cursing the emperor with all her soul. The fool!
Why hadn’t he listened to his generals? She cursed him again and spurred her
mount forward. The horse whinnied, charging through the melee. Her
hammer swung, her arms tireless, filled with the energy of the god of war, her
soul singing the glory of battle.
A scream; high, feminine, snapped her attention away from the
chaos. A group of women had been driven back against a cliff by a band of
orcs. Two soldiers protected a woman in a gown, and another in the green
robe of an acolyte of Lasha, the healer. Yanking her horse about by the reins,
Safira charged the monsters from the rear.
“Arsenus grant me strength!” she roared, her hammer coming down
on a surprised orc. The brute’s skull shattered beneath the blow. The second,
warned by his companion’s death, tried to duck out of the way. He avoided a
fatal blow, but his shoulder was shattered. The monster went down, howling
in pain moments before one of the soldiers lunged, skewering the brute.
The other two orcs rushed her. Her mount reared, hooves lashing out.
One of the orcs fell beneath the iron shod blows, but the other lunged in, his
spear driving into her horse. The animal shrieked, falling. Safira leaped off it
before it could crush her. She hit the ground, rolled and surged back to her
feet, her hammer flashing golden light as she slammed it into the orc’s leg.
The monster went down, and Safira followed her attack with an
uppercut, driving the orc’s tusked jaw straight up and into his brain. She
spun, her hammer shattering the sword of a minotaur. The bull headed beast
looked in wonder at his broken weapon for a moment before Safira smashed
the hammer into his side, sending the beast man to the ground, bellowing like
a felled bull.
Safira panted, looking over the dead. She turned to the soldiers. “Are
you alright?”
“We had that,” one said. Safira raised a brow at the high pitch of the
voice, moments before the soldier pulled off their battered helm, revealing a
head of short cropped dark hair, fierce eyes and a striking face of slim boned
yet bold features.
“Camilla, please!” the other soldiers gasped weakly. “Please,
priestess! You have to help us. We have to escape!”
“Escape?” Safira panted.
“Please!” the soldier insisted. “We can’t fight this! We have to go!”
Safira hesitated. The thumping of her god’s blessing still pumped
through her like hot wine. She glanced back at the flaming camp and the
hulking shadows which prowled among them. Again she felt that surge of
glorious battle. Of the praising of her god in the wilds of raw combat.
And yet… She glanced back at the four women, her eyes lingering
on the novice and the weeping noble in the gown. She grimaced. Arsenus was
a god of war, but so was he one of nobility. And the defenceless women
before her…
“Blast,” she cursed, fighting past the fire of righteous wrath.
“Alright. Come with me!”
“Who made you in charge?” Camilla said.
“That!” she barked, gesturing at the burning camp. “Now come! Or
be impaled on the spears of one of those brutes.”
Camilla pursed her lips, but submitted to Safira’s authority. As the
novice of Lasha assisted the weeping civilian to her feet, Safira took the lead,
pushing into the relative quiet of the woods. The two soldiers took up the
rear, but it was no orderly retreat. The group fled into the forest, racing into
the tangled darkness
Safira plunged on ahead, the world alight with her god’s blessing.
Every tree stood out in stark relief. Every leaf quivering on its branch, every
blade of grass she trampled in her mad dash seemed to possess a sharp life all
its own. Her hammer was light in her hands, a part of her as much as her leg
or arm or pounding heart. She saw the gertlings and an orcish captain lurking
at the edges of the battlefield, likely hoping to catch any fleeing soldiers. She
trampled over the startled monsters in a surge, her hammer swinging,
smashing them aside.
The orc turned as she approached. His scarred face twisted in
amusement as he brought about his massive sword. Safira plunged forward,
her hammer ringing a sharp, pure note as it impacted the orc’s blade.
The brute staggered back beneath the blow. Startled that a woman
could strike so hard, he didn’t see her follow up. Her hammer swung, blazing
with life. The orc yanked his head back at the last moment, earning a
glancing blow, but one that shattered one of his tusks, cracking against the
side of his head. The orc fell, dazed, and Safira stepped forward to finish him.
A scream stalled her. She glanced back, one of the wretched gertlings
having caught the dress of the noblewoman. Before she could move Camilla
slashed the creature’s arm off, sending it howling and freeing the others to
follow.
The sound of their battle had not gone unnoticed. Gibbering cries
echoed from within the woods behind them. Safira cursed again. “This way!”
she called, pushing on into the woods, away from the flames and screams.
Away from the battle that should have been her stand. Away, away, and into
the waiting night of silence and shadows. And above, dark clouds gathered,
and thunder rolled with the advent of a coming storm.
Whispers in the Woods
The cave was dry, and that was about all that could be said of it.
Desera stood at the entrance, listening to the low boom of distant
thunder. The young soldier scanned the woods carefully, holding her sword
close. Nothing moved among the trees and tangled brush that she could see,
but she wasn’t so foolish as to assume they were safe.
No. Not at all.
The rain was dying down beyond the cave, but Desera wasn’t
soothed by it. The young soldier shuddered, her armour rattling. Oh gods.
This hadn’t been what she’d signed up for. She’d just been a town guard in
the city. A secured job, up until she’d been drafted. And now…
She pulled away from the entrance and joined the others deeper in
the cave. It was nearly pitch black within. A dim fire crackled, born of the
sparse brush they’d been able to gather within the cave on first arriving.
Desera took a seat among the others.
“Are we safe?” the robed healer, Anora, Desera recalled, said softly.
“No. We are not. And we shall not be as long as we are in these
woods,” Safira said.
The noblewoman moaned weakly and covered her face with her
hands.
“Hush Marianna,” the healer murmured, holding the woman gently.
“Oh gods. They killed them all. They killed them, and they’re going
to kill us too,” Marianna sobbed.
“No,” Camilla growled. The other soldier sharpened her sword in
sharp, fierce motions. “No. They won’t kill us. They’ll capture us. Strip us.
And breed us like sows for their armies.”
“Quiet. You worry them,” Safira said sharply.
“They should be worried!” Camilla snarled. She gestured furiously
with her sword. “Look at us. That idiot of an emperor dragged us so far into
the wilds we’re surrounded by the beasts! We’re fucked and no two ways
about it. They’ll hunt us down like animals and give us to their gertlings and
orcs.”
“This can’t happen to me,” Marianna whimpered, holding her head.
“I… I’m the wife of lord Rickard. I have position. Authority in the cities.
They couldn’t… they wouldn’t…”
Desera eyed the noblewoman’s ragged gown. Even filthy with mud
and torn it showed the fine pattern of silk in golden trim and spirals.
Something no one would sensibly bring on campaign. Then again, no one
would sensibly bring their wife into a war like this either.
“Guess again,” Camilla said shortly. “They don’t care how high your
birth is. You’re no better than a breeding slut. Just like the rest of us,” the
soldier said with a degree of cruel glee.
“Quiet!”
Safira’s bark echoed in the cave. Camilla started, turning towards the
priestess. Safira was on her feet, looking down at the others grimly.
“This day,” she said shortly. “I was robbed of my chance to die in
battle against the monstrous brutes. My place in the hall of Arsenus goes
unfilled again. So be it. But,” she said, panning her golden hammer about the
others, “since I am with you all instead, then by the horns of the god of war
we will get out of here yet.”
The firm tone and certainty of the priestess silenced the others.
Desera realized she had been shaking only when she stopped. She took a
slow breath, let it out. Even Marianna appeared a degree more hopeful,
raising her head and looking at the fierce woman before her.
Safira scanned them, then pointed at the young healer. “You.
Daughter of Lasha. What is your name?”
“Anora, sister,” the other priestess murmured.
“Anora, then. Tend the wounded. We must be on our way soon. The
monsters will be searching for survivors come morning. The rain bought us
time, but not much. We must make the most of it.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Camilla asked shortly.
Safira bowed her head, her wimple brushing about her face. “…We
cannot go east again. To do so is what the monsters would expect, and there
will be nothing between us and safety but the beasts and the minions of the
Duke of Ashes. So we shall not. We go south. To Tatarod.”
“Tatarod?” Desera asked. “The city near the sea?”
“Aye. Last I heard it remained in the hands of men. We should be
safe there.”
“We’re not safe anyway,” Camilla said.
Safira gave the soldier a warning glance. Camilla returned it bitterly.
Desera sighed. The tension in the cold cavern was an almost physical thing.
She rose quickly. “The rain’s dying, anyway. I’ll fetch some wood.”
The war priestess glanced at the soldier. “…Very well. But be careful
out there, and don’t wander far. The battle would have drawn most monsters,
but there may be others in the woods.”
Desera nodded quickly, already pushing out of the cave and into the
night. She picked her way down the path and hurried among the towering
trees, relieved to be away from the arguing and whining of the other women.
And, in particular, the stern gaze of the war priestess.
Desera sighed as she made her way through the silent forest. There
was little dry wood to be found after all the rain, but that didn’t bother her.
She had no intention of going back to the cave anytime soon. She added
another stick to the pile in her arms. Gods. She hated all this. All the
marching. The fighting. The war and the rest of it.
“I should have been a farmer,” she sighed, kicking another soaked
log out of her way. “They never get called out to war. They just live on the
land and farm… I dunno. Potatoes. I coulda done that. But no. I had to be a
guard. Had to keep up the family expectation.” She shook her head, picking
up another stick. Straightening, she looked out over the dark forest with a
grimace. She hated complexity in life. She wanted things to be simple.
Expected. Orderly. For it all to just be fine.
“But nothing ever is,” she sighed again. Still, it wasn’t all bad. At
least it wasn’t raining. And the scent of the forest after a rain was certainly
pleasant. The young soldier took a deep breath.
And paused.
She sniffed again. There was the normal scents of fresh rain, old
wood and the earthy medley of turned soil. But there was something different
in the air. Something sweet like flowers blossoming in the depths of spring.
Her nostrils flared, nose twitching as she slowly turned. Yes. Yes, it
was coming from this way. Desera moved in the direction carefully, her brow
knitting with thought as the scent grew stronger. Deeper.
She barely noticed the changing nature of the forest around her. The
trees were thinning, and flowers were sprouting up, waving in the gentle
breeze, sparkling with fresh dew. Again Desera inhaled, again she was filled
with that sweet scent. Even stronger now. Even lovelier.
The last tree fell away, and Desera found herself in the loveliest
clearing she had ever seen. All around her wildflowers were in bloom,
carpeting the landscape with bobbing heads of a hundred hues. She took a
deep breath, let it out again, and didn’t even hear the wood she was carrying
clatter to the ground.
“Hello?”
Desera squeaked and spun around. She gaped as a woman rose from
among the flowers. Slender and lovely, she was utterly naked, her small
breasts budding from her chest, a crown of flowers twined in her long hair
and raindrops shining like diamonds on her naked skin. She smiled up at
Desera as she stood, stretching lazily, her hair so long it nearly reached her
knees.
“Oh. Oh g-gods,” Desera stammered. “I’m… I’m so sorry I didn’t…
I mean…”
“Oh don’t worry,” the strange woman said lazily, her lashes low,
lidding her eyes as she brushed a hand through her long brown hair. “I was
just taking… a nap. It’s so peaceful around here.”
“Oh. It is, yes,” Desera said. She blinked, shook her head. “B-but you
shouldn’t be out like this. The monsters-“
“Oh, monsters never bother us,” the woman said easily. “The
mistress keeps them out.”
“Mistress?”
“Oh I’m sure Mistress Cephara would just love to meet you,” the
woman continued. “Would you like to see her?”
Desera hesitated. But… if it was true and monsters didn’t enter the
strange valley, then maybe she had found a shelter for her and her
companions. “I… I guess it couldn’t hurt.”
“Oh of course not. Come,” the brown-haired woman sighed, taking
Desera’s hand and pulling her away. “Come.”
Without quite thinking Desera allowed herself to be tugged deeper
into the meadow. She felt light. Like she were floating. Buoyed on the sweet
scents of the blossoming flowers. She looked about herself, and realized that
there were other people here and there among the flowers, all reclining, some
sleeping, other wrapped in the embrace of each other and…
Desera blushed at the sinuous movements of a couple of the lovers.
A sight that sent a faint tingle to her core. A smile slowly twitched her lips,
and a sigh escaped her.
They were almost upon a positively immense flower before she even
realized it. Shaped like a massive pitcher, a leaf covered the top, its roots
stretching out and into the soil. Several more people were scattered about its
base, nestled among the roots, flowers dangling over their heads. As she
watched, some of the curious dark flowers nodded, sprinkling pollen into the
faces of the those beneath, who sighed and wriggled, their bodies pink and
flushed with pleasure.
The woman with Desera got to her knees before the plant. “Mistress
Cephara?” she breathed. “I brought someone to you.”
The lip of the plant shifted and slowly lifted. The edge of the pitcher
tilted down, unveiling what lay within. A woman, her skin a lush green, her
eyes bright and smile warm. Her hair was a sheen of lighter green, woven
with the dark flowers like those that sprouted from her roots and stem. Her
figure was curvy. A celebration. A picture of living fertility with heavy
breasts and curving thighs and hips.
Nectar sloshed about her waist, the scent of which hit Desera like a
fist. She gasped, her head spinning as she inhaled that intoxicating aroma,
swaying a little.
“Why so you did!” the plant woman cooed, her voice as sweet as her
scent. “Come closer, girl. Let me get a look at you.”
Still dazed, drawn towards the source of that sweet scent, Desera
stumbled nearer. Nearer that luscious perfume and the flawless figure rising
from the plant. Desera gasped as the green woman’s hands rose, cupping the
soldier’s cheeks. “Hmm,” Cephara mused. “What a lovely young girl. Oh,
but you have suffered much, I see,” she murmured.
“Um. Y-yes. The monsters-“
“Hush,” she breathed, and that floral scent swirled around Desera,
washing away her worries. “Just relax. It’s all fine now.”
Desera smiled, for a moment forgetting the horrors of the last few
weeks. It was so easy to relax with that scent. With the voice of the lovely
woman. “Th-thank you…”
“Oh but you must be so hot in those clothes. And so uncomfortable.
Here. Let us help with that.”
“Oh… I… I dunno…” Desera murmured, even as Cephara and the
brown haired woman dexterously stripped the soldier of her armour and
clothes. Desera sighed as the fabric fell away, leaving her naked. She did feel
better. That armour had always been so uncomfortable and tight. She smiled
blissfully.
“Now,” Cephara murmured, drawing Desera closer. “Tell me, what
brings you to my garden?”
“Oh,” Desera murmured, stepping over the lip of the plant, sighing as
her foot slid into that sweet, sticky nectar. “I… I was getting firewood for
my… my companions. We were lost after an attack…”
“How dreadful. You poor creature,” Cephara interrupted smoothly,
her arms twining around Desera, nestling the slim woman against her buxom
green curves. “Poor, poor thing. Life has been so hard for you.”
“Mmm. It has,” Desera breathed, her chin nestling atop those
generous orbs, her lids lowering as she relaxed, bathed in the scent of the
pitcher’s pollen, up to her hips in the sweet, sticky nectar within the flower.
“But it doesn’t have to be,” Cephara breathed, her hands wandering
over Desera’s body, soothing away the aches of her journey. The worries of
her mind.
“Mmm. No?” Desera murmured, staring into the green woman’s
eyes.
“Oh no. You don’t need to worry any more. You don’t need to fight.
You just need to relax. Be at ease.” Cephara leaned closer, her lips a vivid
hue of red. “Just… sink into my eyes…”
Desera nodded vaguely, staring into those sparkling orbs. She felt
something else, then. A touch from more than the hands rubbing her. She
glanced down lazily, finding twisting vines rising out of the nectar washed
pool, running up her slim thighs, stroking her tender flesh.
Dimly, Desera realized she should be alarmed. But it was so hard to
work up the energy for it. So much easier to just relax. To just let what
happened… happened.
“Good girl,” Cephara breathed, her smile sending joy spinning
through Desera, the plant woman’s her hands running up the young soldier’s
sides, stroking her shoulders, gently resting on the sides of Desera’s head.
She tilted back the soldier’s face, and Desera sighed happily as she found
herself staring once more into those shining eyes.
“Such a gooood girl. Just relax. Just… submit…”
“Yes,” Desera moaned softly. “Submit…. Nnn…” She barely
whimpered as she felt the vines slide into her pussy, fill her ass. She moaned
softly as the roots gently began to fuck her. Her knees gave way, and Cephara
eased the soldier down, deeper into the pool of sweet, thick nectar. Desera
found herself looking up, Cephara’s radiant face framed by the moonlight.
The moonlight which was slowly growing dim as the lip of the pitcher began
to close, trapping them in a soothing gloom.
“Just relax,” Cephara said again, stroking her, teasing her, easing her
more and more into the sloshing nectar. “Be a good girl. Forget about your
worries. Forget about the world outside. Just look into my eyes. Just breathe
deep. Just let it all go. Just… be… mine…”
Desera moaned softly. Her thoughts were slow. Sluggish. Not even
really there. Her long lashes beat as her eyelids slid lower. As a soft whimper
of her climax escaped her, as more of that sweet nectar washed into her
pussy, into her ass, lubing her for the vines that continued to slowly fuck her.
Leisurely pleasure her.
“Mine,” Cephara breathed.
“Yours,” Desera moaned.
Cephara smiled. Such a radiant smile. Such a wonderful, pure,
consuming smile. “Good girl,” the plant woman breathed.
Then Desera’s face was pressed against a flawless breast. Her lips
kissed a dark nipple, and her mouth was drowning, drowning, drowning in a
flood of sweet nectar. Her mind melting away with bliss. Her body
surrendering totally to the plant woman.
Desera smiled, finally at ease, and her eyes slid shut.
Camp
Safira stood at the entrance of the cave, her grip tightening and
loosening on her hammer as she looked out over the darkness and the trees.
The low glow of the fire within the cave flickered against her back, enticing
her with its promise of warmth and rest. But she stood facing the cold,
watching. Waiting.
“She’s gone.”
Safira glanced back as Camilla walked up behind her. The younger
woman looked out at the forest and grimaced. “She’d have come back by
now if she knew the way. She either ran off, or was grabbed by a monster.
There’s nothing you can do.”
Safira frowned. Her hand tightened on her hammer’s haft. “I should
have gone with her.”
“And done what? She left. You go out there, and odds are good
you’ll get snatched by whatever is waiting too. We need to get to Tatarod.
I’m not…” Camilla grimaced, sighed. She ran a hand through her short
cropped hair. “I… Look. I won’t kid myself. If we come across anything
bigger than a fucking gertling, we’re screwed. We need you.”
Safira turned to face the young soldier. “You know little of war, do
you?”
Camilla flushed in the dark. “I… No. No I don’t. I never wanted to
be a soldier. I never wanted to be a part of all this… this monster crap.”
“And yet you are,” Safira noted.
“Not like I had a choice.”
Safira arched a brow. “What do you mean?”
“I was conscripted. I didn’t have a choice in the matter.” Camilla
wrapped her arms around herself, scowling in the dark. “I didn’t want any of
this. I didn’t want to fight. To die for some idiot emperor. Fuck him, I say.
Fuck them all. I didn’t… I just don’t want to die.”
Safira eyed the coarse tongued young woman thoughtfully. At
length, she nodded. “Go get some sleep. We leave at first light.”
“Right. But uh… Don’t you need to rest?”
Safira smiled ruefully. “My god will bear my exhaustion for a time.
But not you. Rest. I’ll keep watch.”
Camilla hesitated. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut
it. “I… thanks,” she said awkwardly. “I’ll just… um… go get some sleep
then.”
Safira nodded, and the young soldier crept back into the cave and
towards the glow of the firelight. Safira watched her until the smaller woman
was wrapped in the warmth of a blanket, then turned once more towards the
night. She would wait until morning, the priestess resolved, her hands
tightening on her hammer. And then, they would have to move on.
The cold brushed against her as the firelight burned low.
Fallen Faith
Anora sighed, helping the sobbing Marianne along.
“Oh gods, how could this all happen to me,” the noblewoman
moaned.
“Hush, Marianne,” Anora said softly. “Hush.”
“We’re doomed aren’t we? We’re all doomed.”
“Quiet back there!” Camilla snapped, glaring at the pair trailing
behind them. “Or did you forget where we are?”
“How could I?” Marianne moaned. A thorny branch caught her gown
and she yanked, ripping the once rich fabric even more. Sniffling, she shook
her head and trudged along.
“It’s okay, Marianne,” the young priestess soothed. “It’s going to be
okay.”
But her words rang hollow even to her, echoing among the looming
trees and suffocating closeness of the forest. The canopy was so thick barely
a hint of light made it through. It was silent around them. The air taut and
tense with unseen menace and the watching eyes of beasts. They struggled
down an overgrown hunting trail Lasha alone knew who had cut or what they
had stalked. And Anora couldn’t shake the feeling it was they who were
being hunted.
She sighed, clutching the heavy platinum amulet of the goddess
round her neck. The metal was cool and heavy, its presence a measure of
comfort, but that was little. If only she could commune with her goddess. She
had meant to the last few nights, but by the end of their treks she’d been too
exhausted to do more than eat and sleep. She wasn’t used to such physical
exertions. Gods how she missed the temple. How she missed the certainty
and peace of serving in those hallowed halls. Worship had always calmed
her. Filled her with certainty.
“Can’t we stop?” Marianne moaned. “Please. I need a break. I can’t
go on like this.”
The war priestess, Safira, glanced back. Anora hunched up a little
under the stern woman’s eyes. It was safe to say she was intimidated by the
powerful woman. And her… revealing garb didn’t help things much.
“There’s a clearing up ahead,” Camilla noted.
Safira frowned but nodded. “Very well. We’ll stop to rest there.”
Anora hid her sigh of relief as they pushed further. The clearing
opened up before them, a shapeless mess of rotting logs and overgrowth.
Nonetheless, Anora collapsed atop one with a sigh of relief, soon joined by
Marianne.
“We’re doomed, aren’t we?” Marianne moaned.
“We are not,” Safira said firmly. “Once we reach Tatarod we will
find shelter. The city hasn’t fallen. In fact, I believe it is under the protection
of the empress.”
“Like that will stop the Duke,” Marianne said. She shook her head.
“We’re all doomed. They’re going to catch us and turn us into breeding sluts.
I know it.” Muttering to herself, Marianne reached into her gown and pulled
out a flask. Safira grimaced in disgust as the noblewoman unscrewed the top
and took a swig. Anora’s nose twitched at the too sweet scent of wine.
“Are you drunk?” Camilla asked incredulously.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” Marianne asked acidly. “We’re alone out in
these woods and monsters are all around us. When would be a better time to
get drunk, I ask you? Ha!” She laughed bitterly. “As if this isn’t bad enough.
Oh I knew I should have stayed home. I never should have come with the
army. But oh no. My husband needed me. He always needs me. And what do
I have to show for it? Stumbling through the forest. My dresses ruined. My
husband dead and gertlings just waiting to rape me and turn me into their
broodmother. It’s not fair,” she said. She took another swig, gasping as the
liquor burned down her throat. “We should just surrender to the monsters,”
Marianne said bitterly. “Maybe we’ll be treated fairly.”
“Are you joking?” Camilla asked incredulously. “They won’t care if
you give up. We’re just meat to them!”
“How do you know?” Marianne said, her dander up, wine lending
her courage. “Maybe they treat peasants like that, but I am of noble blood.”
“Like they care.”
“Not for you. Some ill begotten daughter of the streets.”
Camilla flushed. “You…”
“Enough!” Safira snapped, Anora cringing under the sharpness of the
priestess’s tone. “I’m going to patrol the area,” Safira said in disgust. “Stay
here.”
“I’ll come with you,” Camilla said with a look at the noblewoman.
The two warrior women rose and shoved into the forest around them.
Anora watched them go, fingering her amulet. Marianne sniffled and nursed
her drink. When the sound of the pair had faded, Anora glanced at Marianne.
“I’m… I’m going to step away for a moment. To pray.”
Marianne didn’t seem to hear her, lost in her own miseries. Anora
sighed and rose, leaving the noble alone as she slipped into the woods.
She fingered her amulet uncertainly as she looked about for a likely
space. Gods, the woods were so dense. She was considering heading back
when she finally found a likely spot. A small glade, a break in the foliage
allowing a thin ray of meagre sunlight in offered an ideal place. A stone sat in
the center of the clearing, perfect for her purposes.
Anora carefully entered the clearing and took a seat before the stone.
Removing her amulet, she placed it before her on the rock. Another glance
around assured her she was alone and, with a soft sigh, she opened the front
of her robes, baring her body to the open air. She wore no bra, revealing the
ample curves of her breasts, her nipples tingling against the coolness of the
forest.
Anora tilted back her head, spreading her arms as she looking into
the heavens. “Oh goddess,” she murmured. “Hear my prayers. Send your
daughter courage in her time of need and strength for the trials ahead. Give
me the wisdom to face the future, and the will to see it through.”
Anora sighed as she said the last words, a warmth slowly suffusing
her with the goddess’s blessing. Her soul sang as she was cradled in the
bosom of the goddess’s love.
And so she never heard the rustle of the branches. Never saw the
flash of crimson from among the trees. Something landed on her back, and a
sharp pain stabbed her shapely teats.
“Ah!” she gasped, her connection with the goddess broken. She tried
to jump to her feet but a wave of feverish heat sent her instead to her hands
and knees with a ragged moan.
“There we go.”
Trembling, she glanced back, and her eyes widened in horror.
Perched atop her shoulder was a stunted creature like a gertling. Only instead
of green, his skin was a dirty red. Dark wings sprouted from his back and a
pair of stumpy horns from his brow. The imp grinned, showing a row of
sharp, jagged teeth.
Anora sucked in a breath of horror, and as she did inhaled a thick,
pungent scent that sent a shock of warmth racing through her, tingling in her
naked breasts and quim. Her eyes wandered lower and were arrested by the
massive shape of the imp’s cock, jutting from his waist almost comically in
proportion to his tiny size.
“Hey there pretty. How you doing?” the demon said. Anora gasped
as the creature flicked his tail, the barbed stinger at the tip pulling from her
breast.
“Nnn!” Anora whimpered. “D-demon!”
“You got it honey,” the stunted creature cackled.
“D-demon! By the goddess I b-banish-“
“Sure you wanna do that?” the imp said, reaching down and grasping
her ripe breast. Anora was unprepared for the intensity of the sensation that
followed. As his claws sank into her luscious teat a wave of infernal lust hit
her like a lash. Her prayer stumbled, transforming into a heated moan.
“Hmmm. Because that doesn’t sound like a woman who wants to banish me.”
Anora whimpered as the imp cruelly played with her unbearably
sensitive breasts. Her nipples were hard nubs of needy pleasure, one which
the imp was all too happy to sate as his fingers pinched and rubbed the
tingling points.
“Nnn-oooo!” Anora moaned. Her eyes had grown bleary, but she
managed to focus on the demon’s tail, flicking behind him, and the stinger at
its tip, still leaking a viscous substance.
“P-poison,” Anora gasped.
“You got it sweet cheeks. My own special brew. Like nothing you’ve
seen before, I bet. And I bet I know a few more things you’ve never
dreamed,” the demon cackled, taking his hand from her teat and hefting his
crimson cock. He grinned. “How’s about it? Wanna taste?”
He pushed his shaft against her cheek, his pre leaving a long, burning
streak along her face. Anora shuddered at the urge in her to open her mouth
and take that demonic shaft between her soft lips. For a moment, disgust
defeated the demonic lust, and she managed to shove the creature off her
shoulder.
“Ho ho!” the imp cackled, fluttering away from her and onto the
rock. “Playing hard to get, eh?”
“M-monster!” Anora gasped, drawing back from the creature. Even
as every inch of her begged her to go nearer. “I would never-“
“That was then. This is now. And I bet now all you want is to feel
this thick cock fucking your slutty brains out. Eh?” the imp grinned, hefting
his manhood and giving it too playful strokes.
Anora shuddered at the imp’s lurid display. But more. She found
herself leaning towards the creature, her head pounding with her racing pulse.
The imp grinned at her, his hand stroking his cock faster. Anora’s mouth was
dry as she watched pre leak from his cock. Her cunt aching to be filled. Her
breasts tingled to be touched. Stroked.
Used.
She realized she’d drawn closer again to the demon. Her lips
trembled as she inhaled again the potent musk of the creature. “N-no. You…
you shan’t have me.”
“Yeah? Let’s see if we can change your mind,” the imp grinned, and
it was only then that Anora realized that she had lost track of his tail.
She felt again that sharp pain in her other breasts. She cried out, a
sound of despair, descending to a ragged moan as she jerked back, yanking
the stinger out of her. She tried to get to her feet but her legs grew watery and
with a cry she fell to the ground.
“Oh now there’s a good look for you!” the imp cackled at the
priestess, her ass raised in the air, robes hiked up to bare her panty clad
bottom. She only managed a weak moan, her body blazing with the insidious
lust.
She raised her head as the demon fluttered before her, grinning
cruelly. Immediately her eyes went to his thick cock, jutting from between
his legs. He gave a playful thrust.
“C’mon. Give it a taste. You know you want to.”
Anora wanted to deny it. But she couldn’t. His musk rolled over her,
scattering her thoughts. Her body burned, her blood pounding in her ears as
she stared at his cock, the tip drooling its pungent pre, dripping like foul
honey onto the grass. Her hands tightened in the earth. Trying to fight it.
Trying to resist it. Trying, even as she leaned forward. Even as her mouth
opened. Even as she took his cock between her soft, plush lips.
“Mnnn,” she moaned, her lashes fluttering as the taste of the demon’s
cock spilled onto her tongue. She slid forward, his cock filling her lips, his
thick, foul taste coating her mouth. Yet even as she felt the hot surge of
disgust, she couldn’t help drawing back and pushing forward, taking the
imp’s putrid cock to the very root.
“Oh that’s it,” the imp moaned as her nose nestled against the wiry
pubic hair, his heavy balls resting against the underside of her lip. “You’re a
born cock sucker, slut!”
Anora opened her eyes. A rejection of his claim was on the tip of her
tongue, but the imp merely grabbed her head, pulled back, and plunged back
in.
“Ohhh yeaaaah!” the imp crowed as he fucked her mouth, rutting
against her lovely face with every hint of eager satisfaction. “Fuuuuck! That’s
it! Suck it whore. Oh fuck you holy types are the beeeeest!”
Anora whimpered, but couldn’t find it in her to pull away. To resist.
What she did find, to her horror, was a sickening, degrading enjoyment in
being so brazenly used by the demon. Be it a result of his venom or some
torrid lust she’d buried deep in her soul, she found herself moaning, moving,
sucking his cock down and swirling her tongue about his shaft like it were the
sweetest candy.
“Fuck! Yes. Yes! Ah! Ahn! Nnnnn!”
The imp threw back his head, a triumphant cry escaping him as he
came, his thick, hot spooge pumping into her mouth. She swallowed as much
as she could, but there was so much. She choked, pulled back, tears in her
eyes, and as a reward, got a face full of his load.
The imp moaned in delight as his cock pulsed, painting her face with
ropes of his viscous seed. Anora whimpered, her stomach heavy with the
imp’s cum. And worse. Her body hadn’t burned off that terrible heat. Instead,
it had increased. Flaring in her stomach, boiling in her terribly, horribly,
achingly empty pussy.
“Whoops! Oh well. You look even better now,” the imp cackled.
Anora gaped stupidly at the imp, her thoughts misfiring. Shrouded in
a red mist of sinful desire. Her whole body burned with a fever. Her asshole
clenched and her pussy drooled.
The diminutive imp grinned, seeing the lost look in her eyes. Noting
how her luscious body quivered and shook with need, smirked. “On your
back,” he commanded.
“Y-yes,” Anora whimpered. Resisting him never occurred to her. She
simply shifted around, her back resting against the waiting stone. Her robe
fell open, baring her shapely curves, pale flesh flushed, her breasts heaving,
her panties soaked with her arousal.
The imp laughed at the display, a sound that sent another stab of hot
desire into the priestess. “Oh there it is. I knew you wanted this,” the demon
grinned as he sauntered forward. “Covered in my cum. On your back with
your pussy out like that. You look delicious slut.” He leered at her, hooked a
finger in her panties and yanked them down.
“Ooooh,” Anora moaned as her steaming pussy was bared to the
cold, cold air. The imp’s smile widened sharply.
“Now there’s a thing to see! Now, how does this feel?” Brazenly he
touched her quivering folds, getting his finger nice and slick with her juices
before pushing it into her cunt.
Anora cried out, her hips bucking as she came right there. The imp
laughed at her display. “Ohhh! A virgin too? Oh fuck it all slut, this is my
lucky day! And yours. If it wasn’t for me, you might never get fucked ya
stupid goody two shoes.” He withdrew his finger, examining her glistening
juices still clinging to it, then sucked it clean. “Mmm. Like fine wine. Have a
taste, slut.”
His finger drew towards her lips, and Anora sucked at it greedily.
She moaned, her lashes fluttering as she tasted herself on the demon’s foul
finger, her lips sliding up and down, soft moans escaping her.
The imp yanked his finger free. “Alright. ‘Nough fucking around.
Time for the good stuff.” He pushed between her quaking thighs, eying her
glistening cunt. He grabbed his cock, rubbing the head against her twitching
folds. But one final humiliation waited for the priestess.
“Beg,” the imp commanded.
“Yesss!” Anora cried out, quivering at the sensation of his hot cock
rubbing against her lower lips. “Oh goddess! I…I need your cock! Oh fuck!
Fuck me! Please! Please! Fill me with your demonic cock!”
“Good girl!” the imp laughed as he plunged into her sopping cunt.
Anora screamed with ecstasy as his manhood filled her, every thrust of his
red cock sending pleasure bursting through her, flashing through her in
exquisite shame and ecstasy. Her plush breasts heaved.
“You think your goddess was good, isn’t this even better?” the imp
cackled.
“Yesssss!” Anora screamed, beyond caring of such blasphemy. All
of her, all of her existence had narrowed, been consumed by the pleasure
shuddering from her rippling cunt. Her whole body ached with the wonderful
pleasure of his cock within her, his venom blazing through her veins. She
grabbed her breasts, squeezing them, the pain mingling with the pleasure to
bring her to heights she’d never dreamed existed.
“Want me to cum in you, slut?” the diminutive imp cackled, enjoying
it perhaps more than even her. The debasement of the priestess a fiercer
delight for the tiny demon. “Want to feel my hot demon cum in your slutty
cunt?”
“Yesss!” Anora cried out, wracked with another shuddering orgasm.
“Oh goddess yessss!”
“Pray to me then. Pray for my cock to fill you up!”
“Oh master!” Anora gasped. “Oh master. Please. B-bless your slut
with your thick cum. Give her the-ah-the g-gift of your cum! Your priestess
needs it. She begs for it! Master! Masterrrrrr!”
The imp cackled with delight. “Alright! Here it comes, slut. Take
it… all!”
With the final shout the imp hilted his massive cock in her rippling
cunt. He howled as his balls tightened, his cock quivered, and his seed
exploded into the young woman’s fertile womb.
Anora wailed at the completion of her pleasure. The ecstasy of it was
hot. Primal. Consuming. She melted beneath the sensation. Every pulse of his
cock blasting her thoughts to nothing. Filling her with a sense of completion.
Of adoration. How stupid her youth of service to the goddess seemed before
the pleasure she was facing. How worthless her devotion to the cold presence
of a distant deity. She nearly wept with the years wasted in her service to the
goddess.
The imp sighed and unsheathed his cock from her cunt. “There we
go,” he said, grinning.
Anora’s eyes slid open as a new sensation bled through her. She
raised her head shakily, staring in wonder at her mons. Just above her cunt, a
red light was growing. It seemed to emerge from her pale skin, cresting in a
strange pattern like an open eye.
“What… what is it?” she gasped.
The imp cackled. “Did you think the Duke of Ashes was content just
taking land from you humans? Oh ho no,” the imp said. “This is his new
sorcery! Him and the Red Witch have been summoning us to support his
troops! And with it, we’ve been helping him with some new enchantments.
This is a sign, slut. That you’re mine now. Your womb is already seeded and
your stomach’s going to swell with my spawn. We’re going to breed out you
humans and make a world for only monsters! You’re mine, aren’t you?”
Anora stared at the tattoo. Dimly, she felt that she should have been
horrified by the prospect of being impregnated and conquered by such a
pathetic and foul creature as the imp. Yet, as she looked from the mark of the
eye emblazoned on her mons to the imp, her heart thumped. Love for the
crude creature swelled in her chest near to bursting. Her face lit up with joy.
“Oh master,” the young priestess sighed, stroking her stomach
eagerly. “Thank you so much! Oh. Oh this is wonderful!”
“Of course it is,” the imp grinned as he strutted towards her. “You’re
my slut now. Far better than that stupid goddess, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes,” she panted eagerly. “Of course! Your cock is so much
better than her.”
“Good! Now on your hands and knees. There’s one hole of yours I
haven’t taken yet.”
“Yes master!” Anora gasped. She scrambled about, beyond excited.
Her master was going to fuck her ass! Oh she’d never imagined such a filthy
thing could be pleasurable. But if master would do it, she was sure it would
be just wonderful!
The imp grinned as the shapely priestess rolled onto her front, her
plush bottom in the air. He flicked aside the muddy robe and took a moment
to admire the heart shape of her soft ass, simply waiting for the thrust of his
demonic cock. This was becoming a great day. He suddenly smacked her ass,
making Anora jump and moan in delight. “Stupid slut. You’re too big! Turn
around. Ass towards the rock so I can properly fuck you.”
“Yes! Of course master!” Anora panted, doing as he commanded.
The imp climbed onto the stone, his waist now level with her ass. He grabbed
her soft cheeks and spread them, baring the wrinkled star of her asshole. He
smirked, aligning his cock, still nice and slickened from taking her hot cunt.
“There it is. Alright, slut. Praise your master!” he cackled, and thrust.
“Ahhhhh!” Anora wailed in ecstasy as his hot cock plunged into her
virgin ass. “Ohhhh master! Thank youuu! Thank you for your cooooock!”
The imp cackled with glee, his tiny hips slapping her plush bottom.
His tail wound about and plunged into her ass once again, filling her anew
with his intoxicating venom.
Anora screamed with bliss beyond anything she had dreamed. Her
ass tightened around his plunging cock, her hand rose, plunging between her
legs, frantically fingering her cunt as pleasure boiled through her.
“Ohh master! I’m cumming! I’m cummmiiiiing!” Anora squealed,
pulses of pleasure throbbing through her, her juices splattering into the mud
as she came again.
“Stupid slut! Never cum before your master!” the imp barked,
slapping her ass again as he continued to fuck her.
“Nnnn! Forgive your slut, master! Forgive her! She’s so dumb and
horny!”
The imp grinned. “At least you know your place. Here it comes,
whore! Here comes your master’s seed right in your slutty ass. Here…
nnnyaaaaa!”
The imp squealed as his cock again exploded, filling her tight
backdoor with his oily seed. Anora wailed with delight, cumming again, her
orgasm filling her with sweet ecstasy of infernal bliss. “Yes master. Yessss!
Cum in me! Breed my ass! Breed your sluuuuuuuuut!”
The imp cackled, the sound barely audible over the slap of flesh on
flesh as he continued his conquest of the shapely priestess, her cries of
orgasm swallowed by the dark woods around them.
The Enemy’s March
“Anora!” Safira called.

“How could you let her wander off?” Camilla snapped at Marianne.
“I’m not her babysitter,” Marianne moaned, wincing at the sharp
voice. Her head was pounding with her hangover. She rubbed her brow,
miserable. As she had been since she’d been awoken by Camilla shaking her,
wrenching her from her pleasant, inebriated slumber. “What was I supposed
to do?”
“You should have gone with her!”
“Don’t talk to me that way!” Marianne snapped back. “I’m the wife
of lord Dorin Rickard. I had three coaches in my home and a manor! I was
treated like a queen!”
“Well you’re not there anymore!”
“Enough!” Safira barked, glancing back at the pair. “Nothing’s to be
done about it now. Come! We have to find her.”
Camilla cast a furious look at Marianne, who met it with a wall of
sullen silence. Safira glared at the pair before whirling about and forging on
ahead. She cursed herself anew for having ventured off, even as she knew it
had been unavoidable. They’d had to be sure they were safe. What was the
blasted priestess thinking! It was like herding bloody cats.
Safira paused as a low glow flickered across her hammer’s
engravings. Her brows furrowed.
“What is it?” Camilla asked.
Safira didn’t answer. She scanned the forest, moving her hammer
before her like a dowsing rod. The golden runes engraved on the steel pulsed
and she halted. Grimly, she forged forward in the way the hammer indicated.
She heard the other two follow but paid them little attention. The light on her
hammer crackled, the steel hot through the leather handle. Which meant only
one thing…
They stepped into a clearing, a weak light beaming through a break
among the tall trees. Camilla followed, her nose at once wrinkling at a
pungent, foul scent that filled the space. “Ugh. What is that?”
“Demon seed,” Safira said, noticing glistening foulness on patches of
grass, pressed down here and there. Something flashed in the sunlight, and
Safira’s frown deepened as she knelt, brushing aside some grass and picking
up what she found.
The war priestess stared at the platinum amulet in her hand, cold and
heavy.
“Is that…” Marianne murmured.
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three weeks (farther than to Europe) by steamers of the Brazilian
Lloyd Line. After making calls along the Brazilian coast, at
Montevideo and Buenos Aires, these boats continue up the Paraná
and Paraguay Rivers, arriving at last once more in their own country.
This new railway and others now in construction will be an immense
factor in opening the great central table-land of Brazil, with its rich
possibilities for agriculture, cattle raising, and mining.
The São Paulo-Rio Grande, another important railway, 853 miles,
runs from São Paulo to Sant’ Anna do Livramento on the border of
Uruguay, where it connects with the Central Uruguay Railway to
Montevideo. Improvements have been made so that with better
connections and sleeping cars to the border, which were lacking part
of the way in 1916, the journey is now made in comfort in 4¹⁄₂ days to
Montevideo. The road runs through a rich, often beautiful country; in
some places with splendid scenery and fine forests, in others with
open grazing lands where good cattle are visible, past small towns
and pleasant rivers. People who are willing to work could find
agreeable homes in this section with excellent temperate climate.
Low land values are spoken of, which if genuine should make this an
attractive region now that fairly good transportation exists with more
in prospect. This line has several branches of its own, while other
railways are connected with the through line, local roads to ports or
to interior towns. One of these, the Paraná Railway, has its main line
from the port Paranaguá to the State capital, Curityba, and to Ponta
Grossa on the São Paulo-Rio Grande; it has north and south
branches, the latter to Rio Negro and to São Francisco.
The southern part of the São Paulo-Rio Grande Line belonged to
the Compagnie Aux Chemins de Fer de Brasil which had a
concession for the entire State of Rio Grande. Roads from Porto
Alegre and from the city of Rio Grande extend to the line from São
Paulo, thus making connection with Montevideo and Buenos Aires.
From the Cacequy junction a line goes west to Uruguayana on the
Uruguay River. Along this river the Brazil Great Southern operates in
Rio Grande 110 miles from Quarahim on the Uruguay border through
Uruguayana north to Itaqui, with an extension to São Borja 77 miles
farther up. At Quarahim an international bridge 700 yards long
connects the Brazil and Uruguay Railways. Across the Uruguay
River connection is made from Uruguayana with Argentine Railways,
and a direct route to Buenos Aires.
There are other roads in the São Paulo, which has the best
system in Brazil and the most mileage: over 4000.
The Paulista Railway, extending northwest from Jundiahy
through rich coffee territory with Barretos a recent terminal, has
many branches and a mileage of 721.
The Mogyana goes much farther north, crossing a corner of
Minas and entering the State of Goyaz, on the way to the capital city
of that name. It has arrived at Santa Cruz, still quite a distance from
Goyaz, though with a total mileage of 1081.
The Southern São Paulo Railway runs along or near the coast
100 miles from Santos to Juquiá.
The Leopoldina. An important British line or system nearly 2000
miles in length is the Leopoldina, the main line extending from
Nictheroy, on the bay shore opposite Rio, to Friburgo, Campos,
Victoria, Leopoldina, and other points in the States of Rio, Minas,
and Espirito Santo. Lines run also from Rio and Mauá up the
mountain to Petropolis and beyond, connecting with the main line.
This follows the Parahyba Valley for some distance and then crosses
four mountain ranges, a work involving many unusual feats of
engineering. On the main line the maximum grade is 8 per cent, on
the Petropolis section 15 per cent. The territory traversed is highly
productive, and in spite of expensive construction good returns in
normal times are assured.
The Great Western. Under British control is the Great Western
Railway which has Pernambuco as its centre. Lines extend north
along the coast and also to the interior with 1000 mileage in the
several states of Pernambuco, Alagôas, Parahyba and Rio Grande
do Norte. It reaches the ports of Maceió, Parahyba, Cabedello and
Natal. Two and a half million passengers were carried in one year
and much freight.
In the state of Bahia short lines run back to the interior, one, 140
miles, from Nazareth, south of the bay, and one from São Felix, 165
miles, to Santo Amaro, serving the best sugar district, as Nazareth
that of cacao and manganese ores. The principal road is from Bahia,
281 miles, to Joazeiro, on the São Francisco River; the oldest,
opened in 1860, is along the coast to Aracajú in Sergipe, 268 miles.
Two other small railways are farther south, in all about 950 miles.
The Brazil North East Railway operates in Ceará about 472
miles, one division from the port of Forteleza, another from the port
Camocím to Granja and Crato.
The State of Pará has less mileage than most of the others, the
short line, 40 miles built, at the junction of the Tocantins and
Araguaya to avoid bad cascades. Another road, the Bragança, runs
northeast from Pará to the Atlantic Coast.
The Madeira-Mamoré is in some respects the most remarkable
railway in Brazil, perhaps in the world. It was built in accordance with
a treaty with Bolivia in settlement of the Acre difficulty, and in
compensation for the surrender by that country of the Acre Territory,
to give access to that Republic by making a way around the
prohibitive falls and rapids on the Madeira and the Mamoré Rivers.
In the heart of the wilderness, 570 miles up the Madeira River and
about 1100 miles from the sea, this road, 202 miles long, was
constructed. In 1871 an American, Colonel George Earl Church, a
Civil War veteran, and a distinguished civil engineer, turned the first
sod of the railway, but work was soon suspended. In 1877 P. T.
Collins of Philadelphia undertook the task and completed 20 miles of
railway, but the difficulties were too great, especially the mortality,
modern methods of sanitation not then being understood; the work
was therefore abandoned. In 1907 the recent operations were
begun, again in charge of Americans, and the road was opened for
traffic, July 15, 1912. From Porto Velho the road runs up the river to
Guajará-Mirím, the road of course on the Brazilian side of the river,
and in the State of Matto Grosso, which is thus made accessible as
well as Bolivia. The new little American town of Porto Velho of 1500
population has an ice plant making six tons a day, a wireless
telegraph to Manaos and other conveniences. The road passes
through a jungle which is cut out 100 feet wide. Two days are
required for the short journey. At Abuná they halt for the night;
leaving early next morning they should arrive at the terminus at 3:15.
About 60 miles south of Abuná, Villa Murtinho is passed, opposite
the town of Villa Bella in Bolivia, at the junction of the Beni and the
Mamoré, which two rivers form the Madeira. A road across from Villa
Church opposite Guajará-Mirím or from Villa Bella to Riberalta on the
Beni was in the plan, as the Beni below Riberalta is unnavigable on
account of rapids. Automobile roads are now in construction, at least
one from Riberalta to Puerto Bello (Villa Bella) or to Villa Church.
CHAPTER XLIX
BRAZIL: RESOURCES AND INDUSTRIES
Brazilian industries as we have already seen have the variety

befitting a country of its enormous area. The States of Minas,
Pernambuco, and São Paulo can produce almost anything, but even
these have specialties. Of the various products of Brazil, as in the
other South American countries except Bolivia, the vegetable are the
most important, with coffee far in the lead. Stock raising comes next;
minerals of prodigious variety and richness are third. Manufactures,
developing later, may in time largely satisfy the requirements of the
inhabitants.
Agriculture
Coffee, we all know, is in value the most important crop of the

country, growing over vast areas, chiefly in what we may call the
northern part of South Brazil, the States on or near the edge of the
tropics, São Paulo, Rio, Minas, and Espirito Santo. North and south
of these States coffee grows and flourishes more or less according
to local conditions. There are said to be 1,400,000,000 coffee trees
in Brazil, which produce perhaps three-fourths of the world supply,
more than half of them in the State of São Paulo. The State contains
about 60,000 plantations. Probably more than 1¹⁄₂ billions are
invested in the industry, $900,000,000 in São Paulo. The larger part
of the crop moves over the wonderful railway between São Paulo
and Santos and goes out from that port, some from adjoining States
as well as from São Paulo. For ten years the average value of the
coffee exported was $120,000,000.
Great fortunes were made by some who embarked many years
ago in the business; the coffee king, Colonel Schmidt, who has
8,000,000 trees and produces 11,000 or 12,000 tons of coffee yearly,
was himself a poor immigrant. But the best lands were taken up long
since; production is increasing in other countries, as well as
consumption, and there is not now the opportunity of earlier days.
São Paulo especially has the rich red soil that the plant loves, the
sloping ground, the right climate, and the water supply, over a
greater extent of accessible territory, probably, than any other land in
the world; though districts in other countries produce coffee of equal
excellence. Here of course there are different varieties and grades,
the original plants having been imported from Arabia and Java and
preserving their characteristics. Life on the faezendas, as the farms
are called, is agreeable both for the rich proprietor and for the Italian
and other laborer, who has his own garden and whose wife and
children help in the picking season. The rows of trees extend for
miles in even lines; there are great cement drying grounds in the
sun, pulping machinery, and store-houses. The business generally is
in the hands of Brazilians, though there are foreign stock companies,
paying large dividends. Coffee is about 40 per cent of the Brazil
exports and 97 per cent of São Paulo’s.
Cacao. Other agricultural industries are of importance and
capable of infinite expansion. Cacao is a product the consumption of
which is rapidly increasing. Bahia stands second in production, a
crop of 40,000 tons being exported from the city in 1917. Cacao
forms 60 per cent of the State’s export. Large areas of suitable land
are said to be available for plantations in States south of the
Amazon, including North São Paulo and Matto Grosso. That grown
in Maranhão ranks as the best. The groves run inland along the river
valleys, full of rich red soil. There are two gathering seasons, one
from September to April, the next crop beginning in May, less
important. It is said that one person can take care of 1000 trees,
which yield from 5 to 13, sometimes 20 pounds annually. A
plantation at pre-war prices cost 80-85 cents a tree. Three hundred
are planted to an acre. The investment of a moderate sum is pretty
sure to give good returns after three or four years.
Sugar plantations are increasing and sugar is exported in
considerable quantities. This was one of Brazil’s earliest industries,
but languished on the discovery of gold in the 17th century, to be
followed by several revivals. The amount exported varies, in 1909 it
was 70,000 tons, in 1916, 54,000. It is cultivated near the coast and
inland, chiefly from Rio Grande do Norte south to São Paulo, though
it is also raised down to Rio Grande do Sul, where the 1916 crop
was worth $3,000,000. In one year 441,000 tons were produced,
109,000 exported. The yield in some States farther north is 20 tons
to the acre. In general little fertilizing is done and crop rotation is not
followed, so that lands have become degenerate after centuries. The
most flourishing seats of the industry are in Rio, and in Pernambuco,
1000 miles north. In Rio, Campos is the focus. The State has 31
large sugar mills, Pernambuco has 46. São Paulo is third, other
States have fewer, but small mills are scattered everywhere making
brown sugar and cachaca, native rum. In the large mills the best
machinery is used, and it is said that 300,000 tons is the total output.
The export is to Uruguay, Argentina, Great Britain, United States,
and Portugal. Almost every cotton, coffee, or other faezenda grows
its own sugar. Eighty or ninety pounds a head are used. Cane ripens
in the northern States in about 15 months; south of Rio in 18-20
months.
Tobacco was in use in Brazil in prehistoric days. The State of
Bahia is the centre of the largest production, though it is raised in
almost every State. The quality varies in different localities, but in
some it is said to be equal to the best Havana, especially in Bahia,
where the soil is similar. Forty-five thousand tons were exported in
1902, chiefly to Germany; in 1916, 2100 tons, valued at over
$7,000,000. A plantation of 37 acres earns $10,000 a year.
The Coconut is another product, which might be more important.
It is found near the coast from Parahyba to Bahia, 1,250,000 trees
bearing 50,000,000 nuts, the size of which compares well with
others. One hundred million trees are also reported. At present there
is practically no export, but large possibilities exist for an important
industry. There are three shipping ports, Cabedello, Maceió, and
Recife, three-fourths of the trees near the first two. On the plantation
the nuts sell for $25-$35 per 1000, according to size, and in cities at
$42.50. No attempt is made to produce copra, as the natives are
fond of the milk and fruit. With New York price $160 a ton for copra
and $10 freight it is better to sell the nuts at home, but if business
were done on a large scale, good profit would result. Improper
spacing injures production; of two groves, one 75 trees to the acre
and one close by, 130 trees, the yield of the first is four times that of
the second. Labor is cheap, disease and pests unknown. The by-
products are valuable; fibre for cord or rope, the husk for fuel, the
milk for breakfast, and palm leaves for building or for hats. To
develop 2000 acres of land a capital of $30,000 is estimated as
necessary, giving a net return for the first seven years which would
average $31,865 a year, 105 per cent on the capital, with gross
receipts for the last year of $300,000. If the profits are half the
estimate the investment would seem a good one.
Other Nuts. The Brazil nut is an equally well known edible, mostly
exported from Pará; in 1914 over $2,000,000 worth. The trees are
large, often 150 feet high. Babassú nuts are exported, some
thousands of tons, chiefly from Bahia, yielding a high percentage of
oil, similar to that from the coconut. Also the souari or butternut
brings a good price and has commercial possibilities, having a larger
percentage of fat than other known species. Its cultivation is believed
to be more profitable than that of coconuts. Tagua nuts are exported
in small quantities.
Cotton is an important product likely to have a large increase,
though a diminishing amount is exported, $8,000,000 worth in 1914
and $500,000 in 1916. This does not indicate lessening production
but large increase in cotton milling. Cotton of long silky staple of high
merit here grows wild or with careless cultivation. Growing in almost
all parts of the country, it is best on the northeast promontory and
along the coast to the Amazon. There is little culture, not yet ¹⁄₂
million bales, where 20 might be produced. United States cotton
buyers in 1916 were astonished to find here the long silky fibre. One
of the best varieties is similar to the Peruvian, a hardy, prolific
perennial growing 13 feet high and yielding for at least three years.
One tree was bearing after 16 years. Maranhão has raised this kind
for centuries. It has the high percentage of 38 to the boll and is
similar to that cultivated by the Incas. Under the names Moco,
Serido, and Sede de Ceará, this cotton is grown in these north
States. Gossipium microcarpum, related to peruvianum, is said to
produce a pound of clean cotton from 120 bolls. These varieties
have fuzz on the seeds, but four other varieties have clean seeds,
the most important, the Gossipium vitifolium found wild in Brazil, still
producing long silky staple. Sea Island and the best Egyptian belong
to this stock. These varieties can be cultivated here without fear of
rival anywhere, and offer a fine field for the investor. In the State of
Pernambuco cotton production is more important than sugar. Much
is produced in São Paulo. Export growers, and good roads or
railways are needed to stimulate production.
Cereals are obviously of far less importance in Brazil than in
Argentina, yet many tons are produced and the possibilities are
large. Rio Grande do Sul alone produces wheat in quantity, though
not enough for her own needs; Santa Catharina, São Paulo, the hills
of Rio and Minas are suitable for cereals, and wheat, barley, oats,
and a little rye are seen in the south near European colonies. The
chief cereal grown is maize; in patches it is found everywhere, and in
enormous fields in the centre of Brazil. With mandioca it is the food
of the common people, in spite of the large consumption of flour in
the cities.
Fruits. The fine fruits of Brazil deserve greater exploitation. I have
eaten really delicious pineapples in Rio only. There may be as good
elsewhere, there cannot be better. The oranges of Bahia have an
equal reputation. It is from that State that the navels were introduced
into Florida. If superior to the California fruit as were the old Floridas,
it is time they were more extensively cultivated and exported to the
United States.
Rice is growing in importance. Formerly imported, its production
has increased until now there is an export balance.
Beans are raised and consumed in great quantities; recently some
have been exported.
Forestry
It is well known that the forest country of Brazil has an enormous

area. The entire rubber region is estimated by a Brazilian authority
as covering 1,000,000 square miles, half of which is in Brazil. Other
forest regions of a different character are on the highlands and at the
south, all together covering 1¹⁄₂ million square miles. The forests
contain the varieties that might naturally be expected with others
peculiar to the country, medicinal plants, trees with gums and resins,
woods hard and soft, but mainly hard; some ornamental, others
useful as timber; plants supplying tannin, quebracho and others; the
beautiful Araucanian (Paraná) pine, the candelabra tree, of which
there are 800,000,000 in Paraná. The wood is said to be 20 per cent
stronger than the pine of Sweden; the trees are nearly 200 feet high,
with a diameter at the base of ten feet. Other figures are 100 feet tall
and three feet in diameter.
The timber industry is of slight development, but Paraná and
Santa Catharina afford much good building material. The Brazil
Company has in the two States over 500,000 acres with
5,000,000,000 feet of good standing timber and three mills. One of
these, at Tres Barros, located on a railway, has a capacity of
40,000,000 feet a year, with planing mill, box factory, etc. There is a
great market in Brazil and Argentina. Among unusually valuable
trees is the peroba, with a trunk weighing 30 tons, worth $7 a ton on
the spot. The imbuya tree which resembles mahogany is heavier
than water. An infinite variety is found with infinite uses.
Rubber still has some importance, in spite of the great diminution
of export owing to the development of the Ceylon plantations. Once
the price was $3 a pound; in June, 1921, 15¹⁄₂ cents. Unfortunately
the industry in past years was very badly conducted, with short-
sighted policy, wasteful methods in tapping trees, foolish importation
at excessive cost of all kinds of supplies including food, far too high
prices to the laborers; partly in consequence of extortion and cruelty,
a scarcity of labor; in addition, high export duties. The idea prevailed
that people could get rubber nowhere else and must pay whatever
price was asked. It was a severe shock when Ceylon rubber came
more and more into the market, and was found to be a formidable
rival. Although not generally considered equal to Pará fina, the
Ceylon answers for most purposes.
The Government is now lending aid to the industry, encouraging
plantations, and better methods otherwise. The export tax at Pará
has been slightly lowered but is now 24¹⁄₂ per cent. A Government
investigation, however, in 1912-14 at a cost of $47,000,000 did little
besides paying fat salaries to favored individuals. The Ceylon export
has recently been 300,000 tons to Brazil’s 37,000. So far synthetic
rubber with the special therapeutic base has cost four times the
hevea. The Pará fina is of course the hevea brasiliensis, which
constitutes the larger part exported from the Amazon, 80 per cent of
a good workman’s product. Sernamby is a by-product of scraps or
careless work, though even the better is liable to be contaminated
more or less with leaves, nails, etc. Caucho from the castilloa
elastica is not so good, and in procuring it the tree is usually
destroyed, as previously stated. Near the mouth of the Amazon
where some collectors are quite independent, owning their own
homes on the edge of the forest, are white rubber trees producing
fraca or weak rubber; not so good as the hevea which has the most
resilience, and is tough and elastic. For many purposes these
qualities are essential, hence the higher price. Red rubber
coagulates badly.
Men from the State of Ceará, especially in times of drought, have
been glad to go to the Amazon as rubber collectors; and half wild
Indians of Peru and Bolivia have been employed. The rubber is
collected in the dry season, June to November. Dr. Oswaldo Cruz, a
famous Brazilian physician, said of some of the Amazon regions that
there were no natives, as all the children die; others declare that the
normal condition of older persons is to be afflicted with malaria,
beriberi, dysentery, pneumonia. Still others maintain that much of the
higher land is fairly healthful for persons of careful habits who have
good food. Conditions are improving. American and other companies
are organizing on a more scientific basis than formerly, and with
humane plans which in the long run will prove profitable. Lands have
been secured in desirable locations where men can live all the year,
raise their own vegetables, and not be dependent for their entire
living, aside from fish, on canned stuff at enormous prices. To put
Amazon rubber on a better basis it is necessary that the output be
cleaner, the expenses of the collector smaller, and his living better
through local cultivation of fruit and vegetables, which here grow
luxuriantly, and with better habitations on suitable sites, so attracting
a better labor supply. A further reduction by the Brazilian States of
the rubber export tax, now about 24 per cent in Pará, seems also
desirable.
Besides the hevea and caucho, two other varieties of rubber are
exported, the maniçoba and the mangabeira, which have a place,
like the balatá of the Guianas and Venezuela and the Guayule shrub
from Mexico. The first is from the manihot tree which grows up to
4000 feet altitude, on a rocky soil where there is not too much rain; it
is good for many purposes. The mangabeira, mostly from
Pernambuco, grows on a sandy soil at 3000-5000 feet, but is a wet
rubber not highly valued.
The Ceylon rubber trees, the seeds of which were taken from the
Amazon and germinated in Kew Gardens, first blossomed in 1881.
The seeds were used to plant more trees. In 1900 four tons of rubber
came from the East, in 1910, 800 tons; the output in 1916 was about
150,000 tons. One million, three hundred thousand acres are now
producing in Ceylon, India, Borneo, and elsewhere, a monument to
British enterprise.
Herva Matte. A very important export, rather forestal than
agricultural is called in Portuguese herva matte, the yerba mate of
Spanish. Paraná is its special home where it grows wild in the
forests, straying over into the neighboring States of Matto Grosso,
São Paulo, Santa Catharina, and Rio Grande do Sul, and being
native as we have seen to Paraguay, and to Misiones in Argentina.
The trees or shrubs often grow in sections with the tall Paraná pines,
the tree with the candelabra top, which is not only an ornament to
the landscape but supplies good lumber, and pine kernels as large
as chestnuts. These when boiled make a nutritious food, much
relished by the Italians. The chief export of matte is through the city
of Paranaguá, after preparation in the mills of the region. In 1915,
75,800 tons were exported, largely to Argentina, some also to
Europe; 40,000 tons is an average amount. It is much used by the
residents of Paraná, but in most of Brazil coffee has the preference.
Fibres. Besides cotton Brazil produces fibres of excellence from a
variety of plants. A wonderful article but little known to the general
public is the remarkable paina, called in Europe kapok, 34 times as
light as water, 14 times, as cork. Chiefly produced in the Orient, it is
obviously excellent for life preservers, also for mattresses, pillows,
and for whatever needs to be light, warm, elastic, and impermeable.
The best fibre, best packed, comes from Java, inferior grades from
India and Africa. Introduced into Venezuela, it was so packed with
stones and refuse that it was rejected when sent to Europe, although
the article was of fine quality. Careless exporters of all articles should
take warning. Other good fibres of Brazil are aramin, from which
coffee bags are made; pita, from which the Amazon Indians make
hammocks woven with much art, and sometimes with feathers
interspersed along the edge. Palms and aloes supply other fibres,
some equal, they say, to the famous henequen (sisal) of Yucatan.
Banana fibre is used by north lace makers for a curious stiff shiny
lace, some quite beautiful, fine and intricate, and some with a
darned-in pattern of heavier silk thread, on a filmy background.
Carnaüba Wax, which forms an under coating of the leaves of the
carnaüba palm, is not unlike beeswax. Nearly 600 tons were
exported in 1915 valued at $2,400,000. The trees grow in the north
States, especially in Rio Grande do Norte, where there are
15,000,000 trees, and in Ceará. Large amounts of the product are
used locally. The wax is of excellent quality, melting at a low
temperature and burning with a bright light. Mixed with a little
beeswax and 10 per cent fat, it is easily worked and makes candles
of high quality. It is much used for shoe blacking.
CHAPTER L
BRAZIL: OTHER INDUSTRIES
Cattle Industry
A leading industry of Brazil which, it has been said, may even in

São Paulo supersede in importance that of coffee is live stock. Two
packing houses now slaughter 300,000 cattle per year, one Brazilian,
at Barretos, the other an American, the Continental Products, at
Osasco near São Paulo, exporting chiefly to France and Italy.
Another American Company has at São Paulo a plant that will
handle daily 1500 head of cattle, 1000 hogs, and 2500 sheep. In
tributary territory, which would include parts of Matto Grosso and
Minas, 2,500,000 cattle are estimated. It is said that the best
breeding ground is Matto Grosso, where the cattle run wild as once
in Texas, though each rancher has a certain range and his cattle are
branded. The Brazil Land and Cattle Company procured 8,000,000
acres in Matto Grosso, Paraná, and Minas, mostly well watered and
with good grazing, except in Matto Grosso. Much fencing was done
and buildings were erected. Recent increase in prices has improved
prospects. This property is now owned by the Continental Products
Company, in which the Wilson packers are interested.
Other vast lands are available. From the ranges of Matto Grosso
the cattle are driven across to fattening pastures of southwest Minas
and northwest São Paulo where the land has been planted to grass,
though it is said that a native grass, caipim gordura, grows there all
the year round. Argentina’s alfalfa lands make the cost of fattening
an animal six months $7.50, while with caipim gordura in Brazil
$1.33 covers the expense. Some Brazil grasses are of the highest
class while others are good only for goats. On the Araguaya River
the grass is 16-17 feet high. The Jaragua is over 3 feet. In
Amazonas and Pará cattle are said to flourish but not goats or pigs.
Rio Grande near the Uruguay line has fine grazing lands; those in
Minas and São Paulo at an elevation of 1200-1400 feet where
animals never need shelter are excellent.
Before the packing houses were started jerked beef only was
marketed from the herds, hence, as thin cattle were preferred for that
purpose, there was no object in improving the grade. Now there is
systematic progress. Breeding farms are operated, fine stock has
been imported, and in time high grade meat, perhaps equal to the
Argentine, will be marketed. Twelve thousand tons were sent to
Europe and the United States in six months in 1916, though the first
experimental 1¹⁄₂ tons was sent in November, 1914. At the School of
Agriculture, Piracicaba, São Paulo, are good imported bulls, and one
of native type, the Caracú, with pale buff hide, fitted to be the base of
standardized herds. It seems that in some sections, notably Matto
Grosso, a cross with the Indian zebu, which has a hump, and its
descendants, is best qualified to resist the climate and the insect
pests of that region; but in the pastures of Paraná and Rio Grande,
Herefords, Durhams, Jerseys, etc., will flourish. The zebu is of large
size and its skin is excellent leather, but packers say the hump does
not pack well, and the shoulder is thin. Plants now or soon to be in
operation south of São Paulo are three: in Rio Grande, one of Swift,
one at Pelotas, Brazilian, and one at Sant’ Anna of Armour. The
President of Paraná has been extending high roads towards
Guarapuava to tap the State of Matto Grosso, and a large drove of
cattle has come down. He desires to have an American packing
house established in the State and will arrange with a suitable
company to make no advance on the export tax for 15 years.
Paranaguá, a port which we have already noted, is well served by
the Brazilian Lloyd Line and the Funch-Edye from New York. Similar
concessions are offered in Santa Catharina, which State has lower
export duties; and by the Governor of Rio Grande, who would
exempt from all export taxes any foreign company; though a tax of
10 milreis, $3.33, is imposed for every cow slaughtered, to protect
the herds from decimation. If all the herds number 30,000,000,
2,500,000 or more might be slaughtered yearly without diminution.
Cattle formerly were killed for their hides only, and the export of
these is still important; 37,000 tons exported in 1915 were valued at
$13,000,000.
Sheep raising seems inappropriate for a tropical climate, but in
Rio Grande do Sul development is possible, also on the highlands of
São Paulo, Minas, and Matto Grosso. Experiments with Romney
Marsh have been successful for both wool and meat. Now there are
11,000,000 sheep, 7,000,000 goats, 18,000,000 hogs, 6,000,000
horses, and 3,000,000 mules and donkeys in the country.
Manufactures
While Brazil may not be called a manufacturing country, she had

over 26,000 such plants in 1916; and her statesmen are eager to
increase these industries, for which her immense water power gives
her unusual advantages. The largest concern in this field has a
capital of $8,000,000 and an annual output worth $4,500,000; it
employs 2800 hands making sacking, yarn, rope, thread, etc., this in
São Paulo. In the textile field, the cotton mills naturally lead with over
200 mills and an investment of $80,000,000. They exist in various
States, employing 80,000 persons; one in Pernambuco near the city
of Olinda is a sample. The estate of 45 square miles of pasture and
woodland borders on the sea, the shore fringed with coconut trees.
Machinery and some technical workers were brought from England.
All the processes of making fine cloth are there followed; they spin,
dye, weave, color, and print. Native dyes are used in part. Of 3500
hands employed 70 per cent are women and children. Over $35,000
a month are paid in wages. Dwellings are rented at low prices or
owned by employes; schools, hospital, and dispensary are free. A
dairy and a stock farm belong to the estate, brick factories, a bakery,
etc. A lumber yard is important. One thousand tons of coal a month
are usually consumed, but in war time wood was used. The cotton is
bought, $200,000 a month, and as much a year is spent for
chemicals, drugs, etc. From 960 looms 1,500,000 metres of cloth 22-
26 inches wide are produced a month, from blue denim to fine
flowered fabrics; the products are sold in 80 stores owned by the
Company in various States. Brazil has 11 flour mills of commercial
importance, located in the States of Rio, São Paulo, Paraná, and Rio
Grande do Sul, at one time having no tax on wheat, but ten cents a
kilo on flour, by means of which the infant industry was started. In
1915, 800,000 barrels of flour were imported from the United States
and 600,000 from Argentina, a little from Uruguay; at the same time
enough wheat was imported and milled to make 2,750,000 barrels,
evidence of the work of the mills. For metal working there are 134
shops for imported iron. Factories exist of almost every kind. Leather
goods are produced especially shoes for which there are many
factories; hats, clothing and a variety of ordinary articles, such as
soap, hosiery, brooms, paper, wagons, etc. Brazil workmen are
skilful and the industries are certain to increase.
Mining
The mining industry of Brazil, if not precisely in embryo, for it has

been in a very flourishing condition, is now in a state of prospect; on
the verge of a great development rather than of active operation,
except for a few varieties of metals. At the moment there is little
working except in gold, diamonds, monazite, manganese, and coal.
Manganese has recently been the chief mineral exported on
account of war necessities, 245,000 tons valued at 7 million dollars,
in the first half of 1917, in contrast to 85,000 tons in the same part of
1914. The mines are in Minas, Matto Grosso, Bahia, and elsewhere,
those in Minas being accessible to the port of Rio. In Matto Grosso,
18 miles from Corumbá, there is a deposit called the Urucum,
estimated at 30,000,000 tons of undeveloped ore; one, the Quelez,
in Minas of 5,000,000, 30 miles from Rio, and others. The ore
averages over 50 per cent of metallic manganese, with a little iron
silicate and phosphorus. Americans are interested in the works as
the metal is valuable in the iron and steel industry. With better
transportation facilities for these and other deposits, a good future is
certain.
Gold mining was naturally the first to be developed. Minas has
been the chief producer. Of Minas Geraes the writer Diaz said, “In
this State what does not hide gold contains iron; what does not
contain coal spreads diamonds.” After the discovery of gold in 1693,
80,000 men toiled for a century at placer mining for the King of
Portugal. About $1,000,000,000 has been taken out. The Morro
Velho, said to be the oldest producing mine in the world, is now with
the Ouro Preto worked by British Companies. The first is being
worked at the depth of a mile with no sign of exhaustion. The gross
receipts for the year ending February 28, 1917, were over
$4,000,000, the profits $750,000, from a tonnage crushed of
187,400. The Ouro Preto Company operates the Passagem Mine
five miles from the former capital of that name, being the first to use
a stamp mill in 1819. The average thickness of the lode was ten feet,
now about eight. Gold properties exist in many States, the most
important around three mountain chains, the Mantiqueira and
Espinhaço, which cross Minas and Bahia, running into Pernambuco;
the range between Minas and Bahia, and Goyaz, continuing into
Piauhy and Ceará, west of the São Francisco River; the third east of
the Paraguay and Araguaya Rivers. Those most worked are in the
Espinhaco Range in Minas and Bahia. Dredging has been carried on
with varying success, but some of the companies have been
overcapitalized. An American Company has recently acquired some
old concessions of land in Goyaz, rich in gold and diamonds, where
extensive operations are expected shortly.
Diamonds. As for diamonds, since the first stone was discovered
in 1721, many precious gems have been produced. During 40 years
in that century $17,500,000 worth were exported. The city,
Diamantina, 500 miles from Rio, is the centre of one of the most
important fields. Gems are found in pot-holes, one of which
contained 10 pounds of diamonds and 28 of gold. Others are in clay
deposits in rocks of sandstone and schist. In the River Bagagem
near the border of São Paulo, 250 miles from Diamantina, three
great diamonds have been found: the Estrella do Sul, in 1853,
weighing 254 carats uncut, was sold to the Gaekwar of Baroda for
$400,000, the others weighing 117 and 175 carats. Other fields are
in Paraná, Bahia, Goyaz, Matto Grosso, and São Paulo, in Goyaz on
the Garças River, tributary to the Araguaya. Apparently most of the
stones are now smuggled. They are said to be finer than the Cape
diamonds and also to be sold for them. Black diamonds are found, of
great value in the arts, and many precious and semi-precious
stones, such as amethysts, tourmaline, topaz, etc., in various places.
Copper exists in several States, but production is slight. A mass
weighing over 2600 pounds was discovered years ago near the city
of Bahia, and there are six well known districts in the State. In Rio
Grande do Sul an extensive property was opened which showed 6.5
per cent copper and 30 grams gold per ton. Minas will probably rank
next to these States. Promising quantities are near Campos in Rio
de Janeiro; there are also ores in Goyaz, Paraná, Matto Grosso,
Parahyba, Ceará, Rio Grande do Norte and Maranhão; some are
hardly accessible. One of those in Bahia covers nearly 15,000 acres,
about 30 miles from the railway. Belgians and Dutch have operated
at Camaquam, Rio Grande do Sul.
Iron in actual mountains occurs in Minas, 12 billion tons of the
highest grade in 52 outcroppings. Deposits have been acquired by
American, British, German, and French interests. The manager of a
British company which owned 90,000 acres said, “One could travel
23 miles one way and 16 another on outcrops of ore, canga, or
rubble.” In one deposit 30,000,000 tons are in sight, 60 per cent
pure.
American interests, the Itabira Company, have secured deposits
which include the celebrated iron mountain of Itabira do Matto
Dentro in the east near the head of the Doce River. The hematite
iron district is reached from Rio by the Central and the Leopoldina
Railways; but this deposit will be tapped by a prolongation of the
Victoria-Minas Railway, now running along a part of the Doce River.
Also a branch will lead to a terminal 40 miles north of Victoria, Santa
Cruz, a small port which will be developed and equipped with special
loading machinery. Here will be erected a steel plant with an annual
capacity of 150,000 tons of steel products, pig-iron, steel plates,
rails, etc. The iron, 326 miles from this port, runs 69 per cent pure;
some in the United States runs 52 per cent. It will be several years
before manufacture can begin. Coal will be imported.
Development of iron properties has been retarded by lack of
transportation and fuel. Wagon roads are unknown. The altitude is
2000-4000 feet and the climate good. The coal is hardly good
enough or in sufficiently large supply. Oil development is uncertain.
As there is water power the use of electricity may be arranged.
Near Ipanema, São Paulo, iron is found. A large deposit has been
located in Paraná three miles from the port of Antonina. Other
deposits in the two States south give good promise. So far charcoal
has been used for a little smelting.
Coal mining has been carried on for a long time in a small and
primitive way, but most of the coal used has been imported. The
principal deposits found are in Santa Catharina and Rio Grande do
Sul, others are in Paraná and Pernambuco. In Paraná American
interests have made extensive purchases and expect to develop the
property at once. Rio Grande do Sul has been estimated to have
800,000,000 tons and to be able to supply 1,000,000 a year.
In Santa Catharina the veins are about ten feet thick; some in Rio
Grande are 4-10 feet, some 13. The property at Xarquedas,
operated for some years, produces 20,000 tons per annum. With
greater activity, in March 1918, 650 tons were produced daily from
two shafts, and 1000 or more was expected by the addition of a
third. With high volatile matter, good gas and salable coke are
procured for Pelotas. Coal is found in several river valleys in Santa
Catharina. State surveys are being made, and with improvement in
transport by land and water a great industry may be developed of
enormous value in promoting manufactures. Railway construction
has been authorized by the President to aid coal companies in work,
and other concessions have been made. The briquettes from Santa
Catharina coal show hardly less caloric value than those of the
Welsh patent fuel. Much is used by the Lloyd Brasileiro and other
steamship lines including the Japanese; by railways, mills, etc. A
little is exported to Argentina and Uruguay. The Rio Grande Railway
is or was burning coal mixed with wood on its locomotives. The best
coal is 42 per cent combustible, and when pulverized is equal to any
other. Bituminous schist sold at $12.50 a ton was used for gas in
São Paulo during the War. There are great seams 10-12 feet thick in
São Paulo and Rio Grande do Sul. Lignite occurs in Pará,
Amazonas, and Minas, enormous peat beds in various places.

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Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles

(Book Eight): Last Stand of the War

Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles (Book Fifteen):

Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles (Book Thirteen):

Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles (Book Twelve):

Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles (Book Four):

Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles (Book Ten):

Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles (Book Nine):

Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles (Book Seven):

Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles (Book Eighteen):

The time of monsters was said to be at an end.

“By Arsenus be gone!”

The Enemy’s March

“Anora!” Safira called.

Brazilian industries as we have already seen have the variety

Coffee, we all know, is in value the most important crop of the

It is well known that the forest country of Brazil has an enormous

A leading industry of Brazil which, it has been said, may even in

While Brazil may not be called a manufacturing country, she had

The mining industry of Brazil, if not precisely in embryo, for it has

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