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When I was in Spanish Río Negro the conflict between the Courts of Lisbon and Madrid - even in peaceful times - had heightened the mistrust of the commanders of petty neighboring forts. A commander with sixteen to eighteen soldiers tired 'the garrison' with his measures for safety, dictated by 'the important state of affairs'. If were attacked he hoped 'to surround the enemy'. A people who have preserved a national hatred through the ages loves any excuse to vent it. We enjoy all that is passionate and dynamic, as much in our feelings as in the rival hatreds built up on age-old prejudices. On the banks of the Río Negro the Indians in the neighboring Portuguese and Spanish villages hate each other. These poor people speak only their Indian languages and have no idea what happens 'on the other bank of the ocean, beyond the great salt pond', but the gowns of the missionaries are of different colors and this enrages them.

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