Voyage of the Destroyer from New York to Brazil | Page 9

setting in that rolled her heavily against the bank, that she became leaky again. Though not a severe leak it was still discouraging. The only trouble about the whole affair with the gun was that the powder got wet.
But it was now hurrah for the war, boys, get a cargo of powder in and be off, ship and cargo was supposed to go against the arch rebel, Mello, who would have been "Liberator" of Brazil, but for the other man. Peixoto was bound to be "Liberator" himself. There was no time now to be lost! But wait! I'll tell all about that, too, pretty soon.
The Destroyer is carrying powder now for the whole fleet, which burnt all they had saluting the admiral on the way to Bahia in his old ark.
These ships preceded us by a few days; ostensibly, in haste, for Rio, but Mello not being ready to leave just then, the "attack" was postponed. It being untimely, however, to come back for more powder, it was shipped along to them on the Destroyer. The dear old craft had in already gun-cotton and dynamite enough to make a noise, but Goncalves wanted more thunder of his own old-fashioned sort, so we filled her chock-a-block with the stuff to make it. The submarine cannon was all stowed over with barrels of powder and was not get-atable at all the rest of the voyage to Bahia. In fact powder was all about. Three barrels of it found stowage in the Captain's room. The fourth one we couldn't get in. It was stowed back of the galley. That it didn't all blow up is how I am here to-day--thinking of my sins.
Well, in due course the stuff was all delivered in good order to the various ships in Bahia, for which the Destroyer was heartily maligned by all the Naval Officers, except the Minister of Marine, whom I judged to be with the legal government. Goncalves, the Admiral, was himself so enraged that he "romped" my "trata" at once. It was a portion of this same cargo of powder, which, forwarded on to Rio soon afterwards, was laid in the mine to blow up the Aquideban--and was fired after the great battleship got by and comfortably out of the way of it.
When I began the "voyage," I had no thought of writing a history of the whole war. Unconsciously I am drawn a distance beyond my first intent by the facts afloat of great achievements.
Horrors of war! how, when a lad, I shuddered at your name. I was in my ninth year, hired out on a farm when the thrilling news came to our township of a probable religious war. The four little churches bounding our small world, had always been in a light warfare, but now the Catholics were coming.
My employer, the good farmer, I shall never forget, armed his farm hands and his family with pitchforks, scythes, reaping hooks and the like--to do or die! There was great excitement. My own weapon was a hatchet, but that is no matter. The enemy came upon us, as it were, before we got our courage "screwed up to the sticking point." The rumpus began in the hen house, adjoining the kitchen: a heavy roost fell, and the de-il was to pay among the chickens. "The enemy! the enemy!! was the cry; the Pope's men have come sure enough!!! Where upon my employer, with laudable discretion, flinging open his doors, made haste to welcome the invaders. "Gentlemen," he cried, "come in, I have always been of opinion with you. Come in, gentlemen, and make yourselves at home in my house." When lo! it appeared there wasn't a man of any kind to come in. An old warrior cock, with bedraggled feathers, strutted in, however, and said "tooka-rio-rooa," or something to that effect, and the dear little chickens were all put back to roost--all except a few which next day went into the soup, and the war was finished.
But that, so far as I know, had nothing to do with this cruel war in Brazil. Nor can I say that history, in this case, repeats itself. The association is with me in the chain of my own thoughts and feelings. In those days, when I followed the peaceful pursuit of the plough, or rather a harrow it was, which towed by the old gray mare, that I navigated over the fields, already ploughed, and followed at three dollars a month. I say I shuddered then at the thoughts of war. But now I find myself deliberately putting my hand to documents which in those days nothing could have induced me to sign. At this time of life, after being towed under amid over a large portion of two oceans, I sign articles of war!