Voyage of the Liberdade | Page 2

the rest, having "all nights in"--that is, not having to
stand watch. The mate, Victor, who is to see many adventures before
reaching New York again, was born and bred on shipboard. He was in
perfect health, and as strong as a windlass. When he first saw the light
and began to give orders, he was at San Francisco on the packet
Constitution, the vessel lost in the tempest at Samoa, just before the
great naval disaster at the same place in the year of 1889. Garfield, the
little lad above mentioned, Victor's brother, in this family ship, was
born in Hong Kong harbour, in the old bark Amethyst, a bona-fide
American citizen, though first seeing the light in a foreign port, the
Stars and Stripes standing sponsors for his nationality. This bark had
braved the wind and waves for fifty-eight years, but had not, up to that

date, so far as I know, experienced so lively a breeze as the one which
sprung up about her old timbers on that eventful 3rd of March, 1880.
Our foremast hands on the Aquidneck, six in number, were from as
many nations, strangers to me and strangers to each other; but the cook,
a negro, was a native American--to the manner born. To have even so
many Americans in one ship was considered exceptional.
Much or little as matters this family history and description of the crew:
the day of our sailing was bitter-cold and stormy, boding no good for
the coming voyage, which was to be, indeed, the most eventful of my
life of more than five-and-thirty years at sea. Studying the morning
weather report, before sailing, we saw predicted a gale from the
nor'west, and one also approaching from the sou'west at the same time.
"The prospect," said the New York papers, "is not encouraging." We
were anxious, however, to commence the voyage, having a crew on
board, and, being all ready, we boldly sailed, somewhat against our
better judgment. The nor'wester blowing, at the time, at the rate of forty
miles an hour, increased to eighty or ninety miles by March 2nd. This
hurricane continued through March 3rd, and gave us serious concern
for the ship and all on board.
At New York, on those days, the wind howled from the north, with the
"storm centre somewhere on the Atlantic," so said the wise seamen of
the weather bureau, to whom, by the way, the real old salt is indebted,
at the present day, for information of approaching storms, sometimes
days ahead. The prognostication was correct, as we can testify, for out
on the Atlantic our bark could carry only a mere rag of a foresail,
somewhat larger than a table-cloth, and with this storm-sail she went
flying before the tempest, all those dark days, with a large "bone in her
mouth,"[1] making great headway, even under the small sail.
Mountains of seas swept clean over the bark in their mad race, filling
her decks full to the top of the bulwarks, and shaking things generally.
Our men were lashed, each one to his station; and all spare spars not
doubly lashed were washed away, along with other movables that were
broken and torn from their fastenings by the wild storm.

The cook's galley came in for its share of the damage, the cook himself
barely escaping serious injury from a sea that went thundering across
the decks, taking with it doors, windows, galley stove, pots, kettles and
all, together with the culinary artist; landing the whole wreck in the lee
scuppers, but, most fortunately, with the professor on top. A misfortune
like this is always--felt. It dampens one's feelings, so to speak. It means
cold food for a time to come, if not even worse fare.
The day following our misfortune, however, was not so bad. In fact, the
tremendous seas boarding the bark latterly were indications of the good
change coming, for it meant that her speed had slackened through a lull
of the gale, allowing the seas to reach her too full and heavy.
More sail was at once crowded on, and still more was set at every stage
of the abatement of the gale, for the craft should not be lazy when big
seas race after her. And so on we flew, like a scud, sheeting home sail
after sail as required, till the 5th of March, when all of her white wings
were spread, and she fairly "walked the waters like a thing of life."
There was now wind enough for several days, but not too much, and
our swift-sailing craft laughed at the seas trying to catch her.
Cheerily on we sailed for days and days, pressed by the favouring gale,
meeting the sun each day a long span earlier, making daily four degrees
of