Voyage of the Liberdade | Page 3

longitude. It was the time, on these bright days, to forearm with dry
clothing against future stormy weather. Boxes and bags were brought
on deck, and drying and patching went on by wholesale in the watch
below, while the watch on deck bestirred themselves putting the ship in
order. "Chips," the carpenter, mended the galley; the cook's broken
shins were plastered up; and in a few days all was well again. And the
sailors, moving cheerfully about once more in their patched garments
of varied hues, reminded me of the spotted cape pigeons pecking for a
living, the pigeons, I imagined, having a better life of the two. A
panican of hot coffee or tea by sailors called "water bewitched," a
sea-biscuit, and "bit of salt-horse," had regaled the crew and restored
their voices. Then "Reuben Ranzo" was heard on the breeze, and the
main tack was boarded to the tune of "Johnny Boker." Other wondrous
songs through the night-watch could be heard in keeping with the

happy time. Then what they would do and what they wouldn't do in the
next port was talked of, when song and yarn ran out.
Hold fast, shipmate, hold fast and belay! or the crimps of Montevideo
will wear the new jacket you promise yourself, while you will be off
Cape Horn, singing "Haul out to leeward," with a wet stocking on your
neck, and with the same old "lamby" on, that long since was "lamby"
only in name, the woolly part having given way to a cloth worn much
in "Far Cathay"; in short, you will dress in dungaree, the same as now,
while the crimps and landsharks divide your scanty earnings, unless
you "take in the slack" of your feelings, and "make all fast and steady
all."
Ten days out, and we were in the northeast "trades"--porpoises were
playing under the bows as only porpoises can play; dolphins were
racing alongside, and flying-fish were all about. This was, indeed, a
happy change, and like being transported to another world. Our
hardships were now all forgotten, for "the sea washes off all the woes
of men."
One week more of pleasant sailing, all going orderly on board, and
Cape Verde Islands came in sight. A grand and glorious sight they were!
All hail, terra firma! It is good to look at you once again! By noon the
islands were abeam, and the fresh trade-wind in the evening bore us out
of sight of them before dark.
Most delightful sailing is this large, swinging motion of our bark
bounding over the waves, with the gale abaft the beam, driving her
forward till she fairly leaps from billow to billow, as if trying to rival
her companions, the very flying-fish. Thwarted now by a sea, she
strikes it with her handsome bows, sending into the light countless
thousand sprays, that shine like a nimbus of glory. The tread on her
deck-plank is lighter now, and the little world afloat is gladsome fore
and aft.
Cape Frio (cold cape) was the next landfall. Upon reaching that point,
we had crossed the Atlantic twice. The course toward Cape Verde
Islands had been taken to avail ourselves of a leading wind through the

south-east trades, the course from the islands to Frio being
southwesterly. This latter stretch was spanned on an easy bow-line;
with nothing eventful to record. Thence our course was through
variable winds to the River Plate, where a pampeiro was experienced
that blew "great guns," and whistled a hornpipe through the rigging.
These pampeiros (winds from the pampas) usually blow with great fury,
but give ample warning of their approach: the first sign being a spell of
unsurpassed fine weather, with small, fleecy clouds floating so gently
in the sky that one scarcely perceives their movements, yet they do
move, like an immense herd of sheep grazing undisturbed on the great
azure field. All this we witnessed, and took into account. Then
gradually, and without any apparent cause, the clouds began to huddle
together in large groups; a sign had been given which the elements
recognized. Next came a flash of fire from behind the accumulating
masses, then a distant rumbling noise. It was a note of warning, and one
that no vessel should let pass unheeded. "Clew up, and furl!" was the
order. To hand all sail when these fierce visitors are out on a frolic over
the seas, and entertain them under bare poles, is the safest plan, unless,
indeed, the best storm sails are bent; even then it is safest to
goose-wing the tops'ls before the gale comes on. Not till the fury of the
blast is spent does the ship require sail, for it is not till then that the sea
begins to rise, necessitating sail to steady her.
The first onslaught