Voyage of the Liberdade | Page 7

was made. He proved to be a fine

young retriever, and his intelligent signs of thankfulness for his escape
from drowning were scarcely less eloquent of gratitude than human
spoken language.
This pleasant incident happening on a Friday, suggested, of course, the
name we should give him. His new master, to be sure, was Garfield,
who at once said, "I guess they won't know me when I get home, with
my new suit--and a dog!" The two romped the decks thenceforth, early
and late. It was good to see them romp, while "Friday" "barkit wi' joy."
Our pets were becoming numerous now, and all seemed happy till a
stowaway cat one day killed poor little "Pete," our canary. For ten years
or more we had listened to the notes of this wee bird, in many countries
and climes. Sweetest of sweet singers, it was buried in the great
Atlantic at last. A strange cat, a careless steward, and its tiny life was
ended--and the tragedy told. This was indeed a great loss to us all, and
was mourned over,--almost as the loss of a child.
A book that has been read at sea has a near claim on our friendship, and
is a thing one is loth to part with, or change, even for a better book. But
the well-tried friend of many voyages is oh! so hard to part with at sea.
A resting-place in the solemn sea of sameness--in the trackless ocean,
marked only by imaginary lines and circles--is a cheerless spot to look
to; yet how many have treasures there!
Returning to the voyage and journal: Our pilot proved incompetent, and
we narrowly escaped shipwreck in consequence at Martin Garcia Bar, a
bad spot in the River Plate. A small schooner captain, observing that
we needlessly followed in his track, and being anything but a sailor in
principle, wantonly meditated mischief to us. While I was confidently
trusting to my pilot, and he (the pilot) trusting to the schooner, one that
could go over banks where we would strike, what did the scamp do but
shave close to a dangerous spot, my pilot following faithfully in his
wake. Then, jumping upon the taffrail of his craft, as we came abreast
the shoal, he yelled, like a Comanche, to my pilot to: "Port the helm!"
and what does my mutton-headed jackass do but port hard over! The
bark, of course, brought up immediately on the ground, as the other had
planned, seeing which his whole pirate crew--they could have been

little less than pirates--joined in roars of laughter, but sailed on, doing
us no other harm.
By our utmost exertions the bark was gotten off, not a moment too soon,
however, for by the time we kedged her into deep water a pampeiro
was upon us. She rode out the gale safe at anchor, thanks to an active
crew. Our water tanks and casks were then refilled, having been
emptied to lighten the bark from her perilous position.
Next evening the storm went down, and by mutual consent our
mud-pilot left, taking passage in a passing river-craft, with his pay and
our best advice, which was to ship in a dredging-machine, where his
capabilities would be appreciated.
Then, "paddling our own canoe," without further accident we reached
the light-ship, passing it on Christmas Day. Clearing thence, before
night, English Bank and all other dangers of the land, we set our course
for Ilha Grande, the wind being fair. Then a sigh of relief was breathed
by all on board. If ever "old briny" was welcomed, it was on that
Christmas Day.
Nothing further of interest occurred on the voyage to Brazil, except the
death of the little bird already spoken of, which loss deeply affected us
all.
We arrived at Ilha Grande, our destination, on the 7th day of January,
1887, and came to anchor in nine fathoms of water, at about noon,
within musket-range of the guard-ship, and within speaking distance of
several vessels riding quarantine, with more or less communication
going on among them all, through flags. Several ships, chafing under
the restraint of quarantine, were "firing signals" at the guard-ship. One
Scandinavian, I remember, asked if he might be permitted to
communicate by cable with his owners in Christiana. The guard gave
him, as the Irishman said, "an evasive answer," so the cablegram, I
suppose, laid over. Another wanted police assistance; a third wished to
know if he could get fresh provisions--ten milreis' ($5) worth (he was a
German)--naming a dozen or more articles that he wished for, "and the
balance in onions!" Altogether, the young fellows on the guard-ship

were having, one might say, a signal practice.
On the next day, January 8th, the officers of the port came alongside in
a steam-launch, and ordered us to