Ilha Grande decree--Return to Rosario--Waiting opening of the
Brazilian ports--Scarcity of sailors--Buccaneers turned
pilots--Sail down the river--Arrive at Ilha Grande the second
time--Quarantined and fumigated--Admitted to _pratique_--Sail for
Rio--Again challenged--Rio at last.
This Ilha Grande decree, really a political movement, brought great
hardships on us, notwithstanding that it was merely intended by the
Brazilians as retaliation for past offences by their Argentine
neighbours; not only for quarantines against Rio fevers, but for a
discriminating duty as well on sugar from the empire; a combination of
hardships on commerce--more than the sensitive Brazilians could
stand--so chafing them that a retaliation fever sprung up reaching more
than the heat of _febre marello_, and they decided to teach their
republican cousins a wholesome lesson. However, their wish was to
retaliate without causing war, and it was done. In fact, closing ports
as they did at the beginning of Argentine's most valuable season of
exports to Brazil, and with the plausible excuse, namely fear of pain in
the stomach, so filled the Argentines with admiration of their equals in
strategy that they on the earliest opportunity proclaimed two public
holidays in honour of bright Brazil. So the matter of difference ended,
to the delight of all--in fire-crackers and champagne!
To the delight of all except the owner and crew of the _Aquidneck_. For
our bark there was no way but to return where the cargo came from, at a
ruinous loss, too, of time and money. We called at the first open port
and wired to the owner of the cargo, but got no answer. Thence we sailed
to Buenos Aires, where I telegraphed again for instructions. The
officers of the guard-ship, upon receiving my report from Brazil, were
convulsed with laughter, while I----I confess it--could not see the
joke. After waiting two days, this diplomatic reply came from the owner
of the cargo: "Act as the case may require." Upon this matter I had
several opinions. One person suggested that the case required me to
pitch the whole cargo into the sea! This friend, I may mention, was from
Boston.
I have ever since regretted, however, that I did not take his advice.
There seemed to be no protection for the vessel; the law that a ship
must be allowed to live was unheeded; in fact this law was reversed and
there were sharpers and beach-combers at every turn ready to take
advantage of one's misfortunes or even drive one to despair. I
concluded, finally, to shake the lot of them, and proceeding up the
Parana, moored again at the berth where, a few weeks before, we had
taken in the cargo. Spans and tackle were rigged, and all was made ready
to discharge. It was now, "Come on, McCarthy, or McCarthy, come on!" I
didn't care which, I had one _right_ on my side, and I kept that always
in view; namely, the right to discharge the cargo where I had first
received it; but where the money to buy ballast and pay other charges
was to come from I could not discover.
My merchant met me in great concern at my "misfortunes," but "carramba!"
(zounds) said he, "my own losses are great." It required very little
reasoning to show me that the least expensive course was the safest one
for me to adopt, and my merchant offering enough to pay the marketing, I
found it wisest not to disturb the cargo, but to lay up instead with it
in the vessel and await the reopening of the Brazilian ports. This I
did.
My merchant, Don Manuel, is said to be worth millions of _pesos_. The
foundation of his wealth was laid by peddling charcoal, carrying it at
first, to his credit be it said, on his back, and he was then a good
fellow. Many a hard bargain has he waged since, and is now a "Don,"
living in a $90,000 house. The Don doesn't peddle charcoal any more.
Moored at Rosario, waiting, waiting; but all of us well in body, and
myself finally less agitated in mind. My old friend, Don Manuel, seems
better also; he "may yet purge and live clean like a gentleman."
I found upon our return to Rosario that some of the old hands were
missing; laid low by the scourge, to make room for others, and some were
spared who would have been less lamented. Among all the ship-brokers
that I knew at Rosario, and I knew a great many, not one was taken away.
They all escaped, being, it was thought, epidemic-proof. There was my
broker, Don Christo Christiano--called by Don Manuel "El Sweaga" (the
Swede)--whom nothing could strike with penetrative force, except a
commission.
At last, April 9th, 1887, news came that the Brazilian ports were open.
Cholera had long since disappeared in Santa Fè and Buenos Aires. The
Brazilians had established their own beef-drying factories, and could
now afford to open their ports to competition. This made a great stir
among the ships. Crews were picked up here and there, out of the few
brothels that had not been pulled down during the cholera, and out of
the streets or from the fields. Some, too, came in from the bush. Mixed
among them were many that had been let out of the prisons all over the
country, so that the scourge should not be increased by over-crowded
jails. Of six who shipped with me, four had been so released from
prison, where they had been serving for murder or highway robbery; all
this I learned when it was too late. I shall have occasion before long
to speak of these again!
Well, we unmoored and dropped down the river a few miles the first day;
with this crew, the hardest looking set that ever put foot on a ship of
mine, and with a swarthy Greek pilot that would be taken for a pirate in
any part of the world. The second mate, who shipped also at Rosario, was
not less ill-visaged, and had, in addition to his natural ugly features,
a deep scar across his face, suggestive of a heavy sabre stroke; a mark
which, I thought upon further acquaintance, he had probably merited. I
could not make myself easy upon the first acquaintance of my new and
decidedly ill-featured crew. So, early the first evening I brought the
bark to anchor, and made all snug before dark for prudent reasons. Next
morning, the Greek, instead of getting the bark underweigh, as I
expected him to do, came to me demanding more pay for his services and
thinking, maybe, that I could not do without him, demanded, unless I
chose to pay considerably in excess of his regular dues, to be put on
shore. I took the fellow at his first bounce. He and his grip-sack were
landed on the bank there and then, with but little "palaver" over it. It
was then said, so I learned after, that "old S----" would drop into the
wake of some ship, and save his pilotage; in fact, they didn't know
"what else he could do," as the pilots were then all engaged for other
vessels.
The money was taken care of all right, and so was the _Aquidneck_! By
daylight of the following morning she was underweigh, and under full
sail at the head of a fleet of piloted vessels, and, being the swiftest
sailer, easily kept the lead, and was one of the vessels that did _not
"rompe el banco_," as was predicted by all the pilots, while they
hunched their shoulders above their ears, exclaiming, "No _practico_, no
_possebla_!" This was my second trip down the Parana, it is true, and I
had been on other rivers as wonderful as this one, and had, moreover,
read Mark Twain's "Life on the Mississippi," which gives no end of
information on river currents, wind-reefs, sand-reefs, alligator-water,
and all that is useful to know about rivers, so that I was confident of
my ability; all that had been required was the stirring-up that I got
from the impertinent pilot, or buccaneer, whichever is proper to call
him--one thing certain, he was no true sailor!
A strong, fair wind on the river, together with the current, in our
favour, carried us flying down the channel, while we kept the lead, with
the Stars and Stripes waving where they ought always to be seen; namely,
on the ship in the van! So the duffers followed us, instead of our
following them, and on we came, all clear, with the good wishes of the
officers and the crews. But the pilots, drawing their shoulders up and
repeating the refrain, "No _practico_, no _possebla_!" cursed us
bitterly, and were in a vile mood, I was told, cursing more than usual,
and that is saying a great deal, for all will agree who have heard them
that the average "Dago" pilot is the most foul-mouthed thing afloat.
Down the river and past the light-ship we came once more, this time with
no halt to make, no backing sails to let a pilot off, nothing at all to
stop us; we spread all sail to a favourable breeze, and reached Ilha
Grande eight days afterward, beating the whole fleet by two days.
Garfield kept strict account of this. He was on deck when we made the
land, a dark and foggy night it was! nothing could be seen but the
dimmest outline of a headland through the haze. I knew the place, I
thought, and Garfield said he could smell land, fog or coal-tar. This,
it will be admitted, was reassuring. A school of merry porpoises that
gambolled under the bows while we stood confidently in for the land,
diving and crossing the bark's course in every direction, also guarded
her from danger. I knew that so long as deep-sea porpoises kept with us
we had nothing to fear of the ground. When the lookout cried, "Porpoises
gone," we turned the bark's head off-shore, backed the main-tops'l, and
sent out the "pigeon" (lead). A few grains of sand and one soft,
delicate white shell were brought up out of fourteen fathoms of water.
We had but to heed these warnings and guides, and our course would be
tolerably clear, dense and all as the fog and darkness was.
The lead was kept constantly going as we sailed along in the intense
darkness, till the headland of our port was visible through the haze of
grey morning. What Garfield had smelled, I may mention, turned out to be
coal-tar, a pot of which had been capsized on deck by the leadsman, in
the night.
By daylight in the morning, April 29, we had found the inner entrance to
Ilha Grande, and sailed into the harbour for the second time with this
cargo of hay. It was still very foggy, and all day heavy gusts of wind
came down through the gulches in the mountains, laden with fog and rain.
Two days later, the weather cleared up, and our friends began to come
in. They found us there all right, anchored close under the highest
mountain.
Eight days of sullen gloom and rain at this place; then brimstone,
smoke, and fire turned on to us, and we were counted healthy enough to
be admitted to _pratique_ in Rio, where we arrived May 11th, putting one
more day between ourselves and our friendly competitors, who finally
arrived safe, all except one, the British bark _Dublin_. She was
destroyed by fire between the two ports. The crew was rescued by
Captain Lunt, and brought safe into Rio next day.
At the fort entrance to the harbour of Rio we were again challenged and
brought to, all standing, on the bar; the tide running like a mill race
at the time brought the bark aback on her cables with a force, nearly
cutting her down.
The _Aquidneck_ it would seem had outsailed the telegram which should
have preceded her; it was, nevertheless, my imperative duty to obey the
orders of the port authorities which, however, should have been tempered
with reason. It was easy for them in the fort to say, "Come to, or we'll
sink you," but we in the bark, between two evils, came near being sunk
by obeying the order.
Formerly, when a vessel was challenged at this fort, one, two or three
shots, if necessary to bring her to, were fired, at a cost to the ship,
if she were not American, of fifteen shillings for the first shot,
thirty for the second, and sixty for the third; but, for American ships,
the sixty shilling shot was fired first--Americans would always have the
best!
After all the difficulties were cleared away, the tardy telegram
received, and being again identified by the officers, we weighed anchor
for the last time on this voyage, and went into our destined port, the
spacious and charming harbour of Rio.