Across the bar--The run to Santos--Tow to Rio by the steamship--At
Rio.
The efficiency of our canoe was soon discovered: On the 24th of June,
after having sailed about the bay some few days to temper our feelings
to the new craft, and shake things into place, we crossed the bar and
stood out to sea, while six vessels lay inside "bar-bound," that is to
say by their pilots it was thought too rough to venture out, and they,
the pilots, stood on the point as we put out to sea, crossing themselves
in our behalf, and shouting that the bar was _crudo_. But the
_Liberdade_ stood on her course, the crew never regretting it.
The wind from the sou'west at the time was the moderating side of a
_pampeiro_ which had brought in a heavy swell from the ocean, that broke
and thundered on the bar with deafening roar and grand display of
majestic effort.
But our little ship bounded through the breakers like a fish--as natural
to the elements, and as free!
Of all the seas that broke furiously about her that day, often standing
her on end, not one swept over or even boarded her, and she finally came
through the storm of breakers in triumph. Then squaring away before the
wind she spread her willing sails, and flew onward like a bird.
It required confidence and some courage to face the first storm in so
small a bark, after having been years in large ships; but it would have
required more courage than was possessed by any of us to turn back,
since thoughts of home had taken hold on our minds.
Then, too, the old boating trick came back fresh to me, the love of the
thing itself gaining on me as the little ship stood out: and my crew
with one voice said: "Go on." The heavy South Atlantic swell rolling in
upon the coast, as we sped along, toppled over when it reached the ten
fathom line, and broke into roaring combers, which forbade our nearer
approach to the land.
Evidently, our safest course was away from the shore, and out where the
swelling seas, though grand, were regular, and raced under our little
craft that danced like a mite on the ocean as she drove forward. In
twenty-four hours from the time Paranagua bar was crossed we were up
with Santos Heads, a run of 150 miles.
A squall of wind burst on us through a gulch, as we swept round the
Heads, tearing our sails into shreds, and sending us into Santos under
bare poles.
Chancing then upon an old friend, the mail steamship _Finance_, Capt.
Baker, about to sail for Rio, the end of a friendly line was extended to
us, and we were towed by the stout steamer toward Rio, the next day, as
fast as we could wish to go. My wife and youngest sailor took passage on
the steamer, while Victor remained in the canoe with me, and stood by
with axe in hand, to cut the tow-line, if the case should require
it--and I steered.
"Look out," said Baker, as the steamer began to move ahead, "look out
that I don't snake that canoe out from under you."
"Go on with your mails, Baker," was all I could say, "don't blow up your
ship with my wife and son on board, and I will look out for the packet
on the other end of the rope."
Baker opened her up to thirteen knots, but the _Liberdade_ held on!
The line that we towed with was 1-1/3 inches in diameter, by ninety
fathoms long. This, at times when the steamer surged over seas, leaving
the canoe on the opposite side of a wave astern, would become as taut as
a harp-string. At other times it would slacken and sink limp in a bight,
under the forefoot, but only for a moment, however, when the steamer's
next great plunge ahead would snap it taut again, pulling us along with
a heavy, trembling jerk. Under the circumstances, straight steering was
imperative, for a sheer to port or starboard would have finished the
career of the _Liberdade_, by sending her under the sea. Therefore, the
trick of twenty hours fell to me--the oldest and most experienced
helmsman. But I was all right and not over-fatigued until Baker cast oil
upon the "troubled waters." I soon got tired of that.
Victor was under the canvas covering, with the axe still in hand, ready
to cut the line which was so arranged that he could reach it from
within, and cut instantly, if by mischance the canoe should take a
sheer.
I was afraid that the lad would become sleepy, and putting his head
"under his wing" for a nap, would forget his post, but my frequent cry,
"Stand by there, Victor," found him always on hand, though complaining
somewhat of the dizzy motion.
Heavy sprays dashed over me at the helm, which, however, seeming to wash
away the sulphur and brimstone smoke of many a quarantine, brought
enjoyment to my mind.
Confused waves rose about us, high and dangerous--often high above the
gunwale of the canoe--but her shapely curves balanced her well, and she
rode over them all in safety.
This canoe ride was thrilling and satisfactory to us all. It proved
beyond a doubt that we had in this little craft a most extraordinary
sea-boat, for the tow was a thorough test of her seaworthiness.
The captain of the steamer ordered oil cast over from time to time,
relieving us of much spray and sloppy motion, but adding to discomforts
of taste to me at the helm, for much of the oil blew over me and in my
face. Said the captain to one of his mates (an old whaler by the way,
and whalers for some unaccountable reason have never too much regard for
a poor merchantman), "Mr. Smith."
"Aye, aye, sir," answered old Smith.
"Mr. Smith, hoist out that oil."
"Aye, aye, sir," said the old "blubberhunter," in high glee, as he went
about it with alacrity, and in less than five minutes from the time the
order was given, I was smothering in grease and our boat was oiled from
keel to truck.
"She's all right now," said Smith.
"That's all right," said Baker, but I thought it all wrong. The wind,
meanwhile, was in our teeth and before we crossed Rio bar I had
swallowed enough oil to cure any amount of consumption.
Baker, I have heard, said he wouldn't care much if he should "drown
Slocum." But I was all right so long as the canoe didn't sheer, and we
arrived at Rio safe and sound after the most exciting boat-ride of my
life. I was bound not to cut the line that towed us so well; and I knew
that Baker wouldn't let it go, for it was his rope.
I found at Rio that my fishing licence could be exchanged for a pass of
greater import. This document had to be procured through the office of
the Minister of Marine.
Many a smart linguist was ready to use his influence on my behalf with
the above-named high official; but I found at the end of a month that I
was making headway about as fast as a Dutch galliot in a head sea after
the wind had subsided. Our worthy Consul, General H. Clay Armstrong,
gave me a hint of what the difficulty was and how to obviate it. I then
went about the business myself as I should have done at first, and I
found those at the various departments who were willing to help me
without the intervention of outside "influence."
Commander Marquis of the Brazilian navy recommended me to His
Excellency, the Minister of Marine, "out of regard," he said, "for
American seamen," and when the new document came it was "_Passe
Especial_," and had on it _a seal as big as a soup plate_. A port naval
officer then presented me to the good _Administradore,_ who also gave me
a _passe especial_, with the seal of the _Alfandega_.
I had now only to procure a bill of health, when I should have papers
enough for a man-o'-war. Rio being considered a healthy place, this was
readily granted, making our equipment complete.
I met here our minister whose office, with other duties, is to keep a
weather-eye lifting in the interest of that orphan, the American
ship--alas, my poor relation! Said he, "Captain, if your _Liberdade_ be
as good as your papers" (documents given me by the Brazilian officials),
"you may get there all right"; adding, "well, if the boat ever reaches
home she will be a great curiosity," the meaning of which, I could
readily infer, was, "and your chances for a snap in a dime museum will
be good." This, after many years of experience as an American
shipmaster, and also shipowner, in a moderate way, was interesting
encouragement. By our Brazilian friends, however, the voyage was looked
upon as a success already achieved.
The utmost confidence [said the "Journal Opiz," of Rio], is placed
in the cool-headed, audacious American mariner, and we expect in a
short time to hear proclaimed in all of the journals of the Old and
New World the safe arrival of this wonderful little craft at her
destination, ourselves taking part in the glory. (Temos confianca
na pericia e sangue frio do audaciauso marinhero Americano por isso
esperamos que dentro em pouco tempo veremos o seu nome proclamado
por todos os jornaes do velho e novo mundo. A nos tambem cabera
parte da gloria.)
With these and like kind expressions from all of our _friends_, we took
leave of Rio, sailing on the morning of July 23rd, 1888.
[Illustration: Course of the _Liberdade_ from Paranagua to Barbadoes]