Sail from Rio--Anchor at Cape Frio--Encounter with a whale--Sunken
treasure--The schoolmaster--The merchant--The good people at the
village--A pleasant visit.
July 23rd, 1888, was the day, as I have said, on which we sailed from
Rio de Janeiro.
Meeting with head winds and light withal, through the day we made but
little progress; and finally, when night came on, we anchored twenty
miles east of Rio Heads, near the shore. Long, rolling seas rocked us as
they raced by, then, dashing their great bodies against defying rocks,
made music by which we slept that night. But a trouble unthought of
before came up in Garfield's mind before going to his bunk; "Mamma,"
cried he, as our little bark rose and fell on the heavy waves, tumbling
the young sailor about from side to side in the small quarters while he
knelt seriously at his evening devotion, "mamma, this boat isn't big
enough to pray in!" But this difficulty was gotten over in time, and
Garfield learned to watch as well as to pray on the voyage, and full of
faith that all would be well, laid him down nights and slept as
restfully as any Christian on sea or land.
By daylight of the second day we were again underweigh, beating to the
eastward against the old head wind and head sea. On the following night
we kept her at it, and the next day made Cape Frio where we anchored
near the entrance to a good harbour.
Time from Rio, two days; distance, 70 miles.
The wind and tide being adverse, compelled us to wait outside for a
favourable change. While comfortably anchored at this place, a huge
whale, nosing about, came up under the canoe, giving us a toss and a
great scare. We were at dinner when it happened. The meal, it is
needless to say, was finished without dessert. The great sea
animal--fifty to sixty feet long--circling around our small craft,
looked terribly big. He was so close to me twice, as he swam round and
round the canoe, that I could have touched him either time with a
paddle. His flukes stirring the water like a steamer propeller appeared
alarmingly close and powerful!--and what an ugly mouth the monster had!
Well, we expected instant annihilation. The fate of the stout whale-ship
_Essex_ came vividly before me. The voyage of the _Liberdade_, I
thought, was about ended, and I looked about for pieces of bamboo on
which to land my wife and family. Just then, however, to the infinite
relief of all of us, the leviathan moved off, without doing us much
harm, having felt satisfied, perhaps, that we had no Jonah on board.
We lost an anchor through the incident, and received some small damage
to the keel, but no other injury was done--even this, I believe, upon
second thought, was unintentional--done in playfulness only! "A shark
can take a joke," it is said, and crack one too, but for broad, rippling
humour the whale has no equal.
"If this be a sample of our adventures in the beginning," thought I, "we
shall have enough and to spare by the end of the voyage." A visit from
this quarter had not been counted on; but Sancho Panza says, "When least
aware starts the hare," which in our case, by the by, was a great whale!
When our breath came back and the hair on our heads settled to a normal
level, we set sail, and dodged about under the lee of the cape till a
cove, with a very enticing sand beach at the head of it, opened before
us, some three miles northwest of where we lost the anchor in the
remarkable adventure with the whale. The "spare bower" was soon bent to
the cable. Then we stood in and anchored near a cliff, over which was a
goat-path leading in the direction of a small fishing village, about a
mile away. Sheering the boat in to the rocky side of the cove which was
steep to, we leaped out, warp in hand, and made fast to a boulder above
the tidal flow, then, scrambling over the cliff, we repaired to the
village, first improvising a spare anchor from three sticks and a stone
which answered the purpose quite well.
Judging at once that we were strangers the villagers came out to meet
us, and made a stir at home to entertain us in the most hospitable
manner, after the custom of the country, and with the villagers was a
gentleman from Canada, a Mr. Newkirk, who, as we learned, was engaged,
when the sea was smooth, in recovering treasure that was lost near the
cape in the British warship _Thetis_, which was wrecked there in 1830.
The treasure, some millions in silver coins and gold in bars, from Peru
for England, was dumped in the cove, which has since taken the name of
the ship that bore it there and, as I have said, came to grief in that
place which is on the west shore near the end of the cape.
Some of the coins were given to us to be treasured as souvenirs of the
pleasant visit. We found in Mr. Newkirk a versatile, roving genius; he
had been a schoolmaster at home, captain of a lake schooner once, had
practised medicine, and preached some, I think; and what else I do not
know. He had tried many things for a living, but, like the proverbial
moving stone had failed to accumulate. "Matters," said the Canadian,
"were getting worse and worse even, till finally to keep my head above
water I was forced to go under the sea," and he had struck it rich, it
would seem, if gold being brought in by the boat-load was any sign. This
man of many adventures still spoke like a youngster; no one had told him
that he was growing old. He talked of going home, as soon as the balance
of the treasure was secured, "just to see his dear old mother," who, by
the way, was seventy-four years old when he left home, some twenty years
before. Since his last news from home, nearly two decades had gone by.
He was "the youngest of a family of eighteen children, all living," he
said, "though," added he, "our family came near being made one less
yesterday, by a whale which I thought would eat my boat, diving-bell,
crew, money and all, as he came toward us, with open mouth. By a back
stroke of the oars, however, we managed to cheat him out of his dinner,
if that was what he was after, and I think it was, but here I am!" he
cried, "all right!" and might have added, "wealthy after all."
After hearing the diver's story, I related in Portuguese our own
adventure of the same day, and probably with the same whale, the monster
having gone in the direction of the diver's boat. The astonishment of
the listeners was great; but when they learned of our intended voyage to
_America do Norte_, they crossed themselves and asked God to lend us
grace!
"Is North America near New York?" asked the village merchant, who owned
all the boats and nets of the place.
"Why, America is _in_ New York," answered the ex-schoolmaster.
"I thought so," said the self-satisfied merchant. And no doubt he
thought some of us very stupid, or rude, or both, but in spite of
manners I had to smile at the assuring air of the Canadian.
"Why did you not answer him correctly?" I asked of the ex-schoolmaster.
"I answered him," said Newkirk, "according to his folly. Had I corrected
his rusty geography before these simple, impoverished fishermen, he
would not soon forgive me; and as for the rest of the poor souls here,
the knowledge would do them but little good."
I may mention that in this out-of-the-way place there were no schools,
and except the little knowledge gained in their church, from the
catechism, and from the fumbling of beads, they were the most innocent
of this world's scheme, of any people I ever met. But they seemed to
know all about heaven, and were, no doubt, happy.
After the brief, friendly chat that we had, coffee was passed around,
the probabilities of the _Liberdade's_ voyage discussed, and the crew
cautioned against the dangers of the _balaena_ (whale), which were
numerous along the coast, and vicious at that season of the year, having
their young to protect.
I realized very often the startling sensation alone of a night at the
helm, of having a painful stillness broken by these leviathans bursting
the surface of the water with a noise like the roar of a great sea,
uncomfortably near, reminding me of the Cape Frio adventure; and my
crew, I am sure, were not less sensitive to the same feeling of an awful
danger, however imaginary. One night in particular, dark and foggy I
remember, Victor called me excitedly, saying that something dreadful
ahead and drawing rapidly near had frightened him.
It proved to be a whale, for some reason that I could only guess at,
threshing the sea with its huge body, and surging about in all
directions, so that it puzzled me to know which way to steer to go
clear. I thought at first, from the rumpus made, that a fight was going
on, such as we had once witnessed from the deck of the _Aquidneck_, not
far from this place. Our course was changed as soon as we could decide
which way to avoid, if possible, all marine disturbers of the peace. We
wished especially to keep away from infuriated swordfish, which I feared
might be darting about, and be apt to give us a blind thrust. Knowing
that they sometimes pierce stout ships through with their formidable
weapons, I began to feel ticklish about the ribs myself, I confess, and
the little watch below, too, got uneasy and sleepless; for one of these
swords, they knew well, would reach through and through our little boat,
from keel to deck. Large ships have occasionally been sent into port
leaky from the stab of a sword, but what I most dreaded was the
possibility of one of us being ourselves pinned in the boat.
A swordfish once pierced a whale-ship through the planking, and through
the solid frame timber and the thick ceiling, with his sword, leaving it
there, a valuable plug indeed, with the point, it was found upon
unshipping her cargo at New Bedford, even piercing through a cask in the
hold.