Sail from Frio--Round Cape St. Thome--High seas and swift
currents--In the "trades"--Dangerous reefs--Run into harbour
unawares, on a dark and stormy night--At Caravellas--Fine
weather--A gale--Port St. Paulo--Treacherous natives--Sail for
Bahia.
July 30th, early in the day, and after a pleasant visit at the cape, we
sailed for the north, securing first a few sea shells to be cherished,
with the _Thetis_ relics, in remembrance of a most enjoyable visit to
the hospitable shores of Cape Frio.
Having now doubled Cape Frio, a prominent point in our voyage, and
having had the seaworthiness of our little ship thoroughly tested, as
already told; and seeing, moreover, that we had nothing to fear from
common small fry of the sea (one of its greatest monsters having failed
to capsize us), we stood on with greater confidence than ever, but
watchful, nevertheless, for any strange event that might happen.
A fresh polar wind hurried us on, under shortened sail, toward the
softer "trades" of the tropics, but, veering to the eastward by
midnight, it brought us well in with the land. Then, "Larboard watch,
ahoy! all hands on deck and turn out reefs," was the cry. To weather
Cape St. Thome we must lug on all sail. And we go over the shoals with a
boiling sea and current in our favour. In twenty-four hours from Cape
Frio, we had lowered the Southern Cross three degrees--180 miles.
Sweeping by the cape, the canoe sometimes standing on end, and sometimes
buried in the deep hollow of the sea, we sunk the light on St. Thome
soon out of sight and stood on with flowing sheet. The wind on the
following day settled into regular south-east "trades," and our cedar
canoe skipped briskly along, over friendly seas that were leaping toward
home, doffing their crests onward and forward, but never back, and the
splashing waves against her sides, then rippling along the thin cedar
planks between the crew and eternity, vibrated enchanting music to the
ear, while confidence grew in the bark that was HOMEWARD BOUND.
But coming upon coral reefs, of a dark night, while we listened to the
dismal tune of the seas breaking over them with an eternal roar, how
intensely lonesome they were! no sign of any living thing in sight,
except, perhaps, the phosphorescent streaks of a hungry shark, which
told of bad company in our wake, and made the gloom of the place more
dismal still.
One night we made shelter under the lee of the extensive reefs called
the Paredes (walls), without seeing the breakers at all in the dark,
although they were not far in the distance. At another time, dragging on
sail to clear a lee shore, of a dark and stormy night, we came suddenly
into smooth water, where we cast anchor and furled our sails, lying in a
magic harbour till daylight the next morning, when we found ourselves
among a maze of ugly reefs, with high seas breaking over them, as far as
the eye could reach, on all sides, except at the small entrance to the
place that we had stumbled into in the night. The position of this
future harbour is South Lat. 16° 48', and West Long, from Greenwich 39°
30'. We named the place "PORT LIBERDADE."
The next places sighted were the treacherous Abrohles, and the village
of Caravellas back of the reef where, upon refitting, I found that a
chicken cost a thousand reis, a bunch of bananas four hundred reis; but
where a dozen limes cost only twenty reis--one cent. Much whaling gear
lay strewn about the place, and on the beach was the carcass of a whale
about nine days slain. Also leaning against a smart-looking boat was a
grey-haired fisherman, boat and man relics of New Bedford, employed at
this station in their familiar industry. The old man was bare-footed and
thinly clad, after the custom in this climate. Still, I recognized the
fisherman and sailor in the set and rig of the few duds he had on, and
the ample straw hat (donkey's breakfast) that he wore, and doffed in a
seaman-like manner, upon our first salute. "_Filio do Mar do Nord
Americano_," said an affable native close by, pointing at the same time
to that "son of the sea of North America," by way of introduction, as
soon as it was learned that we, too, were of that country. I tried to
learn from this ancient mariner the cause of his being stranded in this
strange land. He may have been cast up there by the whale for aught I
could learn to the contrary.
Choosing a berth well to windward of the dead whale--the one that landed
"the old man of the sea" there, maybe!--we anchored for the night, put a
light in the rigging and turned in. Next morning, the village was astir
betimes; canoes were being put afloat, and the rattle of poles, paddles,
bait boxes, and many more things for the daily trip that were being
hastily put into each canoe, echoed back from the tall palm groves notes
of busy life, telling us that it was time to weigh anchor and be
sailing. To this cheerful tune we lent ear and, hastening to be
underweigh, were soon clear of the port. Then, skimming along near the
beach in the early morning, our sails spread to a land breeze, laden
with fragrance from the tropic forest and the music of many songsters,
we sailed in great felicity, dreading no dangers from the sea, for
there were none now to dread or fear.
Proceeding forward through this belt of moderate winds, fanned by
alternating land and sea breezes, we drew on toward a region of high
trade-winds that reach sometimes the dignity of a gale. It was no
surprise, therefore, after days of fine-weather sailing, to be met by a
storm, which so happened as to drive us into the indifferent anchorage
of St. Paulo, thirty miles from Bahia, where we remained two days for
shelter.
Time, three days from Caravellas; distance sailed, 270 miles.
A few fishermen lounged about the place, living, apparently, in wretched
poverty, spending their time between waiting for the tide to go out,
when it was in, and waiting for it to come in, when it was out, to float
a canoe or bring fish to their shiftless nets. This, indeed, seemed
their only concern in life; while their ill-thatched houses, forsaken of
the adobe that once clung to the wicker walls, stood grinning in rows,
like emblems of our mortality.
We found at this St. Paulo anything but saints. The wretched place
should be avoided by strangers, unless driven there for shelter, as we
ourselves were, by stress of weather. We left the place on the first
lull of the wind, having been threatened by an attack from a gang of
rough, half-drunken fellows, who rudely came on board, jostling about,
and jabbering in a dialect which, however, I happened to understand. I
got rid of them by the use of my broken Portuguese, and once away I was
resolved that they should stay away. I was not mistaken in my suspicions
that they would return and try to come aboard, which shortly afterward
they did, but my resolution to keep them off was not shaken. I let them
know, in their own jargon this time, that I was well armed. They
finally paddled back to the shore, and all visiting was then ended. We
stood a good watch that night, and by daylight next morning, Aug. 12th,
put to sea, standing out in a heavy swell, the character of which I knew
better, and could trust to more confidently than a harbour among
treacherous natives.
Early in the same day, we arrived at _Bahia do todos Santos_ (All
Saints' Bay), a charming port, with a rich surrounding country. It was
from this port, by the way, that Robinson Crusoe sailed for Africa to
procure slaves for his plantation and that of his friend, so fiction
relates.
At Bahia we met many friends and gentle folk. Not the least interesting
at this port are the negro lasses of fine physique seen at the markets
and in the streets, with burdens on their heads of baskets of fruit, or
jars of water, which they balance with ease and grace, as they go
sweeping by with that stately mien which the dusky maiden can call her
own.