Ocean Currents--Visit to South Santee--At the Typee
River--Quarantined--South Port and Wilmington, N.C.--Inland sailing
to Beaufort, Norfolk and Washington, D.C.--Voyage ended.
No one will be more surprised at the complete success of the voyage and
the speedy progress made than were we ourselves who made it.
A factor of the voyage, one that helped us forward greatly, and which is
worthy of special mention, was the ocean current spoken of as we came
along in its friendly sway.
Many are the theories among fresh-water philosophists respecting these
currents, but in practical sailing, where the subject is met with in its
tangible form, one cause only is recognized; namely, the action of the
wind on the surface of the water, pushing the waves along. Out on the
broad ocean the effect at first is hardly perceptible, but the constant
trades, sending countless millions of waves in one direction, cause at
last a mighty moving power, which the mariner meets sometimes as an
enemy to retard and delay, sometimes as a friend, as in our case, to
help him on his way. These are views from a practical experience with no
theory to prove.
By daylight on the twenty-ninth, we weighed anchor and set sail again
for the north. The wind and current were still adverse, but we kept near
the land, making short boards off and on through the day where the
current had least effect. And when night came on again we closed in once
more with Cape Roman light. Next day we worked up under the lee of the
Roman shoals and made harbour in South Santee, a small river to the
north of Cape Roman, within range of the light, there to rest until the
wind should change, it being still ahead.
Next morning, since the wind had not changed, we weighed anchor and
stood farther into the river looking for inhabitants, that we might
listen to voices other than our own. Our search was soon rewarded, for,
coming around a point of woodland, a farmhouse stood before us on the
river side. We came alongside the bank and jumped ashore, but hardly had
we landed when, as out of the earth, a thousand dogs, so it seemed,
sprung up threatening to devour us all. However, a comely woman came out
of the house and it was explained to the satisfaction of all, especially
to a persistent cur, by a vigorous whack on the head with a cudgel, that
our visit was a friendly one; then all was again peaceful and quiet. The
good man was in the field close by, but soon came home accompanied by
his two stalwart sons each "toting" a sack of corn. We found the
Andersons--this was the family name--isolated in every sense of the
word, and as primitive as heart could wish. The charming simplicity of
these good people captivated my crew. We met others along the coast
innocent of greed, but of all unselfish men, Anderson the elder was
surely the prince.
Purchasing some truck from this good man, we found that change could not
be made for the dollar which I tendered in payment. But I protested that
I was more than content to let the few odd cents go, having received
more garden stuff than I had ever seen offered for a dollar in any part
of the world. And indeed I was satisfied. The farmer, however, nothing
content, offered me a coon skin or two, but these I didn't want, and
there being no other small change about the farm, the matter was
dropped, I thought, for good, and I had quite forgotten it, when later
in the evening I was electrified by his offering to carry a letter for
us which we wished posted, some seven miles away, and call it "square,"
against the twenty cents of the morning's transaction. The letter went,
and in due course of time we got an answer.
I do not say that we stuck strictly to the twenty-cent transaction, but
I fear that not enough was paid to fair-dealing Anderson. However, all
were at last satisfied and warming into conversation, a log fire was
improvised and social chat went round.
These good people could hardly understand how it was, as I explained,
that the Brazilians had freed the slaves and had no war, Mr. Anderson
often exclaiming, "Well, well, I d'clar. Freed the niggers, and had no
wah. Mister," said he, turning to me after a long pause, "mister, d'ye
know the South were foolish? They had a wah, and they had to free the
niggers, too."
"Oh, yes, mister, I was thar! Over thar beyond them oaks was my house."
"Yes, mister, I fought, too, and fought hard, but it warn't no use."
Like many a hard fighter, Anderson, too, was a pious man, living in a
state of resignation to be envied. His years of experience on the new
island farm had been hard and trying in the extreme. My own misfortunes
passed into shade as the harder luck of the Andersons came before my
mind, and the resolution which I had made to buy a farm was now shaken
and finally dissolved into doubts of the wisdom of such a course. On
this farm they had first "started in to raise pork," but found that it
"didn't pay, for the pigs got wild and had to be gathered with the
dogs," and by the time they were "gathered and then toted, salt would
hardly cure them, and they most generally tainted." The enterprise was
therefore abandoned, for that of tilling the soil, and a crop was put
in, but "the few pigs which the dogs had not gathered came in at night
and rooted out all the taters." It then appeared that a fence should be
built. "Accordingly," said he, "the boys and I made one which kept out
the stock, but, sir, the rats could get in! They took every tater out of
the ground! From all that I put in, and my principal work was thar, I
didn't see a sprout." How it happened that the rats had left the crop
the year before for their relations--the pigs--was what seemed most to
bother the farmer's mind. Nevertheless, "there was corn in Egypt yet";
and at the family circle about the board that night a smile of hope
played on the good farmer's face, as in deep sincerity he asked that for
what they had they might be made truly thankful. We learned a lesson of
patience from this family, and were glad that the wind had carried us to
their shore.
Said the farmer, "And you came all the way from Brazil in that boat!
Wife, she won't go to Georgetown in the batto that I built because it
rares too much. And they freed the niggers and had no wah! Well, well, I
d'clar!"
Better folks we may never see than the farmers of South Santee. Bidding
them good-bye next morning at early dawn we sailed before a light land
wind which, however, soon petered out.
The S.S. _Planter_ then coming along took us in tow for Georgetown,
where she was bound. We had not the pleasure, however, of visiting the
beloved old city; for having some half dozen cocoa-nuts on board, the
remainder of small stores of the voyage, a vigilant officer stopped us
at the quarantine ground. Fruit not being admitted into South Carolina
until after the first of November, and although it was now late in the
afternoon of the first, we had to ride quarantine that night, with a
promise, however, of _pratique_ next morning. But there was no steamer
going up the river the next day. The _Planter_ coming down though
supplied us with some small provisions, such as were not procurable at
the Santee farm. Then putting to sea we beat along slowly against wind
and current.
We began now to experience, as might be expected, autumn gales of
considerable violence, the heaviest of which overtaking us at Frying-pan
Shoal, drove us back to leeward of Cape Fear for shelter. South Port and
Wilmington being then so near we determined to visit both places. Two
weeks at these ports refreshed the crew and made all hands willing for
sea again.
Sailing thence through Corn-cake Inlet we cut off Cape Fear and the
Frying-pan Shoals, being of mind to make for the inlets along the
Carolina coast and to get into the inland waters as soon as practicable.
It was our good fortune to fall in with an old and able pilot at
Corn-cake Inlet, one Capt. Bloodgood, who led the way through the
channel in his schooner, the _Packet_, a Carolina pitch and cotton
droger of forty tons register, which was manned solely by the captain
and his two sons, one twelve and the other ten years old. It was in the
crew that I became most interested, and not the schooner. Bloodgood gave
the order when the tide served for us to put to sea. "Come, children,"
said he, "let's try it." Then we all tried it together, the _Packet_
leading the way. The shaky west wind, that filled our sails as we
skimmed along the beach with the breakers close aboard, carried us but a
few leagues when it flew suddenly round to nor'east and began to pipe.
The gale increasing rapidly inclined me to bear up for New River Inlet,
then close under our lee, with a treacherous bar lying in front, which
to cross safely would require great care.
But the gale was threatening, and the harbour inside, we could see, was
smooth; then, too, cried my people: "Any port in a storm." I decided
prompt; put the helm up and squared away. Flying thence, before it, the
tempest-tossed canoe came sweeping in from sea over the rollers in a
delightfully thrilling way. One breaker only coming over us, and even
that did no harm more than to give us all the climax soaking of the
voyage. This was the last sea that broke over the canoe on the memorable
voyage.
The harbour inside the bar of New River was good. Adding much to our
comfort too was fish and game in abundance.
The _Packet_, which had parted from us, made her destined port some
three leagues farther on. The last we saw of the children, they were at
the main sheets hauling aft, and their father was at the helm, and all
were flying through the mist like fearless sailors.
After meeting Carolina seamen, to say nothing of the few still in
existence further north, I challenge the story of Greek supremacy.
The little town of South Port was made up almost entirely of pilots
possessing, I am sure, every quality of the sailor and the gentleman.
Moored snug in the inlet, it was pleasant to listen to the roar of the
breakers on the bar, but not so cheerful was the thought of facing the
high waves seaward. Therefore the plan suggested itself of sufficiently
deepening a ditch that led through the marshes from New River to Bogue
Sound, to let us through; thence we could sail inland the rest of the
voyage without obstruction or hindrance of any kind. To this end we set
about contrivances to heave the canoe over the shoals, and borrowed a
shovel from a friendly schooner captain to deepen the ditch which we
thought would be necessary to do in order to ford her along that way.
However, the prevailing nor'east gales had so raised the water in the
west end of the sound as to fill all the creeks and ditches to
overflowing. I hesitated then no longer, but heading for the ditch
through the marshes on a high tide, before a brave west wind took the
chances of getting through by hook or by crook or by shovel and spade if
required.
The "Coast Pilot," in speaking of this place, says there is never more
than a foot of water there, and even that much is rarely found. The
_Liberdade_ essayed the ditch, drawing two feet and four inches, thus
showing the further good fortune or luck which followed perseverance, as
it usually does, though sometimes, maybe, it is bad luck! Perhaps I am
not lucid on this, which at best must remain a disputed point.
I was getting lost in the maze of sloughs and creeks, which as soon as I
entered seemed to lead in every direction but the right one. Hailing a
hunter near by, however, I was soon put straight and reassured of
success. The most astonished man, though, in North Carolina, was this
same hunter when asked if he knew the ditch that led through where I
wished to go.
"Why, stranger," said he, "my gran'ther digged that ditch."
I jumped, I leaped! at thought of what a pilot this man would be.
"Well, stranger," said he, in reply to my query, "stranger, if any man
kin take y' thro' that ditch, why, I kin"; adding doubtfully, however,
"I have not hearn tell befo' of a vessel from Brazil sailing through
these parts; but then you mout get through, and again ye moutent. Well,
it's jist here; you mout and you moutent."
A bargain was quickly made, and my pilot came aboard, armed with a long
gun, which as we sailed along proved a terror to ducks. The entrance to
the ditch, then close by, was made with a flowing sheet, and I soon
found that my pilot knew his business. Rush-swamps and corn-fields we
left to port and to starboard, and were at times out of sight among
brakes that brushed crackling along the sides of the canoe, as she swept
briskly through the narrows, passing them all, with many a close hug,
though, on all sides. At a point well on in the crooked channel my pilot
threw up his hat, and shouted, with all his might:
"Yer trouble is over! Swan to gosh if it ain't! And ye come all the way
from Brazil, and come through gran'ther's ditch! Well, I d'clar!"
From this I concluded that we had cleared all the doubtful places, and
so it turned out. Before sundown my pilot was looking for the change of
a five-dollar-piece; and we of the _Liberdade_ sat before a pot-pie, at
twilight, the like of which on the whole voyage had not been tasted,
from sea fowl laid about by our pilot while sailing through the meadows
and marshes. And the pilot himself, returning while the pot-pie was yet
steaming hot, declared it "ahead of coon."
A pleasant sail was this through the ditch that gran'ther dug. At the
camp fire that night, where we hauled up by a fishing station, thirty
stalwart men talked over the adventures of their lives. My pilot, the
best speaker, kept the camp in roars. As for myself, always fond of
mirth, I got up from the fire sore from laughing. Their curious
adventures with coons and 'gators recounted had been considerable.
Many startling stories were told. But frequently reverting to the voyage
of the _Liberdade_, they declared with one voice that "it was the
greatest thing since the wah." I took this as a kind of complimentary
hospitality. "When she struck on a sand reef," said the pilot, "why, the
captain he jumped right overboard and the son he jumped right over, too,
to tote her over, and the captain's wife she holp."
By daylight next morning we sailed from this camp pleasant, and on the
following day, November 28, at noon, arrived at Beaufort.
Mayor Bell of that city and many of his townfolk met us at the wharf,
and gave me as well as my sea-tossed crew a welcome to their shores,
such as to make us feel that the country was partly ours.
"Welcome, welcome home," said the good mayor; "we have read of your
adventures, and watched your progress as reported from time to time,
with deep interest and sympathy."
So we began to learn now that prayers on shore had gone up for the
little canoe at sea. This was indeed America and home, for which we had
longed while thousands of miles across the ocean.
From Beaufort to Norfolk and thence to Washington was pleasant inland
sailing, with prevailing fair winds and smooth sea. Christmas was spent
on the Chesapeake--a fine, enjoyable day it was! with not a white-cap
ripple on the bay. Ducks swimming ahead of the canoe as she moved
quietly along were loath to take wing in so light a breeze, but flapping
away, half paddling and half flying, as we came toward them, they
managed to keep a long gun-shot off; but having laid in at the last port
a turkey of no mean proportions, which we made shift to roast in the
"caboose" aboard, we could look at a duck without wishing its
destruction. With this turkey and a bountiful plum duff, we made out a
dinner even on the _Liberdade_.
Of the many Christmas days that come crowding in my recollections now;
days spent on the sea and in foreign lands, as falls to the lot of
sailors--which was the merriest it would be hard to say. Of this,
however, I am certain, that the one on board the _Liberdade_ on the
Chesapeake was not the least happy of them all.
The day following Christmas found us on the Potomac, enjoying the same
fine weather and abundant good cheer of the day before. Fair winds
carried us through all the reaches of the river, and the same prosperity
which attended our little bark in the beginning of the voyage through
tempestuous weather followed her to the end of the voyage, which
terminated in mild days and pleasant sunshine.
On the 27th of December, 1888, a south wind bore us into harbour at
Washington, D.C., there we moored for the winter, furled our sails and
coiled up the ropes, after a voyage of joys and sorrows, crowned with
pleasures, however, which lessened the pain of past regrets.
Having moored the _Liberdade_ and weather-bitted her cables, it remains
only to be said that after bringing us safely through the dangers of a
tropical voyage, clearing reefs, shoals, breakers, and all storms
without a serious accident of any kind, we learned to love the little
canoe as well as anything could be loved that is made by hands.
To say that we had not a moment of ill-health on the voyage would not
tell the whole story.
My wife, brave enough to face the worst storms, as women are sometimes
known to do on sea and on land, enjoyed not only the best of health, but
had gained a richer complexion.
Victor, at the end of the voyage, found that he had grown an inch and
had not been frightened out of his boots.
Little Garfield--well he had grown some, too, and continued to be a
pretty good boy and had managed to hold his grip through many ups and
downs. He it was who stood by the bow line to make fast as quick as the
_Liberdade_ came to the pier at the end of the voyage.
And I, last, as it should be, lost a few pounds' weight, but like the
rest landed in perfect health; taking it altogether, therefore, only
pleasant recollections of the voyage remain with us who made it.
With all its vicissitudes I still love a life on the broad, free ocean,
never regretting the choice of my profession.
However, the time has come to debark from the _Liberdade_, now breasted
to the pier where I leave her for a time; for my people are landed safe
in port.
DISPOSAL OF THE LIBERDADE
About the middle of April the _Liberdade_ cast loose her moorings from
the dock at Washington, and spreading sail before a brave west wind,
bent her course along down the Potomac with the same facility as
experienced in December coming up before a wind from the South; then
shaping her course for New York via Baltimore and Philadelphia through
inland passages, the voyage was turned into a pleasure excursion.
Animation of spring clothed the landscape on all sides in its greatest
beauty; and our northern forest the voyagers found upon their return was
not less charming than "tropic shade" of foreign climes. And the robin
sang even a sweeter trill than ever before heard by the crew, for they
listened to it now in the country that they loved.
From New York, the _Liberdade_ sailed for Boston via New London, New
Bedford, Martha's Vineyard, Newport, and Taunton, at which latter place
she hauled out, and the crew, thence to the Bay State Capital, enjoyed
the novelty of a "sail over land."
Then the _Liberdade_ moored snug in Boston and her crew spent the winter
again among friends. They met here during this time the man who advised
the captain at Buenos Aires to pitch the _Aquidneck's_ cargo of hay into
the sea; for not taking the advice--witness, alas! the captain's plight!
Finally, upon return of spring, the _Liberdade_ was refitted on a voyage
retracing her course to Washington, where, following safe arrival, she
will end her days in the Smithsonian Institution; a haven of honour that
many will be glad to know she has won.
End of Project Gutenberg's Voyage of the Liberdade, by Captain Joshua Slocum