Mother Ocean
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The sea was the sea; she gave, and she took. But to me, her giving is always better than her taking. I cannot help loving her. Her voice, in all its many tones, is a sweet one, though it sometimes breaks through our defenses with a harshness that makes us cry out, like the poor souls we find at the bottom of the sea, or those who are cast up by the tides on the shore.” -Lord Byron
A few hours after noon we were still following our course south-eastward towards Cape Hatteras when we sighted something strange far off to the left: an immense black spot floating upon the horizon. It seemed as if we had caught glimpses of land on previous occasions, but this time it looked like something real, even though we could see nothing distinctly.
As we drew nearer, however, the shape resolved itself into a great circular mass of smoke, which rose straight away from the surface of the ocean for many miles before sinking down again into the watery depths below. This black cloud formed part of some gigantic forest fire that appeared to be blazing at least a hundred leagues offshore.
We watched it with wonder until the wind turned north-westward, bringing us back towards the land; then we lost sight of it behind the distant line of coast. The day passed uneventfully enough; there was no more sign of anything unusual than of any other seabirds or fish.
The weather continued fine, and our spirits, though somewhat subdued at first, soon returned to their usual buoyancy, for none of us expected any danger or difficulty whatever when once we reached these shores. We, therefore, sailed on quietly, keeping close under sail throughout the day, and making not so much progress as I would have hoped.
There were many islands lying in sight to our westward, most of them covered with dense jungle. One of them—we saw it from several points of view as the sun went down—appeared to us very beautiful from a distance; it was surrounded by high white cliffs, which ran out in a wide curve around its circumference, while beneath them stretched green and fertile plain.
“That island,” said Mr. Smithson to me, “will make one of the finest natural harbors in the world, when we get round to it. It has been known as the Great Harbour of China since Marco Polo visited it during his travels.
And I am glad to say that the harbor will now be discovered by Europeans, for although there are much Chinese living upon it, it is too remote from other portions of the country for the Chinese themselves to think of exploring it. If ever you return to America, Mr. Maturin, my dear friend, do try to go there and see the harbor for yourself.
You would be sure to be delighted with it, and it would give me extreme pleasure if you would allow me to accompany you.”
I thought I could see the outlines of the great harbor clearly enough; but the light rapidly failed, and we made sail, leaving the island behind us with a sad heart. The stars came out, and shone with a pale luster across the heavens; there was little wind, and we kept near the coast, hoping against hope that we might catch a glimpse of the Cape Hatteras lighthouse.
When the day began to dawn I found myself looking towards the southern horizon, and the sight brought with it a such joy to my mind as I had never felt before in all my life. I could only compare it to being carried on board a vessel at sea in a violent gale, with the wind at your back and the spray flying over every side of the ship; or to watching a ship going down, knowing that she can neither be saved nor abandoned without breaking her masts and must inevitably sink.
It was as if the great mountain range we had been climbing so arduously all the way down from Maine to North Carolina had suddenly given place to a wide plateau, upon which the sun rose, and the land lay spread out beneath us like a great bowl filled with golden milk.
At last, we knew where we were; and although we had yet a long way to go to reach our destination, it was as clear to my eye as if the whole Atlantic lay at my feet.
It was late in the morning when we sighted land again. We did not know what it was, but we were almost certain it would prove to be Virginia. After a short consultation amongst ourselves, Lord Pembroke sent a boat aloft on the lookout for signals, and we waited impatiently to hear how it fared.
A few moments later there was a sudden rush and shout from below; the boat rushed up towards us, and one of the sailors held up a red flag, which he waved triumphantly above his head. We hauled in the jibs at once, and let our sails flop loosely to leeward so that they could not interfere with the boats if there should be any difficulty in reaching them.
But it need hardly be said there was none, for the boats had barely touched the shore before we were alongside. They were manned by two seamen each, armed with muskets and cutlasses, who rowed us ashore in silence.
They led us inland in single file, and left us at a point just a little beyond where Captain Aubrey’s house stood; the men then took possession of a small cabin at the entrance to the valley.
Lord Pembroke sent an order to Colonel Campbell, commanding the district, demanding supplies. This was promptly obeyed, and a large supply of ammunition arrived the next day, together with a large body of troops, including a company of artillerymen, and a detachment of marines, under Lieutenant D’Aubigne.
We were greatly surprised to find that Captain Aubrey had not accompanied us. He had taken advantage of the interval since our departure from the Cape to send out three boats under Lieutenant Murchison, of His Majesty’s sloop Surprise, to explore some of the larger islands that lay south of Chesapeake Bay.
On returning they reported that all the smaller islands in the vicinity appeared to be uninhabited and that the coast between Cape Henry and Cape Charles seemed to afford no anchorage whatsoever.
This was most unfortunate, for Captain Aubrey was determined to take possession of Cape Charles, the first port of call on the eastern side of this great bay; and if this had not been possible he intended to carry on to the south-west, to try for some of the more southern islands, or perhaps even for the mainland of Canada itself.
The result of their absence was that when the stores arrived they were put on board Lord Pembroke’s own frigate, while Captain Aubrey’s ship was left behind, and we were obliged to make sail without him. There was nothing more to be done about it now; the orders for the expedition were issued, and there was little use dwelling on the fact that they did not concern me.
I, therefore, gave up thinking about it and concentrated my thoughts instead on the new and strange country through which we sailed. The country was very different from anything I had ever seen before. To begin with, there were few trees, although there were some, particularly along the seacoast.
Then there was the peculiar climate. In Maine we had suffered from extremes of heat and cold; here I felt a continual cool breeze, with occasional sharp showers.
I spent a good deal of time on deck; for the weather was so changeable that there were many chances of having fine days interspersed with rainstorms, and the prospect from the masthead was so varied and interesting.
From our position, I could see Mount Mitchell, and all the other mountains that rise sharply from the plain along the northern border of Cumberland County; to the east lay the broad, fertile valley of the Potomac, and beyond that the beautiful hills in Virginia which we had so long been trying to get to.
And further away still I could catch a glimpse of those vast blue masses of clouds that lie across the western horizon – the Pacific Ocean!
I saw Captain Aubrey as often as possible; he had come aboard at the moment that the provisions came aboard, and we were both much interested in seeing the new country.
It was a curious feeling to me that I should be able to see these things now and feel them because when I look back upon the period of my life when we first began to sail up the Chesapeake, I think of the difficulties and dangers that we encountered, and the long, weary months that we endured, waiting for fair weather to bring us into action again, I am filled with a kind of sadness and regret. At the time it was so terrible and difficult, that I have never been quite able to understand why I should wish to repeat it – and yet it seems to me now that there are many advantages in having been able to go through that ordeal.
There is something about it that makes us all of us better people, more patient and forbearing of others, more tolerant of what they say or do; and I am sure that my friends would not hesitate to say that I had grown more gentle-minded than I was before.
But it was not only in myself that I had noticed changes in character. It had been remarked by every one of my companions – and indeed by all the men whom we had met during our voyage – how different the captain was; how much easier it was to live with him, and how much more his confidence had won for him in other quarters.
Indeed, Captain Aubrey himself had remarked on the matter, and even laughed at the difference, saying that I had turned a “penny white” during the voyage. But he made no comment; he had always known how I was changed; the change had not affected him, however, except by causing him to trust me more completely than ever.
We had worked together closely for such a long time, and had become accustomed to each other, that when he needed my help, I was sure to be ready – and I was glad that he did need me, for it brought me closer still to him, as well as making the friendship more mutual.
He was a good companion to me, as he had always been; but he was also a good friend, and in this, I thought myself fortunate.
There was another change in me; my eyesight was much improved. I had always worn spectacles since I was twelve years old, and the lenses were always rather thick, to give me as much clear vision as possible – which did not amount to a great deal.
The glasses were so much worse in the Chesapeake Bay, and especially so in the summertime, when there were so many insects flying about, that I had been reduced to the use of my natural sight only occasionally, and then it had been a mere flash of light that told me whether there were objects near or far.
But now I could see almost as clearly without spectacles as with them; I could read books much more easily than I had been able to do before, and I could distinguish faces with great distinctness. I found that my memory was better too; there were certain details that I could recall with greater accuracy than I had done in the past.
This must surely have been due to the exercise of mind and body on the voyage – but what was really wonderful was that my powers of concentration were greatly improved; there was no longer any difficulty in concentrating my thoughts on a problem and keeping them fixed on that one point.
All this came gradually, very slowly; but I was delighted. There was something in it that gave me a strange pleasure; there was satisfaction in it. I would sit in my cabin late in the evening, after supper and before lights out, and think of nothing else but a question I was trying to solve, till I felt I was going out of my mind if I did not find some way of answering it.
Then when I rose from my chair, with the solution of my difficulty firmly in my mind, I would go down to the midshipmen’s room, where I had a few books, and work for an hour or so on that same problem, till it became apparent to me exactly how it should be solved – and then I would go to bed feeling elated.
Captain Aubrey took advantage of my improvement to send me out of the ship whenever possible – for I knew that he did not want to take risks with his own eyesight. When the weather was fair, we used to go to Portsmouth or New London or Newport News or Gloucester, sometimes taking a couple of boat crews along.
The men in those places were delighted to have a little sport thrown in, and the captains were happy to be relieved of the anxiety of being constantly under observation by their officers – though the men generally did not know who they were until we told them afterward.
It seemed to me a great pity that we should not let Captain Hornblower stay in the ship, but perhaps there was some reason why it was not advisable for him to accompany us. In any case, I enjoyed the excursions enormously, and Captain Aubrey was kind enough to take me wherever he thought I should benefit by seeing the place.
I remember how pleased I was, during my first excursion with him, to discover that one of these ports was a city called Mystic and that there lived a magician there named Merlin, who could make things happen just by wishing them to happen, or saying certain words, or putting up signs that people would follow when he wanted them to.
And there were other places, too: there were a number of little townships, each of them named for its founder – and each of them with a story attached to its name, which made it quite impossible to understand them; and there was even a village in Connecticut, called Groton, which was supposed to have been founded by Noah’s son Ham.
But there were several others besides; I am afraid that we visited most of them more than once.
The one thing I did not like about these trips was that when we went into port, Captain Aubrey invariably left me to go ashore on my own responsibility – and that was always a source of great anxiety.
One night when we were in New London, I was walking down a street when I saw a man whom I recognized immediately; it was Lieutenant Maturin. He was alone, and I walked towards him, and he stopped too – although he was not obliged to – and we talked together for a while.
His eyesight was certainly improving; he could see me with considerable distinctness. “And how are you enjoying your voyage?” said I.
“I hope I shall enjoy it better yet,” said he, smiling. “Do you mean the voyage itself? Or our relations? I suppose, sir, I should say both.”
I smiled back at him. There were times when I wished he had come across with us; he would certainly have taken care of me better than Captain Aubrey could have done, and I knew that it was only because I could count upon his assistance that I was so much happier than I had been for a long time.
But at the moment there was no use talking about it, and he continued: “Have you noticed how much better I can see since we started? And what has brought all this improvement about? Is it the climate? No doubt it is.
You see, it began in Bermuda. There was nothing special there; I don’t know that I saw particularly well before. But then, after we had gone to Jamaica and crossed the Atlantic again, there was this sudden improvement; and now we are here and I feel quite equal to anything.
I’m very glad to hear that Captain Aubrey is letting you go off on your own. How does it affect you, sir? Do you have a good deal of trouble, or do you find yourself able to cope with everything that comes along?”
I thought for a while before I answered. He was right; it was a serious question. If I had been left entirely in Captain Aubrey’s hands I should never have seen another person, except on board the ship. But if I had been allowed to go off alone I should surely have been in grave danger – perhaps already in grave danger – before the year was out.
So there was no choice between two evils; if I did not wish to go mad from loneliness, I must accept Captain Aubrey’s company. On the other hand, I was not going to confess as much to Lieutenant Maturin, who seemed in every respect an agreeable companion and whose company, though limited, was pleasant.
“You have no fear?” said I.
He laughed. “Oh, none in the world, sir. You will allow me to be frank. If I cannot see the person who is approaching me I am content to give him the slip; if he is a sailor I am quite ready to take his boat and run away. My friend here – he knows what I’m worth and what I want.”
We stood together for some moments, looking towards the shore. The sky over our heads was still dark – but the stars were coming out fast; there was a light breeze from the sea, and the ship’s wake showed clearly against the black water.
“Well,” said I, “if it were only the captain who kept me confined on board, I should consider myself fortunate. As it is, however, there seems to be nothing for it. I suppose I must resign myself to a life of solitude.”
“Yes,” he replied, “you must resign yourself, or you will lose your mind. It might even save you some money – if you had any. There are plenty of men who can live on half a crown a day and think themselves extremely well off – especially if they have no family to support. You may be one of those men, sir.”
He spoke with unusual bitterness; it was plain that the prospect of separation from Captain Aubrey weighed heavily on his spirits. In spite of his words, however, he was smiling. It struck me forcibly that he enjoyed being on deck and in company with me more than with Captain Aubrey, and I wondered whether he would be willing to continue his present relations under the alternative of living alone.
“I am sorry to tell you,” I said at last, “but I fear there are few people aboard who could live without Captain Aubrey.”
This was true enough, and it seemed as though the conversation had exhausted its possibilities, for we were both silent for a while; then Lieutenant Maturin looked round at the land once more, and asked abruptly: “Why do you always keep your hat on? Why don’t you put it on the peg?”
I was surprised and touched by the question. For a moment I had not understood its real significance.
“Because I am always in motion,” I said, “and the hat would just get blown away. Besides, it keeps my head warm.”
At which he laughed heartily. “Good heavens! You are as bad as I am!”
And he took a step forward and offered me his hand. This was very different from what we had been doing before – I was aware of having made a change somehow. It is true that the gesture had been made before – but never to such an effect. I felt a little shiver run up my spine.
I accepted the hand, and we walked slowly along the quarter deck.
“You know, John,” said Lieutenant Maturin at last, “my father had the same name – John. We are all called John in his family. I have a younger brother and three sisters; I was born on the West African coast – my father had a trading vessel there.
He died when I was about thirteen, so the whole family came home to England; I was educated at Edinburgh Academy, where I got a good grounding for a career in the Navy. My father was an officer in the service for nearly thirty years; he had served in the Mediterranean, the Baltic, and the American colonies; and he commanded his own vessel for twenty years.
But he was killed by a Dutch brig during a hurricane – I believe he was in command at the time. I suppose we were unlucky because we didn’t hear until it was too late; the French ship ran into us.”
He paused, and we stood looking at each other, neither of us saying anything. A faint breeze sprang up from the southwest, sending the white sails flapping like banners. The sky overhead was clear and bright – a great deal brighter than ours – and now and again I caught glimpses of distant mountains.
I could just distinguish the black outline of the shore – the land rose abruptly from the horizon in a series of abrupt slopes.
“That’s where you’re going,” said Lieutenant Maturin, pointing at the land, as though it had just occurred to him. “That’s where they’ll take you.” And then he added, “It’s quite extraordinary how you always seem to find out things that nobody else has noticed. Do you ever make mistakes?”
He did not sound hostile or unfriendly, merely curious. His manner was very natural and pleasant; I liked it much better than I had expected, but at the same time I felt an uncomfortable awareness of something new between us.
“Never,” I answered truthfully.
For a moment he was silent, and then he began talking again, but this time his sentences were short, and his voice was very low so that I could hardly understand them. The wind rose slightly, making a soft rushing noise in the rigging; the sea beyond our bow was a mass of white and green, broken by a few tall ships’ masts and by dark patches of forest.
On every side appeared a succession of islands, some high and rounded, others low and flat; in many cases, they were separated by narrow channels; in most of these the trees grew close together, forming small clusters, thickets or clumps of foliage; occasionally a single tree, solitary and tall, was visible against the sky.
“It must be wonderful to sail across an ocean,” said Lieutenant Maturin thoughtfully after a while. “I think if I lived anywhere it should be among those islands, and there was nothing wrong with my eyes that I could see the world as clearly as you do. But it is a long way off. And now it is time to go back to work.”
“What?”
“Back to work!” repeated Lieutenant Maturin. “To write a letter to your wife. I’ve told you about my family. My eldest brother is a merchant captain in the West Indies, and he sent his daughter here on holiday. She has only recently arrived, and she is staying at the same hotel as your wife. I met her yesterday morning, and now it is time for me to pay her another visit.”
“Oh!” I said, rather puzzled.
“Well, you will have to write to her, won’t you? Or perhaps you can meet her in person.” He paused, and then went on quietly: “You don’t mind if I come along, do you? We might have something to talk about.”
I shook my head in negation. “No, thank you,” I replied.
He looked surprised. “You mean you are not going to write to her at once?” he exclaimed. “But why? You must tell your wife everything, you know – at least all the important things – if you expect her to understand what you are doing.
I have told you more about myself than I usually tell anyone. I would not dream of letting any secrets slip from my lips, but it seems to me that you are keeping yourself very quiet.”
I stared at him. “Yes, indeed! I am keeping myself very quiet.”
He nodded. “I think so, too. But, of course, you must tell your wife all the important things at the first opportunity.”
And he moved away, leaving me standing alone in the shadow of our mast. It had been an hour since we sighted land, and now our bows were pointed at an island lying just ahead.
“This is the end of the world!” he cried, as soon as he saw it.
It was a rocky islet with a small village built around its base; from the top of its tallest peak the wind blew cold and strong, and I was glad when it was over. We had not taken in sail, and the water was still smooth under our keel, and I knew that we were fast and safe in the midst of the ocean.
We anchored in a cove below the village, where the shore rose steeply to form a hillside covered with trees. The bay was sheltered from the open sea by a long spit of land which ended in a promontory jutting out into the channel.
As we drew up alongside, I saw that we were already well known in the little harbor; the people came to greet us, shouting excitedly in French and waving their arms.
A boy ran out from the jetty to carry our anchor rope to a buoy fixed a hundred yards offshore, and then a number of other boys followed in hot pursuit, carrying heavy wooden buckets full of water; they threw one after the other, splashing each other with spray and running backward and forwards across the bows of our ship.
Others came scrambling down the beach with ropes, and others still, bringing bundles of wood from the village’s own supply; all these children were very dirty, with bare feet and ragged clothes, and all seemed half-starved; they were so eager and lively that they reminded me irresistibly of my own children.
As I watched them, Lieutenant Maturin turned to me with a smile. “Do you suppose there are any women among them?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, certainly not,” I said. “They are not used to having anything to do with the women of their husbands’ families.”
“Very likely,” said the lieutenant, looking pleased. “If there are no women, then the men must get on together quite nicely.”
I looked at him. “How very odd!” I said. “I never heard of such a thing!”
“That is because you have been brought up in England – and in India,” he replied.
The next day we set out to explore the island. The road ran up the cliff towards the village, with two or three little huts clinging precariously to its side like a handful of withered leaves on a branch. In one hut there was a woman crouching outside the door; her dark hair hung in wild curls over her shoulders, and she was sitting with both hands on her knees staring straight ahead.
When I stopped and stared back at her, she jumped up and came slowly forward, her eyes wide, until she stood beside me. She spoke not a word; but her eyes were very large and brown and her expression very anxious as she looked straight ahead, as though expecting me to disappear into thin air at any moment.
After a few moments, she sat down again and continued to stare without speaking, while I went on walking.
“What is her name?” asked the lieutenant.
I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I replied. “She does not speak a word of English.”
As we climbed higher the road became steeper and narrower and wound in and out between the rocks. On reaching the top we found ourselves on a narrow terrace above the forested valley, looking down on a stream that flowed down from the hills into a little pool at the foot of the cliff.
We walked along the terrace for some way before finding another path that led down through the trees towards the sea.
A short time later, as we stood by a rock watching a troop of monkeys, I saw a young girl coming out from behind a tree carrying a basket. Her clothes were worn and faded, and she carried herself with a certain awkwardness that I associated with the shyness peculiar to women who are unused to being seen by other people. I thought she must be about seventeen years old.
“Where are you going?” asked the lieutenant.
“To fetch water,” she replied in French.
“Is it far from here to the spring?”
“Oh yes, quite far,” she said; “the spring is quite near.” And she set off towards the trees, swinging the basket on one arm, her skirts swirling around her knees.
Her face was beautiful as she moved away, with high cheekbones and full lips, but there was something else about her that made me feel sad. There was a look of deep sadness in those large brown eyes.
“Why do you think she is sad?” asked the lieutenant.
“I cannot say exactly; only that I am sure she is.”
After watching her go for a few minutes longer, I returned to the beach; but the little cove was still crowded with people, and I could see nothing of the ship except the sails fluttering in the wind.
There was an inn near the village, and after dinner, I decided to walk down to it rather than wait for Captain Aubrey to come and collect me. As I passed the beach I noticed an unusual crowd of men gathered on the strand, all staring at what seemed to be a boat moored on the sand.
At first, I paid little attention to this; it was just a matter of time before they grew bored and wandered off. But after standing there for more than five minutes without moving, I began to feel uneasy; I looked around at the faces on either side of me; most of them appeared indifferent to what was going on on the beach, but there were too many to ignore.
I went down to the end of the jetty and stood in front of the boat – a dinghy – which lay half-buried in the sand. It had been built so that when it was in use there would be no danger of it filling with water during a rough storm, and I could see why it was now deserted: it was filled with men.
There were perhaps a dozen of them, sitting side by side in the bottom of the boat, and another dozen lying spread out on the beach below. They did not seem to notice me as I watched; nor could I hear a sound except the noise of waves breaking against the shore.
My eye fell on one man whose profile was turned towards me, but even in the dim light I could tell that he was asleep; his eyes closed, his mouth open, and his head lolling back onto one shoulder. His skin was almost black with tans, and it took me several seconds to recognize him: it was my own cousin Stephen.
He had been sleeping under the shade of an enormous palm tree since midday, and he must have dozed off during the afternoon and slept till nightfall. When I had seen him last, in France, he was not a boy of seventeen but rather a good-looking young man of nineteen, with fair hair and blue eyes.
Now he was a trifle thinner than I remembered, and his skin was covered with freckles, yet there was something about him which I knew very well. There was an innocence in the set of his jaw, which was always firm but never cruel; there was a purity in the set of his eyebrows, which were not arched but straight and level.
He had inherited the same fine head as his father and mother, but it was the expression on his face that reminded me of them both. I realized suddenly how long it must be since I had last seen him, or spoken with him; it must have been three years.
We were children together once, and then our lives had taken such different courses, we might easily have met somewhere else and never recognized each other.
It was not until after we had grown up that we saw each other again, on board Lord William’s flagship, and I was surprised to find that although he had been a seaman ever since then, he still looked like a young boy; a sort of child in miniature; and I could not help wishing that he were not there.
It was dark now, and I began to wonder if Captain Aubrey intended to send a boat to pick me up; and, more than anything, I wished that Stephen would wake up so that I might ask him how he came there and what was happening to him. I glanced at his face one last time, but it was too dark for me to make any positive identification, and then I turned away.
As I walked back towards the village, I heard someone call out to me: it was Captain Aubrey, who had come ashore to fetch me. I told him what I had seen on the strand, and he laughed and said he was glad that Stephen had found a congenial place to sleep.
It had not occurred to me that he might be worried about his cousin, and I began to think that it was only my imagination that there was a certain air of uneasiness about him. He was in good spirits, having been on the water all day; he had been to the fishing villages on the west coast – which he said were not nearly so nice as the ones he had visited the previous week – and he had had a good catch of sea bass.
And as soon as he had picked me up, the sky was overcast, and a cold drizzle began to fall from the grey clouds above us so that we made our way quickly toward the inn.
In the morning the weather cleared, and after breakfast, we left the harbor and steered into the bay of Porto Seguro. The wind was blowing hard enough to fill the sails so that it was easy to work getting out to sea, and the sun shone out brightly. The first thing that struck me about the place was its size of it: it must have been larger than any town that I had known.
There were houses lining the streets of the little port itself, and many others beyond it, stretching away to the foot of hills on either hand and across the plain towards the mountains behind them, where the smoke of a distant fire rose in the air.
There were ships anchored outside the bay, some of them large trading vessels, with crews dressed in white trousers and bright red jackets, their chests bare, and long black hair streaming down over the tops of their heads, like the tails of dogs.
I saw two or three caravels flying a Dutch flag, but most of the others seemed to belong to the French navy, with flags flying from masts that had been painted red and white; for they were mostly warships, armed with great swiveling guns and cannonballs, and carrying the colors of the Republic: a golden eagle perched on a blue and white standard.
They must have seen us coming because, as we rounded the western point of Porto Seguro, I saw the lookouts at their posts on the highest points of land, pointing towards us.
“We’ll have a welcome from them,” said Captain Aubrey. “They won’t like seeing our ships. You can tell by the colors.”
I did not know whether this was true, but it certainly seemed that these new ships were less welcoming than those of the previous week. As we sailed closer towards the harbor mouth, they raised a gun, but Captain Aubrey gave orders that he should not fire unless fired upon; and when he had passed between them and into the inner harbor he signaled a friendly salute.
He said afterward that he wanted to let them know that although he was on an official errand, he was not a naval officer, and therefore not under the command of a man-of-war; but I felt he would rather avoid the attention altogether.
A couple of the larger warships had pulled into the bay, and their men crowded along the quay to watch him enter; for they looked as though they meant to do their best to impress him. One of them, a frigate of sixty guns, bore a French flag; and its captain, an elderly fellow whose name was Bougainville, saluted with his sword, saying something in a low voice, which was obviously understood by his officers before he went aboard.
But the other ships had no flags flying except a pennant bearing a cross, which fluttered down from the masthead on the ship which belonged to the French governor of Rio de Janeiro.
Captain Aubrey had asked to be allowed to visit him, as he needed to consult him about a matter of importance; but, as the ship was not yet under his control, he was denied permission; and it was agreed that Bougainville should meet him on the shore instead.
We docked at a jetty, and he ordered me to walk up to the fortification which rose from a high rock overlooking the beach. There were soldiers standing guard outside, and I had just reached them when Captain Aubrey appeared, walking slowly toward me.
I greeted him formally, but then we both stopped short, surprised at seeing a group of men come from the fort, wearing long blue coats and carrying muskets. I thought they must be Portuguese soldiers, but Captain Aubrey guessed they were Frenchmen, and I could see how much he disliked the look of them.
The End