CHAPTER XXIV.

UP ANCHOR.

In all the fleet of merchantmen which crowded the busy harbour of Rio de Janeiro, Morley could not discover a single vessel bound for the Isle of France. There were hundreds freighted for Holland, the Mediterranean, the Baltic, the United States, Britain, and elsewhere, but not one for the island of his pilgrimage. So kind Tom Bartelot's generosity was proffered in vain, and for a time poor Morley was in despair!

To return to England merely to find that Ethel and her family had sailed at the appointed time, months ago, for the Isle of France, was a line of action to which he, by nature restless, impetuous, and impatient, could by no means reconcile himself to adopt.

He wrote to her a passionate and loving letter by the British mail, addressed to Laurel Lodge, to be forwarded after her, if she had left. In this letter he detailed the story of his disappearance, revealed the true character of Hawkshaw, and concluded by declaring that, whatever happened, death alone would prevent him from finding his way to her before the year was out.

And this letter, which he knew might be months in reaching her, he dropped into the post-office in the Rua Dirieta, with a sigh of hope, and turned away sadly, again to seek the docks where the _Princess_ lay, feeling oppressively in his heart that his youth was almost gone--his once bright, hopeful youth gone--and without avail. A bitter, bitter conviction!

His letter, penned at such a distance from her, in a humble little posada, frequented by seamen, in the Campo de Santa Anna, though duly forwarded by the mail from Rio to Liverpool (for reasons which the reader will learn ere long) never reached the hand of Ethel Basset.

This, happily for himself, Morley could scarcely anticipate. The return steamer from Liverpool would not leave Rio, he learned, until its usual day of sailing (the 29th of every month); thus he knew that the letter on which his very life seemed to depend would be lying uselessly in the mail-bag for nearly three weeks. Tom Bartelot urged that Morley should remain with him, and he, poor fellow, at present had no other resource, and no immediate views.

"One chance remains," said Tom: "the _Princess_ may get a freight for India or China, and, if so, it will go hard with me if I don't contrive somehow to get a sight of the Isle of France."

But this hope was speedily dissipated by the ship being chartered for Tasmania, or "Wan Demon's Land," as old Noah Gawthrop persisted in calling it.

Bartelot and Morrison were busy daily about the ship. Cast thus upon himself, Morley rambled listlessly about the streets of Rio, feeling downcast, forlorn, strange, and miserable.

The glorious climate, the endless summer, the wonderful fruits and flowers of the province, with the beauty of its capital city, alike failed to soothe, to charm, or to interest him, for Ethel was not there.

In vain he visited the gay and beautiful Rua do Ouvidor, the Regent Street of Rio, with its magnificent shops, some of which have their enormous windows piled with massive gold and silver plate, the produce of Brazilian mines, while others sparkle with jewels. He saw nothing to interest him in the quaint old palace of the Portuguese viceroy, and equally little in the noble residence of San Chris to val.

In vain he ascended the lofty hill which is crowned by the Church of Our Lady of Glory, and saw, spread at his feet, the vast Bay of Rio, with all its eighty isles and fleet of shipping, under steam, canvas, and bare poles; its verdant eminences, every one of which is crowned by a church or a convent, the surrounding mountains studded with villages and villas, and all this visible by the warm and golden light of a gorgeous Brazilian sunset in July.

There, on the western shore, rises the City of Palaces, where the early voyagers, 300 years ago, saw but a savage waste, a howling wilderness. What a change in the New World since these times, when, as quaint Richard Hakluyt informs us:

"Old Master William Hawkins, of Plymouth, a man esteemed for his wisdom, valour, experience, and skill in sea causes, much esteemed and beloved of Henry VIII., and being one of the principal sea-captains in the west port of England in his time, not contented with the short voyages commonly made then to the coasts of Europe, armed out a tall and goodlie ship, of the burthen of 250 tons, called the _Paul_, of Plymouth, wherewith he made three long and prosperous voyages unto the coast of Brazil--a thing in those days very rare, especially in our nation."

Great, indeed, is now the change, from those days when the _Paul_, of Plymouth, let go her anchor in the Ganabara Janeiro, as the bay was then named.

If a man wishes to kill time or bury care, few places afford better means for doing so than Rio, where all classes of that mixed race which inhabit it have an unlimited love for mirth and pleasure; but in vain did Morley Ashton, to the utmost of his limited means, visit the opera, where the loveliest women of Brazil may be seen in full ball costume, seated in boxes that are without fronts, as in our European theatres; and alike in vain he sought the public masquerades, and those glorious gardens by the cool seashore, for he had but one idea, one desire, to see Rio sink astern.

In this public garden, which is laid out with wonderful taste and skill by a Scottish gardener, with enormous flower-pots, shrubberies, and parterres, with winding walks between, bordered by tropical trees, whose luxuriant foliage forms cool shades from the sun, are beautifully-formed alcoves of trellis work, painted bright green and gold, and over these are trained the gorgeous and odoriferous flowering plants of that lovely clime; and in these great bowers are nightly supper parties, lighted less by gas than by the moon or stars, where music, mirth, laughter, love, flirtation, and frequently dancing, make the night glide into morning unperceived; but of all this, too, did our lost lover soon weary.

To lessen his gnawing anxiety, to spend the weary time, to make himself useful, and in some measure, by doing so, to repay, if only by mere manual labour, the friendliness of Tom Bartelot, Morley tried to become available on board the _Princess_, which was being rapidly got ready for sea, and he endeavoured to interest himself in all the details thereof.

Every huge round cask of sugar or tobacco that was lowered into the capacious hold seemed to hasten her departure, and every day that passed was reckoned by our lover as one less of absence from Ethel.

Ah! if, after all he had undergone, he should only meet her to find that she was lost to him for ever! But he thrust that idea aside, and, in spite of all that Tom Bartelot would say, he "tallyed on" at the rope, and "took his spell," like a veritable negro, at hoisting in the cargo.

A numerous gang of slaves, natives of Angola (for to that province the trade in "black passengers" is restricted in Brazil), sent by the merchant who had chartered the ship, soon accomplished this, and ere long the hatches were battened down, the tarpaulins spread over them, and the iron bands locked round the coamings.

Many of those slaves who worked on board were captured fugitives; and to Morley's European eye there was something strikingly repulsive in the iron neck-collars with which they were accoutred, like mastiff dogs, while others had masks of tin that concealed the lower part of their faces, and were secured at the back by iron padlocks.

Yet these poor wretches were as merry as crickets withal, and tramped away with their bare black feet on the sun-blistered deck, keeping chorus and time to some uncouth ditty which they had learned in the vast forests of their native Angola.

In their activity, especially under the long lash of their broad-brim-hatted taskmasters, they formed a strange contrast to the lazy Portuguese, or Spanish South Americans, who lounged, or, to use a well-known western word, "loafed" about the piers and quays in the sunshine, clad in their coarse but brilliantly-coloured _surreppas_ or blanket-cloaks, that hid their rags, or, it may be, nakedness below; their poncho wrappers, or _abarcas_, or leather leggings, wherein the dagger-knife was stuck, like the skene-dhu of the Scottish Highlanders--solemn, stately, and polite ragamuffins, always smoking, wherever or however got, a paper cigarito.

Slowly, slowly, to Morley Ashton, seemed to pass the hours of the insipid anchor-watch, when he performed that duty, with his eyes fixed on the countless lights of Rio, that shed long lines of tremulous radiance across the bay, and his thoughts, as ever, with Ethel Basset.

This is a small watch, composed of one, and, at times, of two men, who look after the ship while at anchor or in port; and Morley was frequently so abstracted or taciturn that his watchmate or companion, when he had one, usually coiled himself up and dozed off to sleep under the counter of the longboat, so our poor lover, when left in charge of the deck, always forgot to strike the bell, which it was his duty to do every half hour, as if the vessel were at sea.

On the 23rd July, after being thirteen days in Rio de Janeiro, the _Princess_ was ready for sea, and blue peter flying at her foremast-head. The hands were all busy preparing for their new and long voyage; the royal-yards were crossed aloft; the chafing gear (mats or other stuff to save the rigging from being frayed) was shipped on the backstays, or wherever necessary; the last of the sea stores were taken in, and the studding-sail gear rove.

The carpenter gave the ship a final touch of paint all round, the standing and running rigging got their last overhauling, after the fag-end of the cargo, which was principally composed of tobacco and sugar, was hoisted in from a lighter alongside, and stowed away by negroes between decks; the last boat laden with water had come off and been hoisted to the davits, and about 4 P.M. Morley, with delight in his heart, heard Bartelot's welcome order:

"All hands stand by the anchor--ahoy!"

It was soon heaved up, and hung dripping at the cathead; then came the next orders to set the courses, cast loose the topsails, jib, and staysails, to sheet home and hoist away.

Old Noah Gawthrop grasped the wheel, the sails filled, her head payed off, and the tall cone of the giant Pao d'Asucar, which was before astern, was now on the larboard bow, and the _Princess_ began to leave the harbour of Rio.

In working out among the many isles which stud that magnificent bay, bracing the yards sharp to port and then to starboard every few minutes, a tug steamer nearly ran foul of her.

"Look out!" shouted the carpenter, who was probably thinking of his new paint, while assisting to get the anchor a-cockbill; "are your eyes no better than sojers' buttons, Noah?"

Old Noah, who handled the ship to perfection, disdained to reply as he looked grimly at the puffing, pursy tug; but, nevertheless, contrived to let the foreyardarm get foul of the foretopmast rattlings of an ugly, squat, hermaphrodite brig[*] which shot suddenly round the little isle of Paqueta, going at great speed, with a vast fore-and-aft mainsail.

[*] A vessel with a schooner's mainmast and brig's foremast.

"Hallo, Noah," cried Morrison; "are you playing at sojers with that wheel?"

"Are you going to sleep? Wipe your eyes with the flying jib," added Bartelot angrily, while some men jumped aloft and got the hamper clear.

"Dash my wig!" growled Noah, "after clearing a dirty smoke-jack, to run foul o' that ere confounded butter-box! 'tain't like me, sir, 'tain't like me."

"I know it is not like your steering, you old Triton," said Tom Bartelot; "but keep a bright look-out for the next craft that comes near us, or your next glass of grog won't be measured by the rule of thumb."

Poor old Noah, who had been a man-of-war's-man, and served with the Black Sea fleet at Sebastopol, and who rather prided himself upon his steering, almost wept with shame and vexation. Spasms twisted his ancient visage, which was wrinkled like the kernel of a dry nut, and his grey eyes, the pupils of which were like herring scales, glared as he griped the wheel, with an air as much as to say:

"Thumb-grog or not, sir, pity the next craft as I runs foul on--damme!"

And here, for the information of the uninitiated in such matters, we may mention that the grog so specially mentioned, referred to that made for the watch who came below in the dark; it was measured by dipping the thumb into the can, to ascertain when it contained enough of rum before adding water thereto; but, as the nights were often cold as well as dark, the regular old salt had usually no sensation in his thumb till the rum rose to the second joint thereof.

"'Twarn't my fault, sir!" resumed Noah, as Bartelot came aft; "that hermaphrodite brig don't answer her helm a bit--see how her mainsheet jibs."

"She is an old tub," said Bartelot, "and rolls at least twenty times per minute in a sea-way, or, like a crab, goes sideways, broadside-on, and any way but ahead."

"Shiver my topsails!" shouted Noah, with delight, "if she won't be bump ashore upon that blowed island of Packwetty, and sarve her right, too."

Contrary to his revengeful wish, however, the brig cleared it, and now the _Princess_ soon passed the Castle of Santa Cruz, the giant rock of the Pao d'Asucar, after which she felt the full force of the sea breeze, and trimmed her sails on the starboard tack.

Morley was full of joy, and strangely excited.

The evening was a splendid one, and all the crew were in their summer gear--straw hats, white duck trousers, and flannel shirts of any colour they chose.

By 8 P.M. the coast of Brazil was many miles off, and all the outline of the land wore a deep blue indigo tint, against a warm sky of the most brilliant gold and burnt-sienna, that gradually turned to crimson, as the sun set behind the mountains of the Corcovado, the Sugar-loaf, and La Gaviá.

The pharos at the mouth of the Bay of Rio was twinkling like a star that sunk at times amid the darkening waves, while, with night closing around her, the _Princess_, with royals and studding-sails set, bore swiftly on her course through the lonely waters of the Southern Atlantic Ocean.