Things do get turned around in this Southern Hemisphere, sure enough. It was strange to see the moon curving itself from east to west in the northern sky. We have already crossed the line of the sun and that is beginning to steal off to the north, although it is almost directly overhead at meridian. You see new stars—such bright ones!—with the beautiful Southern Cross as the most conspicuous constellation, just now in such a position that it has its top turned toward the eastern horizon as if to point toward Jerusalem. The winds come from an unusual direction and you soon become so mixed that you are not sure whether a clear, brilliant sunset with a dry air is an augury for clear weather on the morrow.
Cape Virgin's fine headland came in sight on Friday morning, January 31. It was thought desirable to swing ships before the strait was entered, and then it was too late to try to make the run through the eastern part of the strait to Punta Arenas, about 120 miles, with the first and second narrows, that day, and so we anchored for the night in Possession Bay, a great open sheet of water, with the Patagonian mountains to the north. Early this morning we started on the first leg of the picturesque passage that Magellan first revealed to the world, and this afternoon came to anchor here.
The departure of our fleet from Rio was dramatic rather than spectacular. Nature took a hand in the snapping of the heartstrings and scolded and wept copiously. It was precisely as if an overwrought woman had been keeping a smiling face up to the last moment before the parting with some one close to her heart whom she might never see again and then giving way to hysterical weeping and even lamentations, her face turned away after one look and covered with a veil except for an occasional peep until the loved one was out of sight.
The morning had been blistering hot. Shore leaves had expired at 9 o'clock, all were aboard except those sent ashore to look out for any stragglers that had not reported and the mail orderlies who took off the last missives. By 10 o'clock the seams in the decks of the ships were exuding pitch. President Penna of Brazil was expected to come down the bay soon after noon to call upon Admiral Thomas on the Minnesota. About 11:30 one of those delightful sea breezes that make the summer afternoons in Rio not only tolerable but even attractive sprang up and every one was happy.
Just before noon it was observed that a few fog banks with darkening edges were being swept in over the tops of Sugar Loaf and Corcovado. It was soon a little lowery in the southern horizon. Then the word was passed that the Presidential yacht was approaching. At a signal from the flagship the long lines of flags used to dress ship were swayed aloft and all the American battleships, the Brazilian ships, the Italian cruiser and the German cruiser in port suddenly were alive with snapping pennants from bows to taffrails. The American ensign was at the fore and the Brazilian ensign at the main of our ships.
The saluting signal came and the 3-inch guns on the ships roared out a welcome of twenty-one guns on each vessel to the President. Slowly the yacht approached the fleet and began to encircle it, passing first on the side opposite from Rio. The Louisiana was the first ship to be passed. The rail was manned with men with locked arms, the band played the Brazilian national air, the officers stood at salute. Then the Virginia was passed and the same greeting was repeated. Down around the line the yacht went until it drew up near the Minnesota on the opposite side. A launch steamed off to get the President. As he approached the Minnesota gave him twenty-one more guns.
Then the fleet gave itself up to final preparations for departure. Twenty minutes later the Minnesota fired another salute to mark the President's leavetaking. He went to the Brazilian cruiser, Benjamin Constant, which, with the rest of the Brazilian ships, sixteen in number, was to escort the American fleet out of the harbor. By that time the clouds had begun to descend from the hills, the wind to blow in gusts and a few raindrops to fall. It was seen that the waterfront was black with people. Then sharp dashes of rain swept over the city and hid it from view. The clouds fell upon the shore in great fog banks.
The President by this time had gone to Fort Villegagnon, the naval station in the harbor half a mile from the beautiful Flamingo boulevard and beach. The starting signal for the American fleet was given precisely at 3 o'clock. Anchors were aweigh on the minute. The harbor was so thick and black that one could scarcely see 1,000 yards. With the black smoke of the funnels of the ships being swept down upon the water an inky darkness spread itself over everything, and often it was with difficulty that the ship ahead at 400 yards could be made out clearly.
As one ship after another swung in toward Villegagnon and thundered her twenty-one good-by guns the rain descended in sheets. If the President was reviewing the fleet no one on board could see him. Rio was wiped out. The thunder peals from Sugar Loaf and Corcovado at times outroared those of the guns. Nature was saluting in angry tones. She seemed indignant that the fleet was going away and made no bones about saying it. From 'way back on the north where the majestic Organ Mountains nearly pierce the clouds there came the roar of protest.
The mountain-encircled city was surely giving way to hysteria. Sackcloth and ashes were in evidence, the furiously driving fog clouds being the sackcloth and the soot from smoke of funnels and powder blasts being the ashes. Half the ships had passed Villegagnon when the rain became a patter suddenly and the veil was lifted from Rio. The waterfront was still black. The people had stood there for nearly an hour in a driving rain. Their fluttering handkerchiefs could be seen plainly.