Then the Chacabuco signalled that she intended to run into Talcahuano, the Chilean naval port, and would send messages of our safe passage through Magellan and also notify the Chilean authorities of the hour of our arrival in Valparaiso. The two Admirals had agreed upon 2 o'clock on the afternoon of Friday, February 14. The day after the Chacabuco left, the air cleared. She agreed to meet us again at noon on February 13 at a certain latitude and longitude and sure enough shortly after 8 o'clock on the 13th, her smoke and that of three torpedo boats accompanying her was made out. On they came and they were abeam at exactly noon. Behind them was a large passenger steamer, loaded down with folks from Concepcion, Chile. That ship ran close to the fleet and gave its passengers a fine view. Then those in the fleet knew that Chile took intense interest in the passage.
It was necessary to slow to nine, then to eight and then to seven knots so as not to reach Valparaiso ahead of time. The sea calmed, the sun came out and a more perfect afternoon was never witnessed on the ocean.
Daybreak on the morning of the 14th showed a lowering sky. Just before 9 o'clock the Chilean coast could be made out and then the fleet made one or two turns and twists, apparently to kill a little time. Admiral Simpson took his place at the head of the column which had been formed and his three torpedo boats took up positions on our right flank, the side nearest to the city in the harbor, so as to protect the line from any intrusion. Just before 1 o'clock we could make out the people on the high hills south of Angeles Point, fittingly named for a great cemetery sloped up the hillside. The place was black with spectators. Around the point we could see the puffs of a salute, given probably by one of the forts or ships to note the arrival of President Montt. Then we came close to Angeles Point. The beach was thronged. There were tents where jimcracks were being sold and double decker tram cars were loaded to the limit. It seemed as if all Valparaiso had come out to that place. The glasses were turned upon Fort Valdivia, just beyond Point Angeles. It is a naval station.
Suddenly a midshipman discovered that there was a sign in English on one of its terraces. It said:
"Welcome!"
"That's mighty nice to whitewash a lot of stones in that way, isn't it?" said an officer on the bridge.
Three minutes later the navigator sang out:
"Captain, that sign isn't made of stones. It's made of men!"
A dozen glasses were focussed upon the sign at once. Sure enough, stretched upon the terrace there lay a human sign, made up of sailors or naval cadets in white. It took three mens' length to make the height of a single letter. Two men were required for the top and the bottom of the letter O. These men must not have been entirely comfortable for they lay there fully an hour, but the sign was as immobile as if it were made of stone. That compliment touched the kindly feeling of every one on the ships. It made a sensation. No one had ever seen anything like that. There was no way of answering it in kind, as you can in saluting; you could only look at it in dumb amazement and feel grateful.
You were glad then that the compliment had been paid to Admiral Simpson of allowing him to lead the fleet in with his little cruiser—no Chilean naval officer ever had such a post of honor—and all the ships took keen notice of the signal from the flagship to fire a simultaneous salute of twenty-one guns when notice should be given. As the fleet turned in the glasses revealed a large collection of ships, some of them old whalers, lying in the harbor. Grand stands had been built on various eminences for the people and hundreds of white parasols showed that the fair sex was alive to the great sea-show.