The Boo-boo-boo touched at Rio, to land some cargo and take in fresh meat.
Sandie and Willie marvelled much at the romantic beauty of the bay or harbour, with its surroundings of green and rugged mountains. But when they landed they marvelled more. Everything strange, everything wonderful, oceans of fruit and flowers, and the people, whether inky-black or nearly white, all as contented with their lot as doves in a tree, and all chattering away as merry as monkeys.
The next halting-place was Sandy Point, inside the Straits of Magellan, through which they meant to pass.
But now the weather had got black and stormy; the idyllic portion of the voyage was over; all the danger and difficulty was to come.
People cannot tell what is before them. This is a merciful dispensation of Providence.
CHAPTER V
FIGHTING THE FIRELANDERS
It was the dead of a dreary winter in the Straits of Magellan, about the beginning of July—the seasons, as I need hardly tell my young readers, being quite the reverse of ours—the dead of a dreary winter; and no one who has ever traversed this region of fogs and storms in a sailing ship at such a time will be likely to forget the feeling of gloom that often settles down on board, both fore and aft. The men try hard to fight against it. They smoke, they sing, they fiddle, they dance—on every available excuse the captain may even splice the main-brace; but all pleasures are transient, and do not come directly from the heart.
This was the case now on board the good barque Boo-boo-boo. Willie and Sandie felt depressed; even Tyro the collie seemed in low spirits or out of sorts.
At times the days would be bright and clear enough, and with probably a strong wind blowing, and a white and chafing sea, the rugged rocks and mountains would be seen on the distant horizon like threatening storm-clouds.
Even pieces of ice were not unfrequently met with; but strangest sight of all were the half-naked savages in their queer little boats that crossed the barque’s hawse, or, hanging on to her sides, begged for alms.