Poor old John Bull! What a descent have we here, from the Plantagenets to Mr. Milner Gibson? From Cœur de Leon, “striking for the right,” to Mr. Milner Gibson, of the Board of Trade, advising his countrymen to smother all their more noble and generous impulses, that they might continue to fry cheap bacon and eggs!
We had been working our way, for the last few days, toward Bahia, in Brazil, and being now pretty well crowded with prisoners, having no less than the crews of four captured ships on board, I resolved to run in and land them. We anchored about five P. M., on the 11th of May. Bahia is the second city, in size and commercial importance, in the Brazilian empire. We found a large number of ships at anchor in the harbor, but no Yankees among them. The only man-of-war present was a Portuguese. We were struck with the spaciousness of the bay, and the beauty of the city as we approached. The latter crowns a crescent-shaped eminence, and its white houses peep cosily from beneath forest-trees, of the richest and greenest foliage. The business part of the city lies at the foot of the crescent, near the water’s edge. It, too, looks picturesque, with its quays, and shipping, and tugs, and wherries. But, as is the case with most Portuguese towns—for the Brazilians are only a better class of Portuguese—the illusion of beauty is dispelled, as soon as you enter its narrow and crooked streets, and get sight of its swarthy population, the chief features of which are sombreros and garlic. We were boarded by the health-officer just at dark, and admitted to pratique.
The next morning, the weather set in gloomy and rainy. The requisite permission having been obtained, we landed our prisoners, there being upward of a hundred of them. Parson Wright here took the back track, I believe. Whether, after stating his grievances at the State Department in Washington, he renewed his commission, and proceeded, in some more fortunate Yankee ship to Foo Chow, or went back to his religious paper, and his exhortations against the Southern heathen, I have never learned. The reverend gentleman forgot his Christian charity, and did not come to say “good-bye,” when he landed, though we had treated him with all due consideration.
I had now another little diplomatic matter on my hands. I had scarcely risen from the breakfast-table, on the morning after my arrival, when an aide-de-camp of the Governor, or rather President of the Department, came off to see me on official business. He brought on board with him a copy of the “Diario de Bahia,” a newspaper very respectable for its size and typography, containing an article, which I was requested to read, and answer in writing. This I promised to do, and the messenger departed. I found, upon glancing over the article, which filled a couple of columns, that it was a Yankee production done into very good Portuguese—the joint work, probably, of the Yankee Consul at Pernambuco, where the article had originated—for it had been copied into the Bahia paper—and the President of that province. It was written after the style of a proclamation, was signed by the President, and strangely enough addressed to myself—supposed to be still at Fernando de Noronha, with the Alabama. After charging me with sundry violations of the neutrality of Brazil, it ordered me to depart the island, within twenty-four hours.
Instead of sending a ship of war, to examine into the facts, and enforce his order, if necessary, the President had been satisfied to send this paper bullet after me. It reminded me very much of the “stink-pots,” which the Chinese are in the habit of throwing at their enemies, and I could not restrain a smile, as I called upon Bartelli to produce my writing materials. The aide-de-camp who had brought me the paper, had brought off a message, along with it, from the President, to the effect that he desired I would hold no communication with the shore, until I had answered the article; which was tantamount to informing me, that he was somewhat in doubt whether he would permit me to communicate at all or not. I really wanted nothing—though I afterward took in a few boat-loads of coal, merely to show the President that I was disposed to be civil—and this consideration, along with the fact, that I had the heaviest guns in the harbor, induced me to be rather careless, I am afraid, in the choice of phraseology, as I penned my despatch. I simply charged that the whole proclamation was a budget of lies, and claimed that I had been insulted by the Government of Brazil, by the lies having been put into an official shape by it, without first communicating with me.
The Brazilians are a very polite people, and my reply was “perfectly satisfactory.” Jack went on shore, and had his frolic, and the Alabama remained a week in the port, enjoying the hospitalities of the numerous English, and other foreign residents. Among other entertainments, we had a splendid ball given us by Mr. Ogilvie, a British merchant, at which much of the foreign and native beauty was present. Mr. Ogilvie’s tasteful residence overlooked the bay from the top of the crescent I have described; his grounds, redolent of the perfumes of tropical flowers, were brilliantly illuminated, and a fine band of music charmed not only the revellers, but the numerous ships in the Bay. Several Brazilian dignitaries and foreign Consuls were present. I took all my young gentlemen on shore with me, who could be spared from the ship, and they did their “devoirs” as only gallant knights can, and carried on board with them, in the “wee sma’” hours of the morning, several tiny kid gloves and scarfs, as mementos to accompany them on their cruises—every villain of them swearing to return at some future day. So it is always with the sailor. As before remarked, his very life is a poem, and his heart is capacious enough to take in the whole sex.
On the morning after this brilliant entertainment, an officer came below to inform me that a strange steamer of war had entered during the night, which, as yet, had shown no colors. I directed our own colors to be shown to the stranger—for the regular hour of hoisting them had not yet arrived—and the reader may judge of our delight, when we saw the Confederate States flag thrown to the breeze in reply, by the newcomer. It was the Georgia, Commander Lewis F. Maury, on a cruise, like ourselves, against the enemy’s commerce. She had come in to meet her coal-ship, the Castor, which had been ordered to rendezvous here. We had now other troubles with the authorities. The President, seeing another Confederate steamer arrive, became nervous, lest he should be compromised in some way, and be called to account by the Emperor. The little gad-fly of a Yankee Consul was, besides, constantly buzzing around him. He declined to permit the Georgia to receive coal from her transport, though he was forced to admit that the transport had the right to land it, and that, when landed, the Georgia might receive it on board, like any other coal. Still it must be landed. The gad-fly had buzzed in his ear, that there was a “cat in the meal tub;” the Castor having, as he alleged, some guns and ammunition covered up in her coal! His Excellency then wanted to see my commission—the gad-fly having buzzed “pirate! pirate!” To add to the complication, news now came in that the Florida also had arrived at Pernambuco! Diablo! what was to be done? An aide-de-camp now came off with a letter from his Excellency, telling me, that I had already tarried too long in the port of Bahia, and that he desired me to be off. I wrote him word that I was not ready, and sent another batch of liberty men on shore. Presently another missive came. His Excellency had learned from the gad-fly, that I had enlisted one of my late prisoners, after setting him on shore, which, as he said, was a grave breach of the laws of nations. I replied that I had not only not enlisted one of my late prisoners, after setting him on shore, but that, my crew being full, I had refused to enlist a good many of my late prisoners, who had applied to me before being set on shore, which was the literal fact. I mention these occurrences to show what a troublesome little insect I found the gad-fly in Brazil.
We had a few days of very pleasant intercourse with the Georgia. Maury had been my shipmate in the old service, and two of my old Sumter lieutenants, Chapman and Evans, were serving on board of her. In company with her officers, we made a railroad excursion into the interior, upon the invitation of the English company which owned the road. A splendid collation was prepared in one of the cars, decorated and furnished for the occasion, and a variety of choice wines broke down the barrier between strangers, and drew men of the same blood closer together.
At length, when I was entirely ready for sea, I delighted the President one evening, by sending him word that I should go to sea the next morning. The Georgia was nearly through coaling, and would follow me in a day or two. The poor President of the province of Bahia! The Yankees treated him, afterward, as they do everybody else with whom they have to do. They first endeavored to use him, and then kicked him. The Florida coming into Bahia, a few months afterward, as related in a former page, a Federal ship of war violated the neutrality of the port, by seizing her, and carrying her off; and the Yankee nation, rather than make the amends which all the world decided it was bound to make, by delivering back the captured ship to Brazil, ordered her to be sunk by accident in Hampton Roads! The “trick” was eminently Yankee, and I presume could not possibly have been practised in any other civilized nation of the earth.
Whilst the Alabama is heaving up her anchor, I deem it proper to say a word or two, about emigration to Brazil; a subject which has been a good deal canvassed by our people. Brazil is an immense Empire, and has almost all the known climates and soils of the world. Nature has bestowed upon her her choicest gifts, and there is perhaps no more delightful country to reside in than Brazil. But men live for society, as well as for climate and soil. The effete Portuguese race has been ingrafted upon a stupid, stolid, Indian stock, in that country. The freed negro is, besides, the equal of the white man, and as there seems to be no repugnance, on the part of the white race—so called—to mix with the black race, and with the Indian, amalgamation will go on in that country, until a mongrel set of curs will cover the whole land. This might be a suitable field enough for the New England school-ma’am, and carpet-bagger, but no Southern gentleman should think of mixing his blood or casting his lot with such a race of people.