"L'homme propose, et Dieu dispose!"
For early on the next morning, after getting out the boats, and making other preparations for a visit to Rio, an order came from our commodore on that station, forbidding us to land, or to hold communication with the shore, on account of the prevalence of the yellow fever, then epidemic there. So here we lay, only a few cables' length from the Ilha da Cobras, with all the tropical plants and fruit almost within reach, and tantalizing us with their perfume,—the domes, palaces and public buildings of a gay capital (unvisited by many), rising picturesquely before us, and yet forbidden. We thought of Tantalus, and his fate, of Prometheus and the rock—of—of Adam and his expulsion, and must own that in our first feelings of disappointment, we made but a partial excuse for our primal progenitor, and great great grandmother, as we repeated those expressive lines of the poet, so early engraved upon our memory—
"In Adam's fall
We sinnéd all."
But trying as was our situation, we were in a measure compensated for our disappointment by the beauty of this unrivalled harbor; and to describe it fully, I must be allowed to revert to the period when the coast of Brazil was first made, with its bold outlines developing new beauties as we approached. Indications of land had been noticed early in the morning of the day of our arrival, and shortly the numerous mountain peaks for which this coast is celebrated, filled the horizon before us like a line of dark clouds. As the distance was diminished, peak after peak stood out in bold relief against the blue sky, and we were soon enabled to make out the False Sugarloaf, Corcovado, Lord Hood's Nose, and The Tops—so called by sailors, from their resemblance to those parts of a ship. The light breeze, under which we carried studding-sails, and all the canvas that would draw, gradually wafted us towards the mouth of the river, yet so gently did we glide along that not one feature of the scene was lost; but it was not until we had passed the islands that screen its front, that its full magnificence was developed, and then, as by the drawing aside of a curtain, the harbor of Rio de Janeiro was displayed,—a magnificent basin surrounded by innumerable hills, which were dotted with beautiful villas.
Under a spanking breeze, which suddenly sprung up, we dashed on nearly to the base of Sugarloaf Mountain, and then stood over boldly to the fort Santa Cruz, from which we were hailed, and as the short twilight had given way to deeper shadows, were signalized by blue lights, continued by an opposite fortification, until they were noticed at the station on Signal Hill behind the city. Onward we sped, through a fleet of vessels, our craft threading her way, "like a thing of life," obeying the master's steady commands, creating no little sensation, as she darted amongst them, inclining to the right or left, or pressing boldly, straight ahead, to the repeated orders of "starboard," "port," or "steady there, so," and causing the different craft to run up their signal lights quite hastily. "Stand by," "let go the anchor," and there she lay as if taking rest after a long journey.
On viewing the scene from the deck by the early light of the next morning's dawn, I could compare it with nothing but the painting displayed in a theatre, and the quiet that reigned in that still hour, added greatly to the effect. The background of mountains piercing the clouds; the foreground being formed by the town itself with its houses of various hues, and picturesque styles of architecture, ascending the mountain's side, and villas, and country seats aiding the perspective, whilst the island of Cobras served as a side scene.
Around us stretched for leagues this splendid harbor, upon whose broad bosom lay vessels of every nation (and which appeared capable of bearing the fleets of the world), fringed by hills whose verdure seemed undying, over which were spread the beautiful trees of a tropical clime.
An opportunity at last occurred of setting foot upon terra firma once more, which was as gladly embraced—permission having been granted to visit the shore opposite to Rio, where is the village of San Domingo and the Praya Grande; with several officers we were pulled in the second cutter to intercept one of those graceful lateen rigged boats, called "felloas," which are seen in such numbers flitting in every direction over these beautiful waters. As soon as we were landed at the village, there ensued an amusing scene in paying for our passage. The sum of two "dumps" (about four cents in the currency of the United States), each, being demanded, we placed our quotas as nearly as we could make them, in the hands of one of the party, who acted as spokesman, who tendered the commandante of the felloa one of our silver coins, much greater in value than the aggregate sum of our passage money,—which was indignantly refused by the tawny Brazilian, who was immediately assailed by each member of the party who had any pretensions to language other than his own; from which babel we were but too happy to escape, learning, however, when we were overtaken by the linguists, that they had fairly talked "the old fellow" down, and compelled him to take more money than (even allowing for difference of currency) he had demanded.
To a person who has never visited tropical countries, a landing upon this part of the Empire of Brazil, must be productive of much pleasure. At times, it is true, the heat is oppressive, but then the delightful sea-breeze setting in at regular hours, amply compensates for the inconvenience of the "terrales," the term applied to the wind which blows off the land.
We wished much to have enjoyed the society of the opposite city, but the fell destroyer held his revels there, and we could only manage a stolen visit to it by night in one of the swift felloas from Praya Grande, having to make a hasty flight on board ship early the next morning—gaining but little information by our trip, excepting the assurance that those who had promised so fairly for Mons. Pharoux were indeed true prophets.