Chapter Sixteen.
Land ho!—Cape Frio—The Sugar-loaf Mountain—The Castle of Santa Cruz—The harbour of Rio de Janeiro—A taste of fruit—We receive some passengers—A gale springs up—Man overboard—Poor Tom Trivett—Captain Longfleet’s inhumanity—Mark and I are treated worse—I overhear a conversation—A proposed mutiny—The plot—Differences will arise—Who’s to be captain?—I determine to reveal the plot—I consult with Mark—Our determination—Southern latitudes—The Southern Cross—The Falkland Islands—Mark escapes, but I am retaken—Highland blood—Mark’s probable fate—A battle with an albatross.
“Land ho!” was shouted from the masthead. In a short time we came off Cape Frio, a high, barren, almost insular, promontory, which runs into the Atlantic to the eastward of Rio de Janeiro. We stood on, the land appearing to be of a great height behind the beach, till we came in sight of the Sugar-loaf Mountain; the light land wind preventing us from entering the harbour, we had to stand off and on during the night.
“Well, I’ve made up my mind to get a precious good tuck out,” I heard old Growles say to the boatswain; “I suppose the skipper will order a good store of provisions aboard after the talk we had with him the other day.”
“Not so sure of that, old ship,” said the boatswain; “but if he doesn’t, he’d better look out for squalls, as he said to us.”
The other men were rejoicing in the expectation of a hearty meal and wholesome food, and so indeed were Mark and I; for we were not better off than the rest, except that Mark occasionally got some pickings at the captain’s table, and now and then, when he could manage it, brought me some.
Next morning a sea-breeze setting in, we stood towards the harbour, and as the fog lifted, several small islands near its mouth came into sight, and the Sugar-loaf Mountain loomed up high on the left, while on the right we saw the battlements of the Castle of Santa Cruz, which stands at the foot of the mountain. As we passed under the guns of the fortress, we were hailed by a stentorian voice, which came out from among the stone-built walls, but the speaker was not seen.
“What ship is that? Where do you come from? How many days out?”
The captain answered the questions through his speaking-trumpet as we glided by. We at length came to an anchor about a mile from the city of Rio de Janeiro, in one of the most beautiful and picturesque harbours in the world. I can’t stop to describe it, or the fine-looking city, or the curiously-shaped boats filled with black, brown, and white people, though the whites were decidedly in the minority; indeed some of them could be only so called by courtesy. To our disappointment no one was allowed to go on shore. The captain and second mate almost immediately took a country boat and pulled for the landing-place.
“I suppose they intend to send us off some grub,” said old Growles, in a voice loud enough for them to hear; but they took no notice, and pulled on. We waited in anxious expectation for the arrival of the provisions, but no boats appeared. It looked very much as if the captain had forgotten our necessities. At last a small one came alongside with fruit and vegetables, which those who had money eagerly purchased. I had a few shillings remaining in my pocket, but Mark had nothing, and I insisted on buying enough for him and myself. Mark declined taking them from me, saying he could do very well without them; but I pressed him, and we discussed a couple of dozen oranges between us. How delicious they tasted! We both felt like different creatures. Those of the crew who had money were put into much better humour, but the rest were more sulky than ever.