John Joseph and Theodosius, as being innocent West Indian blacks, had been the victims of this particular skipper, and nine months’ pay was due to them when they deserted. John Joseph shipped with us as cook, Wright being now rated as A.B., while Theodosius served before the mast. They both proved to be excellent fellows.
We found fresh provisions very scarce and dear at Porto Grande. As a rule, tropical fruits and vegetables are plentiful and cheap here, for though St. Vincent is barren, the inner valleys of the neighbouring island of St. Antonio are extremely fertile, and provisions of all sorts, and even fresh water, are brought over from it in the native boats. But smallpox happened now to be very prevalent among the negro population of St. Antonio, so that the island was strictly quarantined, and St. Vincent was cut off from its usual source of supplies.
Our racing spinnaker and its boom had proved to be rather large and unmanageable for the purposes of an ocean voyage; but our balloon foresail was of about the right size for a cruising spinnaker. I accordingly had a small boom made for it here, and it was invariably used for the future in place of the unwieldy racing sail.
From St. Vincent we sailed across the Atlantic to Bahia in Brazil. I had followed exactly the same route with the Falcon, and found the voyage a tedious one; for, on leaving the region of the northeast trades, a vessel encounters the squally and rainy southwest African monsoons, blowing right in her teeth; and, when these are passed, there lies before one the broad belt of the equatorial doldrums, a region of steaming, debilitating calms, that divides the northeast from the southeast trades.
Under the impression that the log of a small vessel that had made this uncomfortable passage might be of interest to yachting men, I described this portion of the Falcon’s voyage in my book with more minuteness than usual, with the result that one reviewer characterised the perusal of that particular chapter as being “like eating sawdust.” I will profit by this warning, and spare my readers too much log of calms and squalls, doldrums and monsoons, and treat them to as little sawdust as possible.
With the Falcon we accomplished the voyage from St. Vincent to Bahia in twenty-two days; but with the Alerte we were twenty-six days doing this, for we were not so lucky in our weather, and were delayed by a much longer spell of calms on the line than we had experienced in the Falcon.
We weighed anchor in the afternoon of October 9, and got out of the harbour under all plain sail. For the first four days we did very well; the wind was southeast and the sea moderate, so that at midday of October 13 we were well on our way, being in latitude 2° 25′ north and longitude 28° 52′ west.
But now our troubles commenced. With a squall the wind shifted to the southwest, and we knew that we had reached the dreaded monsoon region. The log was now a record for days of what sailors call dusty weather, and I fear that the reading of it would prove “sawdusty” in the extreme. The southwest monsoon is accompanied by violent thunderstorms, rain, and squalls, and the sea in this portion of the ocean is perpetually confused, so that a vessel turning to windward can make but little progress. Then we came into the abominable region of calms, where we rolled helplessly on the smooth, long swell, while our ropes and sails chafed themselves away with idleness, suffering more wear and tear than they would in a week of gales. Ours was indeed a very unpleasant experience of the doldrums. For some days we made no progress whatever, not even an occasional squall coming down to help us along for a mile or so. In two weeks we only travelled 400 miles, and we did not cross the equator until October 27.
We saw few vessels on this voyage. We spoke two: the French mail steamer Parana, homeward-bound, and the British ship Merioneth, of Liverpool, bound south.
We were not only unlucky with our winds but also with our fishing. While crossing this sea on the Falcon we had caught quantities of dolphins, thrashers, and kingfish; but on this voyage we caught nothing until we had sighted Fernando Noronha, when we did manage to secure a barracouta and a kingfish.
While rolling about helplessly in the dreary doldrums in the atmosphere of a Turkish bath, there was nothing to interest us save the sunrises and sunsets over the monotonous, oily-looking sea. And these for several days in succession were more magnificent than I think I have ever seen before. Sometimes the whole heaven seemed ablaze with flames, and
