The next day, January 5, we rose early and saw before us again the beautiful white city which we had left nearly two months before. We got up the anchor as soon as the morning breeze had sprung up, and sailed slowly to our anchorage under Fort la Mar, where we let go in three fathoms of water.
We noticed that a strange flag was flying on all the forts and government buildings, as well as on the guard-ship and a little gunboat that was lying near us. It bore no resemblance to the flag of Brazil, or to that of any other nationality, and puzzled us somewhat.
Though it was Sunday, our old friend, the harbour doctor, came off to us in his launch. I was uncertain as to how he would receive us; for the regulations of Brazilian ports are strict, and our entry here was most informal. We had sailed out of Bahia, as the doctor himself must have known, two months before, presumedly for Sydney, Australia; and now, here we were again at Bahia, with no bill of health, and only half of our crew on board.
He came alongside, and we greeted each other. “What port do you come from?” he then asked.
“We have been in no port since we left here,” I replied.
“How—in no port!” he exclaimed, raising his eyebrows in slight astonishment. He was too thorough a Brazilian to express much surprise at anything, or to rouse himself from the almost Oriental apathy of manner that distinguishes this somewhat indolent race.
Then I explained to him that we had been passing our Christmas holidays on the desert island of Trinidad, that I had left most of my companions there while I had sailed to Bahia for more stores, and that, having been in no inhabited port, I had, consequently, been unable to provide myself with a bill of health.
“And what were you doing on Trinidad all this time?”
“Among other things, we were making collections of the fauna and flora. There are some rare birds.”
“Have you any specimens of the birds on board?”
Luckily I had a few, and exhibited them. He was somewhat of a naturalist himself, and recognised one species which he had seen on Fernando Noronha.
He seemed satisfied, and gave us pratique without any demur.
Mr. Wilson had, of course, seen us, and had sent his boat to fetch me on shore. Leaving the others on board, I got into the boat, and, as the black boatman pulled me under the fort, it occurred to me to ask him, in the best Portuguese I could muster, what was the signification of the new flag that floated above the battlements. In my anxiety concerning pratique I had forgotten to make any inquiries on the subject from the doctor. The black looked up at the flag, smiled faintly, and replied with an indifferent air—“Ah! la Republica.”
And so indeed it was—the Republic! When I reached the store, Mr. Wilson told me all about the revolution, which had occurred quite suddenly and quietly on the day after we had last sailed from Bahia. I learned that the much esteemed Emperor had been deposed, and that a Republican form of government had been proclaimed. And a very shabby sort of a revolution it had been, too, for there had been no slaughter, to give an air of dignity and respectability to it. The people themselves appeared to be heartily ashamed of such a feeble thing, and spoke little of it. The most insignificant Republic of Central America could have got up a far more exciting and sanguinary affair at a few hours’ notice. The harbour doctor had not even thought it worth while to mention the change of government when he gave me pratique.
No national flag had yet been selected for this latest addition to the list of American Republics, and the flag we saw was that of the State of Bahia. There had been no disturbance in the city when the news of the pronunciamento was telegraphed from Rio. The negroes did not raise a hand to support the Emperor, to whom they owed their freedom. The only incident of note that occurred at Bahia was the salute that was fired at Fort la Mar in honour of the new Government. This salute did cause some little excitement; for, by some mistake, round shot were fired instead of blank cartridges, and one shot went through a longboat swinging on the davits of a Norwegian barque, and did other damage.
The United States gunboat Richmond was at anchor in the bay, awaiting instructions from Washington, it was said, before officially recognising the new sister Republic.
The next day was the feast of the Epiphany, a great holiday, and no Brazilian could be got to work under any circumstances whatever. Crackers, rockets, and bells were the order of the day. Even for the two days succeeding the festival these pious people were disinclined to work, and I heard the skippers of vessels raving in Wilson’s store because they could not get the water-boats alongside, or ship their ballast, as the lightermen were still busy letting off crackers in the streets. However, we managed to get all our stores off—oatmeal, plenty of fresh vegetables, fruit, molasses, and a small barrel of cana or white rum.
On Thursday, January 9, I renewed my acquaintance with some old friends. The telegraph steamer Norseman came into the port. She
