Several ships, chafing under the
restraint of quarantine, were "firing signals" at the guard-ship. One
Scandinavian, I remember, asked if he might be permitted to communicate
by _cable_ with his owners in Christiana. The guard gave him, as the
Irishman said, "an evasive answer," so the cablegram, I suppose, laid
over. Another wanted police assistance; a third wished to know if he
could get fresh provisions--ten milreis' ($5) worth (he was a
German)--naming a dozen or more articles that he wished for, "and _the
balance in onions_!" Altogether, the young fellows on the guard-ship
were having, one might say, a signal practice.
On the next day, January 8th, the officers of the port came alongside in
a steam-launch, and ordered us to leave, saying the port had been closed
that morning. "But we have made the voyage," I said. "No matter," said
the guard, "leave at once you must, or the guard-ship will fire into
you." This, I submit, was harsh and arbitrary treatment. A thunderbolt
from a clear sky could not have surprised us more or worked us much
greater harm--to be ruined in business or struck by lightning, being
equally bad!
Then pointing something like a gun, Dom Pedro said, said he, "_Vaya
Homem_" (hence, begone), "Or you'll give us cholera.
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