They found us there all right, anchored close under the highest
mountain.
Eight days of sullen gloom and rain at this place; then brimstone,
smoke, and fire turned on to us, and we were counted healthy enough to
be admitted to _pratique_ in Rio, where we arrived May 11th, putting one
more day between ourselves and our friendly competitors, who finally
arrived safe, all except one, the British bark _Dublin_. She was
destroyed by fire between the two ports. The crew was rescued by
Captain Lunt, and brought safe into Rio next day.
At the fort entrance to the harbour of Rio we were again challenged and
brought to, all standing, on the bar; the tide running like a mill race
at the time brought the bark aback on her cables with a force, nearly
cutting her down.
The _Aquidneck_ it would seem had outsailed the telegram which should
have preceded her; it was, nevertheless, my imperative duty to obey the
orders of the port authorities which, however, should have been tempered
with reason. It was easy for them in the fort to say, "Come to, or we'll
sink you," but we in the bark, between two evils, came near being sunk
by obeying the order.
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