Passing out by Flores, soon
after, we observed the coast-guard searching, I learned, for a supposed
sunken bark, which had appeared between squalls in the late gale with
signals of distress set. I was satisfied from the account that it was
our bark which they had seen in the gale, and the supposed flags were
our tattered sails, what there was left of them, streaming in the storm.
But we did not discourage the search, as it could do no harm, and I
thought that they might perhaps find something else worth knowing about.
This was the day, as I have said, on which my faithful cook died, while
the bark was in sight from the window of his sick ward. It was a bright,
fine day to us. We cannot say that it was otherwise than bright to him.
Breathing once more the fresh air of the sea, we set all sail for
Paranagua, passing the lights on the coast to leave them flickering on
the horizon, then soon out of sight. Fine weather prevailed, but with
much head wind; still we progressed, and rarely a day passed but
something of the distance toward our port was gained. One day, however,
coming to an island, one that was inhabited only by birds, we came to a
stand, as if it were impossible to go farther on the voyage; a spell
seemed to hang over us.
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