In
twenty-four hours from the time Paranagua bar was crossed we were up
with Santos Heads, a run of 150 miles.
A squall of wind burst on us through a gulch, as we swept round the
Heads, tearing our sails into shreds, and sending us into Santos under
bare poles.
Chancing then upon an old friend, the mail steamship _Finance_, Capt.
Baker, about to sail for Rio, the end of a friendly line was extended to
us, and we were towed by the stout steamer toward Rio, the next day, as
fast as we could wish to go. My wife and youngest sailor took passage on
the steamer, while Victor remained in the canoe with me, and stood by
with axe in hand, to cut the tow-line, if the case should require
it--and I steered.
"Look out," said Baker, as the steamer began to move ahead, "look out
that I don't snake that canoe out from under you."
"Go on with your mails, Baker," was all I could say, "don't blow up your
ship with my wife and son on board, and I will look out for the packet
on the other end of the rope."
Baker opened her up to thirteen knots, but the _Liberdade_ held on!
The line that we towed with was 1-1/3 inches in diameter, by ninety
fathoms long.
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