Chapter 65

A M A N-O F-W A R RACE.

We lay in Rio so long--for what reason the Commodore only knows--that
a saying went abroad among the impatient sailors that our frigate would
at last ground on the beef-bones daily thrown overboard by the cooks.

But at last good tidings came. "All hands up anchor, ahoy!" And bright
and early in the morning up came our old iron, as the sun rose in the
East.

The land-breezes at Rio--by which alone vessels may emerge from the
bay--is ever languid and faint. It comes from gardens of citrons and
cloves, spiced with all the spices of the Tropic of Capricorn. And,
like that old exquisite, Mohammed, who so much loved to snuff perfumes
and essences, and used to lounge out of the conservatories of Khadija,
his wife, to give battle to the robust sons of Koriesh; even so this
Rio land-breeze comes jaded with sweet-smelling savours, to wrestle
with the wild Tartar breezes of the sea.

Slowly we dropped and dropped down the bay, glided like a stately swan
through the outlet, and were gradually rolled by the smooth, sliding
billows broad out upon the deep. Straight in our wake came the tall
main-mast of the English fighting-frigate, terminating, like a steepled
cathedral, in the bannered cross of the religion of peace; and straight
after _her_ came the rainbow banner of France, sporting God's token
that no more would he make war on the earth.

Both Englishmen and Frenchmen were resolved upon a race; and we
Yankees swore by our top-sails and royals to sink their blazing
banners that night among the Southern constellations we should
daily be extinguishing behind us in our run to the North.

"Ay," said Mad Jack, "St. George's banner shall be as the
_Southern Cross_, out of sight, leagues down the horizon, while
our gallant stars, my brave boys, shall burn all alone in the
North, like the Great Bear at the Pole! Come on, Rainbow and Cross!"

But the wind was long languid and faint, not yet recovered from its
night's dissipation ashore, and noon advanced, with the Sugar-Loaf
pinnacle in sight.

Now it is not with ships as with horses; for though, if a horse
walk well and fast, it generally furnishes good token that he is
not bad at a gallop, yet the ship that in a light breeze is
outstripped, may sweep the stakes, so soon as a t'gallant breeze
enables her to strike into a canter. Thus fared it with us.
First, the Englishman glided ahead, and bluffly passed on; then
the Frenchman politely bade us adieu, while the old Neversink
lingered behind, railing at the effeminate breeze. At one time,
all three frigates were irregularly abreast, forming a diagonal
line; and so near were all three, that the stately officers on
the poops