Portugal -- History -- Joseph, 1750-1777 -- Fiction
"No, no, Senhor Mendez, the vile infidels should never have become
masters of this ship while I lived," suddenly exclaimed Captain Pinto:
"say, rather, we should all have been food for fish, had not the rover,
by the favour of the saints, sunk when she did: but I beg your pardon
for interrupting you."
"I have little more to add," returned Senhor Mendez, "except to express
my joy at finding, on my recovery, that you were the victors. I must
beg, too, that even what I have now mentioned regarding myself may not
pass your lips; for surmises, with the slightest clue, may lead to
inquiries, and my secret be discovered."
Both his auditors assured him that what he had said should be
inviolable. "Thanks, sirs, thanks," he answered. "I have exerted
myself to give this sketch of my adventures, to remove any suspicions
you might have entertained regarding me, the thought of which I could
not endure, and now weariness overpowers me;" saying which, he sunk
back, and appeared to slumber.
It was not until the sixth day after the engagement, that the lofty
ridges of the rock of Lisbon, tinged with the ruddy beams of the rising
sun, greeted the anxious eyes of the voyagers, rising like a welcome
beacon out of the blue and shining ocean. The morning was pure and
lovely, such as the fair clime of Portugal can often boast; the very air
sparkling with animation. The gentle breeze came in irregular breaths
off the land, laden with the odour of aromatic herbs and flowers, so
grateful to the senses of those who have inhaled nought but saline
particles during a protracted voyage. They had made the land rather to
the north of the rock, which was looked upon as a very good land-fall by
the old pilot; for it must be recollected that we are writing of nearly
a hundred years ago, since which time navigation has made great strides
in improvement; and, as they coasted along, Don Luis eagerly watched
each village and point they passed, while Pedro greeted, no less
delighted, and with much more violent gesticulation, each spot of his
beloved Portugal, as the seamen pointed it out to him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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