Down at the harbor entrance were launches, rowboats, sailing craft, ferryboats, yachts and several ocean-going liners, all loaded down with people. Dozens of them went outside with the fleet and rolled and tossed about while their occupants waved and shouted good-bys. Some of the little craft ran close to the ships in the hope of saying a frantic last good-by to the American friends they had made at private dinner parties and receptions. A mist soon settled upon the water and finally blotted the harbor entrance from view. The Brazilian ships following were made out from time to time. The good-by was over and every one was glad. It was entirely different from the Hampton Roads departure. There was a President present at each place, but there were twice as many ships roaring out salutes at Rio. There were twenty times as many people on shore. Nature smiled at Hampton Roads; nature not only sulked but made a pitiable exhibition of her uncontrolled anger and grief at Rio. The fresh breezes crinkled out the flags and made them beautiful at Hampton Roads; the driving gusts tore ensigns to ribbons at Rio and made a prolonged job of mending bunting on all the ships. When darkness was beginning to fall and speed cones had been lowered and masthead and other lights had been turned on a steamship was noticed coming out of the mist behind the fleet. She was alive with bunting and ran straight toward the middle of the fleet. Close at hand she began a great tooting of the whistle. She was one of the ocean-going vessels that had been chartered for the good-by, and she had run nearly twenty-five miles in the thick weather for a final glimpse and farewell shriek. Rio certainly hated to let the fleet go. Hospitality such as the Brazilians showed was never experienced by an American fleet, or probably any other nation's, before. It is likely to pass down as one of the brightest spots in our naval annals. The farewell had a double side. The emotions of the Americans were divided for the reason that the mail had just arrived that morning--the first mail from home in six weeks. Letters from loved ones took the thoughts away from Rio for an hour or two, and then came the parting with the memory of those back in the States freshened by the missives that had come--well, naval officers don't show it when they are blue, but that night you couldn't find three men in the Louisiana's wardroom--the same was probably true of the other ships--and if you made a trip around the ship, far out in some sheltered place where the rain gusts did not fall and the wind did not blow, you would find some fellow sitting looking blankly out in the darkness. When you gave him a greeting you got a low growl for an answer and you passed on.