WHEN GONZALO Villo, Camões’s maternal grandfather, discovered a part of the Azorean archipelago, he would have reserved, if he had foreseen the future, a concession of six feet of earth to cover his grandson’s bones.
We anchored in a bad roadstead, over a rocky bottom, forty-five fathoms deep. The island of Graciosa, in sight of which we moored, displayed slightly rounded hills whose shape recalled the ellipses of an Etruscan amphora: they were draped in green grains and exhaled a pleasant, wheaty odor, peculiar to the Azorean harvest. Up and down these carpets one could see the border walls, made of volcanic stones, parti-colored black and white, and stacked one atop the other. An abbey, a monument of an old world on a new soil, stood on the summit of a low hill, and at the foot of this hill, in a pebbly cove, the red roofs of the town of Santa Cruz shimmered in the sun. The entire island, with its carved bays, promontories, inlets, and capes, was repeated in the inverted landscape of the waters. Sheer rock walls rising up from the waves formed an outer belt. In the background, the cone of the Pico volcano, planted on a cupola of clouds, pierced the aerial panorama beyond Graciosa.
It was decided that I would go ashore with Tulloch and the second mate. The longboat was lowered and rowed toward land, which was about two miles distant. We noticed some movement on the coast: a pram was coming toward us. As soon as it was within shouting distance, we could see a great number of monks aboard. They hailed us in Portuguese, Italian, English, and French, and we replied in all four languages. Alarm reigned. Our ship was the first vessel of large tonnage that had dared to anchor in the dangerous roadstead where we were now drifting with the tide. What’s more, the islands were seeing the tricolor flag for the first time; they didn’t know whether we came from Algiers or Tunisia: Neptune did not yet recognize this flag carried so gloriously by Cybele. When they saw that we had human faces and understood what they said, however, their joy was extreme. The monks gathered us into their boat, and we rowed cheerfully toward Santa Cruz. There we disembarked with some difficulty, due to the rather violent surf.
All the island rushed down to meet us. Four or five alguazils, armed with rusty pikes, took us with them. His Majesty’s uniform made them treat me with deference, and I was mistaken for the leading member of this deputation. We were escorted to the Governor’s House, or Hovel, where His Excellency, dressed in a wretched green coat that had once been braided with gold, granted us a solemn audience: he permitted us to restore our provisions.
Our monks then brought us to their monastery, a commodious and well-lighted building adorned with balconies. Tulloch had meanwhile found a countryman: the chief monk, who had directed all our movements, was a sailor from Jersey whose vessel had foundered off the coast of Graciosa. He was the only survivor of this shipwreck, and no fool; he was amenable to the lessons of the catechists. He learned Portuguese and a few words of Latin. His Englishness served in his favor, and they soon converted and made a monk of him. The Jerseyan sailor found it much more agreeable to be fed, clothed, and lodged at the altar than to go taking in the mizzen topsail; but still he remembered his old trade: having gone so long without speaking his own language, he was delighted to meet someone who understood it, and he laughed and swore with Tulloch like a true seaman. He accompanied us everywhere on the island.
The houses of the village were built of wood and stone, and prettified by exterior galleries that gave a clean air to these shanties, for they let in plenty of light. Almost all the peasants were vinedressers and went around half-naked, bronzed by the sun; the women were small, yellow like mulattoes, but lively and naively coquettish with their mock orange bouquets and the rosaries that they wore as crowns and necklaces.
The hillsides glowed with vine stocks whose wine tasted almost like the wine of Fayal. Water was scarce, but wherever a spring welled up there was a fig tree and a small chapel with its portico painted in fresco. The arches of the portico framed several views of the island and several stretches of sea. It was on one of those fig trees that I saw a flock of blue teals—those seabirds whose feet are not webbed. The tree was leafless, but it bore red fruits set in its branches like crystals. When it was ornamented by the cerulean birds who came there to rest their wings, the fruits seemed to turn a dazzling crimson, and it was as though the tree had suddenly burst forth with azure leaves.
It is probable that the Azores were known to the Carthaginians, and it is certain that some Phoenician coins have been unearthed on the island of Corvo. The modern navigators who first landed on the island, it is said, found an equestrian statue on which the rider’s right arm was extended and pointed to the west—assuming that this statue isn’t one of those invented images that sometimes decorate ancient portulans.
I imagined, in the manuscript of The Natchez, that Chactas, returning from Europe, touched land on the island of Corvo, and that he encountered this mysterious statue. He expresses the feelings that occupied me on Graciosa and that put me in mind of the legend: “I approached this extraordinary monument. On its base, bathed by the foam and the spray of the waves, strange characters had been engraved: the moisture and the saltpeter of the seas had corroded the surface of the ancient bronze. The Halcyon, perched atop the helmet of the colossus, cried out at intervals in a languorous voice; mollusks clung to the flanks and the bronze mane of the steed, and, when I pressed my ear to its flared nostrils, I seemed to hear a clamorous rumbling within.”
The monks served us a good supper after our day of wandering. We spent the night in the monastery, drinking with our hosts. Then, the next day around noon, with our provisions loaded, we returned to our ship. The monks were entrusted with our letters to Europe. The ship we found endangered by a strong southeasterly wind. The anchor was heaved, but it was ensnared down among the rocks and lost, as expected. At last, we got under weigh. The wind continued to freshen, and soon the Azores were behind us.