ghter, or because he did not sink the _Spray_, I
could never make out. But I forgive him.

It was the season for fruit when I arrived at the Azores, and there
was soon more of all kinds of it put on board than I knew what to do
with. Islanders are always the kindest people in the world, and I met
none anywhere kinder than the good hearts of this place. The people of
the Azores are not a very rich community. The burden of taxes is
heavy, with scant privileges in return, the air they breathe being
about the only thing that is not taxed. The mother-country does not
even allow them a port of entry for a foreign mail service. A packet
passing never so close with mails for Horta must deliver them first in
Lisbon, ostensibly to be fumigated, but really for the tariff from the
packet. My own letters posted at Horta reached the United States six
days behind my letter from Gibraltar, mailed thirteen days later.

The day after my arrival at Horta was the feast of a great saint.
Boats loaded with people came from other islands to celebrate at
Horta, the capital, or Jerusalem, of the Azores. The deck of the
_Spray_ was crowded from morning till night with men, women, and
children. On the day after the feast a kind-hearted native harnessed a
team and drove me a day over the beautiful roads all about Fayal,
"because," said he, in broken English, "when I was in America and
couldn't speak a word of English, I found it hard till I met some one
who seemed to have time to listen to my story, and I promised my good
saint then that if ever a stranger came to my country I would try to
make him happy." Unfortunately, this gentleman brought along an
interpreter, that I might "learn more of the country." The fellow was
nearly the death of me, talking of ships and voyages, and of the boats
he had steered, the last thing in the world I wished to hear. He had
sailed out of New Bedford, so he said, for "that Joe Wing they call
'John.'" My friend and host found hardly a chance to edge in a word.
Before we parted my host dined me with a cheer that would have
gladdened the heart of a prince, but he was quite alone in his house.
"My wife and children all rest there," said he, pointing to the
churchyard across the way. "I moved to this house from far off," he
added, "to be near the spot, where I pray every morning."

I remained four days at Fayal, and that was two days more than I had
intended to stay. It was the kindness of the islanders and their
to