The cadet's mess presented an animated scene during the lads' preparations, while drill patrol-suits, most of them showing signs of iron-mould, were extricated from piles of miscellaneous effects in their respective sea-chests. Carefully hoarded cakes of perfumed soap were shared out to mark the importance of the occasion. The down on a dozen different chins was removed for the first time since the Golden Vanity left the Thames. Shoes were meticulously pipe-clayed. In short, everything possible was done to make the cadets a sartorial credit to the ship. With them it was a point of honour to be rigged out more smartly than their rivals in the Blue Bird.
Geoff and Bernard had long been conscious of the deficiencies of their respective wardrobes, but with the usual open-handedness of their messmates, they had been provided with the loan of white uniforms including caps with the Company's badge.
"You'll have to risk wearing that badge," remarked Fairclough. "Really, it's part of my job to see that you don't sport it. I'd better look the other way! If the Old Man doesn't spot it, it'll be all right. Ready, you fellows? There's One Bell."
A hurried rush on deck followed, the leave-party lining up on the port side of the quarter-deck for inspection. Usually this business was part of the Watch-keeping Officer's duty; but somewhat to the chums' dismay the Old Man was standing at the foot of the poop ladder.
He made the inspection in silence. Geoff felt conscious of the skipper's keen eyes taking in the fact that Bernard and he were wearing uniform caps with the badge of Messrs. Whatmough, Duvant & Co.'s vessels. But greatly to the relief of those concerned the Old Man dismissed the party with the stereotyped injunction to behave themselves like young gentlemen—which might mean anything!
The Golden Vanity's motor-launch had been hoisted out and lay alongside the gangway. Unlike the boat fitted with the outboard engine, this craft had the reputation of five years good work behind it. Her motor had never been known to "konk out" at awkward or critical moments. Into her crowded the joyous cadets, while Third Officer Peter Kelso took command.
They landed at a convenient flight of steps at a considerable distance from the ship's berth off Botafogo, but considerably nearer to the centre of the city.
"Be here sharp at midnight," cautioned Kelso. "Well, jolly good luck to you!"
The launch backed away from the steps, turned and shaped a course back to the Golden Vanity. Kelso was going to be kept busy that evening. For one thing the launch had to take the Old Man and the Chief Officer ashore to dine with the Company's agent.
To Geoff and his chum was given the unique sensation that falls to the lot of those who set foot in a foreign town for the first time. The marked difference in climate, the characteristic odours of Brazil's capital, the buzz of voices speaking a language other than their own, the prevalence of dark or black features—all combined to convey a first and not unpleasant impression of far-famed Rio. They ambled on, rolling unsteadily after days at sea, and feeling most conscious of the hardness of the pavements to their lightly shod feet.
"I vote we keep together and have a mung round the shops," suggested Setchell.
"But don't forget we're due at the Babylonia at nine," exclaimed Davis. "As one who will not be called upon to pay for the repast and entertainment, I have no hesitation in bringing this fact to your notice."
They wandered about the main streets and plazas after the manner of British seamen ashore. That is to say, they behaved orderly, but did not hesitate to criticize adversely the sights, manners, and customs of a foreign city. Then, just before the hour of nine, Davis led his companions to the magnificently lighted portals of the Babylonia.
The Babylonia was a sort of glorified café consisting of a large open-air space dotted here and there with palms and orange trees. On all four sides were porticoed galleries outlined in coloured electric lamps. Overhead stretched wires carrying more lamps until the whole space was a blaze of riotous colour. Except for narrow gangways, the ground was almost hidden by marble-topped tables set around a raised platform. Already the patrons of the Babylonia had assembled in their hundreds, while to supply their needs in food and drink, scores of waiters, for the most part coloured men, scurried hither and thither.
A gorgeously uniformed official conducted the cadets to a couple of unoccupied tables almost adjoining the platform.
"What are you fellows going to have to drink?" inquired Davis hospitably, knowing that he would not have to foot the bill, since Geoff, Bernard, little Merrifield and he were to be entertained at the cost of the rest. "I'm going to have wine to start with. 'Course there's coffee. Grub? We'll leave that to the waiter-johnnies."
Two or three of the elder cadets ordered wine. They were supplied with about a pint of light red liquid in tall, narrow-necked glasses.
"You'll be three sheets in the wind, Davis," cautioned Fairclough.
"Pooh! Not me," replied the Welshman inelegantly. "The stuff's as weak as water. Don't you see the idea! You've got to make your drink last out or else order more. If you don't they expect you to clear out."
The cadets had hardly settled in their places, when a band appeared behind the central daïs. After a few preliminary flourishes, the instruments struck up a lively air.
"Stand up, you fellows!" exclaimed Fairclough, noticing that everyone else was rising. "This apparently is their National Anthem."
At the end of a few bars the audience resumed their seats with a great shuffling of chairs. The band continued to play; the deep murmur of conversation broke out afresh; the coloured electric lamps shed their rays upon a dense cloud of aromatic cigar smoke. Geoff found himself beating time to the lively lilt.
Food was brought. No one amongst the cadets seemed to know of what it consisted. Not that they cared. It smelt and tasted excellent. After days of ship-fare, it was a feast for the gods.
Presently a fat, high-shouldered, greasy-faced man in tawdry garments came on the platform and gave a presumably humorous representation of Tannhäuser.
"I suppose the silly ass is trying to be funny," remarked Bernard. "It seems as if he's trying to raise a laugh at our expense."
As a matter of fact he was. His far from polite references to the Golden Vanity's cadets raised yells of laughter from many of the patrons of the Babylonia; but, since the lads were in total ignorance of the language, they were completely in the dark regarding the precise significance of the burlesqued Tannhäuser's sallies.
"Let him get on with it," declared Fairclough nonchalantly. "Perhaps he's trying to give us a pat on the back!"
They left it at that, joining in the applause that greeted the end of the turn. Even the performer seemed surprised at that; so much so that when, according to the custom of the place, he went round cap in hand to receive monetary contributions, he approached with reluctance the tables at which the British lads sat. Each cadet gravely handed him a small coin, whereat his astonishment at the unexpected conduct of these "mad Inglees" reduced him to a state of exaggerated servility.
Presently a tall, lantern-jawed man, with a decided New England twang, came across to speak to Fairclough.
"Wal, I guess if it was me I'd slug that dago right now," he declared.
"What for?" asked the Senior Cadet.
The Yankee told him.
"That's nothing," declared Fairclough. "We're too jolly thick-skinned to mind that."
The American shrugged his shoulders.
"I guess you are," he rejoined. "You Britishers seem to like taking it lying down."
With that he strolled back to his own table, and folding his arms, glared at the retreating form of the performer.