It appeared a small matter. Two days later though, his chills turned to
something which I knew less about. The next day, three more men went
down with rigor in the spine, and at the base of the brain. I knew by
this that small-pox was among us!

We bore up at once for Maldonado, which was the nearest port, the place
spoken of in "Gulliver's Travels," though Gulliver, I think, is mistaken
as to its identity and location, arriving there before a gathering storm
that blew wet and cold from the east. Our signals of distress, asking
for immediate medical aid were set and flew thirty-six hours before any
one came to us; then a scared Yahoo (the country was still inhabited by
Yahoos) in a boat rowed by two other animals, came aboard, and said,
"Yes, your men have got small-pox." "_Vechega_" he called it, but I
understand the lingo of the Yahoo very well, I could even speak a few
words of it and comprehend the meanings. "_Vechega_!" he bellowed to
his mates alongside, and, turning to me, he said, in Yahoo: "You must
leave the port at once," then jumping into his boat he hurried away,
along with his scared companions.[2]

To leave a port in our condition was hard lines, but my perishing crew
could get no succour at Maldonado, so we could do nothing but leave, if
at all able to do so. We were indeed short-handed, but desperation
lending a hand, the anchor was weighed and sufficient sail set on the
bark to clear the inhospitable port. The wind blowing fair out of the
harbour carried us away from the port toward Flores Island, for which we
now headed in sore distress. A gale, long to be remembered, sprang
suddenly up, stripping off our sails like autumn leaves, before the bark
was three leagues from the place. We hadn't strength to clew up, so her
sails were blown away, and she went flying before the mad tempest under