29 Men & a Boat

Nothing quite like it had ever happened in the annals of the sea. The 20,906-ton Portuguese liner Santa Maria steamed in circles off the Brazilian seaport of Recife. Following in its wake were three U.S. destroyers and a nuclear submarine. A flotilla of fishing boats and launches jammed with reporters and photographers rose and fell on the choppy waves. From a plane overhead, a dashing French newsman parachuted to land on the Santa Maria's deck. He missed and was hauled from the briny deep by the crew of the U.S.S. Damato.

Men Overboard. Revolutionist Henrique Galvao, 65, who had seized the Santa Maria twelve days before and some 2,800 miles away in the name of the Portuguese Liberation junta, refused to dock at Recife until he was assured of supplies, fuel, and permission to sail off again. U.S. Rear Admiral Allen E. Smith Jr. boarded the Santa Maria to discuss the fate of the 42 U.S. passengers, was met by Galvao wearing a black beret, a khaki uniform with shoulder boards, and an armband in the green and red of Portugal's flag. Swashbuckling Galvao offered to transfer the passengers to the U.S. destroyers. High seas made the operation too dangerous, and Smith declined. The Santa Maria circled on, in and outside the three-mile limit. Brazilian authorities suggested that the U.S. do something, because the Santa Maria was in international waters. Admiral Smith replied that the Brazilians should do something, because the Santa Maria was in Brazil's territorial waters.

When Brazilian representatives finally came out from Recife, Galvao's mind was made up for him. The long-patient 607 passengers on the Santa Maria shouted that they had had enough of pointless wandering, short rations, and the sweltering discomfort caused by the breakdown of the ship's air conditioning. The docile 360-man crew -- only five of whom had deserted to the rebels--grew mutinous at the thought of putting to sea again under Galvao. During the scuffling argument, someone was pushed through a glass door in the lounge. Three crew members jumped overboard and were fished from the sea by one of the hovering launches. Galvao was also gloomily aware of rumors that a Portuguese frigate and a Spanish destroyer were churning toward him over the horizon.

Surrendering to the inevitable, he brought the Santa Maria into Recife harbor, dropped anchor 500 yds. from the pier. Tugboats ferried ashore the passengers and crew. Only then was it realized that Galvao had captured and controlled the big liner for twelve days with a tiny rebel force of 28 men--during some night watches as few as a dozen rebels must have been on duty. Brazilian marines took over the ship to guard against sabotage or an attempt to scuttle. The rebels stacked their arms in the lounge and, as he surrendered with full military honors, Galvao said gamely: "This should be interpreted as a friendly gesture."

Running Faucets. Safe on shore, the Santa Maria's Portuguese captain admitted that no attempt had been made to recapture the ship, although he and his officers did go around turning on faucets in the hope of thwarting Galvao through a shortage of fresh water. He asserted that only 16 of the rebels were Portuguese, that the rest were Communist "ruffians and scoundrels" of assorted nationalities. Galvao cried that not one of his men was a "Communist, or even a sympathizer." His navigator, a 52-year-old Spaniard named Jorge Souto Mayor, told reporters he had served in the Republican navy during the Spanish Civil War, and commanded the destroyer that sank the Franco cruiser Baleares.

The first-class passengers had few complaints about their treatment. The rebel captors of the Santa Maria were mostly young, attractive and very correct. They paid for their own drinks at the ship's bars, danced with thrilled lady tourists, and apparently added a romantic note that made up for the discomforts of water rationing, badly prepared meals, and a growing sloppiness in the ship's housekeeping. The bitterest reports came from the 447 passengers traveling tourist, who not only stifled in their below-deck cabins but were also finally reduced to eating potatoes and beans. Once ashore, and with transportation to the U.S. or Europe promised by the Portuguese shipowners, the great majority of the travelers seemed to enjoy their adventure in retrospect.

What had Galvao hoped to accomplish by his seizure of the Santa Maria? In his own orotund phrasing, he declared: "We desired to prove, and we did prove, that Dictator Salazar is not invulnerable. We beat him and we ridiculed him--him and his navy--before the entire free and Christian world. Tomorrow, when and wherever we face him, we will beat him once more." What Galvao proposed for Portugal was "land for those who work it and a house for those who live in it. We will liquidate large landed estates as we will liquidate stagnant speculation. We will destroy implacably the privileges of the Portuguese plutocracy, which from birth divides men into rich and poor."

Fresh Paint. This ringing tocsin for revolt was not answered in somnolent Portugal. Under Salazar, the rich are satisfied and the poor are at least quiet. The law requires that every house in Portugal be painted every two years, but the government seems unconcerned whether the same houses contain running water or electric lights. A onetime professor of economics, Salazar often speaks of "the grace of being poor," and has outlawed strikes, lockouts and "similar irregularities." The wages of skilled workers reach a high of $2.80 a day. There are six different kinds of national police, and the armed forces consume 32% of the budget.

Dissatisfaction is most vocal in the ranks of the small middle class. In a letter to the Salazar government last week, 39 doctors, lawyers and writers said that the seizure of the Santa Maria "accentuates the deplorable conditions of our political life." They also complained that they had not yet received an answer to the Nov. 11 letter, signed by 275 professional men, which asked for increased political freedom and hinted that aging Dictator Salazar, 71, should retire.

In a terse communique, Portugal admitted at week's end an outbreak of fighting in Angola, the African colony where Henrique Galvao once served, and his rumored destination when he first seized the Santa Maria. The Portuguese said seven security policemen had been slain in attacks on three prisons in the Angolan capital of Luanda, but added that "complete calm" had been reestablished.

The government loftily declined to answer even the few voices raised both at home and abroad. Salazar did prod Portugal's wealthiest men to send telegrams to Lisbon's U.S. embassy, asking the U.S.

Navy to do what it could to ensure the debarkation of the Santa Maria's crew, since, without the crew, Galvao could sail nowhere. As an added inducement, Salazar generously allowed the telegrams to be sent over government wires at a special rate of 11-c-.

At week's end, the entire affair softly subsided. Galvao and his men marched off the Santa Maria to accept the "permanent asylum" offered them by Brazil. President Janio Quadros then ordered the surrendered liner turned over to the Portuguese government. And the city of Recife, after its brief moment as a world-famed dateline, went back to festive preparations for next week's riotous celebration of O Carnaval before the somber weeks of Lent.

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