My father told me this story when I was very young. In 1689, a schooner sailed from England to the New World with an old Spaniard on the crew, an expert with ropes and knots. As the ship sailed past the coast of Greenland, the Scottish captain spied through his glass a beautiful Portuguese woman suffering lashings under a whip. Thinking of the Spaniard the crew hove to, swooped down on the woman's aggressor and claimed her for the old man. The Spaniard tied the rogue Greenlander to a rock where he was soon pecked to bits by a giant bird. Once aboard, the woman gorged herself with linguica and washed it down with fresh milk from one of the swine on board. As the woman grew accustomed to life on the sea, she picked up a guitar belonging to one of the sailors. Plucking away, she sang a song that lulled all the sailors from their work. The Spaniard fell in love with her watching and listening from the mizzenmast. She returned his love. These were my great, great, great grandparents, the first to come to America.