The Madeirans dress like comic opera bandits and are very picturesque
in appearance, and while they look like Lord Byron's corsairs, they
never cut a throat nor scuttle a ship under any circumstances; they are
the mildest of men. While strolling in the public market I noticed a
bit of local color: one of the fierce looking pirates had for sale half
a dozen little red pigs with big, black, polka dots on them. I stopped
to look at them and the corsair insisted that I should buy one at least
and take it with me for a souvenir.
The principal feature of the place is that wheels are at a discount and
most of the locomotion is done by sliding. The streets and sidewalks
are paved with large, oblong pebbles which become highly polished by
friction. Over these the sleds, with oxen attached to them, glide with
ease, at the rate of three miles an hour. On this account it's the
most tiresome place to walk in that I know of. Even most of the
natives have stone-bruised feet and "hirple" along as if finishing a
six-day walk in "the Garden."
While we were there a Portuguese man-of-war entered the harbor and
there was a great waste of powder both from the forts and the
battle-ship. The harbor was filled with little boats containing boys
and men who dive for the coins thrown into the water for them by the
passengers. They never fail to reach the money.
I asked a gentlemanly native where the flower market was and he very
politely walked with me for three blocks and landed me in front of a
flour mill. I explained his mistake and he then insisted on taking me
to where they sold flowers, at which point we had an elaborate
fare-welling--hat-lifting, laughing and handshaking. I asked him to
visit me in New York, but he said with marked sadness in his voice that
he hadn't the price and therefore must forego the pleasure.
The passenger list of the _Cork_ being a large and notable one, the
City Club gave us a ball at the Casino. It was alleged that the bluest
blood on the island took part in this, the largest function of the
season.
Madeira has been described by a distinguished traveler as "a neglected
paradise." Part of this appearance is given it by the luxuriant growth
of the Bougainvillea vine which has rich purple flowers, masses of
which can be seen decorating the villas when one approaches Funchal
from the sea. Madeira is some three hundred miles from Africa, and yet
when sand storms arise on that continent the sand is blown across the
sea and great mounds of it are piled up on this island; arrangements
have to be made to prevent it from entering the houses.
The main island, Madeira, is thirty-three miles long and thirteen
broad, with a population of 151,000. Funchal has 50,000 inhabitants,
and is a quaint and interesting city. The island was known to the
Romans, but was settled by Zargo in the interests of Portugal.
Columbus married his wife at this port. Captain Cook bombarded Funchal
in 1768 and brought that city to his terms. Napoleon was sent here on
his way to St. Helena in 1815. So, on the whole, Madeira has had a
fair amount of checkered history.
The Casino was started as an imitation of Monte Carlo, but caused such
disaster that it was suppressed. The Lisbon officials now visit it
once a year to see that there is no gambling going on; the owners know
when they sail and remove the tables, and after the "inspection" is
over and the officials have returned home, business is resumed in
safety and with the usual profit to the proprietors.
[Illustration: THE HISTORICAL PART OF ATHENS, GREECE. PANORAMA OF THE
GREAT RUINED GROUPS]
The _Cork_ is one of the marine giants, and when all the first-cabin
rooms were sold the company painted up the second-cabin quarters and
sold them at full first-class rates. I joined the party only a few
days before it started and was glad to get an outside, single room,
about the size and shape of a Pullman section. Its distinction was
that it had a port-hole of its own through which I could freely admit
the local climate. When I first surveyed the contracted proportions of
this stateroom, the paucity of its fittings and entire lack of the
usual accommodations, I was filled as full of acute melancholia as an
egg is of meat and had I not paid the passage money I would have bolted
from the _Cork_ out into utter darkness; but I was "in for it," and
determined to make the best of the situation; so I got some clothes
lines and screw hooks, and with them constructed a labyrinth of handy
landing nets for all my belongings, which resembled the telegraph wires
on Tenth Avenue before Mayor Grant cut them down. I also hung my top
coat and mackintosh in convenient places, and used their pockets for
storage vaults. One pocket served as a complete medicine chest,
another accommodated slippers, collars, cuffs and shaving tackle, while
I utilized the sleeve openings (closed at the cuffs with safety pins),
to hold a full line of clothes, hair and tooth brushes, and tied small
things to the buttons, which shook with the vibration of the ship as
sleigh-bells are shaken by the vaudeville artist when he plays _Comin'
Through the Rye_ on them for an encore. The whole arrangement was a
marvelous and instantaneous success, and so proud was I of the
achievement that I invited my neighbors to peep into the stateroom to
see its glories and utilities. Some of them proceeded at once to copy
my best ideas--but that is the fate of all inventors. However, they
were grateful, for they named the passageway on which eight rooms
opened, "Harp Alley," in honor of my nationality, and placed a card
with this legend on it at the entrance: