_Messina.--Trade of the place.--The Fata Morgana.--Embark for
Naples.--The Sicilian pilot.--The Faro of Messina.--Scylla
and Charybdis.--Exaggerations of the ancient writers.--
Fatal adventure of a Neapolitan diver._
We found Messina quite a lively, bustling place, with a harbor full
of all sorts of Mediterranean craft. Several American vessels lay at
the quay, loading with oranges and lemons for Boston. These fruits
constitute the chief trade of the place, and give employment to a great
part of the population of the city and neighborhood. Every orange and
lemon is carefully wrapped in a paper before being packed. The paper
absorbs the moisture which exudes from the fruit, and prevents the
rotting. Labor, however, is so cheap in this country that all this
preparation adds but little to the cost of the cargoes. Another article
exported is barilla, a sort of alkali, or potash, made by burning
sea-weed. The _barilla_ is used by our manufacturers for bleaching
cotton cloth.
The city is very handsomely built, and has several fine squares,
ornamented with statues and fountains. It has suffered severely from
earthquakes at different times, and was once nearly destroyed; but its
admirable situation for commerce has caused it to be rebuilt after
every catastrophe. It stands just within the narrow strait which
divides Sicily from the Italian coast, and has a very safe harbor,
formed by a strip of land running out into the sea, in the shape of
an elbow, which appears almost the work of art. In the interior, the
city is enclosed by steep, rocky hills, which rise immediately from the
walls, and shut out all prospect of the country; but the view toward
the sea is very grand. The strait is six or eight miles wide in this
part, though in the clear and transparent atmosphere of these regions,
it does not appear to be more than three or four. The mountains of
Calabria rise up majestically from the blue sea, dark, craggy, and
frowning, with now and then a fleecy white cloud melting away on their
summits. Feluccas, with latine sails, are gliding up and down the
straits; and the white walls of Reggio rise from the water’s edge on
the opposite side.
This is the spot on which that remarkable phenomena, called the Fata
Morgana, has been observed. On the Italian side of the strait the
inhabitants are sometimes astonished to behold in the air the images of
castles, towns, palaces, houses, ships, &c. Being unable to account for
these appearances, they ascribe them to magic; and these airy phantoms
are supposed to be the work of a fairy named Morgana. The true cause is
a certain rarefaction of the air, which brings into view objects far
below the horizon; and the phenomena is not difficult to explain by the
principles of optics. This appearance is not uncommon, near the shore,
in all parts of the world. Lighthouses, towers, ships, &c., appear
stretched up to three or four times their actual height. The sailors
call this _looming up_. None of these apparitions, however, are so
remarkable as the Fata Morgana.
On the 7th of March I went on board an Italian brig bound to Naples.
It was a dead calm by the time we got out of the harbor, so we drifted
back again and dropped anchor. Next morning the calm continued, and on
looking across the water, we saw little specks of white cloud, hanging
motionless on the sides of the mountains,--a sure sign that no wind
was stirring there. The sea was as smooth as glass, and I expected a
long delay; but presently a light breeze came down the strait. Though
this was ahead, we determined to take advantage of it. We therefore got
out the boats and warped out of the harbor, when we set our sails and
beat up the straits to the north. Italian sailors are not very expert
in the nicer arts of seamanship, and we made very little headway by
our tacking. About the middle of the afternoon we dropped anchor,
close to the Sicilian shore. There was a little village, with a pretty
church at the water’s edge. The coast exhibited low sand-hills, with
patches of green soil. After lying at anchor two or three hours, the
wind hauled round, and we set sail again. About sunset we reached
the mouth of the strait, where the extreme end of Sicily approaches
close to the Italian shore. This is called the Faro of Messina. Here
we set the pilot ashore, after an immense bawling and vociferation,
occasioned by a dispute as to the amount of his fee. The Italians can
seldom bargain to the amount of a shilling, without making a clamor and
din as if it were a matter of life and death. The pilot wanted about
twenty cents more than the captain was willing to pay. They plunged at
once into a noisy dispute;--argued, contradicted, bawled, sputtered,
grinned, stamped their feet, and flourished their arms like a couple of
bedlamites. The sailors took part in the squabble; every ragged rogue
put in his oar, and had something to say, till the hurly-burly became
outrageous. The pilot was a queer looking fellow, with a red cap,
tattered unmentionables, japanned with tar, a beard like a shoebrush,
and a bluff, burly face, all bronzed by the sun, and weather-beaten--in
short, the very picture of an old Triton; and so I called him from
the moment he first met my eyes. I never laughed more heartily than
at the sight of this squabble; but at length they agreed to split the
difference, and old Triton paddled ashore, tolerably well satisfied.
The sun was going down as we passed out the strait. We had but a small
breeze before, but almost in an instant we were assailed by violent
gusts of wind that obliged us to take in our canvass. The captain
pointed toward the rocky shore, and said to me, “There is Scylla.”
I looked in the direction, and saw a huge, craggy rock not far from
the shore, against which the waves were dashing. Here were Scylla and
Charybdis, so famous in classical history, and so terrible to the
mariners of old times. Homer, in his Odyssey, thus describes them:
“Dire Scylla there a scene of horror forms,
And here Charybdis fills the deep with storms:
When the tide rushes in her rumbling caves,
The rough rock roars, tumultuous boil the waves;
They toss, they foam, a dire confusion raise,
Like waters bubbling o’er a fiery blaze.”
The ancients, who were timid and unskilful in their navigation, give us
exaggerated accounts of the dangers of the sea. Scylla they imagined to
be a horrid monster, who sat on the seashore, and devoured the crews
of such vessels as came within her reach. Charybdis was a fearful
whirlpool, which swallowed up both ships and men. Very little of this
description is true. Scylla is no monster, but only a steep, craggy
rock, which is dangerous enough should a vessel run against it, but
it is so easily seen that none but a very unskilful navigator need be
afraid of it. Charybdis is no whirlpool, but only a spot where the
winds and currents, drawing through the narrow strait between Italy and
Sicily, cause a rough, chopping sea, with sudden and violent gusts.
These, indeed, were great dangers to the small craft used by the
ancients, but American sailors would laugh at them.
Some writers are of opinion that there was in reality a dangerous
whirlpool in the strait, and that it has been destroyed by one of
those violent earthquakes that have so often shaken the earth and sea
in this quarter. It is my opinion, however, from a view of the coast
on both sides, that no such alteration has taken place, and that the
spot was no more dangerous in ancient times than it is at present.
The marvellous part of the description is owing to the fictions and
exaggerations of the ancient poets. But, at any rate, the water is very
deep in the strait, and, like many other places in different parts of
the world, it has the popular reputation of being bottomless. There
was a man at Messina, famous for his exploits in swimming and diving,
like our “Sam Patch.” He used to dive to immense depths in the water,
and could walk on the bottom of the sea, if we are to believe his own
story, for nobody ever went down with him to ascertain the truth. The
king of Naples tempted him to dive into the gulf of Charybdis, by
throwing a golden cup into the sea. He plunged in after it, but was not
seen again till some days afterwards, when his body was found on the
shore, thirty or forty miles distant.