ARRIVAL AT DEMERARA.
If all sea-voyages were like the usual passage to the West Indies,
except for an occasional nasty spell of weather in the English Channel,
the sailor's life would be a very easy one. Day succeeds day under the
same limpid blue sky fringed at the horizon with a few tufts of woolly
cumuli. Placid as a sheltered lake, every wavelet melting into its
fellow like a caress, the sapphire sea greets the gazer every morning
like a glad smile of unfathomable love. Beautiful beyond description is
the tender tropical sea, and hard indeed it is to realize that this same
delightsome expanse of inexpressible loveliness can ever become the
unappeasable destroyer, before whose wrath even the deep-rooted islands
seem to shake.
The nights rival the days. During the absence of the moon the blue-black
vault appears like a robe of imperial purple, besprent with innumerable
diamonds of a lustre unknown to earth's feeble gems. So brilliant is the
radiance of the heavenly host that even the unassisted eye can detect
the disc of Venus or Jupiter, while the twin streams of the Galaxy
literally glow with diffused light, suggesting unutterable glories in
their unthinkable depths. And up from the horizon towards the zenith,
with clear yet indefinite outline, as of the uplifted finger of God,
rises the mysterious conical flame-shadow of the Zodiacal Light. Under
such a sky the sea seems to emulate the starry vault above, for in its
darkling depths there is a marvellous display of gleaming coruscations.
In the foam churned up by the vessel's bows they sparkle and glitter
incessantly, while in her wake, where the liquid furrow still eddies and
whirls from the passing of the keel, there are a myriad dancing lights
of every size and degree of brilliancy. Like a bevy of will-o'-the-wisps
they sport and whirl, glow and fade--never still, never alike, yet
always lovely.
But when the full-orbed moon in a molten glow of purest silver, before
which the eye shrinks almost with pain, traverses the purple concave as
a conquering queen escorted by her adoring subjects, the night becomes a
sweeter, softer day, in which men may sit at ease reading or working as
fancy dictates. They dare not sleep in that white glare, lest with
distorted features and sightless eyeballs, they vainly regret their
careless disregard of the pale beam's power. And as the stately
satellite settles slowly horizonwards, or ascends majestically towards
the zenith, how dazzling the mile-wide pathway of shimmering radiance
she sheds along the face of the deep! The whalers, with more poetic
feeling than one would expect, call it the "moon-glade," as though she
must needs spread a savannah of splendour for her solemn progress over
the waste of ocean.
Here, perhaps, I should pause to disarm criticism, if possible. Such
thoughts as I have feebly tried to express were undoubtedly mine in
those youthful days, in spite of squalid surroundings and brutal
upbringings. And if I could fairly reproduce the multitude of fancies
which throng my memory as being the daily attendants of my boyish
daydreams, I should fear no unfavourable reception of such a book as
they would make.
But to our voyage. Coming on deck one morning soon after daylight, I was
startled to notice that the bright blue of the sea was gone. In its
place a turbid leaden flood without a sparkling wavelet extended all
around. I asked the doctor what this strange change meant. "Gettin' near
land, I s'pose!" was his gruff reply. Nor did I get any other
explanation from the men, for none of them knew that we were in fresh
water, which, rushing down to the sea from many mighty rivers, overlaid
the heavier salt flood for a great distance from land. We did not sight
the lightship _Demerara_ until next day at noon, although we were going
at fully five knots an hour. Behind it the low palm-fringed coast lay
like a sullen black cloud-bank just appearing above the horizon, for in
truth it was almost level with the sea. Thicker and dirtier grew the
water, until, as we passed the light-vessel, we seemed to be sailing in
a sea of mud. Between her and the shore we anchored for the night and to
await the coming of the pilot; thus closing our outward passage, which
might have been as successfully performed in an open boat, so steadily
fine had we found the weather.
What a strange sensation is that of first inhaling the breeze from a
foreign shore! I stood on the forecastle that evening, hardly able to
realize that we had crossed the Atlantic, full of queer feelings as the
heavy sweet scent of the tropical forest came floating languidly off
from that dim, dark line of land. There was a continual chorus of
insects, like a myriad crickets chirping, the sharp, crisp notes
curiously undertoned by the deep bass of the sleepy line of surf upon
the beach. But this persistent music, by its unvarying monotony, soon
became inaudible, or acted as a lullaby to which we all succumbed except
the anchor-watch.
Shortly after daylight a large canoe came alongside, manned by negroes,
bearing a pompous-looking negro pilot in what he, no doubt, took to be a
very swell costume of faded serge, surmounted by a huge straw hat. He
mounted the side by the man-ropes, with the air of a conqueror. As he
stepped over the rail with a ludicrous assumption of importance, he
said, patronizingly, "Good mawnin', cap'n, hope you'se berry well, sah?"
"Mornin', pilot, same t' you," curtly answered the old man; and, in
almost the same breath, "Dy'e think there's water 'nough on the bar
frus? We're drawin' fourteen feet aft." "Neb' mine 'bout dat, cap'n;
dat'll be all right. I'se bettin' big money dis yah packet gwine beat
'nuff watah 'head ob her ter float in er linerbattle ship. Gorbress my
sole, ef I ebber see sich er front eend on er craf' in my days. Wasser
name? de _Ark_ doan' it? ha! ha! ha!"----and he threw back his head,
laughing so capaciously that the broad, glistening range of his teeth
illuminated his coal-black visage like a shutter flung suddenly open to
the sun. But the old man looked sour. Such jeering at his command by a
nigger was in some sort a reflection on himself, and, thenceforward, he
held no more converse with our sable guide than was necessary for the
working of the ship.
We were soon under way, though poor Jem and myself got in a disgusting
condition of mud by the time the anchor was up. The fo'lk'sle, too, from
the fact of the cable running through it, was like a neglected sewer,
the blocks of foul-smelling mud dropping continually from the links as
they came in through the hawsepipes. All sail was loosed previously, but
only the jib was set until the anchor was out of the ground, when,
humoured by the helm, she turned kindly off the wind, gathering way from
its pressure on her broad stern, while the "mudhook" was hove right up.
Then everything was set that would draw, the wind being fair and strong;
but, in spite of the favourable conditions, our progress against the
turbulent ebb of the great river was so slow that we were the best part
of the day going the few miles that lay between the roadstead and the
moorings.
But at last we reached the group of vessels which lay off the business
part of the town. With great skill our pilot tried a "flying moor,"
letting our anchor go while we were forging ahead at a good rate, then
immediately clewing up all sail. By the time our way was exhausted,
about ninety fathoms had been paid out on the first anchor. The second
was then let go, its cable being veered away as the first one was hove
in, until an equal amount was out on each; both were then hove in till
the moorings were taut, and the vessel swung almost on a pivot. This is
a ticklish evolution to perform successfully in a crowded anchorage;
but, in our case, the result was entirely satisfactory, saving much
labour.
The sails being furled and decks cleared up, work ceased for the day.
The curious appearance of the wide verandahed houses embowered in
strange-looking trees, the assortment of vessels of all rigs--from the
smart Yankee schooner to the stately iron coolie-ship from Calcutta--the
muddy rushing river, all claimed attention, but for one attraction that
outweighed them all. Waiting alongside were two or three bumboats well
stocked with fruit, soft-tack, eggs, and such curios as a sailor might
be supposed to covet. I had seen such fruit before, on the other side of
plate-glass windows in the West End of London, or in the avenue at
Covent Garden, but never in such generous profusion as now. One boat
especially was laden to the gunwale with giant bunches of crimson
bananas, each fruit treble the size of ordinary ones; baskets of golden
mangoes, green limes, luscious-looking oranges flecked with green, and
clusters of immature cocoa-nuts: the kind that only contain sweet juice
and delicate jelly within a soft shell covered by husk as easy to cut as
a turnip. People accustomed to regular meals of decent food cannot
imagine how the sight of these dainties affected our ill-used stomachs.
Happily there was little delay in choosing our purveyor, who promptly
hoisted great part of his stock on deck for us to choose from. In virtue
of being the only person in the fo'lk'sle who could write, I was
appointed book-keeper, my remuneration being a fair proportion of the
good things without payment. In reply to eager inquiries, the bumboatman
declared that he had no rum, saying that he very well understood the
unwritten law prohibiting the supply of intoxicants by the bumboats, and
assuring the men that if he were detected breaking it, he would forfeit
his license as well as all payment for goods he had supplied on credit.
We were a happy company that evening. A plentiful meal after such long
abstinence put every one in good spirits, although there was much
wishing for the cup that both cheers and inebriates. In spite of this
want, joviality was the order of the night. Song and dance went merrily
round, at which the two darkey boat-boys, hired by the skipper to take
him backwards and forwards to the shore, assisted with great glee. Their
fun was spontaneous and side-splitting, seeming superior to all external
influences--a well of continual merriment bubbling up. Song, quip, and
practical joke followed one another incessantly, with all the
thoughtless _abandon_ of happy children, and mirthful enjoyment that
might have thawed an anchorite. All the pent-up laughter of the passage
burst out that evening, the first really jolly one I had ever spent.
At daylight all hands were busy rigging cargogear, for our lading was
long overdue. The discharging-gang of negroes were early on board,
awaiting only our preparations to begin their work. They were akin to
the boat-boys in their behaviour. Poor, even to the most utter
raggedness of the sacking most of them were covered with--hunger-bitten,
for all the provision brought by the majority was a tiny loaf, and about
two ounces of sugar each--they were yet full to the lips with sheer
animal delight of living. Some, the haughty aristocrats of the party,
proudly displayed fragments of salt fish or rusty-looking salt pork,
flanked by a green plantain, a coco, or chunk of wooden-looking yam; but
though these favoured ones were evidently stuck up, their poorer
brethren showed no envy. Their pay was the equivalent of one shilling
per day, which, as the price of food was high, except for a very few
local products, must have been all too little to keep hunger at bay.
Yet, when they got to work, how they did go at it! They seemed to revel
in the labour, although the incessant singing they kept up ought to have
taken most of their breath. Streaming with sweat, throwing their bodies
about in sheer wantonness of exuberant strength as they hoisted the
stuff out of the hold, they sometimes grew so excited by the
improvisations of the "chantey man," who sat on the corner of the hatch
solely employed in leading the singing, that often, while for a minute
awaiting the next hoist, they would fling themselves into fantastic
contortions, keeping time to the music. There was doubtless great waste
of energy; but there was no slackness of work or need of a driver. Here
is just one specimen of their songs; but no pen could do justice to the
vigour, the intonation and the _abandon_ of the delivery thereof.
[Music: Sis-ter Seusan, my Aunt Sal, Gwineter git a home bime-by-high!
All gwineter lib down shin bone al, Gwineter git a home bime-by.
Gwineter git a home bime-by-e-high, Gwineter git a home bime-by.]
The rushing, muddy stream literally swarmed with ground-sharks, who
sometimes came to the surface with a rush, looking terribly dangerous.
Yet the negroes took but little heed of them, merely splashing a bit
before diving if they had occasion to go down and clear some vessel's
moorings. Sharks and cat-fish were the only fish to be seen: neither of
them available for eating. Strange to say, the great heat troubled me
very little. Perhaps because, having for so long regarded cold as one of
the chief miseries of my life, the steady searching warmth by night and
day was grateful to my puny body. At any rate, but that the bloodthirsty
mosquitoes and sandflies tormented me cruelly, as they did all hands,
the tropical climate suited me very well. It may have been the healthy
season too, for, as far as I know, there was no illness on board any of
the ships. All our crew were in robust health, and putting on flesh
daily in consequence of the liberal diet.
I wanted much to go ashore, but dared not ask leave; but, to my
astonishment, on Sunday afternoon the mate told me to get ready and come
ashore with him. Glad as I was of the chance to see a little of this
strange land, I felt small gratification at the prospect of being his
companion; I would rather a thousand times have gone with Joe. However,
it being Hobson's choice as well as dangerous to refuse, I rigged myself
up as best I could (a queer figure I made too), got into the boat with
my inviter, and away we went. Landing at one of the "sterlings," as the
wharves are locally named, we strolled up into the main street in
silence. It was a wide avenue with quite a river running down the
centre, and doubtless on week-days would have been very lively. But at
this time it was deserted, except by a few stray dogs and sleeping
negroes. We trudged along without a word, till suddenly Mr. Svensen
hauled up at a grog-shop, the bar of which was crowded with sea-farers.
Pressing through the throng to the bar he called for some drink, and,
meeting a couple of his countrymen, entered at once into an animated
conversation with them in Norwegian. For over an hour I waited
impatiently, the air of the place being stifling and the babel of
tongues deafening. At last, in desperation, I crept in behind him and
attracted his attention. He turned sharply upon me, saying, "Vell, 'n
vat _jou_ vant?" "Please, sir," I humbly replied, "may I go an' have a
look round?" "Oh, co to hell ef jou lige, I ton'd care. Only jou ked bag
to der poad pefoar sigs o'clog, or I be tamt ef I tond trown jou coin'
off--see!" "Thank you, sir," I said gratefully, disappearing promptly
before he had time to change his mind.
What an afternoon I had, to be sure. I wandered right out of the town
through tangled paths crowded on either side by the loveliest flowers
growing wild I had ever dreamed of. I was like a boy in a dream now,
except for that haunting reality "sigs o'clog." And, to crown my
pleasures, when I had strayed as far as I dared, I came suddenly upon a
pretty villa in an open glade, the house itself being embowered in the
most gorgeous blossoms. I went up to the back of the premises to beg a
drink of water, which an amiable negress gave me with a beaming smile,
squeezing into it a fresh-fallen lime with a large spoonful of white
sugar. While I drank, a dear little white boy about five years old came
running round the corner. When he saw me he stood for a moment as if
petrified with astonishment; then, recovering his wits, darted back
again. A kindly-faced man in white, with a big brown beard, then
appeared, leading the little one. After a few inquiries he invited me
into the house to tea, treating me with so much kindness that, between
his attentions and those of his beautiful, weary-looking wife, I was
several times upon the point of bursting into tears. She plied me with
questions, soon getting all my sorrowful little life-story out of me;
and more than once I saw her furtively wipe away a tear. The little son
sat on my knee, great friends with me at once; and what with the good
fare, the pleasant talk, and the comfort of it all, I forgot everything
else in the world for a time. Suddenly I caught sight of the clock. It
was a quarter to six. I must have looked terrified, for my host, Mr.
Mackenzie, asked me with much solicitude whether I felt suddenly ill. As
soon as he heard the cause of my alarm he left the house, returning to
the front in a minute or two with a beautiful mule and a smart trap. I
took a hurried leave of my kind hostess and her child, promising to come
again if I could; and presently found myself bowling along a level road
at a great rate behind the swift hybrid, who seemed to glide rather than
trot. Arriving at the boat, nearly half an hour late, we found the mate
not yet there, one of the boat-boys volunteering the information that he
was well drunk up at the rum-mill. "That being so," said Mr. Mackenzie,
"I will see you on board." So we shoved off for the ship. During our
short transit I told my new friend how matters stood between my uncle
and myself, begging him not to inadvertently make matters worse for me.
He promised to be discreet. We reached the ship and climbed on board. I
fled forrard on the instant, while he interviewed the old man. Whatever
passed between them in their few minutes' talk, I don't know; I heard no
more of the affair. But I was never again allowed on shore while I
belonged to the _Arabella_. The mate came on board quietly and turned
in, no word reaching us forrard of any trouble about his little
flutter.