FUNCHAL.
"That is the island of Madeira," said the captain, pointing to a dark
mass dimly seen against the horizon. "We are now nearly twenty-eight
hundred miles southeast of New York."
We had been sailing for seven days with only a vast expanse of ocean in
view, and so we longed for a sight of land and eagerly looked forward to
the arrival at our first port. As we approached the island the form of a
mountain became clear in the star-light; then the twinkling of lights at
its base revealed the location of a city. When within half a mile of the
shore, the water in the harbor became too shallow for large vessels, so
the screw propeller of the Moltke ceased revolving and the ship came to
anchor.
"May we go ashore to-night?" many asked.
"Certainly, there is no objection," replied the captain.
A number of the passengers, eager to see the attractions of the place,
and too impatient to wait until morning, were rowed across the dark
water to the pier. In the city, Funchal, we found that at so late an
hour the main attractions were gambling places, dance halls, and
lotteries, the owners of which were greedy for American money. The main
Casino, in the midst of a beautiful garden, was brilliantly illuminated
and its halls were filled with well dressed people. Some of the party
who had placed their silver on the tables of chance showed on their
return to the steamer handfuls of coins that fortune had brought them;
others who had made similar experiments were silent as to the results.
[Illustration: SUNLIGHT SHONE ON THE WHITE WALLS OF FUNCHAL.]
"We should have read up the Madeiras before leaving home," said one of
the tourists at our early breakfast the morning after our arrival, "but
we were too busy then with other things. While you were ashore last
night I found in the library an old English book of travel that gave
some information about the islands."
[Illustration: IT IS NOT RAPID TRANSIT.]
"Share it with us while the stewards are bringing the coffee, won't
you?"
[Illustration: ONLY THE BOYS STOPPED THEIR PLAY TO GAZE.]
"I made very few notes," she replied. "As we are to be in Funchal but
one day, I skipped the statistics of population, hotels, exports, and
history. But here are some facts just as I jotted them down:
"'The Madeira Islands, about six hundred miles west of Gibraltar, were
settled by the Portuguese and are owned by Portugal.
"'The principal and only town large enough to be called a city is
Funchal, situated on the southern side of Madeira on the slope of a
hill.
"'The city has an equable climate. Mild sunshine, gentle ocean breezes,
and protection from harsh winds by mountains, give to Funchal throughout
the whole year the temperature of England in the month of May.
"'The island is very mountainous, gashed with many deep gorges which
extend in from the sea. The streets in the city are paved, but the roads
in the country are impassable for wagons. Merchandise is carried on pack
mules or in ox-drags. Horses are rarely seen and carriages are few.
Quaint vehicles are used in their stead for the conveyance of
passengers.'
"How odd these vehicles are we shall find out when we land. We shall
have a busy day. I am eager to start."
It was yet early when we ascended the deck, but the sun was shining
brightly. Funchal appeared like a beautiful picture. Overhead was the
azure sky of a summer day; before us, stirred by a gentle breeze,
glistened in blue and silver the waters of the harbor; on the curving
shore, tier above tier, reflecting the sunshine, rose the white and
yellow stone buildings of the city surmounted by roofs of red tiling;
above the city, white cottages amidst a dense foliage of green shrubbery
dotted the steep hillsides, and beyond, but seeming very near, higher
mountains formed a dark and appropriate background.
[Illustration: THE WOMEN WERE WASHING CLOTHES.]
"The steam tenders are ready to carry you to the shore," announced one
of the officials, interrupting our survey of the picture.
We descended the long ladder of fifty steps from the deck of the steamer
to the bobbing barge in the water below, and were soon landed on the
stone steps of the breakwater, which, extending out to a picturesque
crag, protects and partially encloses the harbor. There, in place of
cabs, a hundred low sleds with canopy tops and cushioned seats were in
readiness to convey us on a sight-seeing excursion through the city.
This ride in ox-drags was a novel experience. Each sled was dragged by
two bullocks, driven without reins by loud-voiced natives who, with
frequent yells and prodding sticks, urged on their teams. The drivers
carried bunches of greasy rags which they occasionally threw underneath
the sled-runners as a lubricant to diminish the friction of their
movement over the stone-paved streets.
[Illustration: IN THE SLED READY TO START.]
The sights in the city were strange. The shops on the narrow streets
were plain and unattractive, and the signs unintelligible. The windows
of the lower floors of the dwellings were grated with iron bars like a
prison. Beneath a bridge over a walled ravine that kept a rushing stream
within bounds in the rainy season, women washed clothes and spread them
on rocks to dry. In the public square the women carrying water from the
fountain or chatting on the sidewalks appeared to have little curiosity
regarding the visitors in their city, and the men, lounging on the steps
of the fountain, cast but careless glances in our direction; only the
boys stopped their play to gaze awhile at the passing strangers.
"This plodding team seems fitting in such a peculiar place," remarked
one of the quartet in our sled. "Although it is not rapid transit, it is
comfortable. But look, there is a more luxurious mode of traveling." As
he spoke he pointed to two Portuguese bearing suspended on a pole a
handsome hammock in which a lady reclined languidly.
At the foot of the mountain we changed from the slowly moving sleds to
the car of a cog-wheel railway, which carried us up the steep incline.
The speed of the car was not much greater than that of the ox-team. As
we ascended, scenes of beauty opened around us. Cottages built on
terraces were covered with blooming bouguain-villea or climbing roses.
Patches of cultivated land were filled with sugar cane, banana plants,
and orange trees. Palms and cacti appeared in many varieties. Flowers
bloomed on every side. Geraniums, fuschias, and heliotropes were of
enormous size. Camelias, lilies, and nasturtiums grew in profusion.
Children from the suburban cottages ran alongside the moving car,
merrily casting roses, heliotropes, geraniums, and camelias through the
open windows into our laps, and the tourists, pleased with the floral
offerings, in return tossed pennies to the running children.
When we alighted from the car, young peddlers, some bright-faced and
clean, others ugly and dirty, offered flowers and trinkets for sale and
beggars asked for money. But our pennies were exhausted and we were glad
that peddlers and paupers were not permitted to follow us into the hotel
grounds.
[Illustration: ON THE PIER WE BOUGHT FLOWERS.]
"Here you may lunch," said the guide, as we entered a hotel on the
mountain, "and get pure Madeira wine. The wine which is made in this
island was at one time its most noted production; but some thirty years
ago insects and disease so infested the vines that many vineyards were
destroyed and the quantity of wine now made is not so large as in former
years."
After having luncheon and tasting the well known wine in its purity on a
broad piazza overlooking a beautiful tropical garden, we wandered
through an interesting old church and convent near by, and then strolled
around a mountain pathway from which, as the guide said, "views most
grand" might be seen. As we advanced on our way we looked down from the
height upon many continually changing scenes of picturesque beauty. Now
there appeared a vista through a wooded ravine of striking grandeur, now
a view of a rocky gorge penetrating from the ocean, and again a wide
panorama of city, harbor, and ocean.
[Illustration: THE SLIDE IS TWO MILES IN LENGTH.]
Our return to the city was in a conveyance indeed unique. The descent of
the mountain in sleds from the summit to the city below, through narrow
lanes paved with small stones worn and slippery from years of service,
was an experience long to be remembered. Our sled, without any means of
propulsion but our own weight, glided rapidly down the hill over the
smooth surface of the pavement like a toboggan on an icy slide. It was
controlled by two men, who, sometimes running alongside, sometimes
clinging to the runners, regulated the speed and guided the sled around
corners by means of ropes attached to its sides.
"That was a wild and exciting ride," exclaimed one of the ladies who had
been tightly holding to her seat during the descent. "What is the
distance from the summit?"
"The slide is about two miles in length, lady," replied one of the
conductors.
"Don't take our picture now with our hair flying wildly," exclaimed an
occupant of a sled just arriving, to a friend with a camera.
"Your request comes too late," he answered. "I have pressed the button."
"I hope it will not be a good one," she wished, but it was.
When we returned to the Moltke many row-boats were clustered around the
vessel. Some of these had brought visitors who desired to inspect the
ship. Some contained Portuguese merchants, who, with cargoes of
embroidery, wicker chairs, straw goods, fruits, photographs, and curios,
had been patiently awaiting our return. When they were permitted to come
on board they displayed their wares upon the deck and made many sales.
Other small craft contained half-naked boys who shouted to us to test
their skill as divers by throwing pennies into the clear but deep
emerald water, claiming that they could secure the money before it
reached the bottom of the bay. We complied with the boys' request and
exhausted the ship's supply of pennies in putting their dexterity to the
proof. When the money was thrown into the sea the young experts, diving
like beavers and successful in securing the money, rose to the surface
and clambered into the boats holding the coins in their mouths. One
youth more daring than the others mounted to the upper deck of our
steamer and offered, if a shilling instead of a penny was thrown into
the water, to plunge from his high perch to the sea fifty feet below and
get the silver. And he won much applause by successfully accomplishing
the feat.
[Illustration: THE TUG CARRIED US TO THE MOLTKE.]
Toward evening the whistle of the steamer sounded warning notes. The
time for sailing was at hand. The tourists who had been loitering on the
shore hastened to return. The peddlers on the deck reluctantly packed
their unsold wares and with their bundles descended the ship's ladder.
The visitors, after courteously bidding adieu to the officials who had
been entertaining them, took their departure. But the trained swimmers
whose antics in the water were giving so much amusement tarried until
ordered away. Then while our band played a farewell air, Sousa's "Hands
Across the Sea," the Moltke slowly steamed out of the harbor.