[Illustration: THROWING THE LASSO.]
_THE PAMPAS AND ANDES._
A
THOUSAND MILES’ WALK
ACROSS
SOUTH AMERICA.
BY
NATHANIEL H. BISHOP.
WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY
EDWARD A. SAMUELS, ESQ.,
AUTHOR OF “ORNITHOLOGY AND OÖLOGY OF NEW ENGLAND,”
ETC., ETC.
_THIRD EDITION, ILLUSTRATED._
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
NEW YORK:
LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
LEE AND SHEPARD,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the
District of Massachusetts.
STEREOTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY,
No. 19 Spring Lane.
TO
PROFESSOR SPENCER F. BAIRD,
ASSISTANT SEC’Y OF THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION,
This Work is Dedicated,
AS A TOKEN OF SINCERE REGARD,
BY HIS FRIEND,
_THE AUTHOR_.
PREFACE
TO THE SECOND EDITION
When, a few weeks since, I saw my little book of South American travels
issued from the press, I supposed that my connection with it had ended.
My publishers now ask for a preface to a second edition. I take this
occasion to express my thanks for the very kind manner in which my
boyish descriptions of a boy’s travels have been received by the public
and the press. I can only wish that my book had been more worthy of the
liberal patronage and the generous praise which have been bestowed upon
it.
If I had followed my own inclinations, I should have given my
narrative a thorough revision, and thus have corrected some of the
crudeness of my first literary effort. To this revision, however, my
publishers objected, on the ground that it would raise the suspicion
of genuineness as to these being the travelling observations of a lad
seventeen years of age, and impair also the freshness of the narrative.
My book has therefore been given to the public with but slight
alterations from the original draft.
I should have been glad to have made the story of my travels more
fruitful in scientific results. But I had no instruments for making
accurate observations, and had not the opportunity to preserve
and transport many objects of natural history for comparison and
verification. Such observations as I have made on topics relating to
natural history, during my wandering on the inhospitable Pampas of
South America, if they are superficial, I have sought to make them at
least truthful.
NATHANIEL H. BISHOP.
OXYCOCCUS PLANTATION,
MANNAHAWKIN, N. J.
INTRODUCTION.
In placing this little volume before the public, a few words, regarding
the manner in which the incidents and material composing it were
acquired, may be of interest to the reader.
The young gentleman who made the pedestrian trip, of which this forms
the narrative, was a native of Massachusetts. I had missed him from his
accustomed place for some time, but was ignorant of his contemplated
journey, or even that he had gone away, until my attention was
called to the following paragraph in the columns of the Boston Daily
Advertiser of January 12, 1856, from its Chilian correspondent:--
“VALPARAISO, November 27, 1855.
“There arrived here, a few days since, a young man belonging to
Medford, Mass., who has walked across the Pampas and Cordilleras,
more than a thousand miles, unable to speak the language, and with an
astonishingly small amount of money.
“So much for a Yankee.”
My friend was but seventeen years of age when he entered upon his
difficult undertaking; but by dint of perseverance, backed by an
enthusiastic love for nature, he accomplished a task that would have
seemed insurmountable to many older and more experienced than himself.
To use the language of Dr. Brewer, the able author of the Oölogy of
North America, he was “a young and enthusiastic naturalist, whose zeal
in the study of Natural History prompted him, alone, unaided, and at
the risk of his life, to explore the arid plains of South America,
while yet a mere lad in years and stature, though his observations
there exhibit the close and careful study of maturer years.”
The young traveller started on his journey of upwards of twelve
thousand miles, by sea and land, with a cash capital of forty-five
dollars, and returned home with fifty; thus proving to those who wish
to see the world that energy, industry, and economy are as potent to
assist them in their efforts as unlimited wealth.
On his return, I requested him to furnish me with an account of his
journey; this he has been unable to do, from press of business, until
recently, when he gave me a copy of his journal, which, in a slightly
revised form, is now published.
EDWARD A. SAMUELS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PASSAGE OF THE RIVER PLATA.
Page
The Bark M.--First Glimpses of Life in the Forecastle.--An old
Salt, and forecastle Etiquette.--A self-constituted Guardian.--Another
old Salt, and how he spliced the Main-brace.--Farewell to
Boston.--The Passage.--The tropical Seas.--The Rocks of St.
Paul’s, and their Natural History.--First Visit of the Pampero.--The
“Doctor’s” poetical Effusions. 11
CHAPTER II.
IN THE RIVER PLATA.
We enter the River Plata.--Land.--Montevideo.--Another
Pampero.--Effects of the Hurricane.--Its Season.--We arrive at the
outer Roads at Buenos Ayres. 30
CHAPTER III.
BUENOS AYRES--THE PROVINCE AND CITY.
Letters from Home.--A Visit to the City.--Its Population.--Thistle
Forests.--Agricultural Resources.--Public Edifices of Buenos
Ayres.--Improvements.--Soil and Water.--Slavery and its History.--Don
D. F. Sarmiento.--Paper Currency.--General Rosas
and his cruel Tyranny. 35
CHAPTER IV.
VISIT TO THE TIGRE AND BANDA ORIENTAL.
A new Acquaintance.--Preparations for a Journey.--The Departure.--The
Cochero and his Vehicle.--Residence of the late
President.--Agriculture.--Fuel.--San Fernando.--Mr. Hopkins and United
States and Paraguay Navigation Company.--Yerba.--We leave the
Tigre.--Arrival at the Banda Oriental.--Wild
Dogs.--Estancia.--Departure for the Las Vacas River.--A
Revelation.--An Ignis Fatuus.--Estancia House, and Cattle Farm.--The
Proprietor at Home.--Inhospitable Reception.--The Peons.--Insulting
Treatment.--An Irishman and his Opinions.--We reach the River.--Gold
Prospects.--We return to the Tigre.--My Companion’s Fate. 49
CHAPTER V.
ASCENDING THE PLATA AND PARANÁ.
Rosario.--Departure from the Tigre.--A Dialogue.--I visit the M.--The
Irish Barrister’s Son.--I return to the City.--Leave Buenos
Ayres.--Banks of the River.--El Rosario.--Schools, &c.--Enterprise
of the People.--Diligences.--The Press.--Vigilantes.--Paraná.--Its
Position.--Bank.--Railroad and its Prospects. 68
CHAPTER VI.
A VISIT TO THE PAMPA COUNTRY.
A new Acquaintance.--An Invitation.--We set out upon the
Plains.--Incidents of the Journey.--A Pampa Lord.--We visit his
Mansion.--The House and its Inmates.--Cattle.--Niata
Breed.--Ostriches. Riding a wild Colt.--Trial of Horses.--The
Boliadores.--Estancia Life.--The Gauchos.--Duties on the Cattle
Farm.--Feast Days and Aguardiente.--Customs of the Gauchos.--Training
Colts.--The Herdsman’s Dress. 76
CHAPTER VII.
LIFE ON THE PAMPAS.
Don José and my new Guardian.--Preparations for Departure.--Pampa
Carts.--Method of driving Oxen.--Fresh Meat.--A Santa.--Farewell
to Rosario.--The Caravan.--A Halt.--Novel Mode of
Cooking.--First Lesson in Gaucho Etiquette.--A Name.--Habits
of the Bizcacha.--Burrowing Owls.--First Night in the Pampas. 101
CHAPTER VIII.
LIFE ON THE PAMPAS--CONTINUED.
A new Dress.--Riding a Ram.--Deer.--Parrots.--Mirages.--A
Troop of Carts.--A Pantana.--Grass on fire.--Another
Caravan.--Armadillos.--Guardia de la Esquina.--A sad
Story.--Irreverence of the Peons.--Cabeza del Tigre.--Indian
Attack.--Saladillo.--I visit a Rancho.--Punta del Sauce.--Its
Inhabitants.--A geographical Dispute.--La Reduccion.--Paso
Durazno.--Cerro Moro in the distance.--Indian female Spies. 117
CHAPTER IX.
FROM RIO QUARTO TO CERRO MORO.
Rio Quarto.--Indian Incursions.--A novel Method of charging a
Cannon.--Scarcity of Bread.--A Bath.--The Peons’ Objection to
Bathing.--Ox brain Soup.--A mule Troop.--The
Madrina.--Armadillos.--Their Habits.--A Caravan from
Mendoza.--Bread and Ovens.--Preparations for a hungry
Time.--A Prostration. 136
CHAPTER X.
FROM RIO QUARTO TO CERRO MORO--CONTINUED.
Prospects and Experiences.--The Peons’ dislike for the “Gringo.”--Fear
of Dr. Carmel.--Little Juan.--Suspicious Movements.--Sympathy
of the China Women.--Intrigue.--The Breakfast.--Don
Manuel lacks Etiquette.--Sickness.--A Dream. 152
CHAPTER XI.
SAN LUIS AND THE SALINE DESERT.
Don Manuel the Capataz.--His Services as Baqueano.--A Mendoza
Troop of Carts.--Approach to the “Interior Town.”--Appearance
of San Luis de la Punta.--The Governor.--Indian Troubles.--A
Captive.--Indian Attack.--Treatment of Foreigners.--On the
Travesia.--Watering Places.--Cacti.--Cochineal.--Condiments.--Saline
Mineral.--Its Properties and Analysis by Dr. A. A.
Hayes.--Conjectures as to its Origin. 165
CHAPTER XII.
ON THE TRAVESIA.
We cross the Desaguadero.--Artificial Canals.--La Paz.--Results of
Irrigation.--View of the Andes.--An Invitation to
Dinner.--Gormandizing of the Peons.--Santa Rosa.--Goats.--Alto
Verde.--Camp on the Road.--A Bath.--Goitre.--Preparations for entering
Mendoza.--The little China.--Arrogance of the Santiagueños.--Plants
of the Travesia.--Dwellings.--A Dialogue.--We enter the
Town.--An English Doctor.--Cool Treatment.--Circo Olympico.--A
Visit to Plaza Nueva. 182
CHAPTER XIII.
MENDOZA.
A Disappointment.--Mendoza.--The Alameda.--The Governor.--Houses,
Churches, &c.--Doings of the Priests.--The Confessionals.--Padre
A.--Madcap young Ladies.--Musical Bells.--Theatre.--Inhabitants.--The
Goitre.--San Vicente.--School Library.--Newspaper and Press of
Vansice.--Celebration of the 25th of May.--Soldiers.--Circus
Performers.--Arrival of Indians from the South.--Veracity of the
Cacique.--The Correo and his Men.--Casuchas.--Snow Travel.--A new
Character Introduced.--Destruction of the City.--Departure for San
Juan.--The consuming Lake.--Fishes.--Arrival at San Juan. 195
CHAPTER XIV.
A WINTER IN SAN JUAN.
At San Juan.--Wet and dry Winters.--Don Guillermo Buenaparte.--Visit
to Causete.--I become a Miller.--Natural History.--The
Mill.--New Characters.--The Scenery.--A curious Lot.--Inhabitants
of San Juan.--The Town.--Trade and Productions.--Agricultural
Tools.--Irrigation.--Don José the Penitent. 216
CHAPTER XV.
A WINTER IN SAN JUAN--CONTINUED.
A Mine.--A new Acquaintance.--An Account of the Prowess of a
Diablo.--His Dress.--Horse’s Trappings.--The Rastreador.--His
Skill.--A Translation from Sarmiento. 229
CHAPTER XVI.
VIENTE DE ZONDA.
Regarding the Zonda Wind.--Miers’s Opinion.--Courses of the
Zondas.--A Wind of long Duration.--South Wind.--Speculations
upon the Starting-point of the Zondas. 239
CHAPTER XVII.
ADVENTURES OF DON GUILLERMO BUENAPARTE.
Don Guillermo relates his Adventures.--Leaves New Bedford.--Deserts
his Ship for another.--Rock of Dunda.--Terrapin Island.--Sufferings
and Escape from the Place.--Marquesas Islands.--Leaves the
Vessel.--Life among the Cannibals.--Cruel Fate of his
Companions.--Settles down to Marquesan Life.--A Ship.--Escape of Don
Guillermo.--Other Adventures.--Leaves Chili.--Additional Remarks. 245
CHAPTER XVIII.
CROSSING THE ANDES.
Preparations for leaving San Juan.--I leave the Mill.--The Post
House--The Minister and his friendly Offer.--The Flecha.--El
Durazno.--The Hut and its Occupants.--The Binchuca.--A bloodless
Battle.--El Sequion.--Chinas.--A Troop of Mules, and a
Night with the Capataz.--Up the Valley.--A Hut and a pretty
Señorita.--An elevated Plain.--Camp.--Sunrise in the Andes.--The
Road to Uspallata.--Don Fernando.--An Invitation.--Farewell
to Uspallata.--Indian Structures.--A sad Tale.--Cueste
de la Catedral.--La Punta de las Vacas. 277
CHAPTER XIX.
CROSSING THE ANDES--CONTINUED.
Descent of the Andes.--Baqueano Mule.--Waiting for the Snow to
crust over.--Strange Scenery.--Below the Snow.--Another Snow-Hut.--A
Drift.--Travellers from Chili.--Preparations for ascending the
Cordillera.--Remedy for the Puna.--A hard Road.--On the Cumbre. 296
CHAPTER XX.
FROM THE ANDES TO THE PACIFIC.
Passage down the Valley.--Eyes of Water.--The Chilians and their
Characteristics.--San Rosa.--A Chilian Welcome.--A Feast.--The
River Aconcagua.--Quillota.--At Valparaiso.--Departure for Home. 305
A THOUSAND MILES’ WALK.
CHAPTER I.
PASSAGE TO THE RIVER PLATA.
One cold November morning, in compliance with previous orders, I
reported myself ready for duty at the shipping office of Messrs. S. and
K., Commercial Street, Boston, and having received, as is customary,
one month’s wages in advance, proceeded with my baggage to Battery
Wharf, at the foot of which lay the bark M., destined to be my future
home for many weeks. As but one of the crew had already gone on board,
I had ample leisure for examining the vessel, on board of which I was
to receive my first lessons in practical seamanship, and to endure
privations hitherto happily unknown to me. The M. was not prepossessing
in appearance, and I confess that her model did not give a favorable
idea of her sailing qualities: vessels, like horses, have peculiar
external points by which their virtues may be judged, and their speed
determined. As I gazed upon her long, straight sides, square bows, and
box-like hull, it seemed to me that her builders must have mistaken
her ends; for, _certes_, had her spars been reversed, she would have
made better progress by sailing stern foremost. Some knowing ones,
who have since examined this specimen of marine architecture of twenty
years ago, have sustained my suspicion that the M. belonged to that
enduring fleet of cruisers, now scattered over the great deep, which
were originally built in the State of Maine, of which report is made
that “these vessels are built by the _mile_, and sawed off according to
the length ordered by the buyer.”
The mate, who was occupied in receiving live stock,--i. e., two young
pigs,--ordered me to stow my things “for’ard;” an order somewhat
difficult to comply with, as the forecastle was well filled with
firewood, ropes, blocks, swabs, and the various other articles used on
shipboard.
I crawled down the dark passage, and was feeling about to discover
the dimensions of a sailor’s home, doubting, meanwhile, whether, in
reality, this narrow hole could be the abode intended for human beings,
when suddenly a gruff voice called down to me, “Come, youngster, bear a
hand! Make yourself lively! We must clean out this shop before the crew
come down; stir yourself, and pass me up the pieces.” Obeying these
peremptory commands, I applied myself to work, and in an hour’s time
my companion declared the place “ship-shape, and fit for sailors.” I
would remark, _en passant_, that this declaration was made in the face
of the fact that mould and dust covered the timbers and boards, and
cockroaches filled the many crevices. “But,” said my companion, with a
philosophical air, “if the place were carpeted, and lighted with a fine
lamp, the fellows would be the more dissatisfied; the better treated
they are, the worse they growl.” At the time I inwardly dissented from
the truth of this remark; but subsequent experiences taught me the old
salt was right.
As I had been of service in removing all the lumber, I thought to repay
myself by securing a good bunk, and therefore chose an upper one. After
I had given it a thorough cleaning, and had carefully stowed away my
mattress and blanket, one of the new crew entered the forecastle, and,
on noticing my labors, at once removed my bed, and placed his own in
its place, remarking, at the same time, that it was a highly impolite
and lubberly action for an understrapper to “bunk down where he didn’t
belong; upper bunks were _men’s_ bunks; lower ones, boys’.” Although
I pleaded ignorance of the etiquette of the forecastle, and selected
another resting place, my shipmate continued his lecture on the rules
of the sea, and hinted at the future “rope’s-endings from the little
man aft,” as he called the mate, in store for me.
During his harangue two or three of my old schoolfellows came aboard,
and, on visiting my quarters, remarked upon the poor accommodations and
filthiness to which I was to be doomed; upon which remark the old tar
broke out with, “And so this is a young gentleman going to sea for the
first time? O, ho! All right. I’ll be his guardian, and keep an eye on
him when he’s aloft, and, to start fair, if my opinion was asked, I’d
say we’d better go up the wharf, and splice the matter over a social
glass.” At this hint, so delicately conveyed, we gave the fellow a sum
sufficient to allay his thirst, had it been never so great, and he
at once took leave of us, only to return, however, in a few minutes,
declaring that he had lost every cent, at the same time reiterating his
offer to become my friend for a consideration.
The noise of the tow-boat now called us on deck, where we found
a perfect Babel of confusion, caused by the throng of porters,
boarding-house runners, idlers, and sailors’ friends, who were giving
and receiving advice in quantities to last until the vessel returned
to her port. About this time I was touched on the shoulder by a
rough-looking personage in a sailor’s dress, who took me aside, and
inquired if I really intended going to sea. “Because,” said he, “if
you are, let me give you a bit of advice. I’m an old _shell_, and can
steer my trick as well as the next one; and as we’re to be shipmates,
and you’re young, all you’ve got to do is to stick close to me, and
I’ll larn yer all the moves.” After showing so kind an interest in my
affairs, he hinted, like the other man, that there was “still time
enough to step up to the house, and splice the main brace.” As I was
ignorant of this point in seamanship, I handed him some money, that
he might perform it alone, when he disappeared. I saw nothing more of
him for the next half hour; and it was only when the vessel was about
moving off that he staggered over the rail, to all appearances well
braced; and as he expressed a desire to handle all on board, from the
“old man” (the captain) “in the cabin to the doctor” (cook) “in the
galley,” I concluded that his splicing had received especial attention,
and that his strands would not unravel for several hours to come.
These scenes on board of the M., while getting under way, were
comparatively tame to others that I have since witnessed on other
vessels. I have known men to be carried on board ship by boarding-house
keepers, who had enticed them into their dens of infamy, and who had
drugged them so powerfully that they did not recover their senses until
the vessel had left the port. In this manner, fathers of families,
mechanics, tradesmen, and other persons wholly unfitted for a sea
life have been carried off, unknown by their friends. When full
consciousness returned to the unhappy victims, they sought the officers
for an explanation, when I have seen them so beaten and kicked, that
in apprehension for their lives, they bowed in submission to a tyranny
worse than that of slavery itself.
After lying for more than twenty-four hours, wind-bound, in the outer
harbor, all hands were called before daylight, and though the mercury
stood but a few degrees above the freezing point, the decks were washed
down; after which operation the anchor was weighed, and we set sail
out upon the bosom of the broad Atlantic. When we were fairly under
way, we were set to work stowing away chains and ropes, securing the
water casks upon deck, lashing the anchors upon the rail; then a short
breathing spell was allowed us. While looking to windward, an old
sailor, with whom I had commenced a friendship, which I was determined
to strengthen, said, “Here, boy: do you see that land, there? It is the
last you will see until we drop anchor in the River Plata.” I gazed
long upon it. It was Cape Cod. Its white sand-hills looked cold and
drear as the sea beat against their bases, some of which were smooth
and sloping, others steep and gullied by the rains. An hour after this
the breeze freshened, the light sails were taken in, and the topsails
double-reefed; and as the sea ran higher, and our little vessel grew
proportionally uneasy, I began to experience the uncomfortable nausea
and dizziness of seasickness, which, added to the repulsive smell and
closeness of the forecastle, completely overcame my fortitude, when
retiring to my bunk I tried to make myself comfortable.
About five o’clock in the afternoon all hands were mustered upon the
quarter-deck, and the watches chosen. To my satisfaction I was selected
by the mate, and had the further gratification of finding that old
Manuel, my friend, had also been chosen for our watch--a result which
evidently delighted him as much as myself. Ours was the larboard watch,
and remained upon deck, while the captain’s, or starboard watch, went
below. The duties of sea life had now fairly commenced.
The two hours that followed, from six to eight, were passed in a
pleasant conversation with the old Frenchman, Manuel. He informed me
that he had his eye on the moves of the crew, and he concluded that
there was but one sailor on board: it was left to my sagacity to infer
that he meant himself.
Two of the crew, who had shipped as ordinary seamen, were ignorant
of the duties for which they had contracted, and each man in the
forecastle had shipped as an American-born citizen, with protection
papers received from the Custom House, which legally asserted him
as such. These papers they had obtained from their boarding-house
masters, who had purchased them at twenty-five cents each, and had
retailed them to their foreign customers at seventy-five cents apiece.
Of this _American_ crew, two were Germans, or Dutchmen (an appellation
given by sailors to all persons from the north of Europe), one of
unknown parentage, who could only speak a few words of English, two
Irishmen, one Englishman, another who swore point blank to being a
native-born citizen of the States, an old mariner from Bordeaux, and
myself. The law that makes it the duty of a captain to take with his
crew a certain proportion of native-born Americans, had surely not
been complied with here. To one of our crew I cannot do otherwise than
devote a few lines.
The “doctor,” or cook, had already introduced himself, and informed us
in a short and patriotic speech, delivered at the galley door, that
he would confess that his father was a distinguished Irish barrister,
and that he himself possessed no little share of notoriety in the old
country. He had once been taken by a celebrated duchess, as she rode
past in her carriage, for a son of the Marquis of B. His amusing vanity
drew many expressions of contempt from the tars, who pronounced him to
be “an idle Irish thief,” which only served to make him wax more warm
in his assumptions of gentility. He was interrupted in the midst of a
high-flown harangue by the loud squealing of the pigs, which squealing
reminded him that his duties must not be neglected for the purpose of
edifying a crowd of ignorant tars.
Our watch lasted until eight bells, when I went below, but had very
little appetite for supper--a meal consisting of salt beef, biscuits,
and a fluid which the cook called tea, although, on trial, I was sadly
puzzled to know how it could merit such an appellation.
Of the three weeks which followed this first experience of nautical
life and its miseries, I can say but little, as I labored during this
period under the exhausting effects of seasickness, which reduced
me to such a degree of weakness that I once fainted on the flying
jib-boom, from which position of peril I was rescued and brought in by
my friend Manuel. But this distressing malady wore away, and at last
became altogether a memory of the past. Despite hard fare and labor,
I not only recovered my lost flesh, but grew rugged and hearty, and,
moreover, became tolerably familiar with the duties of a life at sea.
I have alluded to our cook, and to his ineffable conceit, mock
sentimentality, and Hibernian fertility of invention.
It was his opinion that the “low-lived fellows” on board ought to
feel highly honored by the presence in their midst of at least one
gentleman--a title which he continually arrogated to himself. I
am sorry to say, that as a cook he was not “a success.” He cared
very little about the quality of the food he served to us; and its
preparation was usually a subordinate consideration, with him, to
the indulgence of his master passion,--the perusal of highly-colored
novels,--to which he devoted every possible moment.
In the hope of improving my wretched diet, I applied myself to the
study of this man’s character, and, having soon discovered his
assailable point, supplied him with some works of fiction more
entrancing than any he had hitherto possessed. I bought them just
before our leaving home, thinking that perhaps some such an opportunity
might offer for making a friendship with some of my messmates. His
delight at receiving them was extreme; and I received in exchange
for my favors many a dish that added a zest to my food, which it had
hitherto altogether lacked.
Whenever I wished to be entertained with some marvellous account of
“life in the highest circles of Great Britain,” I had only to request
from the sympathetic cook a passage or two from his eventful life. It
was his constant lament that he had never kept a dialogue (diary) of
his travels, which, according to his account, must have surpassed those
of most mortals in adventure and interesting incidents.
Of our crew, his countryman, the “boy Jim,” was his favorite. This
Jim was the red-shirted sailor who had promised to instruct me in all
the “moves” of an experienced salt, before we had left the wharf at
Boston. A very few days of our voyage, however, served to prove, that
he not only had no claim to the title of “old salt,” but also that he
had never learned to “steer a trick at the wheel.” The first order that
he received from one of the mates was, “Boy Jim, lay aloft there, and
slush down the foretop-gallant and royal masts!” Seizing a tar bucket,
and pointing aloft, he exclaimed, “Shure, sir, and which of them sticks
is it that ye mane?” thus laying bare his ignorance of all nautical
matters, and bringing on himself the ridicule of the whole ship’s crew.
As with head winds we slowly drew near the variables, or horse
latitudes, rainy weather, accompanied by squalls of wind, commenced,
and for twenty-one days and nights we were wet to the skin: clothes,
bedding, all were saturated from the effects of a leaky deck; and
it was a common occurrence to find, on awakening from slumber, a
respectable stream of water descending into the close and crowded
forecastle. When on deck our oil clothes did not protect us, for from
our having worked in them constantly, the oil coating had worn off:
so, at the end of a watch, we wrung out our under garments, and turned
into our narrow bunks, where we quickly fell asleep, and forgot our
miseries and troubles, until we were aroused to them by the gruff voice
of some sailor of the other watch, shouting down the companion-way,
“Ay--you--Lar-bowlines--ahoy--there; eight--bells! Lay up here,
bullies, and get your duff.” Or, perhaps, “Do those fellows down there
ever intend to relieve the watch!” exclaimed in no pleasant tones by
the captain of the other watch.
The rainy season was succeeded by as delightful weather as we could
have desired. A fair wind sprang up a few days before crossing the
line, and with straining canvas we sped on towards Buenos Ayres. The
days passed pleasantly, and our duties became light and agreeable.
Enjoyable as were these tranquil days, the nights were still lovelier
in those latitudes. The moon seemed to shine with an unwontedly pure
and spiritual light, and with a brightness known only to the clear
atmosphere of the tropics.
As we glided along, night after night, under a firmament studded with
countless lights, and over a broad expanse ruffled with short, dark
waves curling crisply into foam, I could hardly conceive a scene of
more quiet beauty. Standing upon the forecastle deck, a glorious vision
frequently met our gaze: a phosphorescent light gleamed beneath the
bows, and streamed along the sides and in the vessel’s wake, looking
like a train of liquid gems to the imaginative observer. If we looked
aloft to the white canvas of our wide-spread sails, we seemed borne
along by some gigantic bird, of which the sails were the powerful
wings, to the distant horizon, in which were the Southern Cross and
other larger constellations, burning, like beacon lamps, leading us on
to our destined port.
During these days and nights our attention was not unfrequently
attracted to the dwellers in the deep, which were constantly sporting
around us. Schools of black-fish and porpoises continually crossed our
track; and large numbers of flying-fish often shot across our bows,
sometimes leaving at our mercy a few stragglers upon the decks.
Upon such nights as I have described, when acting as lookout by the
windlass bits, old Manuel frequently came to my side, and conversed
upon the various topics connected with his past life, which had been an
eventful one. He was born in Bordeaux. His mother died when he was an
infant, leaving him to the care of his father, who owned and commanded
a small vessel engaged in the coasting trade.
While very young, Manuel preferred playing about the streets of his
native city, and hiding, with other boys, among the vines which covered
his father’s dwelling, to following any plan of education proposed by
his father. Under the direction of an uncle, however, he attended
school when nine years old, and learned to read and write during the
two succeeding years. So rapid was his progress, that the uncle, who
was wealthy, offered to defray his expenses if he would fit himself
for the university; but Manuel preferred following the fortunes of
his father for a season, and accordingly sailed with him along the
coasts of France and Spain. But the voyage was not destined to be a
pleasant one. The boy was continually offending his father, who was a
cold and unlovable man; and one afternoon, while performing certain
antics upon the main-topsail-yard-arm, the old gentleman called him
down, and rewarded his exertions with a lusty application of the end
of the main sheet, which rope’s-ending was not to Manuel’s taste.
He availed himself of the first opportunity, deserted the vessel,
and joined a fine ship sailing to Havana. Before reaching Cuba he
had become acquainted with the ropes, and not wishing to return to
his parent until time had soothed his outraged feelings, he left the
ship, and became a destitute wanderer in a foreign land. He was at
that time twelve years of age. Being led into bad company, he joined
a slaver, bound for the west coast of Africa. The _galota_ in which
he sailed reached the Rio Congo, and received on board nine hundred
negroes, nearly all of whom were landed safely in Cuba. His wages, as
boy, amounted to fifty dollars per month; but, though engaged in so
profitable an undertaking, his sense of right caused him to leave his
unprincipled associates, and to seek employment elsewhere. Since that
time he had served beneath the flag of nearly every maritime nation,
and had also fought in the China wars. For thirteen years he had
sailed from Boston and New York, choosing the American republic as his
adopted country, for which he was willing, as he declared, to shed his
best blood, should necessity require.
While conversing with Manuel, one morning before sunrise, I was
surprised by his suddenly jumping to his feet and scanning the horizon.
At length he exclaimed, “There is a sight you may never see again. I
have crossed the line many times in this longitude, but never beheld
that before to-day!” At this moment the mate, who had been keeping
a long lookout, disappeared below, returning in a moment with the
captain. Looking in the direction pointed out by the old sailor, I
discerned far away to the south-south-east, broken water; and, as the
daylight advanced, we were soon able to distinguish two detached and
rugged rocks, rising out of the sea, together with many smaller peaks
rising out of the water around them. One of these bore a striking
resemblance to a sugar-loaf. This group was the St. Paul’s Rocks. When
first seen they appeared dark and drear; but, as our vessel approached
them, we discovered that the excrements of myriads of sea-fowl,
with which they were covered, had made them of a glistening white,
presenting a strange appearance, not wholly devoid of the picturesque.
Here, at no less a distance than five hundred and forty miles from the
continent of South America, these peaks, the summits of mountains whose
bases are planted in unfathomed depths, arise.
The rocks lie in longitude twenty-nine degrees fifteen minutes west,
and are only fifty-eight miles north of the equator. The highest
peak rises but fifty feet above the sea, and is not more than three
quarters of a mile in circumference.
These isolated rocks have been visited by a few persons only. Darwin,
the naturalist, made a thorough investigation into their natural
history. Among birds, the booby gannet and noddy tern were found;
both species being very tame, depositing their eggs and rearing their
young in great numbers. Darwin, in his account of the tenants of
these rocky islets, observes, “It was amusing to watch how quickly a
large and active crab (_Grapsus_), which inhabits the crevices of the
rocks, stole the fish from the side of the nest, as soon as we had
disturbed the parent birds. Sir W. Symonds, one of the few persons who
have landed here, informs me that he saw these crabs dragging even
the young birds out of the nests, and devouring them. Not a single
plant, nor even lichen, grows on this islet; yet it is inhabited by
several insects and spiders. The following list completes, I believe,
the terrestrial fauna: A fly (_Olfersia_), living on the booby, and a
tick, which must have come here as a parasite on the birds; a small
brown moth, belonging to a genus that feeds on feathers; a beetle
(_Quedius_), and a wood-louse from beneath the dung; and, lastly,
numerous spiders, which, I suppose, prey on these small attendants and
scavengers of the water-fowl.”
I afterwards met, among the many roving characters with whom the
traveller becomes acquainted, a person, who, in his younger days, had
been engaged not only in privateering, but also in the lucrative,
though inhuman, slave traffic. He knew of many instances when slavers
and freebooters had been obliged to visit St. Paul’s from necessity,
not only for the purpose of securing the rain-water that is caught in
the cavities and depressions in the rock, but also to procure a supply
of the fish which play about the islets in large schools, or, more
properly, perhaps, shoals, or schules.
Although our vessel was built before the age of clippers, and
consequently made slow progress through the water, St. Paul’s was far
astern by ten o’clock. A fresh breeze sprang up, and, as it continued
fair, we were wafted along smoothly day after day towards our destined
port.
At length the sudden changes of the atmosphere, and careful
consultations of the officers, and admonitions “to keep a bright
lookout ahead,” warned the forecastle hands that we were nearing the
Rio Plata, the great _River of Silver_, whose broad mouth we were soon
to enter, there to gaze upon the shores of another continent.
The nights seemed cooler, and the beautiful appearance of the heavens,
as the sun, with a broader disk, sank beneath the western horizon,
particularly attracted our attention. As it slowly disappeared, clouds
of many varied hues gathered above it like heavy drapery, as if to
conceal its flight; while others, taking the form of long ranges of
mountains, with here and there a tall peak towering up into the clearer
firmament, presented a panorama of exquisite beauty and grandeur.
But all evenings were not of this description. Sometimes the heavens
darkened, and for two or three hours not a breath of air moved the
murky atmosphere. Long, dark swells came rolling towards us from the
south-east, sure indicators of the distant _pampero_, the hurricane
of La Plata. When these swells were visible, the crew at once became
active: every light sail was snugly furled, and the topsails double
reefed, for our captain was a prudent man, who had sailed long enough
in these latitudes to know the fearful devastation that is often
occasioned by the _pampero_. Before our voyage terminated we had an
opportunity to appreciate this trait in his seamanship.
One afternoon, when within four or five days’ sail of the mouth of the
Plata, the sky became overcast with murky clouds, while the distant
thunder and lightning in the south-west warned us of the proximity of
the hurricane. “All hands” were called and we hurried to our stations;
but before everything could be made snug aloft, a fierce shower of
hail descended, pelting us mercilessly; and glad enough we were to get
below, at four bells, to supper. The wind increased, and blew very hard
for an hour or more, when it became calmer; but still the heavy sea
came rolling towards us, making our stout bark toss and pitch about as
if old Neptune were irritated at her sluggish ways. We congratulated
ourselves at our easy escape from the _pampero_, but we should have
remembered the old saying, “Never shout until you are out of the wood.”
As we were below, discussing various subjects, we were joined by
the cook, who descended the ladder, requesting the loan of a novel,
declaring that he was dying by inches of the “onwy.” “Get out of
this, you and your trash!” shouted an old tar: “this is no place for
distinguished characters.”
But the “doctor” did not appear to be disconcerted in the least at
this rude salutation and reference to his pretensions.
“Ah, boys!” he exclaimed, with a touch of sentimentality, “how can ye
be so boistherous? Here we are, every hour dhrawing nearer and nearer
to that mighty river which runs past Buenos Ayres; and does not the
thought of it inspire ye with romantic feelings? As for meeself, I can
scarce slape at night for the ecstatic thoughts that crowd me brain.
Ye may all laugh,” he continued, as some of the sailors interrupted
him with a boisterous laugh, “but it does not alter the case in the
laste, for it is thrue. To-night, when I was standing in the galley,
the thought came to me, that perhaps the boy here,” pointing to myself,
“would like a few stanzas of poetry for his dialogue (diary), which he
is keeping; so I, in my mind, composed a few lines, which, if he wants,
I will recite to him.”
At this, some of the sailors exclaimed, “Get out of this, for a dirty
sea-cook as you are, and don’t attempt to spoil sensible people.”
I, however, said that I would be pleased to receive his stanzas, and,
preparing my pencil and paper, wrote down the following lines as he
recited them, together with the interpolations and remarks of the
sailors. Striking a beatific attitude, the poet began:--
“I saw her; yes, I saw her.”
_Old Salt_ (gruffly). “What if you did? If she saw you, she sickened, I
dare swear!”
_The Doctor_ (continuing).
“Tripping along so gayly,
With mantilla fluttering in the wind.”
_Old Salt 2d._ “Shaking in the wind’s eye, in a squall.”
_The Doctor._
“Eyes like a dove’s in mildness,
Or an eagle’s in its wildness.”
_Old Salt 1st._ “More like a hen’s with one chicken.”
_Old Salt 3d._ “Or a sick rooster with one tail-feather.”
_The Doctor._
“Smiles they were sweet,
Lips together did meet.”
_Old Salt 1st_ (dubiously). “Lips together did meet? I wonder, mateys,
if she wasn’t smacking them after a glass of grog?”
_The Doctor._
“Clamors of war and terrible drums,
Noise of trumpets and the hum of tongues,
Can frighten the timid, but not her;
For brave as a lion, dauntless as fire,
She’s ruled by love, and not by ire.”
Here some of the sailors pretended to faint; others reeled off to their
bunks, saying that the doctor’s poetry was “worse than his duff, and
that wasn’t fit to give a measly hog;” while one old follow ascended to
the deck, declaring that he “couldn’t sleep after hearing such blasted
nonsense, until he had taken a salt junk emetic.”
The doctor would have continued his poetry, notwithstanding the
ridicule of the “low, ignorant fellows,” as he called them; but he was
interrupted by the voice of the mate, calling down to the cook to
“doctor the binnacle lamp,” when the poet hurried up the companion-way,
leaving me to turn in, and dream of
“Lips that together did meet,
Clamors of wars, and terrible drums,”
until the man at the wheel struck eight bells.