ON SHORE AT RIO.
It was well on in the afternoon when land was sighted, but so accurately
had the ship been navigated for all the long, pleasant weeks of our voyage
that both the captain and his first officer might easily have been excused
for showing a little pride in their seamanship. Your British sailor,
however, is always a modest man, and there was not the slightest approach
to bombast. The ship was now slowed, for we could not cross the bar that
night.
At the dinner-table we were all as merry as schoolboys on the eve of a
holiday. Old Jenny, as Moncrieff's mother had come to be called, was in
excellent spirits, and her droll remarks not only made us laugh, but
rendered it very difficult indeed for the stewards to wait with anything
approaching to _sang-froid_. Moncrieff was quietly happy. He seemed
pleased his mother was so great a favourite. Aunt, in her tropical toilet,
looked angelic. The adjective was applied by our mutual friend Captain
Roderigo de Bombazo, and my brothers and I agreed that he had spoken the
truth for once in a way. Did he not always speak the truth? it may be
asked. I am not prepared to accuse the worthy Spaniard of deliberate
falsehood, but if everything he told us was true, then he must indeed have
come through more wild and terrible adventures, and done more travelling
and more fighting, than any lion-hunter that ever lived and breathed.
He was highly amusing nevertheless, and as no one, with the exception of
Jenny, ever gave any evidence of doubting what he said and related
concerning his strange career, he was encouraged to carry on; and even the
exploits of Baron Munchausen could not have been compared to some of his.
I think it used to hurt his feelings somewhat that old Jenny listened so
stolidly to his relations, for he used to cater for her opinion at times.
'Ah!' Jenny would say, 'you're a wonderful mannie wi' your way o't! And
what a lot you've come through! I wonder you have a hair in your heed!'
'But the senora believes vot I say?'
'Believe ye? If a' stories be true, yours are no lees, and I'm not goin'
ahint your back to tell ye, sir.'
Once, on deck, he was drawing the long-bow, as the Yankees call it, at a
prodigious rate. He was telling how, once upon a time, he had caught a
young alligator; how he had tamed it and fed it till it grew a monster
twenty feet long; how he used to saddle it and bridle it, and ride through
the streets of Tulcora on its back--men, women, and children screaming and
flying in all directions; how, armed only with his good sabre, he rode it
into a lake which was infested with these dread saurians; how he was
attacked in force by the awful reptiles, and how he had killed and wounded
so many that they lay dead in dozens next day along the banks.
'Humph!' grunted old Jenny when he had finished.
The little captain put the questions,
'Ah! de aged senora not believe! De aged senora not have seen much of de
world?'
Jenny had grasped her umbrella.
'Look here, my mannie,' she said, 'I'll gie ye a caution; dinna you refer
to my age again, or I'll "aged-snorer" you. If ye get the weight o' my
gingham on your shou'ders, ye'll think a coo has kick't ye--so mind.'
And the Spanish captain had slunk away very unlike a lion-hunter, but he
never called Jenny old again.
To-night, however, even before we had gone below, Jenny had given proofs
that she was in an extra good temper, for being a little way behind
Bombazo--as if impelled by some sudden and joyous impulse--she lifted that
everlasting umbrella and hit him a friendly thwack that could be heard
from bowsprit to binnacle.
'Tell as mony lees the nicht as ye like, my mannie,' she cried, 'and I'll
never contradict ye, for I've seen the promised land!'
'And so, captain, you must stay at Rio a whole week?' said my aunt at
dessert.
'Yes, Miss M'Crimman,' replied the captain. 'Are you pleased?'
'I'm delighted. And I propose that we get up a grand picnic in "the
promised land," as good old Jenny calls it.'
And so it was arranged. Bombazo and Dr. Spinks, having been at Rio de
Janeiro before, were entrusted with the organization of the 'pig-neeg,' as
Bombazo called it, and held their first consultation on ways and means
that very evening. Neither I nor my brothers were admitted to this
meeting, though aunt was. Nevertheless, we felt confident the picnic would
be a grand success, for, to a late hour, men were hurrying fore and aft,
and the stewards were up to their eyes packing baskets and making
preparations, while from the cook's gally gleams of rosy light shot out
every time the door was opened, to say nothing of odours so appetising
that they would have awakened Van Winkle himself.
Before we turned in, we went on deck to have a look at the night. It was
certainly full of promise. We were not far from the shore--near enough to
see a long line of white which we knew was breakers, and to hear their
deep sullen boom as they spent their fury on the rocks. The sky was
studded with brilliant stars--far more bright, we thought them, than any
we ever see in our own cold climate. Looking aloft, the tall masts seemed
to mix and mingle with the stars at every roll of the ship. The moon, too,
was as bright as silver in the east, its beams making strange quivering
lines and crescents in each approaching wave. And somewhere--yonder among
those wondrous cone-shaped hills, now bathed in this purple moonlight--lay
the promised land, the romantic town of Rio, which to-morrow we should
visit.
We went below, and, as if by one accord, my brothers and I knelt down
together to thank the Great Power on high who had guided us safely over
the wide illimitable ocean, and to implore His blessing on those at home,
and His guidance on all our future wanderings.
Early next morning we were awakened by a great noise on deck, and the dash
and turmoil of breaking water. The rudder-chains, too, were constantly
rattling as the men at the wheel obeyed the shouts of the officer of the
watch.
'Starboard a little!'
'Starboard it is, sir!'
'Easy as you go! Steady!'
'Steady it is, sir!'
'Port a little! Steady!'
Then came a crash that almost flung us out of our beds. Before we gained
the deck of our cabin there was another, and still another. Had we run on
shore? We dreaded to ask each other.
But just then the steward, with kindly thought, drew back our curtain and
reassured us.
'We're only bumping over the bar, young gentlemen--we'll be in smooth
water in a jiffey.'
We were soon all dressed and on deck. We were passing the giant hill
called Sugar Loaf, and the mountains seemed to grow taller and taller, and
to frown over us as we got nearer.
Once through the entrance, the splendid bay itself lay spread out before
us in all its silver beauty. Full twenty miles across it is, and
everywhere surrounded by the grandest hills imaginable. Not even in our
dreams could we have conceived of such a noble harbour, for here not only
could all the fleets in the world lie snug, but even cruise and manoeuvre.
Away to the west lay the picturesque town itself, its houses and public
buildings shining clear in the morning sun, those nearest nestling in a
beauty of tropical foliage I have never seen surpassed.
My brothers and I felt burning to land at once, but regulations must be
carried out, and before we had cleared the customs, and got a clean bill
of health, the day was far spent. Our picnic must be deferred till
to-morrow.
However, we could land.
As they took their seats in the boat and she was rowed shoreward, I
noticed that Donald and Dugald seemed both speechless with delight and
admiration; as for me, I felt as if suddenly transported to a new world.
And such a world--beauty and loveliness everywhere around us! How should I
ever be able to describe it, I kept wondering--how give dear old mother
and Flora any notion, even the most remote, of the delight instilled into
our souls by all we saw and felt in this strange, strange land! Without
doubt, the beauty of our surroundings constitutes one great factor in our
happiness, wherever we are.
When we landed--indeed, before we landed--while the boat was still
skimming over the purple waters, the green mountains appearing to mingle
and change places every moment as we were borne along, I felt conquered,
if I may so express it, by the enchantment of my situation. I gave in my
allegiance to the spirit of the scene, I abandoned all thoughts of being
able to describe anything, I abandoned myself to enjoyment. _Laisser
faire_, I said to my soul, is to live. Every creature, every being here
seems happy. To partake of the _dolce far niente_ appears the whole aim
and object of their lives.
And so I stepped on shore, regretting somewhat that Flora was not here,
feeling how utterly impossible it would be to write that 'good letter'
home descriptive of this wondrous medley of tropical life and loveliness,
but somewhat reckless withal, and filled with a determination to give full
rein to my sense of pleasure. I could not help wondering, however, if
everything I saw was real. Was I in a dream, from which I should presently
be rudely awakened by the rattle and clatter of the men hauling up ashes,
and find myself in bed on board the Canton? Never mind, I would enjoy it
were it even a dream.
What a motley crowd of people of every colour! How jolly those negroes
look! How gaily the black ladies are dressed! How the black men laugh!
What piles of fruit and green stuff! What a rich, delicious, warm aroma
hovers everywhere!
An interpreter? You needn't ask _me_. I'm not in charge. Ask my aunt here;
but she herself can talk many languages. Or ask that tall brawny Scot, who
is hustling the darkies about as if South America all belonged to him.
'A carriage, Moncrieff? Oh, this is delightful! Auntie, dear, let me help
you on board. Hop in, Dugald. Jump, Donald. No, no, Moncrieff, I mean to
have the privilege of sitting beside the driver. Off we go. Hurrah! Do you
like it, Donald? But aren't the streets rough! I won't talk any more; I
want to watch things.'
I wonder, though, if Paradise itself was a bit more lovely than the
gardens we catch glimpses of as we drive along?
How cool they look, though the sun is shining in a blue and cloudless sky!
What dark shadows those gently waving palm-trees throw! Look at those
cottage verandahs! Look, oh, look at the wealth of gorgeous flowers--the
climbing, creeping, wreathing flowers! What colours! What fantastic
shapes! What a merry mood Nature must have been in when she framed them
so! And the perfume from those fairy gardens hangs heavy on the air; the
delicious balmy breeze that blows through the green, green palm-leaves is
not sufficient to waft away the odour of that orange blossom. Behold those
beautiful children in groups, on terraces and lawns, at windows, or in
verandahs--so gaily are they dressed that they themselves might be
mistaken for bouquets of lovely flowers!
I wonder what the names of all those strange blossom-bearing shrubs are.
But, bah! who would bother about names of flowers on a day like this? The
butterflies do not, and the bees do not. Are those really butterflies,
though--really and truly? Are they not gorgeously painted fans, waved and
wafted by fairies, themselves unseen?
The people we meet chatter gaily as we pass, but they do not appear to
possess a deal of curiosity; they are too contented for anything. All life
here must be one delicious round of enjoyment. And nobody surely ever dies
here; I do not see how they could.
'Is this a cave we are coming to, Moncrieff? What is that long row of
columns and that high, green, vaulted roof, through which hardly a ray of
sunshine can struggle? Palm-trees! Oh, Moncrieff, what glorious palms! And
there is life upon life there, for the gorgeous trees, not apparently
satisfied with their own magnificence of shape and foliage, must array
themselves in wreaths of dazzling orchids and festoons of trailing
flowers. The fairies _must_ have hung those flowers there? Do not deny it,
Moncrieff!'
And here, in the Botanical Gardens, imagination must itself be dumb--such
a wild wealth of all that is charming in the vegetable and animal
creation.
'Donald, go your own road. Dugald, go yours; let us wander alone. We may
meet again some day. It hardly matters whether we do or not. I'm in a
dream, and I don't think I want to awaken for many a long year.'
I go wandering away from my brothers, away from every one.
A fountain is sending its spray aloft till the green drooping branches of
the bananas and those feathery tree-ferns are everywhere spangled with
diamonds. I will rest here. I wish I could catch a few of those wondrous
butterflies, or even one of those fairylike humming-birds--mere sparks of
light and colour that flit and buzz from flower to flower. I wish I
could--that I--I mean--I--wish--'
'Hullo! Murdoch. Where are you? Why, here he is at last, sound asleep
under an orange-tree!'
It is my wild Highland brothers. They have both been shaking me by the
shoulders. I sit up and rub my eyes.
'Do you know we've been looking for you for over an hour?'
'Ah, Dugald!' I reply, 'what is an hour, one wee hour, in a place like
this?'
We must now go to visit the market-place, and then we are going to the
hotel to dine and sleep.
The market is a wondrously mixed one, and as wondrously foreign and
strange as it is possible to conceive. The gay dresses of the women--some
of whom are as black as an ebony ball; their gaudy head-gear; their
glittering but tinselled ornaments; their round laughing faces, in which
shine rows of teeth as white perhaps as alabaster; the jaunty men folks;
the world of birds and beasts, all on the best of terms with themselves,
especially the former, arrayed in all the colours of the rainbow; the
world of fruit, tempting in shape, in beauty, and in odour; the world of
fish, some of them beautiful enough to have dwelt in the coral caves of
fairyland beneath the glittering sea--some ugly, even hideous enough to be
the creatures of a demon's dream, and some, again, so odd-looking or so
grotesque as to make one smile or laugh outright;--the whole made up a
picture that even now I have but to close my eyes to see again!
When night falls the streets get for a time more crowded; side-paths
hardly exist--at all events, the inhabitants show their independence by
crowding along the centre of the streets. Not much light to guide them,
though, except where from open doors or windows the rays from lamps shoot
out into the darkness.
Away to the hotel. A dinner in a delightfully cool, large room, a punkah
waving overhead, brilliant lights, joy on all our faces, a dessert fit to
set before a king. Now we shall know how those strange fruits taste, whose
perfume hung around the market to-day. To bed at last in a room scented
with orange-blossoms, and around the windows of which the sweet
stephanotis clusters in beauty--to bed, to sleep, and dream of all we have
done and seen.
We awaken--at least, I do--in the morning with a glad sensation of
anticipated pleasure. What is it? Oh yes, the picnic!
But it is no ordinary picnic. It lasts for three long days and nights,
during which we drive by day through scenes of enchantment apparently, and
sleep by night under canvas, wooed to slumber by the wind whispering in
the waving trees.
'Moncrieff,' I say on the second day, 'I should like to live here for ever
and ever and ever.'
'Man!' replies Moncrieff, 'I'm glad ye enjoy it, and so does my mither
here. But dinna forget, lads, that hard work is all before us when we
reach Buenos Ayres.'
'But I will, and I _shall_ forget, Moncrieff,' I cry. 'This country is
full of forgetfulness. Away with all thoughts of work; let us revel in the
sunshine like the bees, and the birds, and the butterflies.'
'Revel away, then,' says Moncrieff; and dear aunt smiles languidly.
On the last day of 'the show,' as Dugald called it, and while our mule
team is yet five good miles from town, clouds dark and threatening bank
rapidly up in the west. The driver lashes the beasts and encourages them
with shout and cry to do their speedy utmost; but the storm breaks over us
in all its fury, the thunder seems to rend the very mountains, the rain
pours down in white sheets, the lightning runs along the ground and looks
as if it would set the world on fire; the wind goes tearing through the
trees, bending the palms like reeds, rending the broad banana-leaves to
ribbons; branches crack and fall down, and the whole air is filled with
whirling fronds and foliage.
Moncrieff hastily envelopes his mother in that Highland plaid till nought
is visible of the old lady save the nose and one twinkling eye. We laugh
in spite of the storm. Louder and louder roars the thunder, faster and
faster fly the mules, and at last we are tearing along the deserted
streets, and hastily draw up our steaming steeds at the hotel door. And
that is almost all I remember of Rio; and to-morrow we are off to sea once
more.