As you enter the harbor of Payta from sea, the town presents a most
uninviting appearance. It is built at the base of sand hills. The houses
have the appearance of mud huts; the roofs covered with tile. Upon a
nearer approach, not a green thing can be discovered except the
balconies of some of the finer houses. The consul, tired, as he said, of
eternally seeing sand hills and sand-colored dwellings, had relieved the
monotony of the scene by substituting green paint wherever an
opportunity presented. At this time the town numbered about four
thousand inhabitants. They came to an anchor some distance from the
shore, and were soon surrounded by boats. The English, French, and
American consuls came on board, each equally desirous of giving us a
home, and contributing in any way to render our stay with them as
pleasant as possible. We repaired to the house of the American
consul--Mr. Ruden, of New York, who has a mercantile house established
there. This house is very spacious, constructed upon the Spanish plan of
architecture, and constructed wholly after the manner of South American
houses. The whole front of the lower part is appropriated to business.
A wide and pleasant balcony surrounds the entire house at the second
story. Large windows, and still larger doors, open upon this balcony,
and render it an airy and delightful residence. From this balcony you
have a fine view of the harbor, dotted with ships of almost every
nation. In addition--and not a very pleasant auxiliary, to be sure--are
multitudes of natives constantly sea-bathing, and frolicking in the
water. I often wondered if some of them were not really amphibious. Mr.
Ruden’s household consisted of himself and four gentlemen belonging to
the firm. All his servants were male natives, and he employed quite a
number, with a major domo to superintend them. Upon entering the
spacious parlor, my attention was attracted to the portrait of a lady
with such a pleasant expression of countenance that I hoped the original
was not far distant. In this, however, I was disappointed. It was a
portrait of Mr. Ruden’s mother, a resident of New York city. Mr. Ruden
was a bachelor; thus again was I deprived of female companionship.
Eighteen years of his life had been passed in South America, where he
had amassed quite a fortune.
I often availed myself of the use of Mr. Ruden’s library. In this room
was suspended a hempen hammock, in which I enjoyed many a delightful
siesta. The bedsteads were all of polished brass, and very beautifully
curtained with bright-colored satin. Some of them cost as high as one
thousand dollars. The pillow-slips and counterpanes were solid
embroidery, executed by the delicate hands of the lovely Spanish
señoritas. They were placed on the beds over a lining of pink or blue
cambric, thereby displaying to great advantage the fine needle-work.
Even the toilet-towels were embroidered at each end a quarter of a yard
in depth, and then fringed. We breakfasted at ten o’clock, and dined at
five, P.M. At nine, P.M., a servant would bring us a most excellent cup
of tea, which we generally enjoyed seated upon the balcony. Through the
day we were regaled with all the delicious fruits indigenous to a
tropical clime, among which were several kinds I had never before
tasted--the palta and cherrymoyer. The first-named is shaped something
like cucumber, and is eaten with pepper and salt. The flavor of the
cherrymoyer is perfectly delicious. This fruit is about the size of the
largest kind of Baldwin apple, and very pulpous. The fruit, together
with the water, and all the vegetables consumed in Payta, and all with
which the shipping is supplied, is transported across a desert of
sixteen miles in width, upon mules’ backs, from a town called Piura--a
perfect garden of Eden, through which flows a pellucid river. When the
ladies of Payta visit Piura to refresh themselves with a sight of the
beautiful in nature, they are transported in a palanquin, which is
rested upon the shoulders of natives. On the desert there is not a tree
or shrub to mark one’s course. It is deep sand, from which footprints
are quickly erased. A pocket-compass is indispensable in crossing.
There was a church near to Mr. Ruden’s house, which I often
frequented--at the matin hour, and again at vespers--to get a view of
the lovely brunettes, who, with heads uncovered, were kneeling in every
direction, upon soft mats brought every day by a servant, following in
close proximity to the señora or señorita. I admire their style of
beauty. The clear olive complexion; the soul and sympathy which beam
from their dark, lustrous eyes; their long, black, glossy hair; their
natural ease, grace, and warmth of manner; the lip so full of sentiment
and love, that, if the eyes were closed, the face would retain its
exquisite expression; their vivacity of manner in conversation--_all_
unite to form a lovely and fascinating woman.
The walls of the churches are hung with coarse paintings, and engravings
of the saints, etc., etc. The chancel is decorated with numerous images
and symbolic ornaments used by the priests in their worship. Gold paper
and tinsel in barbaric taste are plastered without stint upon nearly
every object that meets the eye. When, on festive occasions, the church
is lighted, it presents a very glittering appearance. The tastes and
predilections of the priests are totally unlike what one would suppose
their sacred offices would instigate. I have seen a priest leave the
church, walk directly to his house, take two fighting-cocks, one under
each arm, and repair to the scene of cock-fighting, and there spend
hours in betting.
While at Payta, the United States sloop-of-war Vincennes, Commander
Hudson, arrived in port. The officers frequently dined with Mr. Ruden.
By invitation of Captain Hudson, we all dined on board the Vincennes. We
were welcomed alongside by a salute of twenty-one guns--a compliment
usually conferred upon a consul when he visits ships of the line. We
spent the afternoon most agreeably; and the refined hospitality,
courteous manners, intelligent and interesting conversation of our host,
made us regret the rapidly fleeing moments. It was a beautiful moonlight
eve when we left the Vincennes in the captain’s barge, rowed by those
men-of-war sailors, dressed with such uniform neatness. Not a ripple
disturbed the placid and glossy surface of the water. At night so pure
is the atmosphere, that the moon gives a light sufficiently powerful
for the purposes of the reader or student who has good eyesight. There
is no necessity of burning the “midnight oil;” nature here lights the
lamp for the bookworm. So phosphorescent is the water, that every dip of
the oars is followed by a stream of light resembling fire. When we were
at Payta, we were informed that no rain had fallen during the preceding
seven years. We met there a friend from whom we had parted on the broad
Pacific, never expecting to meet again--Captain McKenzie. Yes! the
pleasant Scotch captain we left on board the Symmetry. Captain Thompson
had faithfully fulfilled the stipulation to leave them near the port of
Valparaiso. From thence he had taken passage in an English steamer bound
to Panama, and from there he would cross the isthmus, proceed to New
York, and from there to England. The steamer touched at Payta to remain
an hour, and Captain McKenzie stepped on shore to have a view of the
town. Nearly the first persons he saw were Captain Lunt and my husband.
When he parted from us last, we were bound to San Francisco. Judge,
then, of his astonishment at meeting them there. He knew at once some
unforeseen calamity had driven them from their course. From previous
events his thoughts naturally reverted to fire; and his first
exclamation was, “My God! you have been burnt out again!” Too true. All
was then explained. There they met, at a port neither of them intended
to visit--the three captains who had lost their ships by fire. He paid
me a passing visit at the house, then departed on his way to his distant
home, to gladden the anxious hearts of wife and children. I have never
seen or heard from him since. But, whenever my thoughts revert to him,
the recollection is always flavored with old Scotch whiskey.
The bark Carbargo, Captain Barstow, was loading at Payta for Panama. The
captain was a native of Pembroke, Mass., and, being acquainted with our
friends at home, felt quite an interest in our welfare. He very kindly
offered to give us a passage to Panama. Upon his assuring me he had not
a cargo of coal, but mules, sheep, and fowl instead, I felt I might
safely trust myself once more on board another vessel. It was a lovely
day we bade good-bye to Mr. Ruden and other friends, with whom we had
passed many pleasant hours during a four weeks’ sojourn at Payta. I had
changed somewhat in my personal appearance since first I beheld those
everlasting sand-hills. My wardrobe, too, had been replenished. I was
really a gainer by my temporary stay at Payta, and departed with a
lighter heart. Hope seemed to whisper of a cloudless to-morrow. How
wisely ordered, how characteristic of our natures, to hope on, hope
ever! When Hope deserts her throne, we are, indeed, like a lost mariner
without chart or compass.
Here we are again on ship-board; and I have no better business, all
these long summer days, than to watch those thirty large mules, ranged
along the deck, fifteen on a side, their heads facing the vessel’s rail,
with just a path between the rows. They were the finest-looking mules I
ever saw. The South American mule is larger, as a general thing, than
the Mexican mule. The captain anticipated realizing a handsome sum for
them. They were in excellent order, and were blessed with such nice long
tails, which is considered quite an acquisition. One morning early, I
heard such a loud talking on deck, and in no very pleasant tones either,
I conjectured something awful had happened. I soon ascertained the cause
of the clamor. One of the mules had broken his fastening in the night,
and, not being discovered, had the extreme audacity to deprive nearly
all his brother mules of their dearly prized appendages, eating the
hair square off, up to the fleshy part of their tail. It appears they
invariably practise this habit whenever they can get them in a position
where they can make no resistance. The sheep were between decks. The
heat must have been almost insupportable. They would gather round the
wind-sail with their noses up, panting terribly. It was not an agreeable
cargo; yet I had no fears of spontaneous combustion, although I
afterwards learned there was coal in for ballast.