Getting Off
The United Fruit Company’s Ships--Delay--Brushing up in
Spanish--Getting off--The Musical Engineer--Spilling Soup--Threatened
Arson--A Resolve Never to Take Too Much Liquor Again--The Pilot--Four
Miles in Two Hours--The Captain’s Wink--Chicago as a Joke--The
Jetty--Unexhilarating Speed--The Zigzag Habit.
From New Orleans the United Fruit Company sends a steamer every week
to Colón and Bocas del Toro, in Panama, and one to Port Limón, in
Costa Rica. Most of the boats are small and better adapted to the
accommodation and comfort of bananas than of human beings. However,
those who are poor sailors can, by arranging dates and taking one of
the large (?) ships, get to Panama almost as comfortably as from New
York, and in a little over half the time. If one is a good equilibrist
and loves solitude, there is even an advantage in taking one of the
smaller fruit boats, for they ordinarily have so few passengers
that one has almost the whole boat to oneself--and needs it. Mr. M.
J. Dempsey, the traffic manager at New Orleans of the United Fruit
Company, was very accommodating and painstaking, both in corresponding
with me and in placing me after I arrived at New Orleans. The company
is better than its boats.
Having missed the Friday boat for Colón, I made the best of my
misfortune by feasting on fresh oysters, French café-au-lait and French
water-rolls. In fact, I was benefited by the short delay, as the S.
S. Limón, the newest and largest in the service, sailed on Monday
morning directly for Port Limón, offering me an opportunity of visiting
San José, the capital of Costa Rica, the so-called Paris of Central
America, and of avoiding the crowd of doctors who were going later. In
this case I was particularly anxious to avoid the otherwise congenial
crowd, because I wanted to get away from English-speaking people during
the four or five days on the water. Thus I would have a chance to brush
up my Spanish by being forced to speak it to the Central American
passengers, the officers, steward, sailors, etc. I would then be better
prepared to converse with the South American doctors. But when I went
aboard I found that the S. S. Limón was an old Glasgow ship with a new
name, and had a Canadian captain and Jamaican crew. The passengers were
all Americans and English, and I was the only one on board who could
speak, or cared to speak, a word of Spanish. I was, therefore, obliged
to brush up my Spanish without a brush.
We got off at 11 A. M. There were several passengers standing about on
deck gazing listlessly at the negroes on the dock,--but not a friend
of any of us could be seen, not a smile or wave of hand or flutter
of handkerchief. It seemed quite doleful not even to see a friend or
relative of some one else.
The only incident that varied the monotony came near being an
accident. It was the arrival of one of the engineers, who was a man of
unusually refined features for one in his station of life, but who was
in such a happy state of mind that had it not been for the assistance
of his peers he would have walked off the gangplank into the water,
for he took two steps and stoops sideways to every one forward. He was
softly singing, “For to-night we’ll merry, merry be; to-morrow we’ll
be shober.” I felt relieved when I saw that he was safely aboard where
liquor was not sold, and I realized for the first time what a great
blessing ships were to sailors. As soon as he was safely over the
gangplank he straightened up and said, “I’m the besht eng’neer aboard.
I can run an engine better’n I can walk a plank. I’ve been drinking
like the ---- but I’m not drunk. I’m a Christian scientist, I am. I
only _think_ I’m drunk (hic).”
About an hour afterward as I was wandering about exploring the ship, I
came across him balancing himself along on his way from the kitchen to
the mess room, carrying a big iron pot of greasy soup and spilling it
liberally. Upon seeing me, he smiled blandly and said:
“Good shoup this, ain’t it?”
“Yes, I see it is. If you can eat that you’re all right.”
“Oh, _I’m_ aw right (hic)!” he said, as he allowed about a pint of the
soup to spill upon the deck. “It’s the shoup that’s gone wrong. It’s
half seas over awready.”
After a moment’s pause he began again: “Is this your firsht trip to the
tropics?”
“Yes, I want to see them before I die.”
“Better wait till you die. It’s a --ll of a place for a live man.
I’m going to set the ship on fire at five o’clock. I’ve been
drinking, but I’m as shober as blue blazes now, and I’m going to
shelebrate--she-(hic)elebrate.”
Seeing my chance to do some missionary work, I asked him why he didn’t
join a temperance club, and thus relieve himself of all temptation to
drink.
“No club for me, sir. Had enough clubbing when I’s a boy. Rather be hit
by a cocktail. W’iskey’s the life of temper’nce clubs. Keeps ’em going
(hic). W’iskey causes more good resolutions than bad ones--makes people
wish to be better. An’ what’s better’n that?”
He stopped talking and stood grinning at me as I moved slowly away and
faintly returned his smile. I then and there resolved never to take too
much liquor again in any form. All men should sign the pledge before
they die, as I expect to do. But as it was, I feared I might never
have a chance to drink anything but Mississippi River water after five
o’clock, when the ship was to burn. However, I calculated that since
we would not be out of the river and away from land until six or seven
o’clock, which would be from one to two hours after the fire, we could
all save ourselves with life-preservers. So I went to my stateroom
and finding that my life-preservers had real cork in them, instead of
old-fashioned pig-iron, tied one to my valise and two to my trunk. Then
I went back on deck and, being prepared for the danger, soon forgot all
about it.
After speeding around many river-bends for two hours we went down to
lunch, and the pilot, who ate with us, told us among other things that
we were just four miles from New Orleans, across country. I told him
not to hurry so, but to remember that “the more haste the less speed;”
that on the Chicago River we would have traveled many miles in two
hours, and that in Chicago we could walk faster than this boat ran;
we could walk four miles in _one_ hour. The pilot thought that I was
in earnest and winked at the captain, who was of English descent and
knew that a wink meant a joke. So he winked at both of us, and asked no
questions. I afterward learned that the mention of Chicago was the joke
they meant.
Although it was the third week of December, the shores were green and
the scenery was interesting all the way, and the weather was warm
enough to enable us to enjoy it. The delta presented the appearance
of numerous small lakes with strips of meadow land between them,
instead of branching streams as marked on the maps. We saw some fine
plantations and a fine herd of cattle. Indeed, the district appeared to
be an ideal one for raising cattle, as grass and water were plentiful,
shelter unnecessary and fences superfluous.
Soon after six o’clock we came to the outlet which was indicated by a
jetty on our left and the open sea ahead. The jetty was a pier built
where the current could strike it and hollow out its own channel, the
same as it does all along the river when it strikes the banks at the
bends. A lighthouse and searchlight were, of course, on the end of
the pier, which was a much smaller and simpler structure than I had
considered necessary. The simple device was, as usual, the successful
one.
The pilot got off here, but stopped and shook hands with me, and asked
if I had enjoyed the ride. He told me that we had made one of the
quickest runs to the mouth of the river on record for a fruit boat.
I said: “As far as I’ve got I can’t conscientiously say that I am
exhilarated by the speed. Bananas that want to ripen while they ride
can’t complain, however. The river takes two dips sideways to every one
forward like the best engineer who came aboard half seas over, and I
can’t comprehend how a man as sober and steady as you seem to be can
keep the ship going that way without forgetting himself at times and
letting it take a straight and proper step or two occasionally and run
into the shore.”
“Well, it’s this way,” he answered. “We become so accustomed to the
zigzag course that zigzagging becomes a habit, and we find it hard to
keep straight.”
“Yes,” I said, “and the engineers are acquiring the zigzag habit, too.”
As I did not bring in Chicago he didn’t see any joke.