THE WESTERN ISLANDS
The first day or so of the voyage seemed long to Irma. She could not lie
in a steamer chair, and pretend to read, as Aunt Caroline did. She had
more than a suspicion that her aunt seldom turned the leaves of her
book, and that left to herself she was apt to doze, although each
morning Uncle Jim placed beside her chair a large basket containing
books and magazines.
"Lean back, Irma," Uncle Jim would say, "you are not a real bird that
you need perch on the arm of your chair. Lean back; I will fix your
cushions--as Marion is not here to do this for you," he concluded
mischievously.
"I wonder what Marion does with himself," interposed Aunt Caroline. "We
see him only at meals, and I thought he would be such company for Irma."
"Irma doesn't need him," responded Uncle Jim. "Come, my dear, let us
look at the steerage."
"Don't go below," protested Aunt Caroline. "You don't know what
frightful disease you might catch."
"We'll only look over the railing," and Uncle Jim led Irma to a spot
where she could look down at the steerage passengers, sitting in the sun
on the deck below.
"It's not very crowded," explained Uncle Jim, "on the passage to Europe
at this season. Most of those you see have a free passage because the
authorities fear they may become public charges."
"How hard!"
"No, my dear. Many of them have better food and quarters here than they
ever have on shore."
"Are there many sick among them?"
"The doctor told me of one poor woman who may not live until she
reaches the Azores. She has been working in New Bedford, but when the
doctors told her she could not live long, she was sure the air of the
Western Islands would cure her. So her friends had a raffle, and raised
enough for her passage, and a little more for her to live on after her
arrival here, at least, that's what Marion told me."
"Marion!"
"Yes, he takes a great interest in the steerage. I dare say he knows
those three ferocious-looking desperadoes in the corner."
"Desperadoes!"
"Well, they might be brigands, might they not? at least judging from
their appearance. Most men returning at this season--and not a few of
the women, too--are sent back by our Government because undesirable for
citizenship."
"Oh!" exclaimed Irma. "That explains why so many wear strange clothes.
They are really foreigners."
"Yes. The majority of them have probably never even landed."
As Irma turned away, her interest in the steerage increased rather than
lessened. But when she asked Uncle Jim questions, she found he knew
little about individuals. She wished that Marion would talk to her. She
believed that he could tell her what she wished to know. But as the days
passed Marion did not thaw out. It is true he usually reported the day's
run to Irma, a little ahead of the time when it was marked on the ship's
chart, and if she was not near Aunt Caroline when the steward passed
around with his tea and cakes, he would usually hunt her up. But if she
began to talk to him, he answered in the briefest words, and did not
encourage further conversation.
One day, when he came to the table rather more animated than usual, she
could not help overhearing him describe a visit he had made to the lower
regions of the ship, where he had seen the inner workings of things. She
listened eagerly to his description of the stoking hole with the flames
weirdly lighting up the figures of the busy stokers. This interested her
more than what he told of the machinery and the huge refrigerating
plant.
"The doctor might have asked me, too. It's different from the steerage.
Marion is very selfish, never to think of me. If there were more girls
of my age, I wouldn't care. There isn't a boy in Cranston who would be
so mean."
Soon after this, the day before they reached the Azores, Irma made the
acquaintance of the one girl on board, near her own age. Hitherto Muriel
had looked at her wistfully, not venturing to leave her governess, who
talked French endlessly, as they paced the deck. But now, as Irma was
watching a game of shuffleboard, played by older persons, Muriel
approached and began a conversation, and soon the two were comparing
their present impressions and their future plans.
"I'm awfully tired of Europe," said Muriel. "We go every year, but this
time it may not be so bad, as we are to motor through Italy."
The most of this day the two new friends were together, separating only
to finish the letters that they wished to mail at St. Michael's.
After dinner, when Irma went back to the dining saloon, the mail steward
sat at a table with a scale before him, receiving money for the stamps
he was to put on letters at Ponta Delgada.
"Why, here's my little lady of the stamps," cried a voice in Irma's ear,
and turning, she recognized the little old gentleman, whom she had not
seen since the first day.
Irma returned his greeting, and he went up with her toward the deck.
"It's so mild," she explained, "that my aunt said I might sit outside.
I am so anxious to see land."
"Even if we were nearer shore, there's not moon enough to show an
outline. Why are you so anxious to see land?"
"Because it will be my first foreign country. Except when we sailed from
New York, I had never been out of New England."
"There are worse places to spend one's life in than New England," and
the old gentleman sighed, as he added, "yet in the fifty years since I
left it, I have been back only half a dozen times."
"I suppose you know the Azores," ventured Irma.
"Oh, yes, the country was very primitive in the old days. The interior,
they tell me, has changed little, but the cities are more up to date."
"Cities?"
"Not large cities like ours in America, though Ponta Delgada is the
third largest in Portugal. But there, young ladies of your age dislike
guidebook information, at least out of school."
"Oh, please go on," begged Irma, and for half an hour her new friend
talked delightfully about the Azores and other places.
"Ah, there's Uncle Jim," she exclaimed, as she saw her uncle approaching
under one of the electric lights.
"I never thought of finding you out here alone," cried her uncle.
"Not alone," rejoined Irma, turning to introduce her new friend. But he
had mysteriously disappeared.
"It is high time to come in, if the night air makes you see double,"
said Uncle Jim dryly. But Irma gave no explanations. How could she have
introduced the old gentleman, when she did not know his name?
"Aunt Caroline says please hurry. They are in sight." Thus Marion's
voice and repeated rappings waked Irma the next morning.
"Who are in sight?" she asked sleepily.
"The Azores, of course."
"Oh, dear," cried Irma, forgetting to thank Marion for his trouble.
"Why," she wondered, "did I take this particular morning to oversleep?"
Dressing at lightning speed, after a hurried repast she was soon on
deck. Then, to her disappointment, there was nothing to see. The
islands, wherever they might be, were veiled by a soft mist.
"They have been in sight for hours," some one said. Irma wished she had
asked her steward to call her at dawn. Not until they were well upon
Ponta Delgada did they have their first glimpse of St. Michael's toward
noon, and the warmth of the sun was modified by the thin veil of mist.
Gradually the mist dissolved, and not far away was the green shore, and
behind, a line of low, conical mountains parallel with the coast. Then a
white village appeared, and soon the spires and red roofs of Ponta
Delgada.
Luncheon had been served early, and towards one o'clock the boat
stopped, when still some distance from land. Large rowboats were pushing
out from shore, and one or two tugs carrying the Portuguese flag.
"The tugs are bringing health and customs officers. We can't land until
they have made their examination," Uncle Jim explained.
"How tedious to wait when we shall have so little time at the best!"
"Are we to go in those dreadful little boats?"
"Oh, it's a smooth sea; we'll get there safely enough."
"The town looks decidedly Spanish."
These and many similar remarks floated to Irma's ears. What impressed
her most was the fact that she must descend the steep steps that the
sailors were letting down from the side, and go ashore in a boat.
"It's safe enough," said Aunt Caroline. "Any one is foolish who remains
on the ship. But I am willing to stay here myself."
So Aunt Caroline remained on the boat, and Irma, with Uncle Jim ahead
and Marion behind, went down the long steps cautiously. When she had
taken her seat in the large rowboat, she found herself near Muriel and
her governess. The two girls were soon deep in conversation, while
Marion, some distance away, sat listless and silent.
"Your brother isn't cheerful to-day," said Muriel, as the boat neared
shore.
"He isn't my brother,--far from it," responded Irma, and unluckily at
that moment Marion, rising to be of assistance to the ladies on landing,
was near enough to hear both Muriel's remark and Irma's answer.
"Well, I am very glad not to be her brother," he thought, "and as to
that other girl, she's exactly the kind I don't like." And in this mood
Marion jumped hastily off when the boat pulled up, and running up the
short steps, walked along the quay in solitary sulkiness, with his hands
in his pockets.
"Your cavalier seems to have left you," said Uncle Jim mischievously, as
he helped Irma ashore. "I wonder if he will condescend to join us on our
tour of the town."
When they had pushed their way among the loungers at the wharf, however,
they saw Marion standing near an open carriage, drawn by two underfed
horses.
"How would this suit?" he asked. "The best carriages have been taken.
You know our boat was almost the last."
"Over there are a couple of good automobiles looking for passengers."
For the instant Marion's face clouded. "Oh, of course," added Uncle Jim
hastily. "I had forgotten. That wouldn't do. These horses may prove
better than they look, and as we have no time to lose, let us start."
Before setting off, Uncle Jim turned about to see whether Muriel and
Mademoiselle Potin had found a vehicle. Already they were seated in a
carriage much like the one he had chosen, with horses that looked
equally meek and hungry.
Then Uncle Jim's driver flourished and snapped his whip, and the horses
went off at a lively pace. Irma, indeed, wished they would go more
slowly, that she could get a better idea of the narrow streets. Yet even
as they drove rapidly along she had a definite impression of clean
pavements and small houses, many of them painted in bright colors. After
they had left the little crowd near the wharf, the streets seemed
deserted. Here and there an old man hobbled along, or a woman with a
shawl over her head, or a girl with a large basket of fruit. They met
oddly constructed carts, drawn by donkeys, and once they stopped to buy
fruit from a man who bore a long pole on his shoulders, from one end of
which hung a string of bananas, while from the other dangled a dozen
pineapples.
"Fortunately," said Uncle Jim, "as our time is limited, there are not
many important things to see in Ponta Delgada. We shall be obliged to
look at so many churches in Italy that we can neglect those here."
"I'd like to see the church where Columbus and his sailors gave thanks,
when they landed there after the storm."
"Santa Maria! Miles away!" cried Marion.
"Well," said Irma, slightly snubbed, "even if this isn't the place, it
is interesting to remember that some of these islands had been settled
years and years before America was discovered."
Soon they reached the famous garden, one of the two or three things best
worth seeing in the town. When they walked through the great iron gates
opened by a respectful servitor, at once Irma felt she was in a region
of mystery. The three went along in silence under tall trees whose
branches arched over the broad path.
Turning aside an instant, they gazed down a deep ravine, with banks
moss-grown and covered with ferns. Far below was a little stream, and
here and there the ravine was spanned by rustic bridges. Irma caught a
glimpse of a dark grotto and a carved stone seat.
"It is rather musty here; let us hurry on," suggested Uncle Jim.
"Musty!" protested Irma. "It is like poetry."
"Well, poetry is rather musty sometimes."
Irma could not tell whether or not Marion was in earnest.
Farther in the garden they saw more flowers--waxlike camellias and some
brilliant blossoms that neither she nor her companions could name. But
there were other favorites--fuschias, geraniums, roses, in size and
beauty surpassing anything Irma had ever seen.
"It reminds me of California," said Marion.
"Yes, there is the same soft air combined with the moisture that plants
love. Europe has no finer gardens than one or two of these on St.
Michael's. We'll have no time for another that belonged to Jose de
Cantos. The owner died a few years ago and left it to the public, with
enough money to keep it up. It has bamboo trees and palm trees and
mammoth ferns and the greenhouses are filled with orchids. But we'll
have to leave that for another visit. It is better now to go where we
can get a general view of this part of the island."
In the course of their walk they had met groups of sightseers from the
ship. But when they were ready to go back they had to turn to a group of
old men and women at work on a garden bed, who, with gesticulations,
directed them to the right path.
"Every one seems old here," said Irma, "even the men sweeping leaves
from the paths with their twig brooms look nearly a hundred."
"The young and strong probably emigrate," said Uncle Jim.
On leaving the garden the coachman took them to the "buena vista," a
hill where they had a lovely view of land and water. Far, far as they
could see, stretched fertile farms with comfortable houses and
outbuildings.
"Small farms," explained Uncle Jim, "ought to mean that a good many
people are very well off, and yet it is said that most of the people
here are poor."
When they were in the center of the town again, they sent their
carriage away, and then Irma and Marion hastened to one of the little
shops on the square, where the former bought post cards and the latter
some small silver souvenirs. They rejoined Uncle Jim at the Cathedral
door, but a glance at its tawdry interior contented them. Uncle Jim
filled Irma's arms with flowers bought from one of the young flower
sellers, and when at last they reached the wharf, they were among the
last to embark for the ship. Muriel and Mademoiselle Potin were waiting
for the same boat, and when they compared notes, the two girls found
that they had seen practically the same things, though in a different
order.
During their two or three hours on shore a fresh breeze had sprung up,
and the waves were high. The boat, making her way with difficulty,
sometimes did not seem perfectly under the control of the stalwart
oarsmen. This at least was Irma's opinion, as she sat there trembling.
Even Muriel, the experienced traveller, looked pale, and Irma wondered
how Marion felt, seated near the bow with his face turned resolutely
away from his friends.
"How huge the ship is," exclaimed Muriel, as they drew near the
_Ariadne_, a great black hulk whose keel seemed to touch bottom.
For a moment Irma had a spasm of fear. What if this great, black thing
should tip over some night! How could she make up her mind to live in it
for another week!
Their rowers rested on their oars a few minutes, while other boats just
ahead were putting passengers aboard. Looking to the decks so far above,
Irma recognized Aunt Caroline waving her handkerchief. If only she could
fly up there without any further battling with the waves!
"Come, Irma," said Uncle Jim. "There isn't the least danger. I will stay
on the boat until the last, and you can step just ahead of me."
All the others, even Muriel and Mademoiselle, had gone up the stairs
before Marion. He was just ahead of Irma, and when he had his footing,
he stood a step or two from the bottom, to help Irma. The men had
difficulty in steadying the boat. But one of them held Irma firmly,
until her feet were on a dry step. Then, as Marion extended his hand to
her, she put out hers when, it was hard to tell how it really happened,
Marion's foot slipped, and instead of helping Irma he fell against her,
almost throwing her into the tossing waves.
Irma, however, fortunately kept her presence of mind. Not only did she
grasp the guard rope quickly, but with her other arm she held Marion
firmly. Their feet were wet by the dashing waves, but there was no
further damage. They had had a great fright, though Marion seemed to
suffer the most. When Irma relaxed her hold, she could walk up to the
deck unaided, but Marion had to be supported by a boatman, until Uncle
Jim, closely following, drew his arm through his, and so helped him to
the deck.
Not even Aunt Caroline realized what had happened, when Irma said she
must go to her room to change her wet shoes. This she did quickly, as
she wished to see all she could of the coast of beautiful St. Michael's.
"Tell me now," said Aunt Caroline, from the depths of her chair, "was
going ashore really worth while?"
"Yes, indeed, you shouldn't have missed it."
"Ah, well, I was there years ago, visiting cousins who lived there. But
they are now dead, and everything would be so changed. I am told they
have electric lights, not only in Ponta Delgada, but in the villages
near by, and I don't suppose you met a single woman in the long capote,
with its queer hood, nor even one man in a dark carpuccia."
"Why, yes," responded Irma, smiling, "I met them on some post cards, but
nowhere else."
Irma hastened through her dinner that evening. Marion did not appear,
but the old gentleman came to her, and placed himself in Aunt Caroline's
vacant chair. He entered into a long conversation--or rather a
monologue, since in answer to Irma's brief questions he did most of the
talking.
He told Irma how isolated the islanders were from one another, so that
on Corvo, and one or two of the others, if the crops fail, or there is
any disaster, they signal for help by means of bonfires. Some of them
have mails to Portugal only once in two or three months. Ponta Delgada
is much better off, with boats at least twice a month to Lisbon, and
fairly good communication with other places. "But if I had time,"
continued the old gentleman, "I could find nothing more healthful and
pleasant than a cruise around these nine Western Islands."
"How large are they?" asked Irma abruptly.
"Well, they cover more water than land. St. Mary, St. Michael's nearest
neighbor, is fifty miles away, and Terceira, the next neighbor, is
ninety miles off. But St. Michael's, the largest of them all, is only
thirty-seven miles long by nine broad, and Corvo, the smallest, you
could almost put in your pocket with its four and a half miles of length
and three of breadth. But what they lack in size they make up in
climate."
"Then I don't see why the men are so ready to leave the islands."
"To make money, my child. If Portugal were better off, the islands would
share her prosperity. But they share the political troubles of the
mother country. Many farms produce barely enough for the tenants, who
have to deal with exacting landlords. But some of the large landowners,
especially those who raise pineapples, grow rich. The oranges and
bananas that they send to Lisbon, and their butter and cheese, too, make
money for the producers. But the islands won't be really prosperous
until they have more manufactures."
In his soliloquy, the old gentleman seemed to have forgotten Irma, and
she was on the point of calling his attention to the particularly high
and rugged aspect of the coast they were then passing, when he
continued, "St. Michael's, I believe, has made a good beginning with
carriages and furniture for its own use, and soap and potato alcohol for
export, and in time--but, my dear child, I am boring you to death----"
"Oh, no, but isn't the coast beautiful, with that veil of mist around
the tops of those mountains; what a pity it grows dark."
"What a pity it has grown so damp that I must order you in," said the
old gentleman kindly, and though he was neither uncle nor aunt, and no
real authority, Irma found herself following him within, as she turned
her back to the Western Islands.