On referring to the minute brass plate beneath so innocent a vanity, we
learned that Charles Chaplin, 1825-1891, was a painter of the "French
School." Pictures must run in the family.
The first afternoon, Hosea and myself could find no specimen of an
English artist among the multitude: but returning another day to make
certain (and once again we had the gallery more or less to ourselves)
we found a small and typical study by Wilkie, and a portrait by Sir
Thomas Lawrence. Before this last, a work of the loftiest morality--in
its subject I mean--and of a colouring delicately fine, Hosea stood in
enthusiasm. "I'm not sure," he said, and once again drew an impression
before proceeding, "that that isn't the finest thing we've seen." The
spectacle of King Arthur in his bronze near the exit, in his bronze
but somehow devoid of his grandeur, ended our artistic adventures.
The business of criticism, no doubt, is to keep cool: but this we had
scarcely been able to do. I should have given up early, but for the
determination of Hosea; and even he began to feel the scorching heat above
the aesthetic calm.
The ship's football was brought out in the evening, and on a patch of
waste ground alongside, flanked by thickets of rank weed, and ankle-deep
in sand and coal-dust, we enjoyed ourselves most strenuously. There
were one or two real drawbacks. A vigorous and unwary kick was apt to
send the ball into the river, and to recover it meant clambering up
and down the slanting wall of the wharf, which was coated with black
grease, fishing with a pole, anxiously watching the currents, and quickly
becoming as black and greasy as the masonry. And on the other hand, there
was here a depot of large drain-pipes, which might equally receive the
erratic ball; then arose the questions: Whereabouts in the pipes had
it bounced? Would the drain-pipe on which you were standing really roll
from under you and bring down a dozen others? Meanwhile the watchman of
the depot would be there uttering untranslated dissatisfaction with
the whole affair.
We had not been in the South Basin many minutes when the chaplain of The
Missions to Seamen was among us with his witty stories and, I believe,
his put-and-take teetotum. At any rate, the latter became as well
recognized a part of his equipment as his quips. At his invitation, I
went several times to the Mission, which was quite the rendezvous for
the crews of British ships in the port. Its concert room, its billiard
room and other comfortable places were generally very lively, the two
chaplains apparently possessing an inexhaustible reserve of cheerfulness.
English ladies too came there to brighten the evenings, to sing and
join in at cards and conversation; their generosity, I believe, furnished
the other refreshments of these evenings.
Next door to the Mission, a dingy annexe to a sort of grocery, labelled
the "British Bar," was not neglected. Talk and beer and smoke prevailed
here until midnight and afterwards: indeed, I had scarcely sat down
before a vast mate from some other ship had challenged me to name a better
Test Match captain than Mr. Fender. Other patrons of the Oval soon took
up the cry, but I resisted for the rest of the session.
The discharge of coal began, a monotonous process however considered;
down in the hold one saw through the busy dust a small but growing
mine-crater done in coal, at the foot of which were lying, stooping,
chattering, the nearly naked figures of the labourers. Negroes they
looked down there, but were white unofficially. They shovelled now from
this side, now from that into a great iron bucket: above, at a sign, the
man with his lever set the winch working and the derrick hoisted the
bucket up and over, then down into the lighter that lay alongside. And
so with intervals through the day. Then at night, the dock's aboriginal
mosquitoes came forth; as the mate said, like a German band, all the most
agonizing shades of musical audacity emanating from them. They drove not
only me but old hands out on deck at night, where a chilly autumn wind
was blowing, which drove us indoors again. But as the light grew, our
tormentors lessened. The sun ariseth, and they get them away together,
and lay them down in their dens.
To avoid these visitors as much as possible, I refrained from exploring
the town over tiringly during the day, and went off with Mead in his
shore suit after the evening's football on the dust-patch: and stayed as
late as meanderings in the town could make it. We certainly departed from
the usual haunts of sailors the first night; went on and on, until even
the adventurous Mead had to say: "This is rather a depraved kind of
street." And more, there was something in the air--some way off, we
heard the interrupted fire of (what roused imagination converted into)
a machine gun. The slatternly folk sitting, with white gleams of face
or dress in the shadows, by their doors; the herds of unaccustomed
faces in the large threadbare bars; the many groups of folk standing
expectantly about the street, and our own alien solitude--all gave this
sensation of disquiet. In a manner enjoying it, we proceeded, past an
orator roaring out in fine fury to a small but intent crowd, and presently
found ourselves in a large square with its many lamps, its glossy cars
stealing swiftly by or waiting on the rank, its fountains playing like
mists among deep green of trees.
Magnificent, and nearly empty, was the cafe into which we went; brilliant
its interior; attached to the gilded columns, how eloquent of drinking as
a fine art, its scoreboards announcing the many specialities! We stayed
until midnight. Then, having roughly found out our way home, we set
out for the docks, and, pausing to divine the sense of a poster giving
details of a "Radical" demonstration for the next day, saw the police
come hurrying up to a gathering of people round the next bar door.
One of the police as he passed us at speed caught his toe against a
stone and with his sword and fine feathers came down flat on the pavement.
The gathering at the bar door were so absorbed in their topic that no one
looked, much less laughed at his loud discomfiture.
Sometimes I found an occasion to leave the _Bonadventure_ in her noisy
dishabille, during the day. There was one walk with the wireless
operator to a smaller tramp in a distant dock, aboard which somewhat
shapelier ship than the _Bonadventure_ he had an acquaintance. Walking
over the irregular cobbles and among the railway lines of the wharves in
the heat was a sufficient exercise. We left our ship carpeted with
coal-dust; passed cattle pounds, grain elevators glaring white, and on
the opposite side steamers in process of being loaded or discharged;
went along a rail track where the grains which had lain longest had
sprung up in unavailing green, and under chutes where sacks of corn were
sliding down to the holds of ships. The mate of the _Primrose_ whom we
had come to see was thoroughly happy, and resembled almost to a hair my
sergeant observer of years before. Putting on a record--his gramophone
was actually in order--and offering cigars, he produced an extraordinary
picture of his ship, in needlework. The ancient art of the sampler had
passed to him. He seemed, I noticed, _of_ his ship: its mahogany-lined
saloon and more domestic style were congenial with his paterfamilias air
and "Not to-day, thank you" mildness to various business callers. The
wireless operator, also, seemed to be less interested in the regulations
of his calling and more in photographs of ships and sailors. With these
kind spirits in my mind, I was somewhat preoccupied as we walked back
the way we came among the pigeons and the dock labourers stretched out
under every railway truck and crane for their siesta.
Then there were one or two more rounds of the town with Hosea, chiefly
in the busiest neighbourhood. I began to know the tall statue of Columbus
as a landmark. All the morning, perhaps, Hosea would be going from one
office to another, seeking to define the ship's future and to hasten
her discharge, while I kicked my heels in entrances under the suspicious
eyes of the janitors. Kindness was readier in the frowsy offices of the
ship's chandlers; whence the delectably dressed youth the firm's son
soon led the way to a table and vermouth in the Avenida de Mayo. We went
again, with a new companion, to the Florida restaurant for our lunch:
but the new companion and myself having been contemporary in the Ypres
salient, our excessive reminiscences began to pall upon the long-suffering
Hosea. One day Hosea entrusted to me, for transport to the ship, the
sailors' wages in notes, and the letters. He was staying ashore, and
did not fancy the prospect of carrying so much money about with him.
Neither did I; but it is hard to say whether the responsibility for the
pay overshadowed that for the letters. I was pleased to climb aboard the
_Bonadventure_ with both, after passing through the knock-off rush from
the docks. But I seemed to be blamed for not bringing letters for every
one; such is the lot of the volunteer.