Salvage of a cargo of wine--Sailors happy--Cholera in the
Argentine--Death in the land--Dutch Harry--Pete the Greek--Noted
crimps--Boat lost--Sail for Ilha Grande--Expelled from the
port--Serious hardships.
From Buenos Aires, we proceeded up the River Plate, near the confluence
of the Parana and Paraguay, to salve a cargo of wine from the stranded
brig _Neovo San Pascual_, from Marseilles.
The current of the great river at that point runs constantly seaward,
becoming almost a sea of itself, and a dangerous one to navigate; hence
the loss of the _San Pascual,_ and many others before her.
If, like the "Ancient Mariner," we had, any of us, cried, "water, water
all around, and not a drop to drink," we forgot it now, in this
bountiful stream. Wine, too, we had without stint. The insurance agent,
to leave no excuse for tampering with the cargo, rolled out a cask of
the best, and, like a true Hans Breitmann, "knocked out der bung." Then,
too, cases were broken in the handling, the contents of which drenched
their clothes from top to toe, as the sailors carried them away on their
heads.
The diversity of a sailor's life--ah me! The experience of Dana and his
shipmates, for instance, on a sun-burnt coast, carrying dry hides on
their heads, if not a worse one, may be in store for us, we cried, now
fairly swimming in luxuries--water and wine alike free. Although our
present good luck may be followed by times less cheerful, we preferred
to count this, we said, as compensation for past misfortunes, marking
well that "it never rains but it pours."
The cargo of wine in due course was landed at Rosario with but small
loss, the crew, except in one case, remaining sober enough to help
navigate even the difficult Parana. But one old sinner, the case I speak
of, an old Labrador fisherman, became a useless, drunken swab, in spite
of all we could do. I say "we" for most of the crew were on my side, in
favour of a fair deal and "regular supplies."
The hold was barred and locked, and every place we could think of, for a
time, was searched; still Dan kept terribly drunk. At last his mattress
was turned out, and from it rolled a dozen or more bottles of the best
liquor. Then there was a row, but all on the part of Dan, who swore blue
vengeance on the man, if he could but find him out, who had stowed that
grog in his bunk, "trying to get" him "into trouble"; some of those
"young fellows would rue it yet!"
The cargo of wine being discharged, I chartered to load alfalfa, packed
in bales, for Rio. Many deaths had occurred about this time, with
appalling suddenness; we soon learned that cholera was staring us all in
the face, and that it was fast spreading through the country, filling
towns and cities with sickness and death.
Approaching more frightfully near, it carried our pilot over the bar;
his wife was a widow the day after he brought our bark to the loading
berth. And the young man who commenced to deliver us the cargo was
himself measured the day after. His ship had come in!
Many stout men, and many, many women and children succumbed to the
scourge; yet it was our high privilege to come through the dark cloud
without losing a loved one, while thousands were cast down with
bereavements and grief. At one time it appeared that we were in the
centre of the cloud which zig-zagged its ugly body, serpent-like,
through districts, poisoning all that it touched, and leaving death in
its wake. This was indeed cholera in its most terrible form!
One poor fellow sat at the Widow Lacinas' hotel, bewildered.
"Forty-eight hours ago," said he, "I sat at my own hearth, with wife and
three children by my side. Now I am alone in the world! Even my poor
house, such as it was, is pulled down." This man, I say, had troubles;
surely was his "house pulled down!"
There was no escaping the poison or keeping it off, except by
disinfectants, and by keeping the system regular, for it soon spread
over all the land and the air was full of it. Remedies sold so high that
many must have perished without the test of medicinal aid to cure their
disease. A cry went up against unprincipled druggists who were
over-charging for their drugs, but nothing more was done to check their
greed. Camphor sold as high as four dollars a pound, and the druggist
with a few hundred drops of laudanum and as much chlorodyne could travel
through Europe afterward on the profits of his sales.
It was at Rosario, and at this time, that we buried our young friend,
Captain Speck, well loved of young and old. His friends did not ask
whether it was cholera or not that he died of, but performed the last
act of friendship as became men of heart and feeling. The minister could
not come that day, but Captain Speck's little friend, Garfield, said:
"The flags were set for the angels to come and take the Captain to
Heaven!" Need more be said?
And the flags blew out all day.
Then it became us to erect a memorial slab, and, hardest of all, to
write to the widow and orphans. This was done in a homely way, but with
sympathetic, aching hearts away off there in Santa Fè.
Our time at Rosario, after this, was spent in gloomy days that dragged
into weeks and months, and our thoughts often wandered from there to a
happy past. We preferred to dwell away from there and in other climes,
if only in thought. There was, however, one happy soul among us--the
child whose face was a sunbeam in all kinds of weather and at all times,
happy in his ignorance of the evils that fall to the lot of man.
Our sailing-day from Rosario finally came; and, with a feeling as of
casting off fetters, the lines were let go, and the bark hauled out into
the stream, with a full cargo on board; but, instead of sailing for Rio,
as per charter, she was ordered by the Brazilian consul to Ilha Grande
(Great Island), the quarantine station of Brazil, some sixty-two miles
west of Rio, there to be disinfected and to discharge her cargo in
quarantine.
A new crew was shipped and put aboard, but while I was getting my
papers, about noon, they stole one of the ship's boats and scurried off
down the river as fast, no doubt, as they could go. I have not seen them
or my boat since. They all deserted,--every mother's son of them!
taking, beside the boat, a month's advance pay from a Mr. Dutch Harry, a
sailor boarding-master, who had stolen my inward crew that he might, as
he boasted afterward, "ship new hands in their places." In view of the
fact that this vilest of crimps was the loser of the money, I could
almost forgive the "galoots" for the theft of my boat. (The ship is
usually responsible for advance wages twenty-four hours after she has
sailed, providing, too, that the sailors proceed to sea in her.) Seeing,
moreover, that they were of that stripe, unworthy the name of sailor, my
vessel was the better without them, by at least what it cost to be rid
of them, namely, the price of my boat.
However, I will take back what I said about Dutch Harry being the
"vilest crimp." There came one to Rosario worse than he, one "Pete the
Greek," who cut off the ears of a rival boarding-master at the Boca,
threw them into the river, then, making his escape to Rosario, some 180
miles away, established himself in the business in opposition to the
Dutchman, whom he "shanghaied" soon after, then "reigned peacefully in
his stead."
A captain who, like myself, had suffered from the depredations of this
noted gentry, told me, in great glee, that he saw Harry on a bone-laden
Italian bark outward bound,--"even then nearly out of the river." The
last seen of him by my friend, the captain, was "among the branches,"
with a rope around his neck--they hanged him, maybe--I don't know what
else the rope was for, or who deserved more to be hanged. The captain
screamed with delight:--"he'll get bone soup, at least, for a while,
instead of Santa Fè good mutton-chops at our expense."
My second crew was furnished by Mr. Pete, before referred to, and on the
seventeenth of December we set sail from that country of revolutions.
Things soon dropped into working order, and I found reason to be pleased
with the change of crew. We glided smoothly along down the river, thence
wishing never again to see Rosario under the distressing circumstances
through which she had just passed.
On the following day, while slipping along before a light, rippling
breeze, a dog was espied out in the current, struggling in the
whirlpools, which were rather strong, apparently unable to extricate
himself, and was greatly exhausted. Coming up with him our main-tops'l
was laid to the mast, and as we ranged by the poor thing, a sailor,
plunging over the side in a bow-line, bent a rope on to doggy, another
one hauled him carefully on board, and the rescue was made. He proved
to be a fine young retriever, and his intelligent signs of thankfulness
for his escape from drowning were scarcely less eloquent of gratitude
than human spoken language.
This pleasant incident happening on a Friday, suggested, of course, the
name we should give him. His new master, to be sure, was Garfield, who
at once said, "I guess they won't know me when I get home, with my new
suit--and a dog!" The two romped the decks thenceforth, early and late.
It was good to see them romp, while "Friday" "barkit wi' joy."
Our pets were becoming numerous now, and all seemed happy till a
stowaway cat one day killed poor little "Pete," our canary. For ten
years or more we had listened to the notes of this wee bird, in many
countries and climes. Sweetest of sweet singers, it was buried in the
great Atlantic at last. A strange cat, a careless steward, and its tiny
life was ended--and the tragedy told. This was indeed a great loss to us
all, and was mourned over,--almost as the loss of a child.
A book that has been read at sea has a near claim on our friendship, and
is a thing one is loth to part with, or change, even for a better book.
But the well-tried friend of many voyages is oh! so hard to part with at
sea. A resting-place in the solemn sea of sameness--in the trackless
ocean, marked only by imaginary lines and circles--is a cheerless spot
to look to; yet how many have treasures there!
Returning to the voyage and journal: Our pilot proved incompetent, and
we narrowly escaped shipwreck in consequence at Martin Garcia Bar, a bad
spot in the River Plate. A small schooner captain, observing that we
needlessly followed in his track, and being anything but a sailor in
principle, wantonly meditated mischief to us. While I was confidently
trusting to my pilot, and he (the pilot) trusting to the schooner, one
that could go over banks where we would strike, what did the scamp do
but shave close to a dangerous spot, my pilot following faithfully in
his wake. Then, jumping upon the taffrail of his craft, as we came
abreast the shoal, he yelled, like a Comanche, to my pilot to: "Port the
helm!" and what does my mutton-headed jackass do but port hard over! The
bark, of course, brought up immediately on the ground, as the other had
planned, seeing which his whole pirate crew--they could have been little
less than pirates--joined in roars of laughter, but sailed on, doing us
no other harm.
By our utmost exertions the bark was gotten off, not a moment too soon,
however, for by the time we kedged her into deep water a _pampeiro_ was
upon us. She rode out the gale safe at anchor, thanks to an active crew.
Our water tanks and casks were then refilled, having been emptied to
lighten the bark from her perilous position.
Next evening the storm went down, and by mutual consent our mud-pilot
left, taking passage in a passing river-craft, with his pay and our best
advice, which was to ship in a dredging-machine, where his capabilities
would be appreciated.
Then, "paddling our own canoe," without further accident we reached the
light-ship, passing it on Christmas Day. Clearing thence, before night,
English Bank and all other dangers of the land, we set our course for
Ilha Grande, the wind being fair. Then a sigh of relief was breathed by
all on board. If ever "old briny" was welcomed, it was on that Christmas
Day.
Nothing further of interest occurred on the voyage to Brazil, except the
death of the little bird already spoken of, which loss deeply affected
us all.
We arrived at Ilha Grande, our destination, on the 7th day of January,
1887, and came to anchor in nine fathoms of water, at about noon,
within musket-range of the guard-ship, and within speaking distance of
several vessels riding quarantine, with more or less communication going
on among them all, through flags. Several ships, chafing under the
restraint of quarantine, were "firing signals" at the guard-ship. One
Scandinavian, I remember, asked if he might be permitted to communicate
by _cable_ with his owners in Christiana. The guard gave him, as the
Irishman said, "an evasive answer," so the cablegram, I suppose, laid
over. Another wanted police assistance; a third wished to know if he
could get fresh provisions--ten milreis' ($5) worth (he was a
German)--naming a dozen or more articles that he wished for, "and _the
balance in onions_!" Altogether, the young fellows on the guard-ship
were having, one might say, a signal practice.
On the next day, January 8th, the officers of the port came alongside in
a steam-launch, and ordered us to leave, saying the port had been closed
that morning. "But we have made the voyage," I said. "No matter," said
the guard, "leave at once you must, or the guard-ship will fire into
you." This, I submit, was harsh and arbitrary treatment. A thunderbolt
from a clear sky could not have surprised us more or worked us much
greater harm--to be ruined in business or struck by lightning, being
equally bad!
Then pointing something like a gun, Dom Pedro said, said he, "_Vaya
Homem_" (hence, begone), "Or you'll give us cholera." So back we had to
go, all the way to Rosario, with that load of hay--and trouble. But on
our arrival there we found things better than they were when we sailed.
The cholera had ceased--it was on the wane when we sailed from Rosario,
and there was hardly a case of the dread disease in the whole country
east of Cordova when we returned. That was, indeed, a comfort, but it
left our hardship the same, and led, consequently, to the total loss of
the vessel after dragging us through harrowing trials and losses, as
will be seen by subsequent events.