MONTEVIDEO.
_May 30th._—Scarcely any duty in naval service can be more destitute of
interest, than such as the Congress is performing off Montevideo at the
present time. To the close investment of the city by land, a practical
blockade is added, from a decree of Rosas, by which every vessel
touching here on her way up the Plata is denied entry at Buenos Ayres.
The consequence is—there being little demand for imports and nothing to
export at Montevideo—that no vessel in the trade of the Plata comes into
the port except from necessity, and the arrivals are limited, for the
most part, to a man-of-war, occasionally, and the regular mail-steamer
from England, by the way of Rio de Janeiro, once each month. My
chaplaincy on board, and the additional service of worship each Sabbath
on shore, furnish the only variation in my duty; and an occasional row
or sail to the city for a walk or the visit of an hour, in a limited
circle of acquaintance, my only recreation. For opportunities of
visiting the shore I am indebted chiefly to the kindness of Commodore
McKeever: Captain McIntosh, so frequently the companion of my walks at
Rio, here scarcely ever leaves the ship.
The recent arrival in which we were most interested was that of the U.
S. storeship Southampton. It brought Dr. C—— to the Congress as fleet
surgeon, in place of Dr. W——, who returned home invalided, shortly after
our arrival on the station. This loss to the medical corps of the ship
and to our mess was regretted. In the substitute furnished, we are
greatly favored. As a physician and surgeon Dr. C—— is worthy of all
confidence; and as a gentleman and Christian, carries with him
predominating influence. The value of such an accession to a naval
mess-table and to the associations of the gun-room of a man-of-war, can
scarcely be over-estimated.
Another circumstance connected with the Southampton, in which we felt
great interest, proved less happy in the issue. The Congress, through a
mistake not discovered till she was at sea, left the United States
without a suitable library for the use of the crew. As soon as this was
known, I took measures to have one sent after us. This was shipped by
the Southampton and arrived safely here; but from an oversight of the
officer in charge, was carried again to sea by her, on proceeding to her
destination in the Pacific. The disappointment to the crew is great, and
only to be remedied by patiently waiting for the return of a fresh order
to the United States.
My visits on shore are most unvarying in their character. Sometimes I
take a solitary stroll through the less public streets of the city; but
never without feelings of commiseration for the depressed and suffering
condition of the poorer classes. The pale and haggard faces of the
females, seen at the doors and windows, tell one story of privation and
want—of listless despondency and gloom. The extent and degree of
destitution, from the long suspension of all business, is fearful, among
those even who have been accustomed to independence, if not to affluence
and luxury. Among such, the poorest scraps that fall from the tables of
the more fortunate are most thankfully received; and any kind of
employment is eagerly sought. Females of the first respectability are
glad to be employed in making up linen in a most finished style, at a
half dollar a shirt, and at six and eight cents a collar. The
demoralization among all classes, in consequence of the pressure of
want, is very great, I am told, and of a character fatal to the purity
and self-respect of individuals and whole families.
The only semblance of general cheerfulness observable, is in the daily
evening promenade to witness the relief of guard. This takes place at
the inner lines without the walls, every evening at sunset. During the
previous hour, in fine weather, hundreds of the better classes of the
citizens both foreigners and natives, in a greater or less display of
dress, may be seen issuing through the ancient gateway of the northern
wall, for the walk of a mile through the broad and straight street,
leading from it to a battery where the relief of guard takes place, and
to listen to the music of the bands with which this is accompanied.
I have mentioned the presence here of fifteen hundred or two thousand
French troops with their officers. They are quartered in barracks, a
part within and a part without the walls of the old city; and may be
seen in groups and small parties in the streets at almost all times of
the day and evening. Well dressed and well fed, young and athletic,
fresh and healthful in look, and cheerful and animated in movement and
manner, they constitute quite a redeeming feature in the aspect of the
city. They have a parade-ground just without the walls, and are
regularly and severely drilled, but take no part in the military duty of
the place, and perform no patrol. This devolves exclusively upon the
Montevidean soldiery. These, amounting to three thousand, consist
chiefly of a foreign legion, composed of emigrants—Italians from the
vicinity of Genoa, and from Piedmont, and Basques from the frontiers of
Spain and France; and of a negro regiment under the command of native
officers. The negroes, till the commencement of the war were slaves; but
were then liberated by a decree of the government, without compensation
to their masters, on condition of entering the army for the continuance
of the war, with a right to a bounty of land on the restoration of
peace.
The foreign legion form the municipal or national guard. They consist of
artisans, porters, laborers and boatmen, who, in successive companies
are on duty as a patrol one day in three, and engaged in their various
callings the rest of the time. The negroes are regular soldiers. They
are said to be brave and faithful, and have proved themselves most
reliable on post and in battle. The dress of the foreigners is that of
their every-day labor—the jacket and trowsers and Pelasgic cap of the
Basques; but the negro regiment are in uniform—the dress of the gauchos,
or Indio-Spaniards, of the country. This is striking and picturesque,
though Indian-like and savage in its general effect: at best barbarism,
‘picked out,’—as carriage painters say—with civilization. It is composed
of a red flannel shirt, beneath a poncho of red of the same material,
lined with green; a green cheripa, or swaddling blanket for the loins
and lower limbs; drawers of white cotton terminating in wide pantalets
ornamented with insertings of lace work, and a deep fringe falling over
the ankles and bare feet: the covering of the head being a conical cap
of green cloth, without visor, laced with yellow cord. It is seen to the
best effect at Buenos Ayres, where there is in the soldiers more of the
Indian and less of African blood; and where, exhibited on horseback, the
long black hair and streaming ponchos of the riders are in keeping with
the flowing manes and tails of the horses, as they scamper with the
fleetness of the wind along the beach and over the plain.
The free hospitality of two or three houses, both English and American,
in addition to the Consulate, is extended to us; and usually, after the
relief of guard, we join the family of one or another of these for tea.
It is pleasant in a strange land thus to be received informally in a
home circle, and to be made welcome, in this, the winter of the year, to
the elegant comforts of carpeted floors and curtained windows—of the
glowing grate of the fireside, and the hissing urn of the tea-table, and
for the hour to share in the social enjoyments of conversation and
music. The chief drawback to the pleasure, is the remembrance forced
upon us by such scenes, of our distant homes, and the vision in fancy of
what we there lose. This was particularly the case in the visits of the
last evening. I made an early call at Mr. L——’s, and, on entering the
drawing-room, found Madame L—— at the piano. After giving the accustomed
kind welcome, she was prevailed upon to continue at the instrument.
Though the mother of a fine family of carefully educated and intelligent
children—gathered at the time in various amusements round a centre-table
of the saloon—she has not thrown aside her music, but is still in good
practice. Her touch and execution are very much in the style of
Mademoiselle R——, and in some fine passages from Verdi and other
masters, brilliantly given, carried me at once to Riverside.
I do not recollect to have mentioned the romance of the honey-moon of
Mr. and Madame L—— at Buenos Ayres, in the early days of the despotism
of Rosas. Madame L——, previously the Signorita ——, a native of the city,
and member of the Romish church, ventured to be married to Mr. L—— by an
American missionary, without the consent of the Dictator. This was
contrary to an existing law; and the consequence was that the bride was
very unceremoniously immured for three months in a nunnery, while the
groom and clergyman were as summarily arrested, and thrown into prison.
Mr. L—— was then established in mercantile business at Buenos Ayres. But
indignant at such an interference with the rights of conscience and
personal freedom, on regaining his liberty, he withdrew with his wife to
Montevideo, and is now a chief capitalist in this section of South
America.
On joining the Commodore at Mrs. Z——’s, I found quite a party of the
H——’s and other friends. The ladies were in more dress than usual; the
rooms were well lighted; and the tea-table richly and elegantly
appointed; and in the enjoyments of an evening of music, both vocal and
instrumental, including some fine chants and psalmody, we were tempted
for the time to forget our exile.
The private dwellings in Montevideo, whether only one, or two stories
high, are all built in the Spanish-Morescan style, having a quadrangle
within, enclosing a pateo, or open square in the centre. Upon this,
where there is but one story, and upon an encircling verandah or
corridor, above where there are two, all the apartments open, through
doors and French windows. The pateos in the one case, and the verandahs
in the other, are usually filled with running vines, and flowering
plants and shrubs, in boxes of earth, or in urns and vases. The
parapeted walls of the flat roofs are also often ornamented by vases,
containing aloes and various cacti; and I have often been struck, on
passing to the staircase in leaving, with the ornamental and picturesque
effect of these—especially in bright moonlight—as they stand out in
strong relief against the sky.
However good the promise of fair weather may have been in going on
shore, we never take leave for a return to the ship at night, without a
greater or less degree of uncertainty, as to the manner and
circumstances in which we may get on board. The shallowness of the
roadstead obliges vessels of the draught of the Congress to lie two or
three miles from the shore; and even then, such are often cradled at low
water in a bed of mud three or four feet deep; but the distance is a
trifle, compared with the obstacle to a visit to the shore, either for
exercise or pleasure, arising from the frequency and suddenness of the
south and south-west winds, called pamperos. These often burst over the
water with little or no warning, and by their fierceness and the sea
they raise, cut off, for twenty-four hours or more, all communication
between the ship and the shore. Twice within the first week of our
arrival, a party in the Commodore’s barge was detained a night and a day
on shore under such circumstances; and other boats sent on shore on
various objects of duty, at least as many times. Fortunately for some of
us, Mr. Frazier, of the American house of Frazier, Zimmerman & Co.,
being without other family than the employees of the counting-room, had
it in his power to offer some of us, on those occasions, an asylum in
the well-appointed residence in which he dispenses a liberal and
generous hospitality. The few hotels in the place, kept principally by
Frenchmen and Italians, are comfortless, especially in their
accommodations for sleeping.
A few nights ago, on reaching the mole, a high and piercing wind was
blowing, very much from the point we wished to steer, tumbling a rough
and wild sea before it. We could not lay our course for the ship within
several points: leaving a long and heavy pull for the oarsmen, after we
should take in sail. Close hauled upon the wind, and plunging into the
head sea, all hands were well showered, even as far aft as the
stern-sheets, by the spray dashed from the bows. In disgust at this
winding up of the pleasures of the evening, the Commodore exclaimed that
it would be “the last of his night expeditions from the shore;” that
hereafter he would limit his visits to the daytime, and then to fine
weather. However, the barge is a beautiful sea-boat, riding the swelling
waves—whether propelled by oars or canvas—like a duck, and under sail,
skimming the crested waters like a sea-bird. When obliged at last to
take to the oars, the pull to the ship was not so long, or the trouble
in getting on board on the lee-side so great, as we had apprehended. The
next morning the weather was tranquil as a summer’s day; and the
Commodore, beckoning me to join him on the poop as he was taking a turn
before breakfast, said, “Why, Mr. S——, the getting off last night was
not so bad after all. I must take back my hard speeches about the place
and weather, and recall my rash vows. I think we may still venture an
evening’s visit.” This we soon did, and our return on board, for that
and two or three successive nights, was the very perfection of every
thing lovely in moonlight upon the water. The air was mild and balmy;
the river, smooth and glassy as a lake, seemed beneath the moonbeams, a
very sea of silver; a fair and gentle land-breeze kept the sails of the
boat just steadily full—wafting us imperceptibly along, while every
thing above, beneath, and around us, was so tranquil, so bright, and so
pure, that we were charmed by it into a musing mood of the profoundest
silence.
The prevailing weather, at present, is like that of the finest October
at home, with which season—that of autumn—it corresponds. The mornings
are cool, bracing, and brilliant; at noon, the temperature is almost
hot, and the nights are humid and cold. The sunsets are equal, in the
beauty and softness of the tintings and colors, to any I recollect to
have observed in any part of the world. To judge from the apparent
purity and elasticity of the atmosphere, it would seem that the climate
could not be otherwise than healthful; yet the sick list on board the
Congress, from catarrhs, inflammation of the lungs, and rheumatism, is
greater than at any time since the beginning of our cruise. Some of the
cases of pneumonia are very severe, and threaten to prove fatal. This
increase of sickness and its character, are attributable, probably, to
the frequent recurrence, amidst all this brightness, of wintry storms of
two or three days’ continuance: like a cold and boisterous equinoctial
gale in the United States, with pouring rain and piping winds. Indeed,
the anchorage here is a terrible place for winds at all seasons of the
year: terrible, not from danger to the ships—for the whole bottom is a
soft and tenacious mud, into which large vessels safely cradle—but in
the discomfort on board in a storm, and the inconvenience of
communicating with the shore.
The special interruptions to the monotony of a daily routine on my own
part, have been a series of infant baptisms, in the families of various
foreign residents, English, Scotch, and German; three marriages in which
the grooms were foreigners also—American and English; and the funeral of
an American lady, long a resident of Montevideo. The groom at one of the
weddings was Dr. K—— of the navy, surgeon of the St. Louis; his bride,
the Signorita L——, daughter of Don Juan L——, Secretary to the Senate of
the Republic of Uruguay. The ceremony was private, Commodore McKeever,
the captain of the St. Louis, one or two other naval officers, Madame
L——, the god-mother of the bride, and the immediate members of the
family constituting the party. Another of the marriages was in the
presence of a large company, and was followed by a general reception of
the society of Montevideo, and a ball. The parties being English, the
presence of the representative of the British government was necessary,
to give validity to the rite, according to act of parliament; and the
ceremony was followed by the making out of a certificate, at a
centre-table of the drawing-room, on a folio sheet of paper, to which,
as first witness, the Hon. Mr. Gore, H. M. Chargé d’ Affaires, attached
his name officially. Nearly the whole company, both ladies and
gentlemen, gave witness to the event in a similar manner, so that, in
the end, the document, in its length of signatures, rivalled a Magna
Charta or Declaration of Independence. It was the first occasion, except
at the chapel, in which I had met so large a company of Montevideans, or
in which there was a mingling of the native Americo-Spanish society. The
ladies of this blood have been celebrated by travellers for their
beauty, and for sprightliness and grace of manner; and justly, I would
say, were I to judge in the matter, from one at least, of those present
on this occasion: Mrs. R——, the wife of a young, but retired captain in
the British navy, a son of Admiral Sir J—— R——. She is beautiful, and
apparently truly lovely, with more of the bearing and manners of
polished life than most other ladies I have met since I left the United
States. Others equally favored may have joined the party afterwards, but
of this I cannot speak. The general company were only beginning to
arrive, as, under the guidance of Mr. Gore, I left for the British
Consulate, to officiate in the baptism of a child, which had been
appointed for the same evening.
The first funeral I have been called to attend, was at the house in
which I performed the first marriage ceremony after our arrival. The
mother of the young and lovely bride, an American lady, was, at the
time, in so feeble a state from consumption, as scarce to be able to be
present. She has failed rapidly since, and was buried on the 16th.
During the years of prosperity in Montevideo, a Protestant burial-ground
was laid out, a half mile beyond the outer gate, along the edge of a
narrow ravine and watercourse. It was enclosed by a handsome wall of
brick, planted with trees and shrubbery, contained many tombstones and
monuments of marble, and was one of the most attractive spots in the
suburbs. It was found, however, on the commencement of hostilities, that
the walls and trees gave shelter to the assailants, in their approaches
to the city, and interfered with the effect of the batteries of the
besieged. The walls consequently were razed, and the trees cut down by
the inside party. The result is an entire ruin. The tombs and monuments
are mostly overturned and destroyed, and the place, though still
appropriated to its original use, is utterly desecrated. Scarce a stone
is standing, and not a vestige of ornament or beauty remains. I could
not avoid being struck, amid other objects in the scene—at the funeral,
with the appearance of the hearse—the best the city now affords, and
emblematic of all its attempts at display. Its curtains of velvet, once
doubtless black, are now faded to a muddy orange, and are all tattered
and torn; and what were, originally, plumes of ostrich feathers, nodding
gracefully at each corner, are now only bristling quills, from which
every feather has fallen in decay. It was drawn by two miserable,
starved mules in a wretched harness, and altogether was a mockery of the
pomp and pageantry of the grave.
The subject reminds me to mention the receipt by the last English mail,
of a letter from the family of Ramsey, in whose fate you express an
interest, from the account given of his sudden death, last October. It
is in answer to one by which I communicated the bereavement. He was of a
pious household, who were deeply afflicted by the intelligence sent, but
consoled by the assurance, that every possible attention had been paid
to him. The letter is from a young man, the only surviving son of the
family. He says, “It is impossible to attempt a description of the scene
exhibited, as I endeavored to read aloud the heart-rending account of
the death of one we loved so dearly. It can never be forgotten by any
one present. The whole family were overwhelmed, and I myself entirely
unmanned;” and adds in another part—“the night after we received the
melancholy tidings, a most touching incident occurred: caused by my
youngest sister Jessie, a child of six years, when preparing to retire
to rest. She had not been told the sad news, and while on her knees by
my mother’s side praying aloud, her little hands resting upon her lap,
she prayed, as was her custom, that God would keep and bless her dear
brother at sea, and bring him in safety home to us. The scene that
ensued was most afflicting; we all wept most bitterly, while the little
one cried as if her heart would break, when told that the poor brother,
for whom she prayed, was lost to her for ever in this world.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------