As we lay off the entrance, waiting for the whales to shift, many, and

varied, were our speculations as to what the white object, previously

referred to as situated at the head of the cove, could possibly be. Not

till we were close up did we make it out. It then proved to be a

red-painted boat, covered with a white sail. Now a dry torrent bed forms

the head of our little fiord. The detritus brought down by the torrent

is spread out as a small, flat, channel-cut plain, that meets the sea

with a fan-shaped border. On to this flat the mystery boat was hauled

up, but only to just above high-water mark. Close to her side was a

grave with wooden cross. From her bows hung a bottle closed with a

wooden plug and sealed with red paint. Keenly interested in it all we

disturbed nothing, so that we might the better be able to piece together

the evidence, after gathering all we could. She was evidently laid up:

practically new: amateur built: her material new deal house-flooring

boards: flat-bottomed: sharp at both ends (dory type). Left as she was,

the surf of the first gale from the South would lift her. They must have

been either weak handed to leave her close to the water’s edge like

that, or else they had been in a great hurry to get away. No painter and

anchor was laid out to prevent her floating off: no seaman would leave a

boat thus unsecured. (For there was cordage in her.) Her sail was cut

out of an old sail of heavy canvas belonging to some big ship. They had

ship’s stores to draw upon.

Casting around, we soon found a track running through the sage-bush

scrub. Following this trail for a few yards, we came to a large

flat-topped rock beside which it ran. On this rock stood conspicuously

another bottle—sealed. The path now began to rise sharply, wending

betwixt large rock masses: then it suddenly terminated in a rift in the

cliff face, which formed a high, but shallow, cave or grotto. Rough

plank seats and bunks were rigged up around, fitted under or betwixt the

great rocks, some berths being made more snug by having screens of worn

canvas. In the middle of the floor was a table, and in the middle of the

table stood a sealed bottle and a box. The box was a small, square,

round-cornered, highly ornamented biscuit-tin of American make: it was

three parts full of loose salt, bone dry, and on the top of the salt was

a wooden box of matches, bone dry and striking immediately. We emptied

the salt on to the table—nothing amidst it: we broke the bottle and we

found in it a scrap of paper. On this was written in ink, a surname, the

day of the month and year, the full initials of the writer and these

words, “Look at our Post Office here.”[90] We then returned to the flat

rock and broke that bottle—the message was the same; then to the boat,

to find the message in its bottle was identical in terms, but written in

pencil.

“_Look at our Post Office_”—But where was the Post Office? or what was

the Post Office? The fragments of the broken bottle lay glittering on

the grave at our feet. Was the grave the Post Office?

We had most carefully examined and sounded the cave, and, after our long

experience of this class of work on Easter Island, felt fairly satisfied

that the Post Office was not there. Every fire site we had suspected and

inspected: every sinkage of the surface. Now we had to decide about the

grave. The character of the vegetation showed that it was old, and had

not been disturbed within the date stated on the letters. A Spanish

inscription in customary form, cut very neatly into the arms of the

wooden cross, gave simply the name of the dead man, and the date. At one

time the cross had been painted black. The point however that determined

us to accept the burial as _bona fide_, and not to exhume it as a

possible cache, was the fact that the sharp edges of the carving of the

inscription were smoothly rasped away by the driving sand of the shore,

in the direction of the prevailing wind, and to a degree commensurate

with the date incised. And we were right in our surmises. Sufficient now

to say that he whom the writing told to go to the Post Office, was

already lying in his own grave elsewhere, with his boots on, and no

cross at his head. Life is held cheap in Mexico.

The island is said to possess no fresh water. We found no provision made

in the cave for conserving a supply. Scrambling through the sage-bush we

made for the dry torrent. Here we found one of the channels had been

diverted, and in it sunk a well or shaft, some ten feet deep, with fine

soil at its bottom. The end of a rope just showed for about one foot

above the surface of the silt at the bottom of the shaft. Near by was a

rough cradle and makeshift gear for gold washing. They had been here

during the rains, and the torrent had supplied the washing water.

Thinking of a possible sealed bottle placed in the shaft bucket at the

end of the rope, we left two hands there with orders to follow the rope

carefully down to its termination and see what was on the end of it. The

cutter with two hands we sent back to the ship.

We and one hand—a Russian Finn who had been for some years on the Alaska

Coast—then set off inland to see what the world was like, and to get a

sheep if possible. By this time the heat had become very great. The

soil—yellow volcanic ash—soaked up the sun’s rays and then threw the

heat back as would a hot brick. Everything was so dry that we marvelled

that vegetation could hold its own. We saw no form of grass, but the

surface was generally covered with sage-bush extending from the level of

the knee in general to above one’s head in the bottoms. We had scrambled

up the ravine from our pirates’ cave and up the steep ground around it.

We now found ourselves on a well-defined ridge that ran parallel to the

sea, with a breeze, though a hot one, in our faces, and a glorious view

of sea, coast-line, and mountain. Our whales were clearly visible far

away in the bight to the west’ard, whilst to the nor’ard lay the great

mass of an unnamed volcano, with its top lost in mists, its sides

sweeping downwards, with typical curvature, till they reach the sea. We

gave the mountain the name of Mount Mana. It is 3,707 ft. high. Much

information about it will appear some day. Between the ridge on which we

now stood, and the well-defined foot of Mount Mana opposite to us, was a

valley some half a mile wide. We made our way across this valley as far

as the mountain’s foot, in order to cut across any tracks, human or

ovine, that might pass down it, because they would tell us the news,

like a file of newspapers—for all movement on the island would pass

along this bottom. Here the sage-bush was very strong and high, and we

found it difficult to get through. It frequently was tunnelled where it

was thick, reminding one of hippo paths leading to the water. In the

present case, however, bits of the fleeces of the makers were clinging

to the sides of the tunnel. The only signs of man were the brass shell

of an exploded military cartridge, and a few heads and horns of sheep

lying where the beasts had been shot. Here and there along the course of

the valley, masses of black volcanic rock, bare of vegetation, rose

above the bright yellow soil and its sage-bush covering. The surface of

the plain and of the mountain’s base were also punctuated by isolated

specimens of a species of fig (_ficus cotinifolia_) having a dark green

fleshy leaf somewhat like that of the magnolia, and a number of separate

trunks or stems. These trees, like all else, were dwarf and stunted, and

about 15 feet high. Every tree formed a flattish roof, as it were,

supported on many pillars and impervious to the sun. It was delightful

to rest for a short while under each as we came to it for a brief

respite from the shimmering heat. Beneath them the ground was bare and

smooth. The sheep tracks and tunnels led from tree to tree, and it was

evident that the sheep made it their practice to rest on these shady

spots, during the heat of the day. Whilst so resting ourselves, we were

amused and interested by several little birds of different sorts. They

chummed up en route, and kept close to us wherever we went, flitting

from bush to bush, and when we sat down in the shade, sidled along the

branches till they got as close to us as they could, short of absolutely

alighting upon us. They acted just as native children do towards the

white man when they have got over their first shyness. Working up wind,

we soon found sheep; they were in small bunches varying from three to

perhaps a dozen. We got a couple, though both getting up to the game and

the shooting was difficult in such cover, and resolved itself into

snap-shots as they followed their tracks across the occasional isolated

masses of dark basalt that rose above the yellow soil and which

supported no vegetation.

Having gralloched our victims and slung the carcases well up on to our

shoulders, with both breast strap and brow strap, Micmac fashion, we

started back for Cruising Club Cove. It was now about noon, and as a

direct line seemed feasible, we decided to take that line. The better

road along the sheep tracks, and therefore through their tunnels, along

the bottom of the valley, was impossible for a laden man. We did it!

Across the valley, often brought to a standstill by scrub that would not

yield when leant against. Up the hill side to its delusive gap, often on

hands and knees. Down the steep pitch on the other side, with bump and

crash, regardless of scratches, thinking only of how to avoid a broken

leg or twisted ankle. Then a final wrestle with scrub in the ravine

bottom and we were on the shore. What a relief to throw up that brow

strap for the last time and to let the mutton fall, with a thump, on the

stones! Then off with what remained of our clothes, with which we draped

the bushes to dry, and into the tepid shallow water, shallow for fear of

sharks. Orders were given that whilst bathing a good fire of scrub wood

should be made on a spot sheltered from the sun by the side of a lofty

rock. On that fire’s glowing cinders when nearly burnt out we presently

grilled kidneys of peculiar excellence, and boiled the billy, and

thanked the Immortal Gods.

The examination of the dry shaft, which was the job of the two hands

left behind, was never made. They reported that soon after beginning

work the side of the shaft fell in. On looking at it, it was clear that

we could not now do anything there. So we hunted around again,

collecting seeds, and plants, and rock samples. Presently, amongst the

drift material at storm high-water mark, we came across a cube of wood

12 or 15 inches square: (the end of a baulk of timber sawn off): through

it was bored an auger hole, and a rope rove. The end of the rope passed

through the block was finished with a “Stopper” knot, a knot known only

to seamen. Its other end had one long single strand that had been

_broken_: the other two strands were shorter than the first by some two

feet. They had been _cut through_. The story was clear. We only wanted a

name, and—_mirabile dictu_—we have it. Turning over the block, on one

face is deeply cut in letters some three inches long the words ANNIE

LARSEN. Pussy is out of the bag!

For the benefit of those who are not shippy yachty devils, we will now

explain. When you drop your anchor at any spot where the nature of the

bottom is such that you may, perhaps, not be able to lift it again by

heaving on the chain in the ordinary way, because the anchor has fallen

amongst rocks, or into some mermaid’s coral cave, under such

circumstances it is customary to fasten one end of a rope to the end of

the anchor opposite to that to which the chain is attached (_i.e._ to

the crown), and to the other end of the rope you make fast a buoy—you

“buoy your anchor.” Then, “when the sour moment comes” to take a heave,

and you have heaved in vain, you pick up your anchor buoy, and haul on

its rope, and up comes your anchor without a struggle, like Cleopatra’s

red herring.

Our find told us that it belonged to a ship of moderate size, for her

anchor was of moderate weight, because the anchor rope was of moderate

strength; and that that ship was probably a sailing ship, because she

had no steam winch: for steamers don’t usually buoy, having immense

steam heaving power. She had not intentionally left it; the rope had had

two strands cut through by the sharp rocks of the bottom, then the third

strand had torn apart from strain, and the buoy, with its short length

of rope, drifted away, to be ultimately thrown up above ordinary

high-water mark during a gale. Like the duck, it might have come down

from San Francisco! Not so. The two cut strands had not been long in the

water after they had been cut before they were thrown up high and dry.

It was very compromising for Annie. Of course we immediately asked,

“Anyone know the _Annie Larsen_?” The Russian Finn, naturally _au

courant_ with all the coast scandal after a month in San Francisco, was

immediately able to inform us that the _Annie Larsen_ was an American

schooner of about 300 tons, and was in the Mexican gun-running line till

captured so laden by a U.S.A. ship of war only a month ago whilst we

were at San Francisco.

So we had got to the bottom of things after all, though we had failed to

find the Post Office! Socorro Island was the depot for the late Yankee

gun runner _Annie Larsen_: the special, little-used boat was for

shipping, not for landing, the stuff: the Mexicans had come and fetched

it away in their own craft as they got the chance. Some of the _Annie

Larsen_ crowd, being old Alaska hands, had prospected the ravine for

gold, Alaska fashion. It was not a case of shipwrecked men on a

waterless island.

The afternoon was now getting late: _Mana_ stood boldly in close to the

entrance of the cove. She lowered her cutter, the shore party were soon

on board again, and at 5.35 p.m. (6.2.16) we bore away for Hicaron

Island at the entrance to the Gulf of Panama, S. 69° E., distant 1,834

miles. As we watched the island fade in the dusk, we thought we had done

with Socorro for ever; but it was not thus written. Some six months

after our visit a man was arrested at Singapore as a spy, and there

detained in prison. That man was the writer of the message in the

bottle. In prison he chanced to get hold of a piece of a local

newspaper, and that particular number happened to have in it an account

of the voyage of _Mana_ taken from the London papers. It incidentally

mentioned that she had touched at Socorro. A ship then had been to his

island! What had we found? How much did we know? _Had we found the Post

Office?_ On release he made his way to England to find out. But now is

not the time to tell the story: we are bound for Panama, or for Cape

Horn—for better or for worse—for heat or for cold. Chance, however, at

this time, all unknown to us, had decided our fate.

The rainy season was now approaching, and we even got an occasional

warning shower, which made us all the more anxious to reach the Isthmus,

and get clear of it, before its unhealthy season set in. But our

progress was slow: we could not run the main engine continuously, as we

only had a small supply of lubricating oil adapted to the great heat.

That with which we had been supplied at San Francisco proved useless.

Also we had long before unwisely sent back to England the light canvas

and all its gear, in order to get more stowage room. In doing so we

thought we would be able to run the ship under power in light airs, and

therefore would not want it: ’twas an error. However, we always made

something, for if she did not do her 50 miles in the 24 hours, we

unmuzzled the motor.

Our engineer, Eduardo Silva of Talcahuano, a Chilean, was a most

excellent young fellow: always keen and willing: always grooming his

three charges, the engines of the yacht, the life boat, and the electric

light, and ever ready to run them, despite the terrible heat in the

engine-room. Sometimes when the big 38 h.p. motor had a fit of the

tantrums, because it could not get cold water from the sea quickly

enough to assuage its body’s heat, and he durst not leave it, he would

eventually appear on deck, as pale as a sheet, and completely done. On

one such occasion he reflectively remarked, as the two of us looked down

into the engine-room from the deck, “All same casa del diablo.”[91] He

did not exaggerate.

Day followed day. We gradually gnawed into our 1,834 miles. The Russian

Finn came to the fore as a keen sportsman: from tea-time to dusk he was

generally to be found somewhere outside the vessel’s bows: sometimes on

the bowsprit end, sometimes standing on the bob-stay, regardless of the

fact that a shark was very frequently in attendance on us in the eddy

water under our counter. Looking over the taffrail you could see the

brute weaving from side to side as does a plum-pudding carriage dog at

his horses’ heels. One experienced a sort of fascination in watching

these great fish at night, their every movement displayed by the

luminosity of the water, until they themselves, on occasion, seemed to

glow with the phosphoric light. _Mana_ in these waters generally had

shoals or companies of small fish in attendance on her, amongst which

were always a few larger ones. We got to know individuals by sight. We

thought they kept to her for protection. It certainly was not for what

they could get off her copper. With that we never had any trouble: it

kept as bright as gold.

One night we were asleep on the locker in the deck-house companion, and

were awakened by an unholy struggle and crash. Nipping out, we found the

Russian on look-out for’ard, regardless of the sleepers below him, had

leant over her bows and had actually hoiked out with a gaff hook a large

porpoise. It seemed impossible to believe that a man could have had the

physical strength to hoist such a mass bodily out of the water, up her

high bow, and over the rail. He seems to have fairly lifted it out, by

the scruff of its neck, as it rushed alongside after the fish.

He only fell overboard once: that was on the voyage from the Sandwich

Islands, when we were not aboard. On reaching San Francisco he brought

a note from Mr. Gillam to us at our hotel to report arrival. We of

course inquired as to their voyage. The Russian said it had been quite

the usual thing: nothing had happened out of the common. Long

afterwards he casually informed us that on that run, when he went

forward one night from the quarter-deck to the galley to make the

coffee for the change of watch at midnight, he went first to do some

job on the top-gallant-fo’c’s’le head, and got knocked overboard. En

route to the land of never-never he found the weather jib-sheet in his

hand, and by it was able to haul himself aboard again. As he was

supposed to be in the galley, he would never have been expected to

show for half an hour, and therefore would not have been missed until

the watch mustered. It did not seem to occur to him that he had had a

bit of a squeak. He did not get wet, so nobody knew, for he told no

one. As an angel, perhaps there was a certain amount of black down

underneath his white plumage, but as an A.B. one wished for no better.

He was the second of _Mana’s_ company to be killed by the Huns after

our return.

After heaving-to like this, to let the reader into some of the little

humours of our domestic life, we must get under way again. Well,

everybody seemed quite happy and contented “on this ’ere run”: fish,

birds, weird ocean currents and their slack water areas with accumulated

drift, sail-mending, turning out and painting the fo’c’s’le, with life

on deck, instead of below, for a few days, a threatened blow that never

reached us, but only sent along its swell to justify the actions of the

glass, and the ever-varying incidents associated with life on a small

craft in unfrequented tropical seas, for we never saw another sail, made

us so forgetful of the flight of time, that it seemed that we had but

left Socorro, before we found ourselves off Hicaron Island, our

prearranged landfall. Thirty-one days had faded away like a dream (map,

facing p. 359).

Now, close to the Island of Hicaron lies another one much larger. We had

a plan of it, Coiba or Quibo Island. The Sailing Directions said

“turtles abound, but they are hard to catch.” (We didn’t want any more

turtle!) “Crabs, cockles, and oysters are plentiful. In the woods

monkeys and parrots abound, and in Anson’s time, 1741, there were deer,

but the interior is nearly inaccessible, from the steepness of the

cliffs and the tangled vegetation: explorers should beware of alligators

and snakes.” The chart showed an excellent anchorage and indicated fresh

water. It seemed promising: we would see what it was like. We were

particularly desirous of now making good our expenditure of water, as we

did not know what were the conditions we might find prevailing at Panama

both as regards its quality and the facilities for getting it.

We had sighted Hicaron Island at daylight on Monday, the 6th of March,

1916, but calms, baffling airs, and currents prevented our making our

proposed anchorage by daylight. At dusk, therefore, we hove to for the

night. _Festina lentiter_ was ever our motto. We had the most recent

chart certainly, but its last correction was in 1865 and coral patches

grow quickly. Not until noon next day did we get abreast of Negada

Point, the S.E. extremity of Quibo Island. As the coast was charted free

from dangers, we came fairly close in, and starting the motor about one

o’clock, ran along the shore under power, with a look-out in the

fore-top.

It was very interesting and pleasant, after a month at sea, thus to

coast along the fringe of a tropical island: sweeping round rocky points

of the land, and peeping into lovely little coves fringed with white

coral sand that merged into a dense tropical vegetation, with hills in

the background. It soon becomes instinctive to keep the sharpest of

look-outs ahead, _i.e._ into the clear water, for a change of colour

indicating danger, and yet to see everything around. The most memorable

feature of this particular afternoon was the large number of devil-fish

that were seen springing into the air: as many as three or four might be

observed within as many minutes. Suddenly, near or far, a large object,

like a white-painted notice-board, shot vertically into the air to

considerable height, to fall back again on its flat with resounding

spank and high-flying spray, leaving a patch of milky foam on the smooth

blue surface of the water. In British seas this family of fishes is

represented by the skate. Here they attain the dimensions of a

fair-sized room: a specimen in the British Museum from Jamaica measures

15 ft. by 15 ft. and is between three and four feet thick, hence the

statement that “their capture is uncertain and sometimes attended with

danger”[92] is probably not far from correct. Perched aloft, and thus

having a large and unobstructed horizon, we saw one jump probably every

ten minutes throughout the afternoon. The motor brought us to our

anchorage, and at 5 o’clock we let go in 9 fathoms, sand and mud, the

shore distant about 1½ miles.

We had seen hitherto no sign of the island being occupied, nor did we

now. After dark, however, at two widely separated points, a fire blazed

up and lights showed for a short while. Smoking on deck, when dinner was

finished, we speculated as to the meaning of the different mysterious

grunts and gurgles, sighs and plunges, that stole over the tepid oily

water: the tropical sea after dark seemed to have voices as many and

varied as the tropical forest has when the sun is gone. From 6 p.m.

onward the thermometer read 87° F.: at 6 a.m. it had fallen to 83°—the

cool of the morning!

With the daylight a single pirogue, with two men in her, came alongside.

She was a small and roughly made dug out, very leaky. In the wet of her

bottom lay a bunch of bananas, perched on which were a couple of large

macaws. Each of these had a strip of bark some two feet long tied to its

leg. The bunch of bananas lay like an island above the water in her: on

to it as a refuge the parrots crawled. Their jesses entangled amongst

the bananas—the boat rolled—so did the banana bunch—each bird would

climb upwards, but he could not, the accursed thong held him down: he

was being crushed, he was being drowned—he and his mate. And each said

so. An American mining captain taking up his parable was not in it with

those birds for language.

The two men were negroid in feature. One of them had only one leg, and

seemed sad and ill. The other was more cheerful. We could get along

together in Spanish. They invited us to come ashore. Hoisting out the

cutter, we followed them in. Their lead was useful, as the water is so

shoal. Though the rise and fall is but small feet, yet a large area of

coral rock flats is dry at low water on either side of a boat channel.

At the entrance to this channel an open sailing boat, some 25 feet long,

their property, lay at anchor. As the tide was falling, we thought it

best to leave our cutter at anchor in sufficiently deep water for her

not to take the ground, and got our friends to ferry us from her, one by

one, into shoal water in their canoe. It was most comic to see some of

our big chaps kneeling on the bottom of the crazy little craft with a

hand on either gunnel, whilst they bent forward, like devout Mussulmans

on their carpets, endeavouring to get their centre of gravity as low as

possible. We were the last of the passengers. When the water got to be

only knee deep the native anchored his canoe, and we stepped overboard.

So did our one-legged ferryman. His right hand controlled a crutch, in

his left he held various treasures obtained from _Mana_; he also desired

to take his two big parrots ashore, so, as the last item of all, he

hooked his finger under the cord that tied them together, thus carrying

them swinging heads downwards. But apparently he had not taken the cord

fairly in the middle. One parrot was suspended by a short length of

line: the other by a long: he of the short cord was able to twist

himself round and get a hold with his beak on some package in his

owner’s hand, and was thus reasonably happy. But parrots, like

ourselves, can’t have it all ways in this world of woe. If his head be

up, his tail must be down: hence this tale. He of the long string found

himself draggling in the water with every stride of his one-legged

owner. In his struggles to avoid drowning by a succession of dips, he

managed at last to grasp, with beak and claw, the long dependent tail of

his fellow prisoner, and quickly hauling himself up it, he at once

proceeded to consolidate his position, by seizing in his beak the

softest part of his colleague’s hinder anatomy with the vice-like grip

of despair, and therefrom he continued to depend in placid comfort,

regardless of the other’s piercing shrieks and protestations.

It is not always those at the top of the ladder that have the best time

of it.

A wide shore line of white sand met us. On it at high-water mark were

large quantities of white bleached drift-wood trees. On the flat ground

behind, beneath a dense tree growth, were some small pools of stagnant

rain water, a few coconut palms were dotted about—all else was jungle.

On a patch cleared of undergrowth stood a light frame structure open on

all sides. The roof was high pitched and had wide eaves: there was no

attempt at a floor. It might be 30 ft. by 20 ft. Smaller similar

structures adjoined for cooking and stores. A box or two, baskets,

hammocks, and a little boat-gear, were suspended from the beams above: a

few wooden blocks for stools were on the earthen floor, which was neatly

swept. On one such sat a terribly afflicted specimen of humanity—the

mother, yet nevertheless dignified and courteous. The father, a spare

little man with an intelligent face, lay in his hammock and extended his

hand feebly over the side simply saying that he was “infirma.” He seemed

to avoid making any movement. Four or five children of various ages

moved listlessly about; only one of them, a girl of ten or twelve years

of age, seemed quite healthy. Then there was the one sound man from the

pirogue and the cripple. The whole family were being slowly destroyed by

fever and elephantiasis, and apparently must, before long, perish from

lack of ability to gather food. No resources were visible—though no

doubt they had a little cultivated ground somewhere handy, and of course

there was always fish. The whole story of gradually encroaching disease

and suffering was so easy to read, and the patient and hopeless

resignation with which the little group awaited its predestined

extinction was very pathetic. They uttered no complaint nor asked for

anything. We made the best of things, and got them quite cheerful and

interested, producing from time to time various trifles from our pockets

which we generally carried with us as presents when going ashore.

Anxious to please, they gave us various quaint shells and a little

fruit, and again pressed on our acceptance the hapless macaws, now

secured to a handy branch, whose bedraggled plumage and sorry mien

seemed quite in keeping with the surroundings. Altogether our visit

seemed to give our hosts pleasure. The man appeared to have some Spanish

blood in him and to have known better days. We then returned to the

ship, and had breakfast, sending back by the pirogue, which had returned

with us, a little present of ship’s biscuit, tinned meat, cigarettes,

and quinine. It was obvious that no watering was feasible at this

landing-place. They told us we should be able to get water at the other

spot where we had seen a light the evening before.

Pulling in the heat and sun any considerable distance was out of the

question, so we hoisted out the motor lifeboat launch, taking the cutter

in tow for landing. We found another wide sandy beach, but with fairly

deep water right up to it. There was sufficient breaking swell on it to

require the cutter to be hauled up smartly, directly her nose touched,

or the next sea would have knocked her broadside on and filled her. The

shore was bordered by what appeared to us, from its state of neglect, to

be a deserted coconut plantation. We however told the men not to swarm

up for nuts for the present—there are generally some low easily climbed

trees—until we found out how the land lay. The white man never seems to

be able to understand that petty plundering of native plantations is a

bad introduction. Needless to say that it was not many minutes before

the irrepressible Finn had “found on the ground” a bunch of green nuts

and was devouring them with the avidity of a land crab. Foot-prints on

the shore, and trails through the scrub, soon brought us to a group of

shanties under the palm trees, and therefore close to the shore line.

The coconut palm seems to thrive best just beyond high-water mark, and

on any flat at about that level behind the furthest point reached by the

water. Trees are often to be seen with the soil round their roots

partially washed away on one side of the trunk.

A white man came walking along the shore to meet us. Of course the first

thing we did was to apologise for the unseemly sight of the men all

feeding on his nuts. He was fairly cordial, but evidently greatly

perplexed as to who, and what, we were. We told him as well as we could

about the ship and the reason of our visit, but it was obvious he

thought we lied. All the same he gave us the information we wanted as to

supplies and water. Practically nothing was to be had. As it would be

shortly our men’s dinner hour, we persuaded him to come with us aboard,

and he thawed considerably under the influence of luncheon. He told us

the coco palms had been planted by his father, and that his name was

Guadia. The Sailing Directions, as to this place, are quite wrong.

Moreover, they seldom quote their authority, or the date of the

information they give, which renders them very untrustworthy.

About twenty fever-stricken natives, many of them cripples from

elephantiasis, live here permanently on the plantation under the flimsy

shelters. Sr. Guadia said he lived usually in the city of Panama, but

came over for some months during the healthy season, occupying a

somewhat superior hut in the midst of the native shacks. There are

comparatively high hills close to hand, that would be infinitely more

healthy as a residential site. He will probably get infected from the

natives. The mosquitoes pass the disease along.

As the watering scheme had broken down, we thought we would devote the

afternoon to fishing. Sr. Guadia said that, if we really wanted fish, we

ought to go to the mouth of a river some distance away, but that the

bottom was all clean opposite his camp, so we thought we would take a

few drags of the seine along his front. We faked it down into the cutter

and the launch towed her in. All along the beach the water was almost

soup-like from the mud in suspension, also in it floated, in immense

quantity, tiny fragments of fine marine grasses, the whole being kept

constantly churned by the swell. In this opaque water fish could not see

the net. Casting off from the launch the cutter backed into the beach:

one hand jumped ashore with the head and foot ropes. She then described

a semicircle as she shot her net: our seine was 50 fathoms long and 2

fathoms deep: as she completed the semicircle by touching the beach the

spare hands jumped ashore with the other head and foot ropes and the

boat pulled away to the launch to land that party, for without them it

was impossible to haul the net: the resistance was far too great. The

natives—the whole population of the huts—grouped themselves together at

a little distance, but never offered to lend a hand. At last we got a

move on the net, but the resistance was excessive, and we were afraid

that she had picked up something. Gradually however the line of buoying

corks rose to the surface as the leaded foot rope took the ground,

defining the semicircle with a row of dots, whilst over them jumped, at

various points of the most distant part of the curve, a multitude of

small fry, like a stream of silver darts, and with rainlike patter as

they struck the water. Gradually the escaping captives became larger and

larger, springing high into the air, and we thought that we should find

but little left when we got the net ashore, for the weight in it was

such that we could move it but slowly. “Keep her up!—Keep her up!”—was

now the cry, to counteract the tendency to haul on either head rope or

foot rope unduly in the excitement of the finish—for a seine is simply a

moving vertical wall of net, and must be maintained as such in use. At

last the contained area began to simmer: then to boil: and then, still

hauling evenly, we brought the mass more or less upon and against the

sandy beach. Practically it was solid fish: fish of every size, shape

and colour. There was comparatively little weed. By their very number

they had been rendered helpless. This was great good luck, for amongst

them was a large shark some ten or perhaps twelve feet long, and another

brute of about the same size and weight, but he chiefly consisted of

head, and his head chiefly consisted of mouth. When this mouth, with two

little eyes at the sides, looked at you, the shark seemed of benevolent

appearance.

Of course our first thought was for the safety of the net; that it was

not burst or torn already seemed a miracle. The struggles of the two

great brutes would tear it to pieces if we tried to haul them right

ashore, so we just held them jammed against the sloping beach. The

natives then cautiously ventured to attack them with their machettes—a

powerful slashing knife, like a small sabre, used for clearing the

forest growth. They directed all their efforts to slashing them along

the spine: gingerly approaching the fish by the head, they inflicted the

wounds nearer and nearer towards the tail. Having paralysed that, they

then blinded them. They did not desire to kill: they wanted the fish to

have enough life left in it to be able to struggle away.

Having thus paralysed our two largest captures, we slipped a bowline

round their tails, and dragged them clear of the net, and started them

off, when they were at once torn to pieces by their fellows. We then

proceeded to collect the useful part of the catch. We took what we

wanted: the natives appropriated the rest. These natives were not an

attractive lot—neither the men, the women, nor the children—they would

not lend a hand to haul, got three-quarters of the catch for picking it

up, and then tried to steal the balance that we had reserved. Sr. Guadia

gave us some coconuts, and the antlers of a deer that he had shot:

according to him they are plentiful on the island.

As we didn’t want anybody to get bitten by mosquitoes, and sunset was

approaching, the order was now “All aboard the lugger!” and we reached

the ship as her riding-light ran up.

[Illustration: Map of the Panama Canal]

CHAPTER XXIII

PANAMA TO JAMAICA

Navigation of the Gulf of Panama—Balboa and the City of Panama—Through

the Canal—Cristobal—An Incapable Pilot—The Education of a Cook—A

Waterspout—A Further Exciting Experience.

Our job was now to get to the entrance of the Canal, which is situated

at the bottom of the bight of the Gulf of Panama. It is a most difficult

one for a sailing vessel. Roughly speaking, currents from the south-east

may be said to sweep round its coasts, and to form of the Gulf one vast

eddy. Here, throughout the year, persist calms and catspaws from all

directions, rain, lightning, and squalls: the whole caboodleum of the

Doldrums, plus a complex tangle of irregular currents. In addition to

the foregoing joys, there is, towards the head of the Gulf, a large area

studded with islands, rocks, and coral patches. From this archipelago

have been obtained, from the earliest times, at the price of infamous

cruelty, a large supply of the finest pearls—the group is called the

Pearl Islands.

“A vessel unaided by steam power will experience considerable difficulty

and delay in getting out of Panama Bay,” say the Sailing Directions. She

will: and so she does in getting into it. There is a well-known yarn of

a ship being here carried round and round for a year or so, in the olden

days, until her people had nearly all perished from scurvy. Some of the

American newspapers got hold of this story and said we had found and

relieved her, giving pathetic details. In our case, though we had a

motor that gave us 5½ knots through the water, we found that our only

course was to allow ourselves to be carried right across the mouth of

the Gulf to the Colombian coast, and then to work up along the coast of

the Isthmus of Darien, _i.e._ along the eastern shore of the Gulf of

Panama.

The following summary of our log will show what things are like. We left

Fea Harbour, Quibo Island, at 8.10 a.m. on Thursday, March the 9th, and

motored until noon. Then got the canvas on her. Light airs: E.; N.N.E.;

N.; S.S.E.; S.E.b.E. between noon and midnight. Made good 17½ miles.

Much lightning all around in the first watch.

The middle watch of Friday the 10th had easterly airs that gave her an

average of three knots, and much lightning. At 9.50 a.m. started motor

and ran it until 0.50 p.m.; and again from 3.24 p.m. to 5.45 p.m.

Notwithstanding our using power, it was 10 p.m. before the light on Cape

Mala could be entered in the log as just dipping. The motor was only

called upon when the current was setting her into what would be a

dangerous position. This day we make good 38½ miles.

On Saturday, the 11th of March, we found there was a strong s’utherly

set at 11 a.m., and a N.N.W. breeze, so, instead of steering to Panama,

we altered course to take full advantage of the breeze to cross the

Gulf. We passed from time to time well-defined current-ripples, with

much rubbish floating in the dead water. During the afternoon the water

became very dark and discoloured, but we got no bottom at 225 fms. At 10

p.m. however we got 55 fms., so we hove to and waited for the daylight.

Our day’s run was 79 miles.

At earliest daylight on Sunday the 12th we bore away and at 7.15 a.m.

made Cape Escarpado bearing N.42°E. The morning was very hazy with much

mirage, and the land very difficult to recognise at any distance. We

were now working to wind’ard to the entrance of the Pearl Islands. At

1.35 p.m. we started the motor, and at 4.50 p.m. brought up for the

night in 13 fms. between Monge and Puercos islets, which lie off the

east coast of the large Isla del Rey. We have done 60 miles to-day.

On Monday, the 13th of March, we made a start at 5 a.m., under sail,

working against light airs from N.N.W. westerly. We were now being swept

up into the Bight of Panama by the current, so all we had to do was to

keep her nicely placed. At noon, when we were distant from Canal

entrance 48 miles, we were obliged to start the motor, and did 16 miles

under power, stopping it at 3.26 p.m. We then got a gentle N.W. breeze,

which we kept till 11.40 p.m., when we brought up off the entrance of

the Canal.

Early the next morning a harbour launch, with the Port Officials, came

out to us. They told us that the Canal had been closed to all traffic

for five months. According to them, our chance of being allowed to pass

through was small indeed.

As soon as we had got pratique, we started in our launch for the shore,

to learn our fate. From the Port of Balboa on the Pacific, to the Port

of Colon on the Atlantic, is 44 miles by canal: by sea the distance is

10,500. If the Powers that Were would not let us through, we must

practically again circumnavigate the whole continent of South America.

We had already done it once to a very large extent: Pernambuco to

Valparaiso. Was it to be our fate to do it a second time?

Though _Mana_ was anchored close to the entrance of the fairway, yet she

was hull-down on our looking back when we were abreast of the Balboa

frontage, so great is the length of the dredged channel through the

smooth shoal water of the Bay, before the Canal begins to have visible

land on either side of it.

Messrs. Balfour, Guthrie & Co., of San Francisco, had most kindly

advised their agents of our being _en route_, and consequently, when we

landed at Balboa, there was a motor-car in waiting. We whisked off, got

fresh meat and vegetables for the ship, put it aboard the launch, and

despatched her with orders to return to take us off an hour before dark.

Then we drove straight to the City of Panama to call on the British

Minister, Sir Claud Mallet. He was most kind. He sent us under convoy of

the Consul to see Colonel Harding, the acting chief of the Canal in the

absence of Colonel Goethals. Colonel Harding was pleased to grant _Mana_

the exceptional privilege of at once passing through the Canal, on the

ground that she was a scientific research ship,—a favour for which we

owe much gratitude both to him and to the Government which he

represented. We have sometimes however regretted this stroke of luck,

as, had we been compelled to take the s’utherly route, we should have

been at Punta Arenas just at the time Sir Ernest Shackleton was there

seeking a vessel to rescue his men from Elephant Island, a job for which

_Mana_ was eminently fitted.

In accordance with arrangements made, next morning a pilot came off and

took us, under our own power, from the outer anchorage, up the dredged

channel, to the mooring dolphins opposite Balboa, a distance of about 5

miles. Balboa is the name of a new town built by the Americans on the

Eastern bank of the Pacific entrance of the Panama Canal. The ground on

which it is situated is not flat, also there are a couple of isolated

volcanic cones, that rise to a height of 363 feet and 650 feet

respectively, in its midst. A fine sanitary city has been designed, and

largely brought into being, and as the work of construction of the Canal

proceeds towards completion, for there is still much work to be done, so

everything connected with the Canal will be concentrated there. To this

new town of Balboa adjoins the old city of Panama, the capital of the

Republic of Panama, but now isolated from the rest of the republic,

being entirely surrounded by U.S.A. territory.

Before we go through the Canal, it will be well to have a general idea

of its character. Let us first consider that of the Suez. The Isthmus of

Suez is a level neck of sand, only slightly raised above sea level.

Across it a gutter has been dug: the Mediterranean Sea, unobstructed,

flows along that gutter, until it blends its waters with those of the

Red Sea.

The Panama is an entirely different proposition. The Isthmus of Panama

is a neck of land formed of volcanic debris and rock. It is only

partially level; it is humped in the middle, but that hump is hollowed

like a saucer. So we have this sequence:—A level. A hump. A level.

The Canal therefore is made in this way. Firstly the middle, or humped

part, is changed, by means of embankments, from a semi-dry saucer into a

deep high-level pond, _i.e._ into a pond whose surface is 85 feet above

the level of the sea. That pond is filled, and kept filled, with sweet

water by the rainfall on high country around it—the inner slope of the

edge of the saucer. As we are only concerned with two embankments which

go to form the pond, we will refer to one as the Eastern and to the

other as the Western.

Next, the Pacific Ocean is brought up a distance of about 4 miles, to

the foot of the Western Embankment, by digging a simple gutter through

level country, just as has been done in the case of Suez: similarly the

Atlantic is brought a distance of about 5 miles to the foot of the

Eastern Embankment.

Finally, each embankment is equipped with a series of water steps, or

locks, whereby a vessel is lifted up from the ditch into the pond, or

lowered from the pond into the ditch. Water of the pond, in measured

doses of a lockful at a time, and on which dose float one or more ships,

is first shut off from the pond, and is then permitted gently to escape

into the Pacific Ocean ditch, or into the Atlantic Ocean ditch, as the

case may be.

No drop of Atlantic sea water ever mingles with the sweet water of the

Central Pond. No drop of Pacific sea water ever mingles with the sweet

water of the Central Pond. The Atlantic with the Pacific do not

commingle directly or indirectly.

Punctually at 7 a.m. the Canal pilot boarded us, and we left Balboa 7.35

a.m. under our own power, and proceeded up the Canal. It was a real

pleasure trip. Engines running to perfection. Pilot most complimentary

to them. No navigating to be done. The men highly content at the

information that, once through the lock gates, the ship would be in

fresh water, and they could wash clothes all day long. Largesse of soap

distributed. We reached the Miraflores Locks at 8.15 a.m. Distance from

Balboa about 2 miles. The shores of the Canal between Balboa and

Miraflores present little of interest—the Canal is here simply a ditch

cut through a swamp. We enter the lower lock: the water of the pond

above our heads is let in, and we rise about 54 feet. The doors in front

of us open, and we pass out into a pool. From this pool we enter a

second lock: we again rise about 31 feet: the gates in front of us open,

and we are floating in an arm of the artificially formed Gatun Lake.

This lake or pond or saucer is of considerable extent: about ⅓ the size

of the Isle of Wight. Here it is deep: there it is shallow. What were

marshes, when it was still unflooded, have now become its deeps: what

were hillock or hill-tops now appear as isolated islands. It is between

such islands that the ship channel threads.

A remarkable feature is that the islands, each of which was lately a

hill-top, have as yet no horizontally cut shore or strand: the slope of

the hillside is the same below the surface of the water as above it: the

waves have not yet cut a shore bench or shelf. The trees therefore stand

immersed in varying degree, some with the foot of the trunk only just

awash: others with their topmost boughs only just showing. Where the

bottom of the pond is level, large areas of now dead, but still

standing, forest trees, partially submerged to an even depth, present a

remarkable, because a transient, feature. Presently these will decay and

disappear, then the water surface of the pond will appear to be greater

than it does to-day.

At 10.10 a.m. we passed out of the Western (Miraflores and Miguel)

locks, and proceeded across the pond, and reached the other side—the

entrance to the Eastern Locks (the Gatun Locks)—at 4.51 p.m. Here we

moored ship, as the Canal people would not drop us from the pond into

the Atlantic ditch that night. We observed that the U.S.A. were not

taking any risks that they could avoid of German agents causing trouble:

sentries were posted everywhere, and no one from the ship was allowed to

wander about ashore. So _Mana’s_ crowd sat in a row on the edge of the

lock, like migrating martins on a telegraph wire, and swung their legs,

in high good humour. Saturday, March the 18th, at 8.7 a.m. we entered

the Gatun Locks; at 8.53 p.m. passed out; and at 10 a.m. came to anchor

in Colon Harbour.

That afternoon we moored alongside a pier, and took aboard coal,

petroleum, and lubricating oil. The British Consul, Mr. Murray, was most

kind and hospitable, and though the flat mud island on which Cristobal

stands, and of which it occupies the greater part, is unusually

uninteresting, as is also the town, yet, owing to Mr. Murray, we quite

enjoyed a week’s detention there that Fate had in store for us.

As a vessel steams down the gutter (Gatun Approach) that runs in a

straight line from the Eastern Embankment (Gatun Dam) into the Atlantic

(Caribbean Sea), she has on her starboard hand, as she approaches the

termination of the gutter, a small flat island of alluvium. The Canal

water front of that island is occupied now by wharves and jetties,

behind which runs a good road bordered with fairly respectable shops,

and stores, and drinking-dens. At one end is a large and good hotel; at

the other the stores, workshops, and residences of the Canal Officials.

To all this is given the name of CristObal—long O. Immediately against

Cristobal, and forming part of it, abuts the town of COlon—another long

O—a town that practically sprang into being at the first making of the

Canal: a twin sister to the town of Suez of the olden days for vice and

villainy. If Colon be what it is now, with the U.S.A. in control, what

must it have been of yore? We believe that the Canal Administration

allows the citizens of the Republic of Panama some sort of self

government as regards their town of Colon, hence its character. The

redeeming point about it is that it is so frequently and largely burnt

to the ground that it will eventually become quite reasonably sanitary.

At present, Cristobal is the executive centre on the Canal. Here are all

the workshops. Balboa, at the other end, is to-day the administrative

centre only, but gradually all interests connected with the Canal will

there be concentrated. To Cristobal is brought, and from Cristobal is

drawn, all labour and supplies. All food consumed throughout the Canal

zone—meat, fresh fish, vegetables, fruit, is sent frozen from the U.S.A.

and there kept in cold storage—no supplies practically are derived from

the surrounding country. It is only by the courtesy of the Canal

Administration, that anyone, not in its employ, is allowed to purchase

food at its depots. Any foreigner therefore, whose work requires him to

live in the Canal zone, finds housekeeping a very difficult matter. In

our case, however, by the Regulations, we were entitled to purchase what

we wanted, but the same Regulations specially state that any yacht,

U.S.A. or foreign, shall be charged 20 per cent. more than any other

vessel for any food supplied, or services rendered to her, and we were

charged accordingly. And this though the Administration had only allowed

us to pass through on the ground that we were not a yacht. In no sense

were we one. To an Englishman it seems strange to find that another

people considers it to the interest of the State to differentiate

against yachts: we know, in our case, what our nation has gained by the

widespread and intelligent interest in maritime affairs, that is the

outcome of the British sport of yachting.

Having got all our essential stores aboard on the day of our arrival

(Saturday), we hoped to be able to get fresh provisions, pay dues, and

clear on the Monday. But now our troubles began. There were at this time

certain repairs that it was desirable should be done to portions of our

machinery. They were not essential, as we had substituted new spares for

each defective part, but we thought it wise, as we were now at the only

port where we could get the work done, to get the damaged parts

renovated, so as to become spares in their turn. The original idea was

to send down the parts by boat, but eventually the machine shop desired

the vessel to be laid alongside its wharf. No vessel by the Regulations

is allowed to be moved without a Canal Pilot aboard her. He takes

absolute command and control. A pilot accordingly took her alongside all

right. Then arose delays—but everybody was most obliging, and the work

was well done, though of course prices were very high.

Meantime our kindly Consul was doing all he could to arrange for us to

have a day’s tarpon fishing from the Gatun Weir—from hearsay it is most

thrilling work: you stand on the great weir with the water boiling in

foam 85 feet beneath you and play a real fighting fish of 100 to 200

lbs. weight. The gentleman who was to have run us up to Gatun in his

launch, and to have helped us to get a fish, was, however, unavoidably

detained.

Day followed day with the vessel alongside the wharf and the repair work

in the workshops.

At this time we were much amused by an old Jamaican coloured man, who

spent most of the day sitting on the quay beside the vessel close to her

stern, where of course the ensign was flying on the flagstaff. He, like

all the British West Indian coloured people, of whom there is a very

large number at Cristobal-Colon, was enthusiastically loyal, and told

us, “I love to sit under de ole flag: while you here, I do no more

work—all de day I sit under de ole flag.” The men took a fancy to him,

and “de ole flag” found something to spare for him at every meal, and a

pipe of baccy afterwards.

At last the repairs were completed—shore accounts all settled up and the

Canal Pilot took charge to take us out. We had to go out of the pool

stern foremost. It turned out subsequently that the Gatun Locks were at

this time passing a vessel through. This caused a current to flow past

the pier head of the dock. The pilot did not know of it, with the result

that _Mana’s_ stern crashed into the pier head. Luckily the piling was

very old and rotten, and _Mana_ extraordinarily strong, so that, though

the pier head structure was pretty considerably smashed, our own damage

was confined to broken taffrail stanchions and the ironwork of the main

gallows. We had therefore to return to our berth and have this new lot

of damage made good. The Pilot, a Greek, of course tried to make out

that the reversing gear had refused duty when he wanted to handle her,

but, before we could find the Captain of the Port, that official had

already been aboard and tried the engine, and told us that he found it

worked to perfection, and gave us the true cause of the accident. We

then asked him to give orders that our damage should be made good by the

Canal Administration free of charge, but this he assured us was

impossible under the Regulations—we must pay, but the job should be

expedited. He also, out of sympathy with our misfortunes, gave us

permission, when our job was done, this time to take our ship out

ourselves without having another Canal pilot aboard, lest something

worse should happen. And this we eventually did, to our own great

satisfaction. Before however we could get our clearance, we had to

deposit a sum equal to double the estimated cost of our repairs.

The Canal Administration, like the British Post Office, always plays

pitch and toss on the terms of “heads I win, tails you lose.” It, very

properly, compels you to take a pilot. It gives him absolute power, and

requires that he himself shall take command and handle the vessel. But

such a man’s experience is confined to big steamers: with them he is

probably quite skilful, but give him a small craft or a yacht, and he

knows as much about handling her as he does of piloting an aeroplane.

Hence those tears.

The foregoing is equally true of the Suez Canal pilots. The risks to a

small craft in the passage of the ship canals are great, and are solely

due to the pilots being permitted to attempt to handle them.

As the Regulations of the Panama Canal stand, the Pilot may be mad, or

drunk, or incompetent, and elect to ram another vessel, or to butt at a

lock gate, nevertheless all damage done to the ship, or by the ship,

must be paid by the Owners of the ship, before she is allowed to leave

the Canal. Under no circumstances will the Administration accept

responsibility for the conduct of their pilots. And there you have it.

At 9.15 a.m. Sunday, March the 26th, 1916, we passed through the

breakwater into the Caribbean Sea. We had cleared from Cristobal-Colon

for Trinidad, one of our West Indian Islands, but when doing so we never

had any intention of going there. We informed the British Consul of our

reasons and had his sanction. German sympathisers seemed to take a most

kindly interest in us. We were really bound for Bermuda, via the

Windward Passage, which is the pass between the two great islands of

Cuba and St. Domingo. A strong wind and current sweep at this time of

year from East to West the length of the Caribbean Sea, consequently we

had to get well to the east’ard so as to make sure of carrying a fair

wind and current for rounding Cape Tiburon, the western extremity of the

Island of St. Domingo. We therefore at once set to work to beat steadily

to wind’ard along the Venezuelan coast, keeping close in with the land,

in order to cheat the current and to have as little sea as possible. As

this coast is only roughly surveyed, and the lighting cannot be depended

on, we exercised special care when standing-in to the land. We saw no

craft along this coast except that, one night, what looked like a small

tramp steamer of about 800 tons entirely changed her course, and bore

down on us until she was close alongside. She did not attempt to

communicate. We kept our course and took no notice of her. After a good

look at us she took herself off.

We had unfortunately lost, at Cristobal, our excellent and popular

Japanese cook, and the coloured Panama man who replaced him proved,

after being given some days of grace, such a miserable impostor that

even the strenuous and varied educational efforts of the fo’c’s’le

failed to bring about his regeneration. We heard, indirectly, that the

Russian Finn decided that it was a case of demoniacal possession and had

attempted to cure it by means of a course of massage of the windpipe.

Others of the crew suddenly became afflicted with a variety of

complaints for which they drew various drastic drugs from the ship’s

medicine chest and then, with great self-sacrifice, refraining from

taking these themselves, administered them instead to the chef. We aft

got along quite comfortably, as the cabin steward, Edwin Young,

belonging to Pitcairn Island, had become, since joining, quite a good

cook, and was most willing and hard working. But the fo’c’s’le very

naturally complained, so, in its interest, we decided to alter our

course and make for Port Royal, Jamaica, to seek that pearl of price—a

good sea cook.

Nothing calling for remark occurred on this run until the 6th of April.

At 6.15 a.m. on that day Mr. Gillam, whose watch it was, came below and

said, “I wish you would come on deck, Sir; there’s a water-spout bearing

down on us.” In half a shake of a lamb’s tail we were on deck, and a

truly wonderful and impressive sight presented itself. Away on our

starboard bow was a vast, dark purple cloud mass shaped like an open

umbrella, or rather like a vaulted roof with central pendant. The upper

surface of the dome blended with the normal clouds. The edge of the dome

was sharply defined, and from it small fragments of cloud, all ragged,

and looking like pearl-grey silk muslin torn off and crumpled, kept

breaking away to be left behind. The dome-shaped mass, on its lower

aspect, gradually became columnar, the column extended downward until it

almost, but not quite, reached the sea. The lower part of its length was

much attenuated, and convoluted, and terminated in ragged mist, and

could be seen to be rotating rapidly.

The surface of the sea beneath it, over an area of perhaps a mile in

diameter, presented the appearance of a fiercely boiling cauldron. The

water rose up as waves of pyramidal form, from which the wind tore off

the apices, and whipped the same into spume. The waves had no fixed

direction: they simply dashed into one another. Immediately beneath the

ragged termination of the central column the surface of the sea seemed

to be bodily lifted up, amidst a welter of mist, and froth, and spray,

into a cone-shaped form, but, between the apex of this cone, and the

rapidly rotating extremity of the column of cloud above it, there always

remained a distinct interval of considerable extent, that had the

appearance of dense mist: the appearance of a hard rain-squall, seen

from afar, as it sweeps over the sea. The cloud came down towards the

sea, and the sea rose up towards the cloud, and there was an interval

betwixt the two. The column was not quite vertical: though it maintained

perfect continuity with the cloud mass above, of which it formed a part,

nevertheless its lower extremity tended somewhat to trail or lag behind.

It moved along its path towards us, quite slowly and steadily, cutting

our wake, at an acute angle, some miles astern. It is difficult to

conjecture what would happen to a small craft, or to any craft, that

found itself well within the area of disturbance. Apart from anything

else, the seas, tumbling down on to the top of her from all quarters,

even if they did not break in her decks, could hardly fail to strip her

hatch openings. As we watched, we agreed that even _Mana_ could scarcely

be expected to live amidst such seas, and therefore, obviously, nothing

could. As it was, the surface of the sea, where we were, was little

affected, nor was there any weight in the shifts of wind as they

occurred.

We then had breakfast and a pipe and settled down to routine work when,

at 10 a.m., a small cloud on the horizon, on our lee bow, was observed

to be behaving in a way opposed to the ordinary laws of nature. Though a

nice steady breeze was blowing and no other clouds were to be seen

anywhere else in this direction on the horizon, yet this one particular

patch, like a large sail, remained constant in form and in the same

position. As we drew nearer, it was observed to increase and diminish in

volume from time to time. The only explanation we could think of was

that we had fallen in with a ship on fire, so we bore away towards it.

As we reduced the distance betwixt us and it, we gradually made out that

it was not one cloud of white smoke, but two separate clouds, that

arose, more or less alternately, at two spots situated some two miles or

so apart. Another point too gradually developed. Each patch of cloud or

smoke suddenly burst forth to its maximum size and then gradually blew

to leeward, and dissipated. This led us to think that it must be either

gun practice or a naval action. The wind had now fallen light, so we

started our engines, and made up our canvas, and, like rats, headed for

the scrimmage. It was suggested that, following the classical example of

Mr. Midshipman Easy a ladies’ wardrobe aboard should be overhauled to

find if possible a green silk petticoat under which we might go into

action. As in Easy’s case, being unarmed, our approach was likely to be

of greater effect than our presence; but still we all decided to make a

claim for prize money. As we cut down the distance it became evident

that it could only be a matter of small craft, for no hull could be made

out. The fighting was taking place on the northern side of Morant’s

Cays, a group of low-lying coral islets that lay between us and the

combatants.

The situation gradually developed. Morant’s Cays are coral islets

perched on the top of a volcanic area: there had been a seismic

disturbance of considerable extent: we had the large-scale Admiralty

plan of them. Great changes had taken place: the sea was now breaking in

various directions where deep water was shown on the chart. At two

points, from vents in the sea bottom, steam was being ejected into the

air in puffs, each puff forming a dense white cloud perhaps 200 or more

feet high. These puffs occurred some 1½ miles apart and one was much

larger than the other. The steam was ejected from each vent alternately.

We came in pretty close, but breaking water in various directions warned

us that we were looking for trouble, so we headed away for Port Royal,

Jamaica.

[Illustration: Map of Windward Passage.]

CHAPTER XXIV

JAMAICA TO SOUTHAMPTON

Jamaica, and the Bahamas—Bermudas—Azores—Preparing for

Submarines—Southampton once more.

JAMAICA

Jamaica was discovered by Columbus, and belonged to Spain till 1655,

when it was captured by an expedition sent out by Oliver Cromwell.

The Island, from its proximity to the Spanish Possessions, was a

godsend to the Buccaneers. Port Royal, which, as its name shows, was

founded after the Restoration, was full of riches, often ill-gotten:

“always like a Continental mart or fair.” In 1692 it was overwhelmed

by an earthquake, and again laid low by fire in 1703.

Kingston, originally begun as a settlement of refugees from Port Royal

after the earthquake, gradually grew in importance, and finally became

the capital of the island.

During the wars which followed the French Revolution, Jamaica was of

importance as the great centre of British interests in the Western

Caribbean.

We now headed for Jamaica; Kingston, its capital, lies towards the

eastern extremity of its southern coast. The town is placed on flat land

which gradually rises into dwarf hills. It is built parallel to, and

abutting on to its water-front. Right and left of the city, when viewed

from the sea, extends low country, whilst behind it, and to the east,

rises in the distance a lofty range of mountains. From the open sea, the

town and flat country is divided by a natural breakwater that maintains

the general trend of the coast. By this breakwater is formed a lagoon

that runs East and West, parallel to the coast, for a distance of some

six miles, with an average breadth of about one mile, and has

practically no arms or branches. This lagoon is the harbour of Kingston

and a fine one, but it lacks the element of picturesqueness, nor is it a

comfortable one for small craft. The strong easterly wind, known as “The

Undertaker,” that daily arises and increases in strength with the sun,

sweeps down its length and knocks up a nasty sea. It is difficult to

obtain shelter, even for a dinghy, when landing at Kingston.

But we are anticipating. We ran down the coast, close in, and at 9.30

a.m., Friday, April the 7th, 1916, we reached the western end of the

natural breakwater between which and the mainland is the passage into

the lagoon. Here the Port Doctor came on board, and as he went through

our bills of health we mutually discovered that we were old hospital

friends, though we had never heard of each other for twenty years.

We entered the harbour, and brought up in 15 fms., abreast of the wharf

of the old naval dockyard of Port Royal, and distant from it about a

cable’s length. Port Royal is situated on the inner aspect of the

bulbous-headed western extremity of the natural breakwater. The land

surface is very limited in extent and is entirely taken up with the old

fort, the old dockyard, and old naval and military quarters. All but a

few poor closely packed houses is in the occupation of Government. The

width of the breakwater to the eastward soon becomes small; open beach

on seaward side, mangroves extending into the lagoon on the other; and

between the two sand and scrub. This part is the well-known Palisadoes,

the home of land-crabs and dead men, and the scene of many a duel. Port

Royal is now deserted; no shipping or living workshops; everything is

hushed, but the place is not neglected. Nelson might have left it but

yesterday; the dockyard, with its fittings, stores, and quays, reminded

one of that other quaint little marine gem, the old naval dockyard of

English Harbour in the island of Antigua. When the place hummed with

life, _The Young Sea Officer’s Sheet Anchor_, by Falconer, was the text

book to work by, and its social life is vividly and accurately given us

by Marryat in one of his novels.

As in the dusk, all alone, we passed down the silent corridors, and

approached the old mess-room, we somehow listened for, and expected at

any moment to hear, through some opening door, the reckless toast of “A

bloody war, and a sickly season,” the chink of glasses, and the crash of

the chorus “Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack!” And Jack, thus bidden, used to

come, and link his arm in that of some fine young fellow, and together

the two would saunter away “to the home of a friend of his in the

Palisadoes.” Little time for packing up allowed! Many and many a man, in

the prime of life and feeling quite well, has dined at mess one night in

snowy uniform: the next night in a white uniform of a different cut as

the guest of Jack and Death. These two kept open house in those days.

The R.E. Officer in charge was most kind and hospitable; he took us over

the old fort, pointing out, amongst much else, Nelson’s former quarters

and the adjoining length of parapet overlooking the harbour entrance,

now known as Nelson’s Walk. Our host informed us that, fishing from the

wharves, he got splendid sport.

From Port Royal to Kingston is about four miles by the boat channel.

Passes through the coral banks have been blasted where requisite and the

channel beaconed. A least depth of 4½ ft. is thus obtained, and a direct

course. Our little motor lifeboat carried us backwards and forwards most

excellently on various voyages made to attend to our business at

Kingston. The way in which she bucked at speed over the short steep seas

reminded one of larking over hurdles on a pony.

The work in hand was to get our clearance inwards, to get rid of our

food-destroyer from Panama, and to find in his place a live ship’s cook,

to report particulars of the Morant’s Cays upheaval, and finally the

usual catering, and bill of health, and clearance outwards. The Chief of

the Customs was good enough to interest himself in _Mana’s_ welfare, so

that all these matters were dealt with in due sequence, and with the

least possible trouble to us. A coloured cook was procured from an hotel

at £16 a month, with, as it proved, but little justification on the

ground of ability for drawing such a rate of pay; still, his

professional enormities were associated with so many humorous incidents,

and as he appeared at least to mean well, we resigned ourselves to the

inevitable, and prayed that we might survive his ministrations.

About noon on Sunday, April 9, 1916, we weighed and motored out from

Port Royal, unplagued by pilots, and dipping our ensign to the Port

Doctor and his wife, in acknowledgment of adieux waved from their

garden. Clear of everything, the engines were stopped and _Mana_, bound

to “the stormy Bermuthies,” proceeded to argue the point with a head

wind as to whether she should, or should not, go to windward. By steady

hammering she gradually got under the western end of the Island of San

Domingo, and then through the celebrated Windward Passage. We had now to

threadle our way betwixt the numerous islets that constitute the Bahama

group, and it was quite delightful and interesting; brilliant sunshine,

cool moderate breezes, land every few hours, but reliable charts. This

was yachting; we had met a good deal of what bore little semblance to

it, so we appreciated our present luck all the more.

The morning of the 19th of April 1916 saw us beating up under the lee of

Acklin Island and of Crooked Island; a fresh N.E. breeze swept in puffs

across the long, narrow, flat land. An open native boat, with jib-headed

mainsail as usual, was seen heading across our course when we were close

in, so we gave her a wave, and, as we came into the wind, she rounded-to

under our stern, dousing her sail, unshipping her mast and shooting up

alongside our quarter. We dropped into her; a couple of empty sacks were

pitched in, and she was clear of the ship before she had lost her way.

The mast is stepped, the sail hoisted, and she is off again with her

gunnel steadily kept awash. We now for the first time spoke. The two

coloured men, her crew, were most obliging; they would make for the most

convenient landing and then they would accompany us catering.

Everything went off excellently; we made a tour to different cottages

and gardens, collecting whatever was available, particularly

grape-fruit, oranges, and tamarinds. We also got exceptionally fine

specimens of the shell of the King conch and of the Queen conch.

Hundreds of the King conch were piled up at one spot on the shore ready

to be burnt into lime.

The natives appeared to be pure-blooded negroes of west-coast type, and

in some respects their culture remains unchanged. For instance, the

pestle and mortar and winnowing tray for treating maize were exactly

similar in pattern to those we had seen used by the Akikuyu of Eastern

Central Africa.

When catering, the price of each article is settled by negotiation, and

it is definitely bought, as it is met with from time to time in our

perambulation, on condition that it shall be paid for as it is passed

into the boat on departure—cash on delivery. Much other stuff, though

unbought, is also brought down to the boat in the hope of sale at the

last moment. This too is generally taken as well, because going cheaply,

and also to avoid causing disappointment.

Everybody having been paid, and the already laden boat now pretty well

cluttered-up with an unexpected additional cargo of chickens, eggs,

fruit, shells, and sundry ethnological acquisitions, up goes the

shoulder-of-mutton, the helmsman ships his twiddling-stick, and, in a

few moments, the water is purring beneath our lee gunnel as the little

craft slithers through the closely set wavelets of land-sheltered water.

Long, narrow, and ballasted, these boats are very fast and are given the

last ounce of wind pressure they can stand up to. It seemed to us,

however, that her crew wished to show what they could do with her as,

halliard and sheet in hand, they lifted the lee gunnel from moment to

moment, just sufficiently to prevent her filling, but they did so with

an easy nonchalance that told that they were finished boat sailors.

A very few minutes saw us “once more aboard the lugger.” We had

left _Mana_ at noon, and eight bells were striking as the

staysail-sheet-tackle scraped to leu’ard along the hairless belly

of its horse; we had explored an island, seen a good deal of its

people and their culture, and had revictualled ship, all within

four hours, yet without hurry!

Towards sundown we passed out into the Atlantic, through the Crooked

Island Passage; at 8.45 p.m. the Light that marks the Passage dipped

over our taffrail, and we turned in with that peace of mind which is the

portion of those whose ship is clear of all land.

This day, April the 19th, Gibb’s Hill Lighthouse, Bermuda, bore N. 42°

E., distant 767 miles; it took us eleven days to do it.

_April the 20th._—The sargasso weed formed floating islands sometimes

many acres in extent; when one considers the marine fauna that centres

round a piece of floating wreckage in tropical seas, some idea can be

formed of the wealth of life associated with this vast sudd. Our patent

log could no longer be towed.

[Illustration: BERMUDA ISLANDS]

BERMUDAS

The Bermudas are a group of a hundred islands, most of which are,

however, bare rocks. They were discovered in the beginning of the 16th

century by Juan Bermudez, a Spaniard.

In 1609 attention was drawn to them by Sir George Somers, who was

shipwrecked there on his way to Virginia, and found them “the most

plentiful place that ever I came to for fish, hogs and fowl.” Fifty

emigrants were sent out in 1612. Moore, a ship’s carpenter, was the

first governor. He established his headquarters at St. George’s. Later

a more central position was needed, and the town of Hamilton was laid

out, and became the capital in 1815. The American War brought the

islands into notice from a naval point of view, and in 1810 a dockyard

was begun on Ireland Island, thousands of convicts being sent out from

England for its construction.

The Colony possesses representative institutions, but not responsible

government.

We made Bermuda for the sake of gaining our northing. We had new canvas

awaiting us there, that we ought to have received at Tahiti, and we had

to decide, on cable advices, whether we would lay up _Mana_ here in

Bermuda, in the United States of North America, or bring her back to

England.

The Sailing Directions offered us two harbours, St. George’s and

Hamilton. They do not point out that all shipping business, practically

all business, is done at Hamilton. We selected St. George’s. The harbour

master came aboard with the pilot, and proved an interesting man, kindly

and obliging—an old soldier, a keen conchologist, and a bit of a

geologist. The harbour itself is excellent and charming; it extends away

_ad infinitum_ amongst the islets and coral patches, but there is little

indication of its being made much use of by mercantile shipping.

St. George’s Island is linked to its big neighbour by causeways and

bridges, which are carried across the shallow coral sea. Its quaint,

clean, sleepy little townlet, or village, exists by letting lodgings to

American visitors, and growing early vegetables for exportation to the

States.

The American Tourist is the winter migrant whose nature and

idiosyncrasies are by the islanders most deeply studied. He, to the

Bermudian, is Heaven’s choicest gift—his coconut—the all-sufficing.

Nine-tenths of the brain power of the islanders is devoted to inducing

the creature to visit the islands and to keeping it contented whilst it

is there, the other tenth to supplying it with early vegetables in its

continental habitat. Of course Bermuda is an important naval station,

and a certain amount of business is done in purveying to the naval and

military establishments, but that is a thing apart. The Dockyard is

situated on islands well removed from both St. George’s and Hamilton. In

this we may see the finger of Providence; placed elsewhere it would have

incommoded the American Tourist.

This cult of the foreigner is the explanation of many things which at

first sight appear strange in Bermuda. It is about eleven miles by road

from St. George’s to Hamilton, and there is no means of public

conveyance beyond a covered pair-horse wagonette, that acts as a

carrier’s cart for goods and passengers. We marvelled exceedingly why

this should be, whereupon it was thus explained to us by our butcher,

who was also the proprietor of the shandy-ran express aforesaid, and of

a hired-carriage business, and by his son and partner, the M.P. for the

St. George’s Harbour Division. The Americans find the climate of Bermuda

delightful as a winter resort. At Hamilton monster hotels are built for

them, but there is nothing whatever for them to do. The islands do not

possess any features of natural or historical interest that appeal to

tourists. Now the islanders had observed that the dominant note in the

American character was its restlessness; unless an American could

violently rush around and spend money he was wretched and pined. But the

island had excellent roads and lovely views, so they provided carriages,

and objectives to drive to associated with romance and story, the

evolution of which, from a basis of nothing, is a standing testimony to

their intellectual creative powers, and of the truth of the axiom that a

demand creates a supply.

But the island, for we may ignore the numerous islets, is very small.

With care and good management, and by severely rationing him in the

extent of his daily shay excursions, it was found that the American

could be kept alive, and healthy, and cheerful for 14 days: from one

steamer to the next: all this time he exuded dollars. “All is well,” as

the ant said to the aphis. Then suddenly the heavens fell. A lewd spirit

had prompted our friend the butcher of St. George’s to import two

motor-buses and with them run an hourly service between Port St. George

and Hamilton, to the great convenience of the public, and to his own

exceeding profit. As if this were not enough, he and others were known

to have even placed orders in the States for motor-cars! Bitter was the

cry of the carriage purveyors of Hamilton, of the hotels, of the

furnished apartments. The American visitor would “do the darned island,”

every inch of its roads, twice over, in a single day, and get away by

the same boat he had arrived by—(the boats stay two days loading

vegetables).

But where shall salvation be found if not in “government of the people,

by the people, for the people”? Many members of both Houses indirectly,

and in some cases directly, were interested in the hired carriage, or

apartment, or hotel lines. Trained in such schools for statesmen, the

Legislature was able to visualise the national danger, and deal with it

broadly, regardless of the vested interests of the day. Without delay

both Houses met, an Act was passed, and the Royal Assent given through

the Governor, whereby the butcher was given the cost price of his two

buses, and a solatium; the buses were immediately to be sent back to the

States, and, for the future, no form of automobile was to be landed,

owned, or used on the island. Heavy penalties for infraction. So there

is still one spot on earth, anyhow, where one can escape the scourge of

the motor-horn.

For a few days we stayed at St. George’s, getting a little smith’s work

done and watering ship. There is no surface water on the island; the

rain water is collected and stored in great underground cisterns hewn in

the solid coral rock of which the island is formed. The water-supply

thus conserved has never been known to fail. In _Mana’s_ case the

Military Authorities kindly sent their large tank-boat alongside. At odd

times we explored in the launch some of the labyrinth of waterways and

islets forming part of St. George’s Harbour, or connected with it. When

doing so one afternoon, we made the acquaintance, at nightfall, of a

coloured fisherman, by offering him the courtesy of a pluck home. This

man (Bartram of St. George’s) proved an extraordinarily good fellow. He

said he never worked on Sundays, therefore he was free to offer to take

us on that day, as his guest, to try for monsters in a certain wonderful

hole, far out on the edge of the reef, a spot we could reach with the

aid of our launch. He was most keen about it, so we accepted. The

monster-capturing was a failure, but he and his two sons worked hard all

day, and seemed much concerned that they had failed to show sport, nor

would they consider any suggestion of payment for their long day’s work,

on our return to the ship. They accepted, however, a clasp-knife each,

as a souvenir of our excursion.

Bartram had told us that he had at home a wonderfully fine and rare

“marine specimen.” (The collection of “marine specimens” is one of the

refuges of despair of the American Tourist, and their supply has

gradually become a minor industry of Bermuda.) He had found it some

years ago. Many millionaires from the hotels or on yachts had offered

him big prices for it, but the very fact that they were so keen to get

it had made him all the more determined to keep it. Some day he had

intended to sell it. Now would we accept it as a gift? On inspection it

proved to be no coral, but a very fine example of a colony of sociable

sea snails (Vermetus). We therefore suggested to Bartram that we should

take it to England on _Mana_ and offer it in his name as a gift to the

British Museum (Natural History). This we did, and Dr. Harmer, the

Keeper of the Zoological Department, was much pleased with it, and wrote

to Bartram accordingly.

The interest of this little story lies in the fact of its being a

typical example of the way in which one often finds, in our remote

dependencies, the people exhibiting unexpected keenness and pride in

associating themselves with England, and her interests, on an

opportunity of doing so being pointed out to them. We had found it so at

Pitcairn Island.

A more delightful place than Bermuda at which to spend a winter would be

hard to find by those who care for pleasure sailing in smooth waters,

fishing, sunshine, and the customary amenities of civilised life.

Unhappily we could not spare the time to avail ourselves of the

possibilities of St. George’s. We had constantly to be at Hamilton on

ship’s business, so after several journeys to and fro in the dreadful

covered wagonette, wherein physical discomfort almost rendered us

indifferent to a kaleidoscopic succession of humorous persons,

situations, and incidents, we got a pilot and went round under power

into Hamilton Harbour. Pilotage is compulsory, but free. Once at

Hamilton things went much more easily. The Colonial Authorities and the

Admiral in Command and his Staff were most kind and hospitable.

Admiralty House is a charming eighteenth-century English country

residence, of moderate size, and romantically situated. In its garden,

peeps of the sea are seen, through graceful subtropical foliage, at

every turn, and miniature land-locked coves, reached from above by

winding steps down the face of the falaise, afford the most perfect of

boat harbours and bathing-pools.

Another delightful official residence is allotted to the officer in

command of the Dockyard. In his case he is given a miniature

archipelago. His tiny islands rise from 20 to 100 feet above the water.

On one is his house; another is his garden; chickens and pigs occupy a

third, whilst his milch goats live on various small skerries. As the

extent of water between the different islets is proportional to their

size, and is deep, the whole makes a very charming and compact picture.

Yet he is only ten minutes by bicycle from his office in the Dockyard,

although, from his little kingdom, no sign of the Dockyard is to be

seen, it being shut off by a wooded promontory.

The Admiral was good enough to offer us every facility for laying up

_Mana_ in the Dockyard, but on various grounds we eventually decided to

take war-time risks and bring her back to England, so receiving from him

a signal-rocket outfit, and some kindly advice on the unwisdom of trying

to run-down periscopes that showed no wake behind them, the vessel being

now refreshed, at 0.55 p.m. on Friday, May the 12th, 1916, we weighed,

and proceeded under power from Hamilton to the Examination Anchorage,

with pilot aboard. Arriving there at 4.15 p.m. the Examining Officer

came alongside and handed us the now usual special Admiralty clearance

card, together with a courteous radiogram wishing us luck, from the

Officer in Command of the Dockyard. The new trysail was hoisted, the

engines stopped, and we commenced our voyage to Ponta Delgada in the

Island of St. Miguel, one of the Azores, distant miles 1,869.

BERMUDA TO AZORES

This run was of “yachting” character. Gentle breezes, smooth seas, an

occasional sail on the horizon. On the eighth day out, at the beginning

of the first watch, the lights of St. Elmo were seen burning on both

fore and main trucks. It is rather remarkable that this was the first,

and only occasion, on which this phenomenon occurred throughout the

entire voyage. Occasionally we got a turtle. Ten o’clock in the morning

of the 30th of May showed us the Peak of Pico Island, 65 miles away, and

at 10 p.m. next day, Thurs., May the 31st, we hove to off Ponta Delgada

in the island of St. Miguel to await daylight. The 1,869 miles had taken

us 18 days.

Having been the victims of the organised dishonesty of the pilots of San

Francisco in California, we had long before decided to run no risks of

having the vessel again detained for ransom by foreign officials. _Mana_

therefore next day, June the 1st, simply stood in and dropped a boat

outside the breakwater, and again stood off, whilst we pulled in. Being

Good Friday, it was, of course, a _fiesta_, all shops shut, and

everybody away in the country. Our consul, too, was away for the day,

but his wife kindly gave us our letters. We had been instructed to

obtain from him the necessary information regarding war conditions, and

the regulations governing shipping bound for British ports. At Bermuda

nothing was known.

When pulling up the harbour, we had noticed one British vessel—an armed

Government transport, evidently formerly a small German

passenger-carrying tramp—so having bought some pineapples, vegetables

and cigarettes, nothing else being procurable, we got into our boat and

paid her a visit. Her commander was ashore for the day with the Consul

fiestaing, but his Chief Officer was good enough to put us _au courant_

with things, so we bade adieu to Ponta Delgada without any wish to see

more of it, and pulled out to sea. The ship was far away to leeward, set

down by wind and current. Not expecting us to get through our work so

quickly, she had not troubled to keep her station, but went off to

argufy by flag with a Lloyd’s Signal-Station which would not admit that

she was in its book.

After she had picked us up one of the men left aboard asked whether any

of the craft in the harbour were “a-hanging Judas.” Though there were

several small square-rigged vessels alongside the Mole, none had,

however, cock-billed their yards.[93] It was interesting thus to find

that the memory and meaning of the old sea custom still survived. Old

superstitions and fancies still exist: an ancient shellback who was with

us down to the s’uth’ard reprobated the capture of an albatross—“They is

the spurrits of drownded seamen.” Someone objected on doctrinal grounds,

but was met with the crushing rejoinder: “I said _spurrits_: their

_souls_ ar’ in ’ell.”

AZORES TO SOUTHAMPTON

And now we come to the last lap. On June the 1st, by 1 p.m. we were

again aboard _Mana_, the boat hoisted in, and she bore away to round

Ferraira Point which forms the extremity of St. Michael’s Island. From

Ferraira’s Point to the haven where we would be was 1101.5 miles, and

the direction N.49¼° E. true, or, shall we say, North East.

After making the customary routine entries in the Log Book associated

with taking departure—the latitude, the longitude, the reading of the

patent log, the canvas set, etc.—our Sailing-master makes the following

entry, “And now we are fairly on our way to Dear Old Britain. All the

talk now is of the submarine risks. I put our chances of getting through

unmolested at 85 per cent. But is the _Mana_ doomed? Time will tell, but

I don’t think.”

Nevertheless every preparation was now made, in case we had to leave the

ship in a hurry, at the orders of some German submarine. The engine was

taken out of the lifeboat to save weight. Every detail both for her and

the cutter was suitably packed or made up, and placed in the deck-house,

ready to be passed into her at the last moment before she was lowered.

We could only afford room for the photographic negatives and papers of

the Expedition. If the ship be sunk, the whole of the priceless, because

irreplaceable, archæological and ethnological collections must go with

her.

The men, however, proceeded to pack, in their great seamen’s bags, all

the clutter and old rubbish they had accumulated during a voyage of over

three years. Its bulk and weight would have rendered the boats

unmanageable. Moreover, each man, when the time came, would be attending

to shipping his property instead of giving all thought to getting his

boat with her essential equipment safely away from the vessel. But we

had taken them this long voyage without accident, and we were not going

to let them make fools of themselves at the finish. Moreover, _Mana_

carried a pretty mixed crowd: English, Spanish, Portuguese, and West

Indian negroes, a Russian Finn, and descendants of the mutineers of the

_Bounty_. At a pinch, amongst such a lot, long knives are apt to appear

from nowhere, and self-control and discipline be at an end, with

lamentable result. We therefore drew up a set of orders in triplicate;

one copy for the fo’c’s’le, one for aft, and one for entry in the

official log, in which was clearly set out a routine that was to be

followed to the letter in the event of our having to take to the boats.

The details need not here be given, suffice to say that they stated that

explicit orders for the common good were now set out in writing, and

that THESE ORDERS WOULD NOT, WHEN THE OCCASION AROSE, BE REPEATED

VERBALLY; that there was ample boat accommodation for all, if the

lifeboat were got away safely from the ship before the cutter, but not

otherwise, because all hands were needed to swing out the larger boat.

Therefore, when the ship’s bell rang, the Sailing-master would take up

his position by the lifeboat in the waist, to superintend her launching

and stowage, and to give orders, and eventually to take command of her,

and the Master would pick up his loaded repeating rifle and spare

cartridges in clips and go to the taffrail. (It was obvious from that

position he could see and hear everything, and yet could not be

approached or rushed by any, or many.)

Any man failing immediately to appear on deck when the bell rang would

be shot dead without any warning when he did appear. Any man

endeavouring to place his private gear in a boat would be shot dead in

the act, without any warning. The like if he attempted to enter other

than his own boat, or his own boat out of his turn. The like on a long

knife, or other weapon, being seen in his hand or possession. The like

on his failing to obey the verbal orders as issued.

By the routine laid down the lifeboat would get away safely with her

crew and equipment. The cutter’s own crew were strong enough to load and

lower their own boat, after having assisted the heavy lifeboat, provided

they obeyed the orders of the Mate who had charge of her. He was a good

seaman, but it was essential that he should have the moral support that

comes from a loaded rifle. Once boats all clear and safe, the lifeboat

would pull in to the ship, as close as she thought wise, whereupon the

“Old Man,” in a nice cork jacket, would drop off his taffrail into the

water, and she would pick him up.

These orders and the penalties, extreme as they were, met with general

approval as far as we could gather indirectly. Two days after their

being posted, when Thomas, the coloured cook, came for orders, we

thought we would put him through his catechism. “Have you learnt up the

orders in the fo’c’s’le that concern you, Thomas?” “Yes, sar!” “When the

bell rings, what will _you_ do?” “Jump deck quick, damn quick, sar!”

“Good! And then?” “I go starn big boat.” “And when she is in the water

you’ll jump into her?” “No, sar! You shoot Thomas. Cutter’s my boat.”

Thomas had got up his orders thoroughly and intelligently, and departed

quite pleased with his viva voce exam., and the bundle of cigarettes his

reward.

Some of the men, finding that their kit-bags must be left behind, hit

out the following ingenious plan for saving their clothes. They first

put on their Sunday best suit, over that their weekday go-ashore rig,

then their working clothes. To the foregoing must be added a knitted

guernsey or two, and any superior underclothing. The result was most

grotesque; they could hardly waddle, or get through the fo’c’s’le hatch.

Had the fine weather continued, their sufferings would have been severe.

A gale, however, in which no submarine could show her nose, came to

their rescue.

At the time we are writing of—June 1916—the submarines were not

operating far out into the Atlantic. Our idea was to keep _Mana_ well

away until we got on to about the same parallel of latitude as the

Scilly Isles, and then wait thereabouts until it blew hard from the S.W.

Blow it did, sure enough, with high confused seas: dangerous. Gradually

they became bigger, but less wicked. We rode it out dry and comfortably

as usual, with oil bags to wind’ard. Unhappily it was an Easterly gale,

instead of the Westerly we had hoped for. It moderated. The wind drew to

the Nor’ard. We let her go, and sped up the Channel at a great pace, and

arrived in St. Helen’s Roads, Isle of Wight, at noon on June the 23rd.

Twenty-two days from St. Miguel. We had entered and passed up the

English Channel, unchallenged by friend or foe.

In St. Helen’s Roads we took aboard the now obligatory Government pilot,

who brought us through the different defences to the Hamble Spit Buoy,

from which we had started three years and four months earlier.

We had traversed, almost entirely under canvas, without accident of

consequence to ship or man, a distance of over One Hundred Thousand

miles.

Such is the mana of MANA.

[The Royal Cruising Club Challenge Cup, last held by _Sunbeam_ (Lord

Brassey), was, in 1917, awarded to _Mana_ on her return, by special

resolution of the Annual General Meeting of the Club, “for a

remarkable cruise in the Pacific.”]

[Illustration]

EPILOGUE

_MANA_ was once more back in England, and her crew went each on his way.

The Brixham and Lowestoft men returned to their homes, having at least

enlarged their knowledge of the world. Rosa, the Chilean engineer, and

the Jamaican cook disappeared to get engagements back to their

respective lands; Rosa, we trust, to realise his dreams of a shop and a

wife at St. Vincent. Mr. Gillam applied for service in the Royal Navy,

and subsequently became a sub-lieutenant in the R.N.R.

The two Pitcairners were the last left on board; they had proved

themselves very intelligent, as well as good workers. Charles could, it

is believed, have passed an examination on every port he had visited,

and how long he had stayed in each. We endeavoured to make some amends

for our lack of Mendelian research on their island, by sending them up

to the Royal College of Surgeons, where they were thoroughly measured

and examined by Professor Keith.[94]

A still more signal honour awaited them; they were commanded to

Buckingham Palace as representatives of England’s smallest colony. Mr.

Gillam took charge of them in London. He was not intimately acquainted

with the great city, and used the map as he would a chart, disdaining

the main thoroughfares, unless they lay on the direct route, and

steering a straight course by weird and mysterious alleys. Any way, his

charges were produced in good time at the Palace.

During the arrangements for the interview, S. had stated that the men

spoke “the pure Elizabethan English of the Bible and Prayer Book”; their

vocabulary, however, had been enlarged on _Mana_, and I was not without

trepidation lest such expressions might crop out as “I don’t mind if I

do”; which is considered at Brixham the most courteous form of polite

acceptance. All, however, went well. Charles, who acted as spokesman,

after a first embarrassment answered readily the questions asked by the

King. The Queen graciously accepted some specimens of Pitcairn

handiwork, and the men were much impressed with the kindness and

condescension of their Majesties.

Incidentally, during the interview with which we were previously

honoured, they made great friends with the royal footman who was on duty

outside. He was of course a very imposing person in scarlet and gold,

and they shook hands affectionately with him on leaving. Cuttings from

the newspapers of official and other paragraphs, announcing the

reception of the two inhabitants of Pitcairn by King George and Queen

Mary, were taken back by them to be inserted in the State records of the

island. Posts were obtained for both men on a New Zealand liner, and we

have since heard that they have safely returned to their home, having

made the voyage from Tahiti on a little schooner which the plucky

Pitcairners have built since we were there. It is to be hoped that this

boat may continue a success and solve many of the problems of the

island.

This narrative cannot close without that note of pride and sadness

which, alas, characterises so many records at this time in the history

of the world. Since the first chapter was written two more of our

company have laid down their lives. The words of appreciation which it

was hoped would have given pleasure can only be wreaths to their memory.

Charles Jeffery, of Lowestoft, who joined at Whitstable and was with us

to the last, who grew from boyhood to manhood on _Mana_, has met with a

hero’s death on a minesweeper.

Henry James Gillam rests in a Sicilian grave. Volunteers were called

for, for specially dangerous work in capturing submarines; Gillam

responded—it is impossible to picture his doing otherwise—and he fell in

action in April 1918. The loss to his country is great; to us it is very

real and personal. The whole voyage of the _Mana_ is a tribute to his

skill. His high intelligence and character secured him universal

confidence, while his unvarying good temper—in bad times as well as in

good—made him a delightful companion. One can only think of him in that

other life as still keen for some new work or enterprise, and carrying

it out with perfect loyalty and success.

Thus from land and sea, in defence of a Great Cause, have our comrades

of the Expedition made their last voyage “westward.”

I know not where His islands lift

Their fronded palms in air;

I only know I cannot drift

Beyond His love and care.

WHITTIER.

* * * * *

And now the story is told. The Expedition has, we hope, brought some new

pieces to fit into the puzzle which it went out to study, but the help

is needed of every reader who has more to bring, from whatever part of

the world; so alone can be finally solved the Mystery of Easter Island.

ITINERARY OF THE EXPEDITION

OUTWARD VOYAGE

Left Southampton Feb. 28 1913

Dartmouth March 1–5 „

Falmouth March 6–25 „

Madeira April 13–16 „

Grand Canary April 18—May 10 „

Cape Verde Islands May 17–29 „

Pernambuco June 15–21 „

Bahia de Todos os Santos June 25–26 „

Cabral Bay July 2–4 „

Cape Frio July 10–12 „

Rio de Janeiro July 14–23 „

Porto Bello Bay July 27—Aug. 2 „

Buenos Aires Aug. 17—Sept. „

19

Port Desire Oct. 3–6 „

Entered Magellan Straits Oct. 16 „

Punta Arenas Oct. 20—Nov. 29 „

Entered Patagonian Channels Dec. 11 „

Left Patagonian Channels Jan. 6 1914

Talcahuano Jan. 14—Feb. 13 „

Juan Fernandez Feb. 16—Feb. 19 „

Valparaiso Feb. 22—Feb. 28 „

Juan Fernandez March 4—March 9 „

EASTER ISLAND

Arrival at the Island March 29 1914

_Mana_ leaves May 23 „

Native rising begins July 1 „

Arrival of Chilean warship Aug. 4 „

_Mana_ returns Aug. 23 „

_Mana_ leaves (second time) Sept. 4 „

Visit from Von Spee’s squadron Oct. 12–18 „

S. R. goes to Chile Dec. 5 „

Visit of _Prinz Eitel Friedrich_ Dec. 23–31 „

Return of _Mana_ with S. R. March 15 1915

_Mana_ leaves (third time) March 17 „

_Mana_ returns May 28 „

Expedition leaves the Island Aug. 18 „

HOMEWARD VOYAGE

Pitcairn Island Aug. 27—Sept. 1 1915

Tahiti Sept. 16—Oct 8 „

Honolulu Nov. 11—Dec. 1 „

_Mana_ leaves Honolulu Nov. 28, arr. San Francisco Dec. 25 „

Hawaii Dec. 2–6 „

San Francisco arr. Dec. 14,

1915—Jan. 20, 1916

[K.R. leaves Jan. 16—reaches England Feb. 6, 1916]

San Francisco left Jan. 20 „

Socorro Feb. 5–6 „

Quibo March 7–9 „

Panama March 13–16 „

Through the Canal March 17–18 „

Cristobal March 18–26 „

Jamaica April 7–9 „

Bermuda May 2–12 „

Azores May 31—June 1 „

Southampton June 25 „

[Illustration: THE MANA EXPEDITION TO EASTER ISLAND]

INDEX

_Note._—Entries other than proper names refer to Easter Island, unless

otherwise stated. References to illustrations are given in text.

Acklin Island, Bahamas, 376–7

Aconcagua Mount, 105

Ahu:

— for bird-men, 191, 264

— canoe-shaped, 230–1

— definition, 166

— destruction, 172–3, 299–300

— exposure and interment of dead, 170–1, 229 and note (fig.)

— forms, different, list of, 231 note

— image ahu, description, 167–71

— converted to semi-pyramid type, 172, 229

_see also_ Statues

— number, 166–8, 231 note

— pavement ahu, 231

— poe-poe: _see_ canoe-shaped and wedge-shaped.

— position, 166

— semi-pyramid type, 172

— unclassified, 231 footnote

— for warriors (Mata-toa), 231

— wedge-shaped, 231

— for individual ahu _see_ placenames.

Akahanga, 194

Akikuyu, 166, 201, footnote, 327, 376

Aku-aku: _see_ Religion—supernatural beings

Ana: _see_ Cave

Anakena, Easter Island:

— bird-man, resort of, from western clans, 263

— in legend, 278–81, 284, 295

— Ngaara headquarters of, 241–2

— statue at, 187–8, 269–75

— tablets inspected at, 245–6

Angata, native prophetess:

— dreams, 142–3

— funeral of, 149, 275

— visit to, 144–5

Angosto Harbour, Magellan Straits, 80

_Annie Larsen_, ship, 348–9

Anson:

— at Juan Fernandez, 111

— at St. Catharina Island, 49

— wreck of the _Wager_, 97

Ao, clans celebrating bird rites: _see under_ Bird Cult

Ao, dancing-padde, 259, 261, 268

Apépé, ahu, 257 footnote

Ara Mahiva (road), 198

Araucanians, resistance to Spaniards, 99

Argentina:

— British, commercial and legal status, 63–4

— history, 52

— inhabitants, 59

— social conditions, 61–3

— women, 61–2

Arii Taimai: _see_ Pomare family

Ariki, chiefs, 241–3, 298: _see also_ Ngaara and Kaimokoi

Astronomy, study of, 235

Atalaya, Grand Canary, 23

Atua: _see_ Religion—supernatural beings

Azores, 383–4

Bahia, 38–9

Bailey, cook on _Mana_, 75, 155, 321

Balboa, Panama, 361–2

Balfour, H., 296

Banks, Sir Joseph, account of marae, 320

_Baquedano_, ship: _see Jeneral Baquedano_

Bartram, fisherman of Bermuda, 381

Beards of statues, 269, 275

Beechey, of H.M.S. _Blossom_, account of Easter Island, 204–5, 210, 220

Benson, Captain, of _El Dorado_, boat voyage, 127

Berkeley, San Francisco: _see_ California University

Bermuda, history and description, 378–83