mount, said the captain, “You have now seen what many an old navigator in these waters never beheld, they keep so far south.” I assured him one sight was sufficient for a life-time; that the remembrance of the wildness and grandeur of that ocean scene would never be obliterated from the pages of memory.
That night, it came on to blow tremendously. Next morning, we found ourselves eighty miles from land, and, horror of horrors, the ship on fire! My heart refused to give credence to the startling report, until my eyes beheld it. Our worst fears were too soon confirmed by the flames darting upwards, and igniting the hatch the men were vainly endeavoring to caulk; for fear had paralyzed their faculties. When that burnt and fell in, the flames shot upward almost to the top-mast-head. The combustible nature of the cargo caused the fire to increase with wonderful rapidity. The long-boat was launched, and I was placed therein, with my pet-goat; for I would not leave her behind: the other I had given to Myrtie. After several ineffectual attempts to get at some bread and water, the fire and smoke drove them all in confusion to the boat. They pulled off a short distance, and we gazed in sadness and silence upon what was so recently our happy home, now a burning wreck. The calmness of despair pervaded my whole being: all was comprehended at a glance,—eighty miles from land, and that an inhospitable coast, inhabited only by savages; without bread or water; in an open boat, exposed to the inclemency of Cape Horn weather! People on the land, seated by their pleasant firesides, imagine they can understand our feelings at that time; but it is impossible. Even when danger, in its most appalling form, threatens on the land, there is generally some avenue of escape open. But at sea, with nought but a frail plank between you and a watery grave,—and that so fragile, one dash of those mighty waves might annihilate it,—oh, the horror of such a situation can never be conceived!
All at once, the joyful cry of “Sail, ho!” was shouted from our midst; and, far away, I could descry a speck upon the ocean. Nearer and nearer it came, until, when within about a mile of us, she “hove to,” and lowered away a boat, which came bounding over the water to our relief. This ship proved to be the Symmetry, of Liverpool, Captain Thompson, bound to Acapulco, and laden with coal. How that word rang in my ears! It seemed to me every ship that floated was coal-laden. We repaired at once on board the Symmetry. Capt. McKenzie requested, as a favor, that Capt. Thompson would “lay by” until the Humayoon was burned down. Now that we could view her from a place of safety, it was a scene to rivet the attention of all beholders. Flying about, at the mercy of the wind and waves, the flames bursting out her sides (the liquor was stowed aft) and stern, the blue flames wreathed and flashed higher and higher. Soon the main and mizen-mast began to totter: they swayed to and fro for about ten minutes, when they fell with a crash over the side. Soon the fore-mast fell; and all that remained of the fine ship Humayoon lay a burning mass upon the water.
Captain Thompson now made sail, and soon the remains of that noble ship which, only twelve days previously, had borne us from our island retreat, was obscured from our view. Her commander dropped a tear to her memory, and retired in silence to the cabin.
Captain Thompson was accompanied by his wife and family. I was pleased at the idea of enjoying for a season, however brief, the society of a female friend. Capt. Thompson had previously informed us that our stay on board the Symmetry must of necessity be prolonged no farther than such a time as he could speak some ship. His inability to accommodate us longer than was actually necessary was owing to a scarcity of provisions, his own ship’s crew being then on an allowance. He had been seven months from Liverpool. He had put into Rio on the way, where, on account of severe indisposition, he had remained several weeks. While there, his crew had nearly all deserted him. When ready for sea, he shipped any he could get; and a sorry set he had. Part of them had mutinied, and were confined; and the other half carried the principles of revolt, too apparent to be mistaken, in their dark countenances.
Night had now spread its sable mantle over the world of waters; the bright constellations were reflected in the deep; and the noble ship, with majestic and graceful motion, was cleaving a pathway for herself through the rapidly heaving billows. My thoughts, as my eyes wandered over the waste of waters, were busy with the past and present,—for the future I could only hope. But a few months had intervened since leaving Baltimore; and yet how much intense anxiety, actual suffering, and harrowing suspense, were crowded into that short space! One day on board a burning ship, with no hope of escape; then a port of safety in view; then on board another ship, with every prospect of a speedy termination of our eventful voyage; then, again, assailed by fire, and obliged to seek safety in an open boat, far from land; and then transferred to a place of temporary safety,—for what could we expect but a recurrence of those awful scenes, while on board a coal-laden ship? “What,” thought I, “will be the end? Shall I ever be permitted to reach in safety the land of my birth?” I dared not entertain a hope seemingly so fallacious. As time progressed, I was often reminded, by painful contrast, of the fleeting happiness enjoyed on board the Humayoon. There a spirit of harmony and love seemed to pervade the whole ship’s company. The reverse of this at sea is disagreeable in the extreme; and the truth of this assertion was never more clearly demonstrated than on board the Symmetry. In lieu of heart-stirring songs and happy faces, gloomy frowns, and curses “not loud but deep,” met the ear at every turn; anarchy and discord went hand in hand. Daily I scanned the ocean in search of a sail, anticipating a happy change, yet dreading what I most desired; for had not experience taught me that whatever we most earnestly desire, when attained, often proves the source of the keenest misery? At the expiration of thirteen days, the anxiously expected sail appeared. Mentally I prayed it might be an American; for with my own countrymen there exists a congruity of thought and feeling which renders their society more congenial. As she neared us, we perceived, to our great joy, that she was a large American ship. In answer to Captain Thompson’s signal, she hove to. He then sent a boat to ascertain if we could be transferred to her. She proved to be the Fanchon, of Newburyport, Captain Lunt, bound to San Francisco, laden with coal, which she took in at Baltimore. We became acquainted with Captain Lunt while at Baltimore. The Nonantum had sailed three weeks in advance of the Fanchon. The Nonantum had gone to her last resting-place; and here, on the broad Pacific, we met the Fanchon, in all her pristine architectural beauty, unharmed, and yet laden with Cumberland coal. Upon Capt. Lunt learning that we were on board the Symmetry, he came with all possible haste in his own boat to convey us to the Fanchon.
In the interim, Captain McKenzie had effected a compromise with Captain Thompson, to the effect that he would sail as near to the port of Valparaiso as would render it safe and feasible for Captain McKenzie and crew to embark in their long-boat, and arrive at their destined port. How well they succeeded, future events will promulgate.
I should judge, the two ships lay about a mile apart. Soon after we welcomed Captain Lunt on board the Symmetry, the heavens became suddenly overcast; and, as appearances betokened a squall, it was thought advisable for me to depart instantly with Captain Lunt; while my husband should collect what effects we had preserved from the Humayoon and my goat, and come in the ship’s boat. Thinking and hoping we should reach the Fanchon before the squall struck, they watched us with intense anxiety from the ships. When little more than mid-way between the ships, it came. Drenched with spray, and clinging to my seat, I dared not express my terror other than by looks. “Do not be alarmed,” said Capt. Lunt. “There is no danger to be apprehended. We shall soon reach the Fanchon; and, when once on her deck, all trouble and danger will flee away.” By such cheering words, he endeavored to divert my thoughts from our by no means enviable situation. My heart almost ceased its pulsations as we bounded over the white-crested billows. How intently were we watched by those on board the Symmetry! When we would disappear from their view in the trough of the sea, Mrs. Thompson would exclaim, “They are gone! they are lost!” and, when we appeared on the top of some mighty wave, would the fervent exclamation, “Thank God, they are safe!” ascend from every heart. By some mischance or other, in attempting to get alongside, we were swept towards the ship’s stern. She was plunging and rolling terribly. “My God, we are under the stern!” was the hasty ejaculation borne to my ears; and there, towering high above us over our frail boat, was the noble ship, threatening instant destruction. It was but momentary. By almost superhuman exertion, the boat’s crew succeeded in placing our frail bark beyond the reach of imminent danger; and, as the ship dashed down into the bosom of her native element, we were beyond her reach, but not far enough to escape the tumultuous dashing of the waters, which for an instant caused me to doubt my being in the boat. The second attempt to reach her side was crowned with success. A rope was thrown from the ship, which was caught by those in the boat. It required the united exertions of all to keep the boat from being dashed to pieces against the ship’s side. It seemed almost an impossibility for me to ascend the side of the ship unassisted; but so I must go, if I went at all, and that right
speedily. I could scarcely retain an upright position in the boat; and yet, as the ship rolled towards us, my instructions were to jump and catch the man-ropes, and cling hold until she careened the other way, and then to climb the steps as quickly as possible. The water was boiling and surging between the ship and the boat in such a manner as to intimidate a much larger female than myself. Captain Lunt was to give the word when to jump; and, when “Now is your time! now is your time!” came thundering in my ears, all my innate fortitude deserted me; I was powerless to move. Captain Lunt, rightly conjecturing that, unless moved by some sudden impulse of resentment, I should never gain the deck, looked and spoke his feelings of disapproval so palpably, (he afterwards assured me it cost him no small effort to conceal his genuine feelings,) that I felt I would make an attempt, “live or die, sink or swim.” When next the word was given, it was promptly obeyed. I jumped, caught one of the ropes with both hands, and clung with the tenacity of one whose only hope of preservation depended upon a firm grasp. I was all the time cheered by the cry of “Hold on; you are safe!” In a moment I had clasped the other rope, ascended the steps, and was placed upon deck by the mate. I could recollect nothing more distinctly, until I found myself in a beautiful cabin, attended by an old man, judging from his silvered locks; yet his fresh and healthy appearance gave evidence that, although “Father Time” had whitened his hair, he had made but few inroads upon a healthy constitution. He was the steward—an old and devoted servant to the captain, in whose employ he had been for seventeen years. He was a native of England. His words of consolation to me were, “God bless your dear little heart!” accompanied by a pat on my shoulder; “may you never be in such a situation again. Lord bless you! The sight of one of my girls in a like situation would well-nigh break my heart.” Soon my husband arrived in safety. Captain Lunt made sail, and, long before the shades of evening descended, the Symmetry was scarcely discernible. The Fanchon was far her superior, as regarded sailing qualities and symmetrical proportions. All the symmetry the other could boast of lay in the name. I wished her success, and a safe arrival at her destined port. She had been my home for thirteen days; and, although there were many disagreeable incidents connected with our stay on board, yet she had appeared to render assistance, when our hopes were at the lowest ebb. Under these considerations, I bade her adieu as an old friend. The cupidity of her captain may be illustrated by the fact of his presenting a bill of one hundred and fifty dollars to my husband, as he was about leaving the ship. There was no alternative but to pay it, situated as we were. For this mean act he was published. The news reached the ear of his employer, who quickly refunded the amount, and also discharged him from his employ. Once again we met the Symmetry, before the termination of this never-to-be-forgotten voyage. When and where, time and future pages will explain.
CHAPTER VII.
Our home on board the Fanchon was all the most fastidious could desire. Captain Lunt was possessed of all those gentlemanly attributes which are calculated to win the possessor friends, and respect from all with whom he associates. Ever joyous and light-hearted, the salutary effects produced by the exercise of these excellent properties seemed to pervade the hearts of all subject to his control. He also being a judicious disciplinarian, the greatest neatness and order imaginable prevailed throughout the ship. Our fancied security—our sanguine expectations that our troubles from fire at sea were at an end—our hopes of a safe and speedy termination of our voyage—all these heart-cheering feelings were sustained and strengthened by reiterated assurances from Captain Lunt that there was no danger whatever of the Fanchon’s burning, she was so well ventilated. In fact, he attributed the destruction of the other ships to want of proper ventilation. Besides, he argued, that if there had been the least probability of its taking fire, it would have done so long ago. We all conceded his arguments were decidedly conclusive; and, for a few days, anxiety, fear, suspense, and all the attendant train of harrowing reflections, were strangers to my bosom. But as frail and fleeting as are all the evanescent joys of earth were my hopes. On the 25th of December, in the evening, as we sat conversing of the day, and the manner in which they were celebrating it at our far distant homes, and vainly wishing that, by another Christmas, our places in the family circle would not be vacant, a puff of air was wafted into the cabin, so strongly impregnated with gas as to render the conviction certain in my mind, that the coal was on fire. I speedily gave utterance to my fears, which met with a responsive “Pshaw! you have inhaled and smelt gas so often, it has become accessory to your very being.”
They failed, however, in eradicating from my mind the impression that the coal was on fire. Upon retiring for the night, the thought of being, for the third time, on board a burning ship, so harassed me as to completely banish slumber from my pillow. Next morning, the captain instituted a search throughout the ship, which proved, beyond a doubt in his mind, there could be no fire. We were now about twelve hundred miles from land, with a fair wind, on the direct course for San Francisco.
Things remained in this state for two or three days. I cannot affirm that the minds of all were perfectly free from apprehension; yet, as strict watch was kept, and nothing except that disagreeable smell of gas was apparent to confirm my fears, I felt a little more at rest. The third day, as Capt. Lunt was watching one of the large ventilators on deck, he saw something having the appearance of smoke escaping therefrom. He sprang down between decks—there was no appearance of smoke or fire whatever; raised the lower hatch—all appeared as usual. He then ordered the second mate to dig down into the coal, and soon proofs beyond a doubt were too apparent. The coal was so hot, it could not be taken in the hand. The whole body of coal, two or three feet below the surface, was red hot. The same preparations for a life on board a burning ship were again repeated that it had been my fortune twice previously to witness. In this instance, we had not to contend with the elements of wind and water as well as fire; for the ocean, at times, was as smooth and transparent as a glass. For a time, Captain Lunt shaped his course for the Galapagos Islands, what wind there was being favorable to waft us in that direction; and, our distance from the islands and the main-land being nearly equal, he was undecided for some time which port would be our destination. Being within the tropics, the weather was exceedingly pleasant—almost too much so for our benefit.
For several days in succession, it would remain perfectly calm. The nights were beautifully serene; not a cloud, or the slightest film of vapor, appeared on the face of the deep blue canopy of the heavens. The moon, and countless starry host of the firmament, exhibited their lustrous splendor in a perfection of brilliancy unknown to the night-watchers in the humid regions of the Atlantic. The ship would be lying listlessly upon the surface of the unbroken waste of waters, while our minds were constantly agitated between hope and fear,—hope, that each morn, as the golden orb of day appeared rising from old ocean’s bosom, that, ere she bid us farewell at eve, some welcome sail would come to the rescue; and fear, as each returning day numbered disappointed hopes, and increased the heat on ship-board, that we were indeed a doomed crew.
At night, signal-lights were kept burning, in the hope of attracting the attention of some vessel which might be passing. For days look-outs were stationed aloft, and more than once were our ears gladdened with the joyful cry of “Sail, ho!” which as often proved a vain illusion. The strained vision and anxious solicitude of those on the look-out caused them to imagine they saw that which they vainly desired to behold.
I was induced, by the entreaties and advice of my husband, seconded by those of Captain Lunt, to adopt gentlemen’s apparel. Considering the danger and exposure we might be subjected to, should we be compelled to remain any length of time in the boats,—to which, unless relief arrived from some other source, we should resort to soon,—it was not, everything considered, a bad idea, which might never have been carried into effect had Capt. Lunt been as large in stature as my husband. Accordingly, from the captain’s wardrobe was selected a pair of black pants, a green hunting-coat, black satin vest, bosom, and collar worn à la Byron, and a purple velvet smoking-cap. Arrayed in this garb, I was scarcely recognizable by my friends on board. Days came and passed, and yet no relief appeared. Daily, convincing proofs appeared to warn us of the slow but sure destruction of the ship, in the form of gas and smoke, which were escaping through every seam. The beautiful paint-work and gilding of the cabin assumed the darkest hue; everything on board seemed shrouded in the sable habiliments of mourning. Slowly and gradually we neared the land; and, after three weeks of intense suspense and solicitude, the exulting cry of “Land, ho!” was echoed far and near. It was an uninhabited part of the coast of Peru—a small bay, or, rather, indenture made in at this place, called the Bay of Sechura. Into this bay the ship was guided; and, when about two miles from shore, she was brought to an anchor, at about four o’clock, P.M. As soon as the wished-for haven appeared, I hastened to my state-room, and doffed my male attire, supremely happy to exchange what I had so reluctantly adopted, and what each succeeding day of usage rendered still more distasteful. Rest assured, O ye of the opposite sex, that I, for one, will never attempt to appropriate to myself the indispensables, or the love of lordly power which usually accompanies them, but leave you in undisputed possession of your rights!
Long before we reached our anchorage, the roaring of the surf, as it dashed upon the lonely beach, sounded like a mournful dirge to our ears. There appeared to be a short stretch of sandy beach, circumscribed by high and jutting rocks. Around us, on either side, were innumerable breakers, threatening destruction as we approached nearer; yet we heeded not our dangerous proximity to sunken rocks, but the noble ship bounded gayly over the waters, unmindful of the destiny awaiting the doomed.
In the distance could be discerned the Andes Mountains, rearing their lofty heads in silent grandeur, and seeming to penetrate the blue dome of the o’er-arching heavens. Immediately upon bringing the ship to an anchor, preparations were made to effect a landing in the boats. Captain Lunt and my husband deposited their nautical instruments and charts, and some few articles of clothing, in a chest which they had rendered as nearly water-proof as possible, and consigned it to one of the boats. We threw overboard all the spare spars upon deck, and everything that would float. We had no provisions or water to take on shore, and had been refreshed with none through the day. There was one pig on board that had left Baltimore in the ship, and one hen. These, together with my pet-goat, the sailors took under their own immediate protection, and succeeded in landing them on the beach. The pig, in the height of his terror, beat an instantaneous retreat into one of the numerous caves, or recesses, situated at the base of perpendicular cliffs, which rose nearly two hundred feet, and presented an effectual barrier to any attempt that might be made to scale them. I recollect distinctly my sensations on leaving the ship in a boat; how intently I watched the foaming surf we were fast approaching, and which had already engulfed the boat in advance; then an indistinct recollection of roaring and splashing of water,—of voices heard above the din of all, giving directions,—of being dragged, minus bonnet and shawl, through the surf
upon the sandy beach. Of my very unceremonious introduction within the precincts of the province of Peru, I have no very pleasing recollections. After removing everything off the ship’s deck, they ran her still nearer in, and scuttled her; but the fire had made such progress, it was impossible to save her. In two hours after we left her deck, she burst out into a sheet of flame. The fire caught to the sails, which were spread to the breeze, and she was a sheet of fire to the mast-heads. Here, in this lonely bay, lay the fine ship Fanchon, and burnt to the water’s edge. Nothing could exceed the almost awful profoundness of the solitude by which we were surrounded—a silence broken only by the roaring and crackling of the flames, as they wreathed and shot far upward, illuminating the midnight darkness, and casting the reflection of their fiery glare far out over the lonely deep,—and the deep roar of the eternally restless waves, as they dashed in rapid succession upon the beach at our feet. It is quite impossible to convey by language an adequate conception of the solemn magnificence of this midnight scene. The burning ship in the foreground, the light from which revealed the sublime altitude of the mountains in the background, whose barren heads seemed to pierce the sky, every object distinctly daguerreotyped; the rocks on either hand, laved for ages by the white sea-foam; the bald and inaccessible cliffs in close proximity, in the rear; and twenty-six human beings (myself numbering the only female) standing upon the narrow beach, viewing silently the work of destruction, rapidly progressing, which deprived us of a home, and the necessary sustenance required to support life,—only a skilful artist, with his pencil and brush, could do justice to the picture here drawn. By three o’clock that night, nought remained to mark the spot—where, a few hours previous, lay the gallant ship—but a smoking hulk.
I sank into an unquiet slumber superinduced by exhaustion, fairly cried myself to sleep, and rested my weary limbs upon a couch of beach-sand. Next morning, we discovered several rafts (or, as they are there denominated, balsas) coming into the bay. They were covered with Indians—a sort of mongrel race, who live principally upon their balsas, scarcely ever visiting the shore except to procure water and potatoes. They subsist mostly upon raw fish. They speak the Spanish language. They anchored their crafts outside the surf, then dove into the water, and swam to the shore. They were nearly in a state of nudity. Their demeanor was entirely pacific. They advanced towards us with hands extended, in token of friendship. They had been attracted to the spot by the light from the burning ship, and had assembled in considerable numbers, doubtless in the hope of obtaining pillage, as they rather demurred in rendering any assistance, unless stimulated by a promise of compensation. For “mucha pesos,” they agreed to furnish us with water and sweet potatoes while we remained upon the beach. They peremptorily refused to take us to Payta,—the nearest settlement, which was fifty miles distant,—thinking, doubtless, it would be a more profitable speculation for them to protract our stay upon the beach, until, at least, the “pesos” were all gone. I was constrained to offer my pet-goat to them, in exchange for water: she had long since ceased to furnish milk. Poor thing! after having encountered so many fiery trials, she was but a wreck of her former self. Much as I regretted to part with her, I felt it to be a duty I owed her, for past favors received, to mitigate her woes as far as it lay in my power. With a last, sad, lingering look at her mistress, and a despairing farewell bleat, she was dragged away. The natives informed us we were fifteen leagues from any fresh water; thereby giving us to understand that we were very dependent mortals. They then departed, promising to come on the morrow with a fresh supply. Their balsas are constructed of very buoyant, porous logs, bound together in the form of a raft; then another layer, transverse the former. In the centre, it is raised still higher.
CHAPTER VIII.
Here indeed was a new phase of existence, gloomy enough in anticipation, yet far preferable to the dangerous scenes in which it had heretofore been my fortune to participate. The sailors pitched four small tents; two for themselves, and two for the officers. These served for a shelter at night; but, during the day, when the sun shone with an almost scorching fervency of heat, unmitigated by a single cloud on the face of the sky, it was almost impossible to remain in them. To augment our troubles, the fleas were so numerous and so blood-thirsty, that for a few days I was in perpetual motion. When once they made a lodgment in our clothing, it was useless to attempt to exterminate them; and they never capitulate. At night, upon retiring, our only preparation was to spread a blanket upon the sand, and lie down upon it. In the morning, we would find ourselves almost imbedded in the loose beach-sand; for, upon the dry part of the beach, it was quite deep. I would rise, and shake my head to dislodge the quantity of sand there collected. My hair was hanging unconfined over my shoulders, having lost comb, hair-pins, and bonnet. I would walk down to the shore of the Pacific,—an ample wash-bowl, certainly,—and perform my ablutions, dispensing, of necessity, with all the modern appurtenances of a lady’s toilet.
Captain Lunt proposed to send to the American Consul at Payta for assistance to remove us from the beach. His mate, Mr. McCrelles, of Belfast, Maine, volunteered to go, accompanied by four of the sailors. The next day after our arrival there, they embarked on their voyage to obtain the relief we so much needed. Their directions were, to keep close in shore; and, with God’s blessing, they would arrive at Payta, and assistance would reach us at the expiration of a week. We watched the little boat until she looked like a speck upon the water; and, with many an unuttered prayer for her safe arrival, we turned our thoughts landward,—I to amuse myself by selecting the most beautiful shells I could find: they were very numerous among the rocks at each extremity of the beach. I was never lonely: I found companions in my own thoughts; and they were oftentimes pleasanter than the gayer ones of the world would have been, for they whispered of home and loved friends.
There was the skeleton of a whale perfect, and entirely exposed. How long the remains of this huge aquatic monster had been bleaching under the scorching rays of that tropical sun, we had no means of ascertaining.
The Indians faithfully kept their promise, and each succeeding day they visited us with a plentiful supply of water and potatoes; the bill of fare varied occasionally by the introduction of some very offensive fowl, which they positively asserted were “esta bueno.” An amusement in which I often indulged was to chase innumerable crabs, with which the beach was literally covered in the mornings. They would, upon the first intimation of pursuit, disappear instantly into their holes in the hard sand. By remaining perfectly quiet for some time, they would again assemble in numbers, which the least movement on my part would again put to flight. They would make greater progress running sideways than I could any way; therefore, I never caught one.
The pig remained secreted in his cavernous retreat, which no entreaties on our part could induce him to vacate. Not until driven to the last extremity by the pangs of hunger, did he venture to reconnoitre from the aperture. After viewing his companions in distress for a little time, he gained sufficient courage to eat potatoes from my hand. After that, he became quite domesticated, and, with the hen, used to share the sailors’ tent with them at nights.
During this time, I was unconsciously assuming the dark and swarthy hue of the native women, from being constantly exposed to the scorching glare of a tropical sun. My habiliments, too, were becoming exceedingly soiled, from constant use both by night and day.
The love and spirit of adventure had, from earliest infancy, been strongly implanted in my nature; and, during this voyage, certainly, this predilection for thrilling adventure had been amply gratified. Yet, had not the fiery ordeal through which it had pleased the God of love to bring me been for good, it would have been averted.
A week had now elapsed since the departure of the boat. Intently we scanned the ocean, in the hope of descrying the anxiously expected sail. Nights, at the hour of twilight, I would seat myself upon the rocks to indulge in the reveries which that most fitting hour for reflection usually calls up. The mind feels a soothing influence as the light of day fades gradually from sight. At such times memory is busy with the past—the distant home, the loved friends there assembled. I often wandered in this way through the spirit-land of old times. One night I was startled by the exultant cry of “A sail! a sail!” Being fearful lest some casualty had befallen the boat, and she had never reached Payta, Captain Lunt deemed it advisable to make signals, in the hope of attracting attention. She kept on her way, apparently unmindful of the signals which she could not but have seen, as the captain had sent up a rocket, which he had preserved in the water-proof chest. Darkness now hid her from our view; and we sat down, wondering that no answering signal had been displayed to our call for succor.
We repaired to our tent with our minds illy reconciled to passing another night victims to the insatiable fleas, whose cry still was, Blood, blood. All at once we heard the clanking of chains letting go an anchor. All rushed out, and there lay a dark object in the offing. Soon we heard the splash of oars; and in a short time Mr. McCrellis, his countenance beaming with smiles, stood in our midst. He was accompanied by Captain Hillman, originally of New Bedford. His bark had been chartered by the American consul to come to our rescue. The next morning we bade farewell to rocks, and sand, and fleas, and repaired on board the bark, where, for the first time since leaving the Fanchon, I caught a glimpse of my sun-burned, swarthy countenance. The poisonous bite of the fleas had contributed their share towards imparting to my skin the appearance of a person suffering from measles, small-pox, and erysipelas combined.
CHAPTER IX.
As you enter the harbor of Payta from sea, the town presents a most uninviting appearance. It is built at the base of sand hills. The houses have the appearance of mud huts; the roofs covered with tile. Upon a nearer approach, not a green thing can be discovered except the balconies of some of the finer houses. The consul, tired, as he said, of eternally seeing sand hills and sand-colored dwellings, had relieved the monotony of the scene by substituting green paint wherever an opportunity presented. At this time the town numbered about four thousand inhabitants. They came to an anchor some distance from the shore, and were soon surrounded by boats. The English, French, and American consuls came on board, each equally desirous of giving us a home, and contributing in any way to render our stay with them as pleasant as possible. We repaired to the house of the American consul—Mr. Ruden, of New York, who has a mercantile house established there. This house is very spacious, constructed upon the Spanish plan of architecture, and constructed wholly after the manner of South American houses. The whole front of the lower part is appropriated to business.
A wide and pleasant balcony surrounds the entire house at the second story. Large windows, and still larger doors, open upon this balcony, and render it an airy and delightful residence. From this balcony you have a fine view of the harbor, dotted with ships of almost every nation. In addition—and not a very pleasant auxiliary, to be sure—are multitudes of natives constantly sea-bathing, and frolicking in the water. I often wondered if some of them were not really amphibious. Mr. Ruden’s household consisted of himself and four gentlemen belonging to the firm. All his servants were male natives, and he employed quite a number, with a major domo to superintend them. Upon entering the spacious parlor, my attention was attracted to the portrait of a lady with such a pleasant expression of countenance that I hoped the original was not far distant. In this, however, I was disappointed. It was a portrait of Mr. Ruden’s mother, a resident of New York city. Mr. Ruden was a bachelor; thus again was I deprived of female companionship. Eighteen years of his life had been passed in South America, where he had amassed quite a fortune.
I often availed myself of the use of Mr. Ruden’s library. In this room was suspended a hempen hammock, in which I enjoyed many a delightful siesta. The bedsteads were all of polished brass, and very beautifully curtained with bright-colored satin. Some of them cost as high as one thousand dollars. The pillow-slips and counterpanes were solid embroidery, executed by the delicate hands of the lovely Spanish señoritas. They were placed on the beds over a lining of pink or blue cambric, thereby displaying to great advantage the fine needle-work. Even the toilet-towels were embroidered at each end a quarter of a yard in depth, and then fringed. We breakfasted at ten o’clock, and dined at five, P.M. At nine, P.M., a servant would bring us a most excellent cup of tea, which we generally enjoyed seated upon the balcony. Through the day we were regaled with all the delicious fruits indigenous to a tropical clime, among which were several kinds I had never before tasted—the palta and cherrymoyer. The first-named is shaped something like cucumber, and is eaten with pepper and salt. The flavor of the cherrymoyer is perfectly delicious. This fruit is about the size of the largest kind of Baldwin apple, and very pulpous. The fruit, together with the water, and all the vegetables consumed in Payta, and all with which the shipping is supplied, is transported across a desert of sixteen miles in width, upon mules’ backs, from a town called Piura—a perfect garden of Eden, through which flows a pellucid river. When the ladies of Payta visit Piura to refresh themselves with a sight of the beautiful in nature, they are transported in a palanquin, which is rested upon the shoulders of natives. On the desert there is not a tree or shrub to mark one’s course. It is deep sand, from which footprints are quickly erased. A pocket-compass is indispensable in crossing.
There was a church near to Mr. Ruden’s house, which I often frequented—at the matin hour, and again at vespers—to get a view of the lovely brunettes, who, with heads uncovered, were kneeling in every direction, upon soft mats brought every day by a servant, following in close proximity to the señora or señorita. I admire their style of beauty. The clear olive complexion; the soul and sympathy which beam from their dark, lustrous eyes; their long, black, glossy hair; their natural ease, grace, and warmth of manner; the lip so full of sentiment and love, that, if the eyes were closed, the face would retain its exquisite expression; their vivacity of manner in conversation—all unite to form a lovely and fascinating woman.
The walls of the churches are hung with coarse paintings, and engravings of the saints, etc., etc. The chancel is decorated with numerous images and symbolic ornaments used by the priests in their worship. Gold paper and tinsel in barbaric taste are plastered without stint upon nearly every object that meets the eye. When, on festive occasions, the church is lighted, it presents a very glittering appearance. The tastes and predilections of the priests are totally unlike what one would suppose their sacred offices would instigate. I have seen a priest leave the church, walk directly to his house, take two fighting-cocks, one under each arm, and repair to the scene of cock-fighting, and there spend hours in betting.
While at Payta, the United States sloop-of-war Vincennes, Commander Hudson, arrived in port. The officers frequently dined with Mr. Ruden. By invitation of Captain Hudson, we all dined on board the Vincennes. We were welcomed alongside by a salute of twenty-one guns—a compliment usually conferred upon a consul when he visits ships of the line. We spent the afternoon most agreeably; and the refined hospitality, courteous manners, intelligent and interesting conversation of our host, made us regret the rapidly fleeing moments. It was a beautiful moonlight eve when we left the Vincennes in the captain’s barge, rowed by those men-of-war sailors, dressed with such uniform neatness. Not a ripple disturbed the placid and glossy surface of the water. At night so pure is the atmosphere, that the moon gives a light sufficiently powerful for the purposes of the reader or student who has good eyesight. There is no necessity of burning the “midnight oil;” nature here lights the lamp for the bookworm. So phosphorescent is the water, that every dip of the oars is followed by a stream of light resembling fire. When we were at Payta, we were informed that no rain had fallen during the preceding seven years. We met there a friend from whom we had parted on the broad Pacific, never expecting to meet again—Captain McKenzie. Yes! the pleasant Scotch captain we left on board the Symmetry. Captain Thompson had faithfully fulfilled the stipulation to leave them near the port of Valparaiso. From thence he had taken passage in an English steamer bound to Panama, and from there he would cross the isthmus, proceed to New York, and from there to England. The steamer touched at Payta to remain an hour, and Captain McKenzie stepped on shore to have a view of the town. Nearly the first persons he saw were Captain Lunt and my husband. When he parted from us last, we were bound to San Francisco. Judge, then, of his astonishment at meeting them there. He knew at once some unforeseen calamity had driven them from their course. From previous events his thoughts naturally reverted to fire; and his first exclamation was, “My God! you have been burnt out again!” Too true. All was then explained. There they met, at a port neither of them intended to visit—the three captains who had lost their ships by fire. He paid me a passing visit at the house, then departed on his way to his distant home, to gladden the anxious hearts of wife and children. I have never seen or heard from him since. But, whenever my thoughts revert to him, the recollection is always flavored with old Scotch whiskey.
The bark Carbargo, Captain Barstow, was loading at Payta for Panama. The captain was a native of Pembroke, Mass., and, being acquainted with our friends at home, felt quite an interest in our welfare. He very kindly offered to give us a passage to Panama. Upon his assuring me he had not a cargo of coal, but mules, sheep, and fowl instead, I felt I might safely trust myself once more on board another vessel. It was a lovely day we bade good-bye to Mr. Ruden and other friends, with whom we had passed many pleasant hours during a four weeks’ sojourn at Payta. I had changed somewhat in my personal appearance since first I beheld those everlasting sand-hills. My wardrobe, too, had been replenished. I was really a gainer by my temporary stay at Payta, and departed with a lighter heart. Hope seemed to whisper of a cloudless to-morrow. How wisely ordered, how characteristic of our natures, to hope on, hope ever! When Hope deserts her throne, we are, indeed, like a lost mariner without chart or compass.
Here we are again on ship-board; and I have no better business, all these long summer days, than to watch those thirty large mules, ranged along the deck, fifteen on a side, their heads facing the vessel’s rail, with just a path between the rows. They were the finest-looking mules I ever saw. The South American mule is larger, as a general thing, than the Mexican mule. The captain anticipated realizing a handsome sum for them. They were in excellent order, and were blessed with such nice long tails, which is considered quite an acquisition. One morning early, I heard such a loud talking on deck, and in no very pleasant tones either, I conjectured something awful had happened. I soon ascertained the cause of the clamor. One of the mules had broken his fastening in the night, and, not being discovered, had the extreme audacity to deprive nearly all his brother mules of their dearly prized appendages, eating the hair square off, up to the fleshy part of their tail. It appears they invariably practise this habit whenever they can get them in a position where they can make no resistance. The sheep were between decks. The heat must have been almost insupportable. They would gather round the wind-sail with their noses up, panting terribly. It was not an agreeable cargo; yet I had no fears of spontaneous combustion, although I afterwards learned there was coal in for ballast.
CHAPTER X.
Upon arriving in the harbor of Panama, we came to an anchor about two miles from the city. Ships scarcely ever go nearer on account of rocks. It is not a very good harbor for vessels to lie in with safety, it is so open. At anchor close by us was the ship Marianna, of San Francisco, Captain Rossiter. He recognized my husband as an old acquaintance, invited us on board his ship, where he was enjoying the society of his wife and an interesting little child. Captain Rossiter informed us he was going to take his ship down to Taboga, an island which lies about ten miles from Panama. The P. M. S. S. Co. have a depot there. All the steamers, when in port, lie there. The shipping frequent this place to get a supply of water, which gushes in clear rivulets down the sides of the mountains. A little steamer plies constantly between Taboga and Panama for the accommodation of passengers, who are constantly flocking from the miasma-infected city of Panama, to inhale the health-breathing zephyrs of this island retreat. The shore is very bold. Ships of the largest tonnage lie within a stone’s throw of the shore. Nearly all the washing is carried from the city, and here cleansed in the running streams by the native women, and spread upon the bushes to dry. At this time there were three hotels there, and quite a number of native populace. Since the time I allude to, they have been visited by a destructive fire. It has been rebuilt, however. We spent one happy week here. Daily Mrs. Rossiter and myself wandered up and down the mountain’s side, protected from the sun’s rays by the umbrageous foliage which formed a complete net-work above our heads. Here grew the cocoa-nut and pine-apple. The monkeys chattered and swung from branch to branch above our heads. The parrot and paroquet screamed at us from their leafy habitations. Birds of beautiful plumage were carolling their sweetest notes, giving to these sylvan mountain-slopes a truly vivifying appearance. Here, thought I, in company with loved ones, could I dream away a happy existence. The impersonations of romance and solitude could scarcely find a more congenial abode than this beautiful and sequestered isle. At the expiration of this memory-treasured week, which was, indeed, an oasis in the waste over which I had been wafted, we returned to an anchor at Panama. That night I was suddenly and severely attacked with what was conceded to be, by all, Panama fever of the most malignant kind. The next day I was carried on shore, through the city, to a house outside the city gates, owned by a gentleman from New Orleans. For the use of one furnished room and board, the sum of forty dollars per week was required. It was a large, barn-like dwelling. Nearly all the rooms were rented to Spaniards. The partitions which divided the house into apartments only extended to a height sufficient to conceal the occupants from one another, without in the least obviating the noise and disturbance naturally occurring from so many living under one roof. Even this tenement, rough as it was, far exceeded, in point of cleanliness and healthy location, the crowded, and at that time filthy, hotels of the city. Ours was a corner room in the second story, fronting the street. Large doors, very much resembling barn-doors, opened from two sides of the room upon a balcony, that indispensable appendage to all the dwellings situated in tropical climes. Every breath of air which fanned my burning brow seemed wafted from a heated furnace. For days I lay a victim to that consuming fever, part of the time in blissful unconsciousness. I say blissful, because my thoughts wandered to my distant home, and I was relieved, for the time being, from the agonizing thoughts that in intervals of reason obtruded themselves upon me. I was attended by no physician. Captain Rossiter administered dose after dose of calomel, until my system was completely prostrated. Well was it for me that my knowledge of the Spanish language was so limited; otherwise I might have been shocked by the language of some of the inmates of the house. Every footfall, every loud word, echoed and reverberated through that hollow building, sending, at each recurrence, a pang of agony through my burning brain. Fear, too, would assert her sway when left alone, as I oftentimes was. For nearly two weeks the fever raged incessantly; after which time, I gradually convalesced.
When raised by pillows in my bed, I had a view of the street leading to the rear gates of the city, and day after day could I see the silent dead borne to their last resting-place. At that time, Panama was crowded with Americans waiting to be conveyed to the gold-studded placers of California. Alas! many of the number never reached the goal they so ardently desired, and for which they had sacrificed their own happiness, and that of those dearer to them than aught else except gold, the yellow dust of temptation. Truly it may be said to be “the root of all evil,” when it allures thousands from their peaceful homes, to meet an untimely death. Reflections such as these had a decided tendency to depress still more my already despondent heart. My recovery, at times, was considered doubtful. It was too sickly to entertain the idea of remaining there longer than was absolutely necessary. I was too weak to attempt to cross the Isthmus; therefore, all hope of returning home was abandoned.
It was decided to take passage at once for San Francisco. We remained one month at Panama. During the last two or three days of our stay, I walked a short distance each day. One of our walks we extended as far as the burying-ground. What a shunned and desolate spot was that American burial-ground at Panama,—a mere necessary receptacle of lifeless flesh and crumbling bones,—not even a stone raised to mark the last resting-place of the many loved friends who had breathed their last sigh in a strange land, and by strangers been consigned to mother earth! A little piece of board was sometimes reared, with the name, age, and place of residence, marked thereon; but often this little mark of respect and affection had been displaced by mules, numbers of which are constantly grazing among the graves. No inclosure protects these often nameless mounds; straggling bushes struggle with rank and choking weeds that overtop them. The whole place bears a deserted, forsaken aspect—untrodden by the feet of memory and love. It is within sight of the bay, whose waters, as they eternally dash against the shore, seem to be chanting a requiem for the departed. The evening before we left Panama, our attention was attracted by what we conceived to be a torch-light procession, issuing from the city gate. Upon a nearer approach, it proved to be a funeral cortege. First came several horsemen bearing torches; these were followed by a band of music, playing very lively, heart-stirring strains; then came an open bier, carried by natives, upon which was borne the lifeless remains of a sweet little cherub, a lovely Spanish child—lovely even in death. It seemed to be in a sitting posture. In each hand was placed a wax candle; wreaths of flowers entwined its angelic brow, and were strewn in rich profusion upon the bier. Innumerable wax tapers were inserted around the outer edge of the bier, which shed an ethereal halo upon the little form of clay, which had so recently been the pride and joy of fond parents. Then followed another company of equestrians and pedestrians. It had the appearance of some joyous festive scene rather than a funeral procession. And, truly,