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.