CHAPTER III.

The steerage passenger described by the head steward as being a thorough gentleman was already seated in the boat which was to convey us on board the Clyde. I saw at a glance that he was one of Britannia’s sons, very poor, perhaps, but bearing withal that unmistakable air of “breed,” which neither wealth, nor education even, has ever succeeded in imitating with success. The true stamp of nature’s gentleman, the best of all, is ever inborn. This fellow-wanderer assisted us to seats, and then we exchanged a few words as we were being rowed to our new vessel. I gathered from these that this passenger was bound for the mines in Guatemala; and he added to this information an avowal of his determination never to set foot in England until he should return rich, or at least independent.

“I am going to work as a common miner,” continued this young man, with great decision, “whether my family like it or not. They sent me off to make my way as best I could in the colonies; and because I could not get a situation as a clerk in an office the moment I landed, it is assumed that I am idle and all the rest of it; and so I am going to take my own way of it, and stick to the work that has been offered to me on this side.”

Mr Smith, who sat opposite, listened to all this, and then said: “You came from Sydney, sir, did you not?”

“Yes; I worked my passage to ’Frisco, and am now on my way to join a mining camp.”

From what transpired further, I found that this young man was but one of the many who suffer from the extraordinary delusions under which many _patres familiarum_, uncles, and widowed mothers of our nation labour with regard to the demand and supply of educated labour in the colonies. Generally speaking, when a young gentleman betrays, or has betrayed, a proclivity for spending too much money, or cannot get what is called _genteel_ employment at home, or has perhaps committed himself in an act of grave misdoing, there is always some fool at hand to suggest his being sent out to the colonies. If he may consent to enter farm or domestic service, to learn a trade, or undertake any manual labour—well, let him go. “But no,” says _pater-familias_; “Dick has had a good education, he must go out as a gentleman. What he has learned in the office here will suffice to place him at once; and Crammer, the emigration agent, assures me that young men are sure to be provided for at once in the colonies.” And so, with perhaps one respectable introduction, and much oftener without any, young hopeful or hopeless is sent on his way. He perhaps makes some inquiries on his journey, and falls in generally with those who note only the successes.

“Look how well have succeeded MacWuskey and O’Scamp! and they landed in the colony without a pound, sir!”

Very true of forty years agone; but now are changed days, and the field, in the older towns at least, is full; besides, the sons of the colonists must have their innings.

Thus it is, that when Dick and Tom Clerk, London, first arrive in Sydney, for instance, they walk, poor fellows, day after day, from office to wharf, and from wharf to store counting-house, seeking work in all honesty, and finding none. In some instances they get promises, but in general they are recommended to betake themselves to the bush; and in some few cases they are roughly repelled, and requested not to bother. Desperation, as they find their small means diminishing, leads them to invade the offices of the governor, the inspector of police, and the immigration agent. Each and every one of these would do his best to help, but he has already a list of applicants as long as his arm. The answer to inquiries for employment is invariably the same. “You must wait. I will try and help you, if you can stay for a month or so; if not, I advise you to go into the bush as soon as you can.”

There it is; Clerk, London, cannot wait. He was sent out with a very small sum, and most of this is already spent for everyday wants. He would go into the bush now, but he cannot command the railway fare.

In nine cases out of ten, the family of the clerk has never supplied one shilling to enable him to exist until work is found. So deeply rooted is the idea that a man can get into a merchant’s office (this is the favourite vision) the moment almost that he lands in Australia, that provision for a month in advance is seldom thought of. And so the family feel very aggrieved when they get the intelligence that Dick is hauling coals on a wharf, and that Tom is driving cattle at Tumberumba.

Ah! how often comes the news that the one is dying in hospital, dependent upon the benevolence of a citizen and a sister of mercy; and that the other, not finding employment, has disappeared, no one knows whither!

Our boat is dancing attendance now, for we have to wait till a _barca_ from the shore, unlading fruit, sheers aside. This conversation is Greek to Señor Hernandez, but he smiles good-naturedly, and tells the young man that a great deal can be done in mines. This much the Señor has gathered.

Mr Smith here asked if the mounted police of Sydney were not a very efficient body of men?

“Very,” I replied; “the force is chiefly constituted of young men who have originally emigrated with the intention of filling very different positions. They are well off, for the inspector of police takes great interest in those who buckle cheerfully to their work, and he always employs a fit man when he can. The mounted police, however, has its limits, and cannot be regarded as a refuge for the destitute. I strongly advise every man who emigrates to the colonies to learn a trade, or follow some manual labour. Clerks and school teachers abound there _ad nauseam_, and it is neither wise nor honest to advise one to add to the number.”

“You are quite right,” answered the steerage passenger. “I suppose you have had some experience in the matter?”

“The sad experience of being applied to by more than one gentleman’s son to lend him a few shillings wherewith to purchase a meal.”

“This must be very often the result of their own imprudence,” said Mr Smith.

“In some cases, unfortunately; but bad management and ignorance on the part of people at home have a good deal to do with it. If the lad is not to be trusted with money, why cannot parents or guardians send it out to some bank or responsible person? This, I am told, has been urged both publicly and privately. You know as well as I do that banishment to the colonies has been a favourite remedy for ne’er-do-weels at home. Happily the colonies will no longer put up with our scapegraces and incapables; but work cannot, at first, be got for even the most deserving.”

Space is now made for us, and we clamber up the iron steps of the Clyde. Mr Smith has something to say to his _confrère_ in that vessel. I hear later on that it is an injunction to take care of me. A Chinaman comes to tell me that my baggage is in the cabin No. 2, which I am to occupy alone. This last news is very pleasant, and I am comforted also when I see that No. 2 is a deck cabin, and that the berth is furnished with white curtains. This will enable me to keep the door open during the night. Mrs C. and her children are to occupy No. 1, so there will be just companionship enough without too near proximity.

The sunset is over, and Señor Hernandez and I sit on a bench and watch the lightning. It has become quite a familiar object now; and we both admire this wonderful feature of the nights on this coast with deep interest. We talk about Old Spain, I remember, and my good friend is delighted to find that I am the daughter of an officer who fought for that country in the last Peninsular war. Now Mr Smith comes to say good-bye, and to carry away this kindly gentleman. The parting is quickly over, and I plunge into my cabin and become “Soltera” once more.

Four o’clock A.M. is the correct hour for rising at sea in Central America. After a night of great heat, I had just fallen asleep as the vessel moved out of port; ten minutes afterwards I was roused by a succession of shrieks. The cause proved to be Mrs C. correcting one of her children with a box-strap; and so my intention of remaining in my berth was completely frustrated, as far as sleep was concerned, for, to drown the child’s yells, the elder sister had commenced a series of dismal tunes on an accordion. Sam the Chinaman, who had brought me a cup of tea, was dreadfully scandalised.

“Very bad lot,” remarked the Celestial, as he handed in my tea through the window which looked out on to the deck. “Ole gentlemans other side, he swear awful at the noise, and me don’t wonder. Ay! wait till captain come on deck, he soon see. Come again soon.” This last promise was in reference to bringing me more tea, I suppose; for my friend had shot away like an arrow at the sound of a voice which was inquiring for that “heathen Sam” in anything but dulcet tones.

There were few passengers present at the usual hour of breakfast, and of these I alone represented womankind. What were called _gentlemen_ were anything but attractive specimens of their order. They all ate and drank in silence, fed with their knives, and never had the civility to pass a single thing on the table to me. They certainly knew what was the business of the table-steward, and, I conclude, did not care to interfere with it. The captain, of whom I had heard most favourable report, was ill, and confined to his cabin.

Here was one of the varieties of travel with a vengeance; but we cannot have everything _couleur de rose_; and as no company is better than uncongenial company, I tucked myself into a shady corner on deck, nursed the purser’s cat, and read Jules Verne’s ‘Twenty Leagues under the Sea.’ If anything distracted my attention, it was the remembrance of the Colima and her seafarers: but the copybook slips of my early days impressed upon me that comparisons are odious; and so I tried very hard to put everything but the present out of my mind, and in a sort of way I managed to succeed.

A day and a night certified each other with regular monotony, the heat becoming more intense. At length we made Port Angel. The port presents a fine bold coast, but it bears the reputation of being extremely unhealthy. An enormous old lady of colour got in here: it was quite a work of mechanism to get her hoisted up the side. This was the first and last I ever saw of her, as she went straight to her cabin, and remained there till I disembarked at Amapala. She was accompanied by a nephew, who seemed to be very nervous and shy; so these were no great acquisition.

A laughable mistake had caused me to be sick and qualmish on this day. Mrs C., who treated me very civilly, asked me to divide a bottle of congress-water with her, both of us looking upon it as a kind of effervescent, such as lemonade or soda-water.

The Chinaman who had brought it up of course made no explanation. Mrs C. divided the contents of the bottle into two glasses, and we both drank off a good portion of the most abominable decoction I ever tasted, at a gulp. Simultaneously, we put down the glasses, and glared at each other.

“What have you given me?” I at last gasped out.

“It’s poison! I am sure it’s poison!” shrieked Mrs C. “Sam,—Chinese fool, come to me this minute! You have brought poison here!”

Sam was not within hail; but one of the hitherto dumb male passengers was passing, and he was startled into opening his lips.

“Why—you have not been drinking this to quench your thirst, have you?” said he, as he took up a glass.

“Yes; we thought it was a cooling drink.”

The man could not restrain a laugh. Who could? This beverage was a strong medicine—diluted Epsom salts, and something more—and ranked among the ship’s remedies for bilious attacks and other ailments. We had taken enough for four people, and we naturally must expect to feel the effects of the medicine severely.

“If you had wanted to ward off fever, you could not have managed it more effectually,” continued our interlocutor. “Let me advise you to eat something substantial, and avoid tea and soups for a day or two.” So saying he turned on his heel, and we had the satisfaction of hearing him laugh like a fiend as he went down to the saloon.

Mrs C. hurled the congress-water bottle into the sea, and sent for some brandy. We took about a teaspoonful apiece, and were not, after all, made very ill. Possibly the dose was good for us; but we both, I think, will “squirm” to the end of our lives at the mention of congress-water.

The next day being the “glorious Fourth of July,” some recognition of the event must take place. Early in the morning, the C. girls’ awful accordion was in full play, the purser following suit upon another, till we were nearly all made wild with the noise; for the music had been supplemented by a fire of crackers, and human yells were added to these.

Happily the captain, though an American, did not appreciate this manner of celebrating the national glorification day. He was possessed of great taste and refinement, and he would do a thing well, or leave it alone; so these rejoicings were put an end to, and a very good dinner was served in the saloon in honour of the day. Captain C. was a remarkably handsome and agreeable man; and I always look back upon him as being my model American. Of course there are many such, but I have not, hitherto, been fortunate enough to meet them.

Three days passed wearily away, as the heat in the day had become most oppressive: it was a dull, sickly kind of heat, which seemed to permeate through the system and absorb all strength. The sea-air, and a violent thunderstorm which took place one night, kept us alive.

We stopped at one or two ports; passengers coming and going by units, and twos and threes, as the case might be. The C. children became so unmanageable as the days went by, that I really could not help feeling some compassion for the mother. To keep these rioters a little quiet, the officers of the ship supplied them with oranges, nuts, and other fruit, in unlimited quantity. The heaps of peel, skins, and other _débris_ at our cabin-doors testified to the justice done to these refreshments, and Sam the Chinaman had to come and sweep “twice a day,” as if he were cleaning up after a herd of swine. This extra office, it may be supposed, did not tend to increase his admiration for the family.

It was a great incident in our career when we reached a small port, the name of which is not in my journal, to see a boat come off shore, bringing towards us two passengers, some bales, and a heap of cocoa-nuts. These last were the special attraction, for nothing quenches the thirst more quickly than the water which is contained in the cocoa-nut before it turns to milk and kernel. The ship’s store of cocoa-nuts was exhausted; and we were not only thankful to see a new supply, but hugged ourselves in the opinion that they might be fresh.

An unlocking of the door of an unoccupied cabin on the other side of mine announced that we were going to have a new neighbour. Sam informed us that a gentleman was going to occupy it who was sick, “very muchee sick. He waitee in boat now—got own servant; he waitee for more mans pull him up side.”

Mrs C. became violently excited at this piece of news. “Very ill, is he?” exclaimed she. “Speak the truth, Sam, he has got the fever—you know he has. Don’t contradict me; it _can_ be nothing else than fever.”

“No, not anything like that, missee,” returned the patient Celestial. “Him have fever? No, no; captain know better; captain no let fever in here, eh!”

There was some reason in this; and though Mrs C. had replied, “Then it will turn to fever,” my fears were instantly allayed. I remembered how strict were all precautions taken on board against even a suspicion of “El Vomito,” as is called the terrible yellow fever of these coasts. A family of five children, however, fully justified Mrs C.’s alarm.

Presently a scuffling and shuffling of feet approached our quarters, and on standing aside we gave place to an exceedingly large stout gentleman who was leaning on the arm of his servant. Behind these came a sailor with a portmanteau and a canvas sack, tied in the middle like a mail-bag, _minus_ its seal. Sam darted to the front in order to show the cabin.

The gentleman was a Briton without a doubt. He was dressed in a suit of white linen, and a long pugaree dangled from his green hat. His face was ghastly pale, and his head was laid on his servant’s shoulder. He evidently was suffering greatly, and appeared to be almost insensible. As I looked at him it occurred to me that he might have had a sunstroke.

The servant got his master into his cabin, and presently one of the ship’s officers came to assist in getting this stout gentleman into his berth. The servant, who was a _ladino_ (mixture of Spanish and Indian), was but a lad, of at most seventeen years, and must have been quite unable to deal single-handed with so inert a load.

During dinner Captain C. told me something about this new passenger. “He is travelling,” said he, “for a firm at New York, and, like most men down here, he is looking after mines.”

“He seems to be very ill,” I said.

“Oh, that will pass off during the night. He is merely suffering from giddiness from exposure to the sun, and from getting into an awful rage to boot. Just fancy! he stood in the boiling heat for about two hours disputing a charge on his baggage! The custom-house officer came on board with him to explain how he appears to be so ill. It’s a mercy that he escaped a sunstroke. Will you take some curry? It is very good.”

I got the curry, and the captain went on. “And only about two pesetas” (less than two shillings)! “This is just like the usual run of Englishmen; they will bear an overcharge of pounds with fair equanimity, but when the matter is one of sixpence, they swear and tear till they have scarcely a breath left!”

“Two pesetas seem hardly worth while to dispute about,” said I.

“The principle of the thing is always the reason given when the sum is a trifle; and it is so, but it is lost labour to rave at these people; they do not understand, as a rule, one quarter of what is said to them. I have seen men stand whilst a foreigner, an opponent, is telling them, in the strongest of mixed idioms, that they are fools and villains,—quietly stand, with a half-pitying smile on their faces, as if they were disputing with a child, and must make allowance.”

“But if they don’t understand?”

“It would be much the same if they did. They know well enough that they are being abused, and bow and flourish between the lulls in the conversation in the calmest manner. That is so aggravating to the English and Americans! These take it as meant for impertinence; I, who have had experience, know that it results from pure indifference and the languor induced by the climate.”

“I have been told that these Central Americans stick very closely to the point where money is concerned,” said I.

“That they do. Our friend up-stairs had, after all, to pay the two pesetas, or leave his baggage behind. And so, what with the excitement and exposure, he nearly succeeded in bringing on a fit. However, the physicking he has had will set him up all right by to-morrow.”

This was cheering news, and Mrs C. retired to rest with a peaceful mind.

On the morrow the stranger was reclining in a bamboo-cane chair beneath the awning. He did not look quite well, but his appearance was certainly more comfortable than that presented on the preceding day.

I bade him good morning and inquired after his health. Mr Z.’s fine grey eyes lighted up as I addressed him.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “I could not be mistaken; I was sure that you were an Englishwoman!”

I confirmed his opinion.

“You are not belonging to that woman and those horrible children?” he continued, speaking with much disgust, and indicating the C. party with his thumb.

“No; I am only acquainted with them by the accident of travel.”

“Excuse me, I am a plain man; what on earth brings a lady such as you in this part of the world?”

I told him, as briefly as I could, what my position was. He snorted and grunted, and finally said—

“I hope you won’t get murdered. By the by, San Pedro Sula, that is not a bad place when you get to it; I should very much like to go there myself, but the travelling——”

The _ladino_ boy, with a polite “Con permiso,” stated that he had been at San Pedro Sula. It was “a beautiful place,” he said.

“He was there,” continued the master, “helping to build that confounded railway. There’s a mess! A lot of rascals in London set that floating. It ought to have paid; yes, paid well; but in these places there is no one to look after things, and the whites are quite as ready to swindle one another when there is nothing to be got out of foreigners. Would you believe it, ma’am,” continued the poor gentleman, “that a wretched Scotchman, one of my own countrymen, actually upheld the custom-house clerk, through thick and thin, in the matter of an overcharge which was made on my baggage!”

I expressed my regret to hear this, but ventured the observation that perhaps the Scotchman thought that the official was right.

“Nothing of the kind,” replied my friend with great energy; “he only wanted to curry favour and stick to his berth. Fancy their having the audacity to charge me wharfage dues for that bag of cocoa-nuts there!” continued Mr Z., warming with his subject; “a few cocoa-nuts that I had bought and sent down the night before only! The thing is monstrous! I could have done without the fruit, as I am going to La Libertad only; but they threatened to detain my portmanteau if I did not pay all the dues. So I was obliged to pay two pesetas, as I had not time to waste. They got a bit of my mind, though!”

Here we both laughed; and as Mr Z. was in the main a good-natured person, his wrath quickly evaporated in the safety-valve, which I, as an unprejudiced listener, seemed to represent.

“La Libertad is the next port that we stop at,” I say, in order to ward off any further reference to this gentleman’s annoyances.

“Yes; I get off there, as I have to go up into the interior on business. You will have a terrible time of it going across to San Pedro. I have often thought of going there; but from what I have heard about the roads, and the starvation, and the chances of attack (chances, mind, I say—for I don’t want to frighten you, but there is nothing really to eat), and other discomforts, I have decided to give up the idea. I should like, however, to accompany you,” he added, after a short pause.

“Why not?” say I, catching at the opportunity of securing a travelling companion. “You and your servant and mules joined with mine (for I am to hire a lad and muleteer at Amapala), would make quite a respectable company. We should protect the one the other, if needs be. I have little fear, and surely there must be something to be got to eat. How do the people live themselves?”

“A plantain and a cigarillo is all they require,” replied Mr Z. “You will suffer very much from want of food. Take what you can with you. For myself, I could not do without my dinner more than twice a week. I have always been accustomed to live well. No, no—at my time of life it would not do. Glad the consul at Amapala will look after you. Have you got a revolver?”

“A revolver! No. I never fired one in my life,” I replied in terror. “I would much rather be without one.”

“Wait a moment,” replied Mr Z. He rose and went into his cabin, returning with a mahogany case. He opened this, and displayed reposing therein two revolvers,—one a large weapon, the other some sizes smaller.

“This is the jewellery I travel with,” he continued; “but the smaller revolver is of no use to me. I bought this, intending it for a wedding present to a girl in the interior; but the poor thing died suddenly, and so I have a revolver to spare. This is for you,” he said, putting it into my hand.

I thanked him for his kindness, but I put it back, saying that I could never make up my mind to fire it.

“Do you think,” he asked, “that a man dies any sooner because he has made his will?”

“No; what do you mean?”

“I mean that danger will not come upon you because you possess a revolver. Come, don’t be proud, take this from an old man and a countryman. We are in a strange land, and we ought to help one another if we can.”

Set before me in this manner, to refuse would have been worse than impertinence. I therefore accepted the revolver, lamenting only, that I could not there and then enter a shooting-gallery, and there make my mark. So I said.

Mr Z. replied, “You are a sensible woman, and I am very much obliged to you for your company. Wish I was going with you; but can’t—can’t see my way.” So saying he plunged into his cabin, and I was left in the warlike attitude of holding a revolver.