"Flow of wine, and flight of cork,Stroke of knife, and thrust of fork;But, where'er the board was spread,Grace, I ween, was never said."
"Flow of wine, and flight of cork,Stroke of knife, and thrust of fork;But, where'er the board was spread,Grace, I ween, was never said."
"Flow of wine, and flight of cork,
Stroke of knife, and thrust of fork;
But, where'er the board was spread,
Grace, I ween, was never said."
Wings of chickens, slices of ham, roasted bananas, huge loaves of bread, preserved fish, and cups of wine disappeared with marvellous rapidity. We did all rational beings could be expected to perform under the circumstances, but at last were obliged to crypeccavi!Not so our lady guests—the war of maids and viands had only begun; my friend, Toanni, thought a trifle of taking five or six of these oily little sardines at a mouthful, pushing them down with half a banana, and violent thrust of bread. She devoured ham and fowls with great apparent relish, wagging her lower jaw, to detach any stray masses of unmasticated matter that chanced to have escaped the ivory hopper, and fallen between her capacious cheeks; every few seconds giving her round fingers a sharp suck, like popping a cork. Truely Toanni's head room was enormous. Once or twice, when thinking her rage entirely appeased, she relapsed again, and performed prodigies with rashers of baked pig. I believe it was Voltaire who designated the illustrious Shakspeare as a "sublime barbarian;" could he have seen these island maidens, he certainly would have awarded the palm to Toanni; and I'll wager a flask of bordeaux—a peculiar weakness of mine—that these Tahitian belles can eat more, laugh longer, talk faster, all at once or separately, than any others of their adorable sex the wide world over. Ispeak advisedly, and am prepared by documentary evidence to prove it.
Rescuing a small cruse of cogniac from the melée, I reclined upon a rocky bed, with my heels in the water, for a doze, induced by the soothing fumes of a pipe! But, alas! hardly were my eyes closed, before I was startled by the cries of our frolicksome light-hearted companions, who with a lizard-like facility of grasp, were running up the perpendicular surface of the peak, clinging and climbing by fibres and roots, that crept and laced themselves about the crevices of the rocks. Plucking a quantity of bright flowers, the girls bounded into the stream, and then commenced weaving never-ending wreaths and chaplets. This universal fondness for these spontaneous jewels of the earth, with their love for bathing, are the most innocent and beautiful natural tastes possessed by the savages of Polynesia.
We were three hours getting back to Papeetee, only pausing for a last cooling swim in the lower stream.
The evening previous to our departure from Tahiti we attended the usual soirée of the French Governor. Important despatches had just been received from France, and the saloons were filled at an early hour with officers of the ships and garrison, consuls, and merchants, with a number of foreign ladies, all ingrand tenu. It was a pleasant gay little court, with écarté tables and conversation, vivacious punch handed round at intervals, and maybe a little flirting and love-making, with "music to fill up the pauses," from the regimental orchestras stationed near the verandas, while the lawns and grounds were crowded by laughing groups of natives, talking scandal, perhaps, of theoui-oui's.
The next morning, before day had dawned, our frigate wascrowded with canvas, and assisted by a flotilla of boats from the French squadron, we were quietly towed outside the coral reef, then taking the trade on the quarter, we went off with a spanking breeze towards Aimeo.
With easterly winds we sailed away to the southward. In a fortnight the sky became dull and gloomy—the rain fell, chill and cold—we tumbled from our warm beds with a shock into the cold air, for we had been a long time beneath the clear skies and warm suns of the tropics, and rather magnified our hardships, in a thermometrical sense.
Still we were bound once more to the realms of civilization, which was in itself consoling—we buttoned our jackets—declared it was fine dumb-bell weather, and exercised those implements constantly. Doctor Faustus, too, lighted his jovial lamp when the night closed around us, and we blew the steam from a tumbler ofitaliapunch with much thankfulness and gusto; and those of us who had watches, forthwith bent our steps to the upper regions.
One cold November night, in a hard squall, whilst the topmen were furling the lofty sails, two men were hurled from the main-top-gallant yard, and falling through the lubber's hole of the top, were caught at the junction of the futtock shrouds. One escaped with severe injuries, but his unfortunate companion died in thirty minutes. He was a handsome, active, young fellow, who made my acquaintance during the blockade of Mazatlan, in old Jack's oyster-boat.
In speaking of the accident, the day after, to an old Swedish quarter-gunner, called Borlan—"Vy, sir," said he, pulling aside his huge whiskers and disclosing a broad, jagged seam, the whole length of the face—"Vy, sir, see here! I vonce toombled vrom a brig's mast-head—top-gallant yard and all—lying to in a gale of vind. Vell, sir, I broke mine jaws and leg, but managed to get alongside again, and was hauled on bort. Vell, sir—vat you dink?—the gott tarn skipper vanted to lick me for not bringing der yard too!"
After making a latitude of 47° South, the East winds departed, and taking a gale from the opposite direction, we flew before it for eleven days at ten miles the hour towards the Chilian coast. Oh! what a "melancholy main" is this wide expanse of the Pacific! There is, may be, in the feeling of being near continents or islands in less illimitable seas, something a little pleasurable; but to be pursuing the same wearisome, liquid track, for weeks and weeks, with nothing to relieve the monotony of sky and water, is desolate, indeed!
In the long night-watches, when strong gusts of hail or rain were whistling by our ears—the top-sails reefed down, though quivering and struggling, like great birds with cramped pinions, to burst from the stout cordage and fly away in flakes of snow—the gallant ship would, like a mettled charger feeling the whip and spur, at times run lightly and swiftly on the back of a mighty wave, almost as silently, too, as if gliding on a lake—when, the instant after, heeling from side to side, she would dash down impetuously amid the tumult of waters, cleaving a wide road before her!
Mutter your lastavé, Jack! if you leave the strong ship in nights like these! Think of the keen-sighted albatross that will pick your eyes out next morning, if the keener-scented shark hasnot already rasped and grated your bones into white splinters within his merciless jaws! Keep close under shelter of the solid bulwarks, Jack! Cling to your life-lines! Feel a rope twice aloft before you swing your full weight upon it! but hold on, Jack! Hold on!
Think of it, ye rich traders, when your big ships come gallantly into port. Think of the hands that have strained and grasped upon those lofty spars that now so motionless lift their taper heads, like needle-points, to the sky. Think of the cold sleet and chilling rain—but above all, think of poor Jack—take pity on his faults, and extend the helping hand in his distress.
There was my old marine oracle, Harry Greenfield, muffled in his pea-coat, braced firmly against the fife-rail, over the wheel, every now and then slowly twisting his rosy face around the stern, taking a glance through half-closed eyelids at the angry scud flying overhead, or during a rapid succession of heavy lurches, when the high masts appeared to describe three-fourths of a circle against the gloomy sky, he would pleasantly hint to the briny forecastle-man who grasped the steering spokes, or the old quartermaster at the compass, "Steady, old Tom Scofield! Not so much, boys! Touch her lightly, Charley! don't you see she's flying off?"—and again relapse within the folds of his pea-jacket.
"Well, old gentleman, what are you pondering on?" "Why, Mr. Blank, I'm thinking how pleasant it must be to have a menagerie on board ship in a breeze like this; in case the animals should break loose, the tigers, bears, hyenas, and the elephant, and the monkeys flying around the decks in heaps, yelling, howling, and fighting together! Ah! it must be a fine sight on a dark night, with a lantern up the main rigging. I never sailed with any of them chaps, 'cept once—he was a royal Bengal tiger—ah! I made a good bit of money out of him—he had a difficulty with the cook—." Here the old salt went into a series of chuckles, and I was forced to beg him to proceed. Emptying his mouth of the grateful weed, and wringing the sleet from his weather-beaten beard, he continued: "You remember Jim Hughes, Mr. Blank, the captain of the old ship's foretop." I nodded. "Well, I fell in with Jim one day in Greenock; he was just from Orleans, with a pouch full of cash, for he had been there in the height of the cholera season, and bagged twenty dollars a day for driving the dead cart." Here old Harry chuckled again. "Well, sir, Jim was Scotch, and among his people, and very decent they were; they treated me all the same for being his shipmate. Well, after a time a brig was ready for sea; Jim was taken as second mate, and me as bo'sun. We were bound to Calcutta; off Java Head the first mate kicked the bucket, was tossed overboard, Jim was promoted, for he had larnin', and I stepped into his shoes." Another chuckle. "We staid in Calcutta five months, taking in rice, cotton, indigo, and other products of them countries, when, just before sailing, there came on board the tiger, a present for the King of England! A noble beast he was: a big strong iron front cage was built for him abaft the mainmast, and he never once stopped licking his white tusks, gaping, walking, and lashing his rope of a tail, for weeks and weeks after leaving the river. We all began to take a fancy to him, and I believe he did for us, 'cept the cook, who was a Nubian nigger, and black all the way down his throat. I never see such an intense darkey! His royal tigership never could bear the sight of him, probably because he had been trepanned by some of the nigger race; and whenever 'Lamp Black,' that was his name, came near, his eyes kindled like live coals, and he growled fromthe bottom of his belly. We often cautioned cookey to be careful, and so he was. Well, we touched at Saint Helena, and right glad old Bengal was, no doubt, for we had got short of chickens—the only delicacies he seemed to relish—and he couldn't be coaxed to touch salt junk. A few days after, the Nubian was handing him his breakfast, with the galley tormentors, a pair of tongs like, through the small trap door on top of the cage, and, like a fool, he just took one little peep, to see how tenderly the tiger could suck the last drop of blood from a chicken's body, when, by one rapid blow of his paw, he sunk his sinewy claws into the darkey's neck, tore the head from the trunk, and in a second was crunching the reeking mass between his grinders. He scoffed bones, wool, and flesh, and there lay the remains of poor 'Lamp Black' quivering on the rod decks. After this little difficulty, he became quite civil and civilized, and never caused us more trouble. By and by, we arrived in London docks, and as they were a good while preparing a birth for him in the Zoological gardens, Jim and me exhibited him from a ha'penny to half-a-crown, to men, women, and children. So you see, sir, we made nigh forty pounds a piece, and had a capital spree, I tell ye." Old Harry nearly choked, and did not thoroughly recover until his throat had been cleared with a glass of grog.
Thirty-six days from Tahiti, and we arrived in Valparaiso. Remaining in port nearly a month, the anchor was again weighed, and our prow again turned seaward. Passing the Point of Angels, the burnished keel bravely ploughed the open ocean, the blue waves following in snowy crests, and, in a few minutes, shores, town and hills had faded from sight.
The 28th of January, 1849, found us on the Peruvian coast, abreast the Island of San Lorenzo, a mountain of sand, where not a blade of grass can vegetate; and rounding Galera Cape, we were shortly moored in the port of Callao.
The bay is a wide, sweeping indentation, with Lorenzo, Fronton, and a narrow spit of land jutting from the main, serving to keep the harbor smooth from prevailing southerly winds. To the north, the spurs of the Andes approach layer upon layer to the brink of the coast, while nearer the land trends away, towards the interior, nearly plain-like—green, fertile, and pleasant to gaze upon—with the clustering towers, and spires of Lima abutting on the distant hills.
There is no difference of opinion about Callao: for it is a filthy, bustling little port, reeking in garlic and drunken mariners, alive with fleas, miserable, dirty soldiers, and their yet more slovenly wives.
The place is thriving, for steam frequents it; and on the curving quay are piled mountains of English coals, enormous heaps of wheat, great stacks ofpisco, anditaliajars, where Haserac, the celebrated captain, might have concealed an army of thieves with impunity. Merchandise moves backwards and forwards on railway trucks, and lazy villains in pale yellowjackets, with iron chains and anklets attached to the legs, are at work after a fashion of their own.
The houses of the port are mean and irregular, built anywhere and any how, either of adobies, boards, and on the outskirts, pleasant cottage residences, built of bullocks' hides and poles. Streets and lanes run hither and thither, and glaring English signs stare you in the face, such as the "Jibboom House," "The Lively Pig," "Jackknife Corner," and "House of Blazes." Along the beach are ranges of wicker, reed, and mat-made sheds for bathing, which are thronged during the season. But the most prominent features of Callao that attract the eye, are the round, flat turrets of the Castle, flanked on either side by long lines of curtains, bastions, embrasures, and batteries. It covers a great space, enclosing within its thick and massive case-mated walls, ranges of barracks—now happily converted into warehouses for the customs—magazines, and a large square, with a fountain in the centre. The fortification, from the nature of its position, is somewhat irregular, constructed partly on a ridge of sand, leading towards the southern arm of the bay, where in former times was the site of old Callao, before its destruction by the memorable earthquake of 1746.
There is a wide, deep moat, like to the bed of a river, encircling the fortress, with narrow channels cut on either side to the sea. This is now dry and partially filled in nearest the town. The redoubts and detached outworks are also in ruins, but yet enough remains to make us reflect, that what the old Spanish engineers left incomplete in this work would hardly be worth attempting in our day.
It was here where the last stand of the Royalists was made in New Spain—where the bloodiest foot-prints were left since thedays of the Incas and Pizarro—and it was in this same castle, where the brave Rodil, with a handful of devoted followers, clung to the soil of their royal master with a tenacity and determination amounting to heroism—where horse meat sold for a gold ounce the pound, and a chicken for its weight in the same precious metal: when, hemmed in on all sides, by sea and land—surrounded but not dismayed—they still kept their assailants at bay, until gaunt famine stalked before them, and they were forced to furl the well-worn colors of their King![7]A score of Rodils, and another century might have intervened before South American patriots could have wrested the continent from the old Spaniards.
If tired of contemplating these bloody reminiscences—or bathing under the sheds and awnings, where all resemble, in their saturated black frocks and trowsers, watery nuns; or if your temper is destroyed by the fleas, you can fly to the harbor, where are sturdy merchantmen reeking in guano, smoking steamers, and heavy ships of war—and thick fogs at night—or, what is more diverting, you may watch the motions of swarms of gulls that frequent the Port. Our good surgeon, who professed to be an ornithologist, called them platoon birds. They fly in regular battalions and divisions, in strict military apportionments—led and apparently commanded by their chieftains. The reviews generally began with fishing. At some understood, feathery signal, while sailing over the bay, they wheel like a flash, and strike the water simultaneously like a shower of bullets, and not with the eyes of Argus is it possible to detect the smallest irregularity in movement, nor a stray winged soldier out of the ranks.
However, all these amusements are, at best, dull recreation, andit is a great relief to get quit of Callao. Omnibii encumber the uttermost ends of the earth—so we go to the office, when the smiling administrador behind a railing exclaims, "Ah! Capitan!you wantascientos! Ah! you give me one Spanish dollar—ah!buéno!" "Any thieves?" we timidly ask. "Ah, si, yes; but you give him gold ounce—no kill you, ah!" "Charming fellows, certainly; but suppose we give him an ounce of some other metal!"Ah! cuidado amigo!—have a care, my friend!
With five horses ahead, crack! crack! goes the thong of the negro Jehu—over the paved street, into the dusty road, where the plunging steeds are brought up floundering, tugging and straining the heavy vehicle axle, through the finely powdered soil—now firmly stalled, we get out per force, curse the roads, and threaten to whip the driver—then we come on harder ground, until imperceptibly there comes a rocky strata—loose stones, remains of adobie walls and ditches—but all equally execrable: then, for a mile or more, fine trees bend their towering arms over the road, and shortly after, we rattle through a huge gateway—have travelled eight miles, and we are in the city of kings—Lima! "See it and die," said the old land pirates of the days of its founder, Pizarro, and their descendants. Whatever it may have been two centuries ago, in these days it requires no very strong effort of will to survive the sight.
The city is compact and populous, the buildings are very low, and quite resemble the old Moriscan towns along the northern shores of Africa, with close overhangingjalousiesand balconies, finely railed and latticed. The streets are wide and straight, paved with small pebbles—dreadfully torturing to the pedestrian—the side-walks beneath the portals or arcades of the plazas, and in the gateways and patios of dwellings are figured in coarsemosaic, formed by the white knuckle-bones of sheep and pebbles. Handsome shops fringe the fashionable avenues, glittering with costly fabrics and toys; then again packed side by side, in nooks, alcoves, and niches, are small merchants, who from their numbers, one would suppose to be all sellers and no buyers.
The little river Rimac flows noisily through the city, fed from far away by the silvered pinnacles of snows and ice in the lofty Andes. It is spanned by a substantial and lofty bridge, whose every stone has been loosened by the earthquake. Lima might be made one of the cleanest cities in the world; for through all the main arteries runs a narrow rivulet diverted from the Rimac. Nevertheless, it is excessively filthy, and thegallianzos, or vultures, tame, and pampered by a profusion of nastiness and offal, take their morning's meal in the streets and squares, and afterwards hobble to the house-tops, where, with blood-red eyes, and gorged bodies, they calmly endure repletion.
The most striking features upon approaching the city are the vast clusters of domes, towers, and spires, that arise in such thick profusion from the convents and churches, as to favor the belief that every house has something of the kind attached thereto. From the neighboring valley of Almencaes I have counted sixty. In the distance they present a solid, imposing aspect, but on a nearer view, they will generally be found mere paper structures of reeds and plaster. Many of the grand edifices, the cathedral, convents, and parochial churches, are partly of bricks, stone, or the most enormous adobies, up to the belfreys, but above, all are similar to the pasteboard decorations of the theatre; and although it seems reasonable to suppose they would topple down at the first summons of thetremblor, yet it is theonly style of lofty work that will bear the frequent shocks, totter like a tree, and still stand erect. Externally these buildings are elaborately carved, painted, and imaged, without any consistent order of architecture; and within they are profusely decorated with rich gildings, paintings, and statues; all, however, destitute of taste; and only when brilliantly illuminated, with the myriads of silken parti-colored streamers pendant and fluttering from the lofty aisles, swinging censers, organs pealing, with all the pomp and imposing ceremony of the Catholic church, is the effect worthy of admiration.
The best position for viewing Lima—Asmodeus-like—is from the high tower of San Domingo, that is, if, after mounting above the bells, you can reconcile the flimsy quaking fabric you stand upon to any extreme ideas of personal safety. The devil on this pair of sticks could not have chosen a more eligible spot for inspecting the arcana of people's dwellings. The city is spread like a map at your feet; composed of long lines of crumbling walls, miles of flat roofs, and little patios, the former loosely tiled, and sprinkled over with dirt, where even dead cats, and tattered rags quietly repose for ages. There is not in the universe to be seen such a large area of mud walls, reed, and rush-built houses, all appearing so unfinished and incomplete. But in a climate where it never rains, where it never blows, where even the thick coatings of dust are hardly absorbed by thedry rainof winter fogs, it is not surprising that all these masses of reeds and plaster are preserved for centuries without perceptible decay. Still there can be no scepticism on one point, that if ever there chance to fall a heavy tropical shower, the city of Pizarro will be swept, a heap of mud and sticks, into the ocean.
Allowing the eyes to wander around and beyond the city, thediscolored Rimac is seen hurrying from the melting bosom of its Alpine mother down between the distant hills, diffusing its fertilizing freshness over the sloping valley—the margins encircled by verdant fields of cane, like bright patches of emeralds, and the banks fringed by weeping willows, that dip their bending branches to kiss the rapid torrent. On it comes, over the stony bed, dashing its strength in fierce anger against the arches of the sturdy bridge, and then glancing by the flowering meads and slopes of Almencaes, flies rapidly to the placid waves of the Pacific.
FOOTNOTE:[7]In February, 1826.
[7]In February, 1826.
[7]In February, 1826.
Lima is fast losing its singular originality, although there is still much to be seen, which, in these days of universal journeyings, has the merit of being extremely novel.
There are interminable strings of mules and donkeys constantly passing and repassing to the bubbling fountains of plazas or churches, each with twin reservoirs of water-barrels balanced on the brute's shoulders; others with huge milk jugs, baker's boxes of hides, and the drivers in the midst. Again, matronly dames jog along astride their cattle, commonly nursing infants; then gildedvolantesandberlinaswhirl by, occupied bydamasin full dress, looking as if entombed within crystal shades; then priests in "cope and stole" in processions—white and black gowned ones—tottering bishops in lawn and mitre, and very shaky on their swollen ancles, with beads vibrating like uneasy pendulums; others in stove-pipe hats, sleek, fat, and slovenly—or meek friars—not of eggs and bacon, from their meagre, famished appearance—lank and dirty, with robes of coarse serge and girdles of ropes—all darkening the side walks, with flickering torch and taper flaring in the mid-day sun, and solemn chaunt, as they move unceasingly towards church or convent.
Then, again, stupid, stunted native Indians strut along with bow legs and parrot step; beside them, stout negresses, zambos,and cholos, with brief frocks, and the most gossamer of flesh-colored silk stockings encasing their ebony shins; there areportalesthronged with shops and stalls—artizans in gold and silver embroidery carrying on their avocations, regardless of noise and bustle. Equestrians, too, are caracolling through streets and squares, clothed in bright ponchos, and their small, spirited steeds decked in shining trappings, with heavy Gothic-shaped spurs, half the weight of the riders.
It is a curious scene to contemplate all this motley crowd, as the first sweet tone of the great bell of the cathedral—and the sweetest sound from brass and silver ever heard—gives forth its prolonged and melancholy cadence fororacion. As if touched by the wand of a magician, the busy hum of life is hushed—mules and donkeys halt of their own accord, and with drooping ears and bended necks, appear absorbed in prayer. The man who is yellingFresquita! with all his might, stops miraculously short at the half-uttered word in the highest note—venders and the disciples of Abraham cease barter—horsemen draw bridle—these gayberlinaspause, and their fair inmates with jewelled fingers tell their beads, and rosy lips arrest the dimpling smiles—lovers silence the soft whispers to blushingamantes—the whirr of loom and spindle weaving the golden threads is checked—hats and heads are borne low, and every vestige of animation is suspended—all is beautifully impressive. A minute! Theavéis uttered—the heavy bell sounds twice—thrice—then the deafening and rejoicing peals ring from towers far and near. Crack! falls the cruel lash on the devout donkey's hide—arré!shouts the arrieros—quita!screams the dulce-man—Tres pesos el menor!wheedles the Jew—off glide the gilded vehicles—away gallop capering barbs—the artisans resume the mazy windings of thereel or shuttle—the lover and his mistress again become smiling and pathetic—and again goes on the roar and turmoil of a populous town.
On the right bank of the Rimac are two promenades, neither particularly well shaded, but the Alemeda nearest the river is most frequented and pleasant.
During feast days, or after the Sunday bull-fights in the arena near at hand, it is customary for the élite of Lima to appear in full dress, enshrined within the glass panels of their prettyberlinas, and take a stand along the drive, beneath the drooping willows. Nor is it considered indecorous, if you have friends or acquaintances among those lovely dames, to doff your castor and touch the tips of their ungloved, rosy fingers, and may be, hear the number of theirpalcoat the evening opera—or, where thetertuliais given, and what a charming bouquet it was you sent—and other agreeable pleasantries. Have a care, my gringo! button your coat tight, or you may lose your heart!
On these occasions, also, the stone benches on either side the promenade are thronged withsayas y mantas—the most bewitching satin envelope that ever woman, be she youthful or aged, was ever wrapped in. There is no resisting the large, brilliant, languishing eye—laughing with all its might—nor the round, white arm, that so pertinaciously keeps the jealous folds of themantaover the face. Exhaust the whole Castilian vocabulary of compliments—and it is copious—beseeching and imploring to be vouchsafed one little word!Ah Señorita! haceme el favor de una palabrita!—do speak one little word. But no! never a syllable from the silent veil, while the roguish eye twinkles and laughs like a planet! They may know you—but the sharpest dueña that ever cheated or was bribed by a lover could notdetect her charge within these closely-fitting dominoes—nor husband the wife, nor mother her daughter—they are alike enshrouded in the same graceful but impenetrable black masque. They are so cunning and coquettish, too! Fancy you discover one. Strive to awaken her jealousy, or pique her vanity by encomiums or scandal upon a sister or cousin—ten to one it comes back to you in protean shapes from the one you least dreamed of. Yet I cannot but think the institution was originally invented by ugly women; and it appears, many of the fairest portions are of the same opinion, being generally quite willing to exhibit their charms of face as nature intended. Except on feast days, or in carnival, the dress is now rarely worn; but in former years no woman appeared in street or mass without thesaya y manta. In those days, intrigue was so rife that a prudent young bachelor was forced to keep a strict watch upon his morals, or have his heart forcibly abducted by these warm-blooded Liméneans—those were the times to hold wicked husbands in consternation, and set watchful dueñas at defiance! For a wonder, French taste and dress are rapidly reforming all.
Some distance up the Rimac, near the Alemeda, is to be found the pleasantest place for bathing. Water is turned by narrow canals, and pours through a long range of enclosed and covered tanks, nicely cemented and tiled, sufficiently large for swimming. They are not very private places at all hours of the day, but one's delicacy is seldom shocked, for the swimmers are the politest people possible: as an instance, whilst bathing one morning, two youths accidentally intruded on my quarters, but recovering their equanimity, very civilly removed their head-gear and made a polite bow to me, while in the water!
Drives there are none at all pleasurable for any extent around the city; nor are the rides more so. The environs, in all directions, are intersected by heavy and high mud walls, shutting out air and vision, leaving only heat and stifling clouds of dust to repay one's trouble.
Lima itself should not be too narrowly criticised from the streets; although without, naught is beheld save dingy, adobie walls, dusty cobwebbed lattices and balconies, half decayed, yet once pass the wide and lofty portals, and many of the best houses have noble suites of apartments, furnished with great taste and even splendor; besides, that which gives, in a certain degree, an air of elegance, is the elaborate mazes of glass doors, gaily papered or frescoed walls, and a profusion of gilding. Light is usually thrown from the roof, and the houses are cool and properly ventilated.
After a fewtertulias, and a pretty ball given by the American Chargé, we had no other opportunities of mingling in Liménean society. There were quite a number of pretty women, with very fair complexions and winning manners, who danced like sylphs, as what Creole does not? Two youthful Señoritas, of some sixteen and seventeen years, were pointed out as little lumps of gold, of "purest ray serene," who werefiancéeto their uncles, fine old gentlemen of sixty! It was suggestive of a post-chaise and bandboxes to any successful aspirant to the ownership of a lovely pair of eyes. However, these out of the way alliances are quite common in Lima, and perhaps the fair ones, at a later era, begin to discover they have hearts of their own not to be sold to the highest bidder, like bills of exchange at the mart! Very few of these deluded damsels, it may be reasonably presumed,when fully aware of their tender wrongs, can exclaim, in the words of the Spanish lady's ballad:
"I will not falsify my vows for gold nor gain,Nor yet for all thefondest swainsthat ever lived in Spain."
"I will not falsify my vows for gold nor gain,Nor yet for all thefondest swainsthat ever lived in Spain."
"I will not falsify my vows for gold nor gain,
Nor yet for all thefondest swainsthat ever lived in Spain."
The public edifices of Lima, which are so closely connected with the History of the Conquest, and the bloody revolutionary struggles of Peru, have no other attributes, either in architectural beauty or position to recommend them.
The Cathedral occupies nearly one side of the grand plaza; the exterior is painfully decorated, without taste or system; within is a solid silver altar, paintings of archbishops, and their earthly remains also, mummified in leather, and reposing in open coffins.
The Viceroy's Palace fills the northern face of the square—a low, irregular collection of buildings—the lower parts, fronting the plaza and streets, occupied by small shopmen, similar to the hosts of tinkers, fringemen, hatters, and cooks beneath the opposite ranges of theportales. Opening into the inner courtyard are the public offices and the private residence of the President, General Castilla. He was a soldier of fortune, had risen from the ranks, and passed through many vicissitudes of life before being chosen the supreme governor of Peru; not more surprising probably even to himself, than the extraordinary anomaly, that he has held his position the four years since the election, without a revolution having arisen to disturb his tranquillity. This security he owed, in a measure, to his individual bravery and soldiership displayed in times past, and the belief generally entertained bydissatisfied persons of his upright character, and his indifference to execute summary vengeance on whomsoever should incur his displeasure, by again involving the country in the turmoils of civil discord.
The General and staff visited our frigate at Callao, and were received with manned yards and the usual artillery. In person he was about the middle stature, with a frank, bronzed face, and agreeable address.
Many curious objects are pointed out within, or in the vicinity of the palace, rich in reminiscences of the Pizarros, and the tragic drama connected with the life and death of the Conqueror—the room wherein he was assassinated, and the balcony from whence he was afterwards hurled by the Almagros.
The main Patio was thronged with troops of eager and expectant cormorants, who, my informant stated, were gentlemen in waiting upon the treasury—officers andempleadoswith large salaries in perspective—but, strange to say, the vaults were invariably empty; or, in case there should be a surplus on hand, it is a description of money composed of so base a metal that it will not pass for one-fifth the nominal value out of Lima.
A national museum has lately been established—a small enterprise thus far,—containing a few Cacique antiquities, Island weapons and ornaments, a coat worn by Salaverry when he was murdered—bedabbled with mud and blood—and the walls are hung with portraits of the forty-seven Viceroys of Peru, but placed in so bad a light that, with few exceptions, the features and expression of the different rulers were indistinctly visible. They begin with Francisco Pizarro,[8]and are all miserably executed specimens ofpainting, without grace or harmony, and it would seem that the artists, in their anxiety to have them of a uniform length, in the absence of correct notions of drawing, have jammed heads and heels close up or down to the frames, leaving the intermediate portions of the person harsh and ungainly.
The theatre is a mean edifice, and the immense rafters that uphold the flat roof are apt to keep a nervous person in the pit somewhat anxious and uneasy, anticipating a shock of thetremblor. It is sufficiently commodious, but badly ventilated, dimly lighted, and without decorations or scenic display. The first representation we attended was mediocrily performed by an Italian troupe—there were three prima donnas—who, apart from being ugly, which, of course, was no fault of theirs, were regardless of taste or execution, and all strove to outshout the other. Indeed, a fifth-rate artiste, coming so far abroad in these climes, deems it imperative to take a tip-top part; besides, I have remarked among opera people, that there is always a cruel Empressario, who tyrannically will have something to say in the management of his theatre—very much to the disgust of the performers, and who is, moreover, expected to pay handsomely, even when the troupe cannot half fill the house.
On the occasion referred to there were myriads of fleas, and what with Beatrice di Tenda—a donna in red—we were fain to quit the opera. Subsequently the performances were very creditable, and living in the same house with the Contralto and handsome Barrytone, we became enlisted in their clique, and did battle against the unreasonable manager. One evening, whilst assisting at Linda di Charmouni, between the acts I was sitting behind the scenes, in a temporarily-constructed saloon, condoling with the interesting Contralto, sympathising with her griefs, and admiringher open-worked clocked stockings—for she was costumed as a Swiss peasant—and when nearly wound up to a pitch of desperate frenzy, against the barbarous Empressario, the lady's tire woman tripped in.Signorina, said she,la scéna! The call-keeper's pipe chirped musically. I flew to the front, and getting comfortably ensconced beside a lovely Liménean, with a little mouth like a slit in a rose-leaf, up flew the curtain. The scene was similar to one in Fra Diavolo, where Antonio returns down the mountain-steep after an unsuccessful search for the devil's brother; lots of peasants, flower-girls, and a horde of attendants, had already ascended, together with the Contralto, and Linda herself, who weighed fourteen stone. Tap! tap! led the orchestral baton. Now began thecavatina. I was half entranced in melody, cigar-smoke, and the smiles of her with the rose-leaf mouth, Doña Margarita, when, as the sweet notes came trilling forth, in wreaths of exquisite harmony—crash! scream! crash!—the platforms gave way! The prima donna made a demi-volte, threw an involuntary summerset, and vanished head-foremost through Mont Blanc, severely damaging the picturesque village of Chamouni; our friend the Cantatrice, and the little slashed trowsers and silk stockings, were seen plunging and struggling in an Alpine torrent of pasteboard. All was tottering scenery, shrieking supes, clouds of dust, terror, and confusion. Some villain had cut the cords that upheld the mountain-pass. Our Contralto warbler escaped without a blemish, but the unfortunate Prima was pulled out from beneath the treacherous planks in hysterics, and borne off kicking violently in the arms of stout peasants. Of course the play was ended: but there nearly arose a revolution in Lima that night, for it was strongly urged that the murderous Empressario hadconspired against his troupe, although, poor man, he swore until black in the visage, that he never dreamed of so heinous a crime; and if he might be allowed a conjecture he should say, that it had been a little ballet got up among theCantatricithemselves, to get rid of performing for a week or two! but no one believed him.
Our hotel was theFonda de los Baños, the best in Lima—faint praise this. It faces the cathedral in the plaza, and is a capital point of view for strangers desirous of seeing the motley panorama of the city from the balconies without mingling in the dust and fleas below. Our host was an old, frowsy-wigged Frenchman, pleasant and conversible, who made out the accounts with a crotchety style of caligraphy—fives and nines hardly to be distinguished apart—although with never an error in your favor in the arithmeticalcalculeat bottom. The lady of the mansion was a fine-looking, althoughpasséeperson, who presided at table d'hôte ingrand tenu, and served coffee anditaliaforchasse, with a little dessert ofmonté, if called for in the evening, at a side-table. Underneath the Fonda were billiard saloons and cafés, with warm baths adjoining. This establishment was cared for by a vivacious gentleman, extremely popular with navy men, named Señor Zuderel. I would advise all homeless wanderers journeying towards Lima to seek lodgings at this Caravanserai. I was pleased myself, and shall ever bear Monsieur and Madame Morin in agreeable recollection, for a correct knowledge of the world, tolerably well-served dinners, expensive wines, and a just appreciation of thesous entendu.
It was my intention to have made a hasty visit to Churillos, a small fishing village on the sea coast, where, at certain seasons, all the world resort for bathing and gaming—both amusementscarried on day and night without cessation; but finding the time approaching for our departure, after spending eight days at Lima, one afternoon I buried my shoulders within a glaring red poncho—and was warned by Zuderel "not to carry much money, for fear of the ladrones," which I considered purely a supererogatory piece of advice, as any economical person may convince himself after a few days visit only!—El que bebe de las pilas se queda en Lima—He who drinks of the fountains will never leave Lima, is a favorite proverb. Inasmuch as I had only sparingly indulged in the delicious waters of the city, save when mingled with Bordeaux and pure blocks of ice brought from the Andes, I cannot be said to have entirely destroyed the truth of the adage; so, trotting leisurely through plaza and streets—invoking a blessing from Our Lady—I pursued my ride beyond the gates, steering for Callao. It was thus I departed from the "Paradise of women, the purgatory of men, and hell of jackasses!"
We sailed for Valparaiso.
FOOTNOTE:[8]This is the same portrait from which the engraving in Prescott's Peru is taken, but the latter bears but a faint resemblance to the original.
[8]This is the same portrait from which the engraving in Prescott's Peru is taken, but the latter bears but a faint resemblance to the original.
[8]This is the same portrait from which the engraving in Prescott's Peru is taken, but the latter bears but a faint resemblance to the original.
We found Valparaiso very much improved since our first visit, more so, in fact, than would be generally believed for a Creole town. Streets had been newly paved and extended, whole squares of fine warehouses, and long rows of dwellings completed; all tending, with a rapid increase of population, to make the port most flourishing. As in the Islands and Callao, the discovery of the El Dorado of California had thrown the entire community into a state of feverish excitement, which was augmented by every fresh arrival. Ships touching here, no matter whither bound, or for what intent, were either bought before their anchors were down, or chartered for passengers or freight. Day by day vessels sailed, loaded high up the shrouds with any articles of merchandise that could hastily be thrown on board. The city was drained of wares and goods of every description; merchants, clerks, artisans and mechanics were hurrying, as fast as sails could bear them, to the swamps and sands of the Sacramento. Fortunes were made in a minute, and it only appeared necessary to purchase a ship and cargo at any price, and the day or hour after be offered twice the money for the bargain. One merchant actually paid twenty thousand hard dollars for the information contained in a letter from San Francisco—a more valuable missive was probably never penned. The mania wasequally violent throughout all classes of the community—natives, foreigners, men, women, and children.
We mariners were merely lookers on, having neither cash nor commodities. Some of us talked of deserting, and scratching a little fortune of gold dust with our several digits; others of resigning, and seeking employ in the merchant service; but in the end we bore the good fortune of mankind around us, with philosophical equanimity, and remained contented with our lot.
Notwithstanding thisauri sacra fames, the same generous hospitality awaited us, at the hands of our countrymen, as of old, and we passed the time delightfully.
The rides around Valparaiso are almost destitute of interest; for many leagues the main roads lead over dry and hilly ground, with no relief from their dullness, except an occasional glimpse from some more elevated ridge, of the broad Pacific or the shining snow-capped Cordilleras far in the interior. There are neither forests nor grasses, nor yet running water. Even in the most secluded valleys, the herbage is pale and withered, and vegetation stunted.
Excellent horses are easily found; and after passing over the paved streets at a slow gait, to escape lynx-eyedserénos, ever on the watch to recover a two-dollar fine from strangers for fast riding, you may then, at early morn, before the breeze stirs the fine, choking dust, or in the evening, when the high winds have expended their rage over the Plaiancha and Point of Angels, take a lively gallop with some degree of enjoyment. Our rides were usually along the Santiago road towards the post-house, where a nice breakfast was always procurable, through the kindness of a motherly Yorkshire dame, whose husband was at all timesparticularly vinous; the breakfast, however, never suffered on that score.
The Chilians, men and women, ride admirably; but there are none who indulge in this healthful exercise to a greater extent, and who sit the horse more gracefully and securely than our own fair countrywomen residing in Valparaiso; and with all their manifold charms, they are accomplished in the proper understanding of a pic-nic. I am ignorant of the correct etymology of the word, but have heard it expounded as "all ham, and no punch;" be this as it may, these agreeable ladies comprehend the thing thoroughly; they know the most sequestered little glens for leagues around, when and where, and how to go; they have their own spirited steeds, too, like their mistress's riding robes, always ready. The excursion is arranged in five minutes, so, cavaliers, you have only to send for horses and borrow a whip, and if you know of any troupe of more charming doñas, pray don't keep it a secret.
Out of the hot city, with veiled faces—up ravines and down dales—leave the dusty road—clear the hedges, and scamper over the upland downs, until we have lost sight of towns, suburbs, shipping, and harbor; perhaps a pair of bright eyes looks back to the nice matrons who play propriety—pointing with a little gauntleted hand—"There! in that shady glade, this side the Rancho"—winding about the declivities, we reach the base of a sheltered valley—we dismount, tie the animals, and then breaking through interlaced thickets of undergrowth and herbage, a little trickling rill will possibly be found, bubbling deep down the cleft of a ravine, on whose margin is a plot of grass, where we clear away the brushwood, spread saddle-cloths for the ladies, and make ourselves happy.
Some one must go to the neighboring farm-house in search offruit—not everybody, for there are two country belles there, who keep a guitar, and put on airs of rustic coquetry—besides, it is not complimentary to the lovely ladies we attend, to be gallivanting or straying elsewhere—they demand, by laws of chivalry, our homage, and they well deserve it. By and by, there appears a brown dame, with a huge tray of biscuits, peaches, "and a dish of ripe strawberries, all smothered in cream!" What a perfume! "Hand over thealforgas, those pockets attached to saddle housings. Oblige me, sir, by guarding this plethoric napkin of sandwiches! Stop! here's another; don't let anybody take even a bite until the Señora gives the word! What is this; a bottle of Xeres, as I'm a sinner—claret, too!Ave Maria!Get water somebody, and let me show you the art, acquired by long practice, of pulling a cork without a screw. There! click! click! crack! Cleverly done, eh? Don't cut your delicate fingers, Señorita! Are we ready?—we are, and almost frantic." The time flits on pleasure's wings—the shadows from the crests of the surrounding heights are darkening the glen—the strawberries and sandwiches are all gone, and the bottles are dying marines.
"Come, girls," say the Señoras, "we must be in time for dinner. Caballeros you will dine with us?—they never forget that—we shall dance in the evening, but not too late—to-morrow is Sunday." Now hurrah for thecarrera—race. Be under no apprehensions, my friends, when you see those slight forms, with streaming tresses and dresses, flying by leap and bound over the narrow pathways, rocky descents and water-courses!—have a care to your own horse, never mind your fair companions—their sure-footed steeds would race blindfolded, and, I doubt not, snap their legs short off, rather than injure the gentle beings who so easilyguide them! We soon reach the environs of the city, and with horses all in a foam, pace sedately through the streets, towards the terraced residences.
The society of natives and foreigners is quite distinct in Valparaiso, and general re-unions only take place at the monthly Philharmonic balls. Those we attended were very elegant and select assemblies, with a large proportion of beautiful women: all danced with charming grace, and were most becomingly attired with all the exquisite taste and refinement of French fashions; and with a fine, brilliantly-lighted saloon, excellent orchestra, the white fluttering dresses of the women, gayly contrasting with the gleaming lace and bullion of hosts of officers from foreign ships of war, it made altogether as inspiriting and magnificent a display as can be found in any part of the world.
The natives are seen with even more attractions in their social circles. Thetertuliais ever an impromptu affair, and nothing is more calculated to preserve a happy current of friendly feeling among the youth of both sexes. There is no staid form or ceremony: people meet for pleasure in the dance or love-making—'tis all the same—everything is frank and companionable.
Once get the entrée and make friends with the kind Señora—sip scaldingmaté, and never forget her at supper at the balls, ordulcesfor theniñas—you have the game in your own hands, and on velvet with the dear youngdoncellas, may whisper all the pretty speeches imaginable to downcast eyes at the piano or guitar, or blushing cheeks in waltz or polka! I do not believe Spanish girls often break their hearts—they ache sometimes, perhaps, but are easily consoled—and I advise all who set up graven images, and who wish to be in good repute with dark-eyed Creole maidens, to send anonymous bouquets unceasingly, and ofcourse divulge the donors' names afterwards—'tis a sure passport to the smiles of fair ladies everywhere, but these dear, little Chilians will positively adore you.
In a former sketch of Valparaiso, I touched upon the quiet, cool retreats perched on the salient crests of the adjacent hills. One of these terraces, Monte Allegro, is the beauty-spot of Valparaiso. Ah! the agreeable dinners, tea-parties, promenades and dances, given there by the charming residents, from the little balconied house in the rear, to the entire cottage-range in front! Heaven help us! we owe them many a debt of gratitude we may never be able to repay, save in kindly remembrance to all. There was one, too—