CHAPTER II
Getting Off
The United Fruit Company’s Ships—Delay—Brushing up in Spanish—Getting off—The Musical Engineer—Spilling Soup—Threatened Arson—A Resolve Never to Take Too Much Liquor Again—The Pilot—Four Miles in Two Hours—The Captain’s Wink—Chicago as a Joke—The Jetty—Unexhilarating Speed—The Zigzag Habit.
From New Orleans the United Fruit Company sends a steamer every week to Colón and Bocas del Toro, in Panama, and one to Port Limón, in Costa Rica. Most of the boats are small and better adapted to the accommodation and comfort of bananas than of human beings. However, those who are poor sailors can, by arranging dates and taking one of the large (?) ships, get to Panama almost as comfortably as from New York, and in a little over half the time. If one is a good equilibrist and loves solitude, there is even an advantage in taking one of the smaller fruit boats, for they ordinarily have so few passengers that one has almost the whole boat to oneself—and needs it. Mr. M. J. Dempsey, the traffic manager at New Orleans of the United Fruit Company, was very accommodating and painstaking, both in corresponding with me and in placing me after I arrived at New Orleans. The company is better than its boats.
Having missed the Friday boat for Colón, I made the best of my misfortune by feasting on fresh oysters, French café-au-lait and French water-rolls. In fact, I was benefited by the short delay, as the S. S. Limón, the newest and largest in the service, sailed on Monday morning directly for Port Limón, offering me an opportunity of visiting San José, the capital of Costa Rica, the so-called Paris of Central America, and of avoiding the crowd of doctors who were going later. In this case I was particularly anxious to avoid the otherwise congenial crowd, because I wanted to get away from English-speaking people during the four or five days on the water. Thus I would have a chance to brush up my Spanish by being forced to speak it to the Central American passengers, the officers, steward, sailors, etc. I would then be better prepared to converse with the South American doctors. But when I went aboard I found that the S. S. Limón was an old Glasgow ship with a new name, and had a Canadian captain and Jamaican crew. The passengers were all Americans and English, and I was the only one on board who could speak, or cared to speak, a word of Spanish. I was, therefore, obliged to brush up my Spanish without a brush.
We got off at 11 A. M. There were several passengers standing about on deck gazing listlessly at the negroes on the dock,—but not a friend of any of us could be seen, not a smile or wave of hand or flutter of handkerchief. It seemed quite doleful not even to see a friend or relative of some one else.
The only incident that varied the monotony came near being an accident. It was the arrival of one of the engineers, who was a man of unusually refined features for one in his station of life, but who was in such a happy state of mind that had it not been for the assistance of his peers he would have walked off the gangplank into the water, for he took two steps and stoops sideways to every one forward. He was softly singing, “For to-night we’ll merry, merry be; to-morrow we’ll be shober.” I felt relieved when I saw that he was safely aboard where liquor was not sold, and I realized for the first time what a great blessing ships were to sailors. As soon as he was safely over the gangplank he straightened up and said, “I’m the besht eng’neer aboard. I can run an engine better’n I can walk a plank. I’ve been drinking like the —— but I’m not drunk. I’m a Christian scientist, I am. I only think I’m drunk (hic).”
About an hour afterward as I was wandering about exploring the ship, I came across him balancing himself along on his way from the kitchen to the mess room, carrying a big iron pot of greasy soup and spilling it liberally. Upon seeing me, he smiled blandly and said:
“Good shoup this, ain’t it?”
“Yes, I see it is. If you can eat that you’re all right.”
“Oh, I’m aw right (hic)!” he said, as he allowed about a pint of the soup to spill upon the deck. “It’s the shoup that’s gone wrong. It’s half seas over awready.”
After a moment’s pause he began again: “Is this your firsht trip to the tropics?”
“Yes, I want to see them before I die.”
“Better wait till you die. It’s a —ll of a place for a live man. I’m going to set the ship on fire at five o’clock. I’ve been drinking, but I’m as shober as blue blazes now, and I’m going to shelebrate—she-(hic)elebrate.”
Seeing my chance to do some missionary work, I asked him why he didn’t join a temperance club, and thus relieve himself of all temptation to drink.
“No club for me, sir. Had enough clubbing when I’s a boy. Rather be hit by a cocktail. W’iskey’s the life of temper’nce clubs. Keeps ’em going (hic). W’iskey causes more good resolutions than bad ones—makes people wish to be better. An’ what’s better’n that?”
He stopped talking and stood grinning at me as I moved slowly away and faintly returned his smile. I then and there resolved never to take too much liquor again in any form. All men should sign the pledge before they die, as I expect to do. But as it was, I feared I might never have a chance to drink anything but Mississippi River water after five o’clock, when the ship was to burn. However, I calculated that since we would not be out of the river and away from land until six or seven o’clock, which would be from one to two hours after the fire, we could all save ourselves with life-preservers. So I went to my stateroom and finding that my life-preservers had real cork in them, instead of old-fashioned pig-iron, tied one to my valise and two to my trunk. Then I went back on deck and, being prepared for the danger, soon forgot all about it.
After speeding around many river-bends for two hours we went down to lunch, and the pilot, who ate with us, told us among other things that we were just four miles from New Orleans, across country. I told him not to hurry so, but to remember that “the more haste the less speed;” that on the Chicago River we would have traveled many miles in two hours, and that in Chicago we could walk faster than this boat ran; we could walk four miles in one hour. The pilot thought that I was in earnest and winked at the captain, who was of English descent and knew that a wink meant a joke. So he winked at both of us, and asked no questions. I afterward learned that the mention of Chicago was the joke they meant.
Although it was the third week of December, the shores were green and the scenery was interesting all the way, and the weather was warm enough to enable us to enjoy it. The delta presented the appearance of numerous small lakes with strips of meadow land between them, instead of branching streams as marked on the maps. We saw some fine plantations and a fine herd of cattle. Indeed, the district appeared to be an ideal one for raising cattle, as grass and water were plentiful, shelter unnecessary and fences superfluous.
Soon after six o’clock we came to the outlet which was indicated by a jetty on our left and the open sea ahead. The jetty was a pier built where the current could strike it and hollow out its own channel, the same as it does all along the river when it strikes the banks at the bends. A lighthouse and searchlight were, of course, on the end of the pier, which was a much smaller and simpler structure than I had considered necessary. The simple device was, as usual, the successful one.
The pilot got off here, but stopped and shook hands with me, and asked if I had enjoyed the ride. He told me that we had made one of the quickest runs to the mouth of the river on record for a fruit boat. I said: “As far as I’ve got I can’t conscientiously say that I am exhilarated by the speed. Bananas that want to ripen while they ride can’t complain, however. The river takes two dips sideways to every one forward like the best engineer who came aboard half seas over, and I can’t comprehend how a man as sober and steady as you seem to be can keep the ship going that way without forgetting himself at times and letting it take a straight and proper step or two occasionally and run into the shore.”
“Well, it’s this way,” he answered. “We become so accustomed to the zigzag course that zigzagging becomes a habit, and we find it hard to keep straight.”
“Yes,” I said, “and the engineers are acquiring the zigzag habit, too.”
As I did not bring in Chicago he didn’t see any joke.