LAS PALMAS.
“IT’S the heartsomest sight ever I seen!” said the quartermaster.
They were steaming slowly in to the big harbour of Las Palmas. Jim and Wally were great friends with the quartermaster, although he had once fallen over them bodily, an awkward occurrence that had produced a temporary coolness. He had forgiven them since discovering that their knowledge of knots was beyond that of the ordinary land-lubber passenger, and that Jim carried good tobacco, and frequently had some to spare.
The harbour was gradually opening up ahead—and they were looking at a sight of which the Sealark had warned them. Dotted all over the land-locked stretch of dancing blue were ships, great and small; idle ships, with no smoke coming from them except the little trail from the cook’s galley. Many bore names well known in the big cities of the world where passenger steamers go. The Perseus went so close to some that they could scan their decks, where idle sailors lay about, playing cards and smoking—or leaned over the rail to watch the great British ship come slowly into port. Never had the Australian boys seen such sleepy ships.
“That one looks queer,” Jim said, indicating a vessel close in-shore; and the quartermaster grinned.
“She’s strolled ashore, an’ broke her back,” he said, cheerfully. “Good enough for her, too—and for the lot of ’em. Don’t it do your heart good to see ’em, miss?”—to Norah, who came up at the moment. “Lyin’ there with their dinky little black an’ white an’ red flags trailin’ out over their sterns, afraid to move; an’ the barnacles a-growin’ on ’em. They grow quick, too, in this nice warm water!”
“Are they the German ships?” Norah asked.
Jim nodded assent.
“Thirty-one of them,” he said, an unusual note of pride in his quiet voice. “Most of them have been there since the first fortnight of the war, when all the German merchant-shipping scurried for cover.”
“And there they sit,” said Wally, happily, “afraid to show their noses out, because they know they’ll be caught—and a little British cruiser comes and counts them now and then, like an old dog rounding up a mob of sheep.”
“They’ve sold all their cargoes for food,” said the quartermaster. “Ate ’em up, like—an’ much them Spaniards ashore gave ’em for the lot! Them Las Palmas dagoes must be pretty wealthy these times. An’ the beggars can’t get away, nor do nothink. Must make ’em feel pretty savage, seein’ ships like us come strollin’ in an’ out.”
“By Jove, it must!” Jim uttered. “Here are we, worth a million and a half of money—and just the cargo England wants—meat and wool and foodstuffs; and they’ve got to watch us go out safely! Wouldn’t it make you permanently sour!”
“Well, it brings home what sea-power means,” Mr. Linton said. “Not a bad thing to remember, this harbour, when things go wrong at the Front—and to realise that the same state of affairs is going on in many harbours. I’d like to know how many German ships are bottled up, all over the world; she can’t have much trade left.”
“Why, you won’t find the German merchant flag afloat, sir,” said the quartermaster, “unless it’s sittin’ tight in a neutral port like this. As for her trade——!” He snapped his fingers. “Well, she’s a long way off beat yet; but she ain’t doin’ any business!”
They had been running for some hours in sight of the Grand Canary, the chief island of the group—its rugged hills and headlands had been a welcome sight after the long stretch of unbroken sea. Since their escape from the German warship there had been a feeling of unrest all over the Perseus: the time seemed interminable, and the old sense of security in which they had lived contentedly had altogether gone. People were apt to jump at unusual sounds; books and games languished, for there was a painful fascination in scanning the sea for a smoke-trail that might or might not be another enemy cruiser. Above all, the hunger for news of the war became more and more intense, blotting out all lesser interests.
The Perseus dropped anchor in the outer harbour—so crowded with shipping were the inner waters, that the huge vessel would have had difficulty in finding room to turn. Almost immediately the agents’ launch was seen hurrying out from the shore. In its wake came a huge flotilla of dinghies, containing every saleable article known to the bumboat-men of the Islands—lace, alleged to be Spanish, fine linen embroideries and drawn-thread work, silks, “sandalwood” boxes—made of any wood that came handy, and soaked in sandal oil to tickle tourist nostrils—roughly carved ivory, Canary knives and ebony elephants—probably of Birmingham manufacture—and a host of other “curios,” equally reliable and valuable. In addition, there were boats loaded to the gunwale with oranges and others with vegetables; and some that were top-heavy with an unwieldy cargo of basket-chairs. Until the medical officer of the port had granted pratique to the ship, no one was allowed on board; so the boats clustered thickly on each side, and the men held up their wares, shrieking their prices, and managed to conduct quite a number of sales by the simple expedient of passing the goods up in a bucket lowered from the deck.
Spanish medical officers are generally full of their own importance, but devoid of any inclination to hurry. It was some time before the impatient passengers saw the official boat coming leisurely across the harbour; and a further delay ensued before the pompous Spaniard had satisfied himself that the Perseus was sufficiently free from any disease.
“They had small-pox brought to them by a ship once,” Mr. MacTavish told Norah; “and ever since they’ve been so scared that they’d refuse to let any one ashore if we had as much as a case of nettle-rash on board! Judging by the smells of the place when you get there, I should think they bred for themselves all the diseases they’d need.”
“He’s going back to his boat,” Norah said, looking over the rail at the gorgeous, gold-laced official.
“Then I expect it’s all right,” said the officer. “Just watch those bumboat-men.”
Some one had communicated to the boatmen the fact that the Perseus was free ground, and the boats were crowding to the gangway in a struggling mass, each striving for first place at the steps. There seemed no rules of the game; they shoved each other aside furiously, edged boats out of the way with complete disregard of the safety of their crews or cargoes, and kept up a continuous babel of shouts and objurgations, coupled with wild appeals to the passengers to wait for the bargains they were bringing.
“Look at that chap!” Wally said, chuckling at a man whose boat had just reached the steps when a well-directed shove from the stern sent it flying lengths ahead. The man subsided in a heap on his wares, which were of a knobbly character and not adapted for reclining. He protested, in floods of fluent Spanish, while his wily ejector, who had promptly taken his place, proceeded to get his own goods on board with much calmness.
“They’re awful sharks,” said Mr. MacTavish. “Generally they bring on board about three decent things, in case of striking any one who really knows good stuff; the rest is just the scrapings of the Las Palmas shops—all the things they know they’ll never sell ashore. You want to be up to their tricks—and, whatever you do, don’t give them more than a quarter of the money they ask.”
The Spaniards were pouring on board in a steady stream. Some, without wasting time, dashed to vacant spaces on the deck and began to lay out their wares; others rushed up and down, thrusting goods, fruit, and post-cards almost into the faces of the passengers and asking fabulous prices for them. Norah, who had no wish at all to buy a fan for which the vendor demanded five shillings, said, “I’ll give you ninepence,” and expected to see him disappear in wrath. But the Spaniard smiled widely and said, “Thank you, miss!”—and Norah found herself the embarrassed possessor of the fan, while the seller as urgently begged her to buy an elephant.
“Oh, take me away, Wally!” she said, laughing. “Can’t we go ashore?”
“There’s a launch coming off now,” Mr. MacTavish said. “They’ll take you, and bring you back. But don’t go unless you’re a good sailor, Miss Norah—there’s a cheery little lap on in this harbour.”
“I’ll risk it,” Norah declared, laughing.
“Well, it upsets quite a few,” said the junior officer. “However, you’re ashore in a quarter of an hour, so the agony isn’t prolonged.”
The launch bobbed cheerily across the harbour, and the “lop” of which Mr. MacTavish had spoken proved quite sufficient for several of the passengers, who were both green and glad when the little boat arrived at the stone steps of the wharf. At the head of the steps enthusiastic drivers proffered their services. The Billabong party, by the Captain’s advice, had engaged a guide—a bustling gentleman, speaking very imperfect English, who hurried them to the quaint little carriages of the town—two-wheeled, hooded erections, capable, when rattling over their native cobblestones, of inflicting innumerable contusions on the human frame. They dashed wildly up a long, ascending road, the drivers urging their raw-boned steeds with whip and voice.
Las Palmas, to the hurried tourist, offers but little in the way of sight-seeing. To the leisured, with time to drive away from the white town, up the mountain, to Monte and Santa Brigida, there is opportunity for seeing the best of the island—rolling country with deep little cleft glens running to the sea, banana gardens, and the vineyards among which Santa Brigida nestles—vineyards where the Canary wine of old days was made. Motor-buses run there to-day—unromantic successors to the gay old adventurers who sailed the Spanish Main and drank Canary sack.
The majority of ships, however, stay in the port but a few hours, making the call only for mails and vegetables and a shipment of fruit for London; so that the average tourist can but put himself in the hands of a guide and make a meteoric dash through the city, seeing what the guide chooses to show him, and no more.
“Did you ever see such unfortunate, raw-boned horses!” gasped Norah. “I do wish our man wouldn’t beat him so continually.”
The guide smiled widely. “De horse she not mind de beat,” he said.
“I expect they’re used to it,” Jim remarked; “it really seems part of the show. Anyway, they all do it.”
They hurried through the great Cathedral, seeing vestments three hundred years old; through the fruit and fish markets; and then to the place which the guide plainly regarded as the champion attraction of the town—the prison. It was a gloomy building, entered through a big courtyard where snowy-white geraniums bloomed in startling contrast to the grim stone walls. Within, they glanced at the room where trials were held; and then were conducted along dim corridors and into a cell where an unpleasant iron framework was fixed above a bare iron chair.
“De garotte!” announced the guide, proudly. “Where dey put to death de murderers!” He sat down in the iron chair, and obligingly put his neck in the clutch of the grisly collar, to show how it worked—whereat Mr. Linton uttered an ejaculation of wrath, and hastily removed his daughter.
“Do they really kill people there?” Norah asked, wide-eyed. It did not seem easy to realise.
“They do—but there’s no need for you to look at the beastly place!” said her father, indignantly.
“Well, it looked awfully tame,” said Norah. “I suppose I haven’t enough imagination, daddy. It was rather like the arrangement they put to keep your head steady in a photographer’s!”
Jim and Wally came out, followed by the guide, who looked rather crestfallen.
“Unpleasant beast!” remarked Jim. “He’s been showing us a collection of knives and scythes and other grisly weapons, with dark and deadly stains—says various ladies and gentlemen used them to slay other ladies and gentlemen! First you see the garotte, and then what brings you to it. It puts you off murdering any one, at all events in Las Palmas!”
“It makes me feel like murdering the guide!” said Wally. “I never saw any one gloat so unpleasantly!”
They left the prison and rattled back into the main streets of the town. Spanish girls in graceful mantillas looked down upon them from upper windows; and once Norah declared that she saw a Spanish cavalier serenading one, with guitar all complete—which seemed unlikely, even in Las Palmas, in broad daylight. The streets were narrow and dirty, the cobblestones unbelievably rough. At top speed the little carriages bumped over them, their occupants bouncing hither and thither, and suffering many things. They rejoiced unaffectedly when at length they halted, and set out on foot to explore the business part of the town.
The shops were full of fascinating things, to unaccustomed eyes, and their owners did not wait for people to enter, but came to the doorways, or even out into the streets, begging them to buy; each pointing out how much more excellent was his shop than that of his neighbour. Whether they succeeded or failed in making a sale, they were always exquisitely polite.
“You feel,” said Wally, “that even if they don’t manage to sell you a pennyworth, they’re amply rewarded for their trouble, by the pleasure of having seen you!”
In a restaurant overlooking the sea they procured very bad coffee with cakes of startling colours and quite poisonous taste; after which refection every one felt rather ill, and formed a high opinion of Spanish digestive powers. There were German sailors in the restaurant evidently from the ships in the harbour; they looked sourly at the cheery little party of English-speaking people, and muttered guttural remarks that clearly were not pleasant.
“It’s hardly to be expected that they should feel good-humoured at the sight of us,” said Jim. “Poor beggars—here since war broke out, with nothing to do, and practically no money; and their ships rotting in the harbour. And they have to watch us go in and out just as we please. It wouldn’t excite one’s finer feelings, if one were a German.”
“Have Germans got any?” queried Wally.
“They’re not overstocked, I believe,” Jim said, grinning. “But one wouldn’t develop many in Las Palmas, anyhow. I’ve seen more villainous faces here than in the whole course of my previous existence. Our Zulu friend in Durban was a beauty, compared to some of them.”
“Yes, one wouldn’t care to wander about here alone on a dark night,” said his father. “Half of the populace look as though they would quite cheerfully and politely assassinate any one for sixpence. Come on, children; the guide seems to be getting excited—it’s time we went back to the ship.”
The Perseus steamed away in the twilight—the crowd of boatmen chattering and shouting round her until the last moment, and attempting to sell for a few pence articles for which, earlier in the day, they had demanded many shillings. Past the imprisoned German ships they went, seeing the sullen crews watching them, envying them the freedom of the seas. The captain came along the deck as they watched the sunset and the slowly fading white town under the mountain.
“Well, we didn’t get much news out of Las Palmas,” he said. “One never does. It’s all deadlock, anyhow, at the Front; winter has shut down on a lot of activities.”
“Judging by my papers, most of the battle area seems water-logged,” said Mr. Linton. “It wouldn’t give much scope for movements.”
“No,” the captain agreed. “Personally, the agents have left me completely undecided; we’re scheduled to go to London, but they say we may be sent to Liverpool—or anywhere else.” He laughed. “Time was when a man was master on his ship—but in war he’s not much more than a cabin-boy. There’s a hint that the Government want our cargo of meat to go straight to France.”
“What—would we go there?” Norah queried, much excited.
“Not much!” said the captain, with emphasis. “Too many mines and submarines about, Miss Norah, to take passengers on cross-Channel excursions. No, I guess I’d have to land you all at some Channel port. They say we’ll hear by wireless—meanwhile, I wouldn’t advise you to label your luggage.”
Mr. Linton looked anxious.
“I’ll be just as glad if we don’t have the trip up the Channel,” he said. “There would be no further danger of cruisers, I suppose; but one does not feel encouraged by the idea of floating mines—not with daughters about.”
“Indeed, you catch me letting you meet a mine alone!” said Norah hastily. “Me, that can hardly trust you to change your coat when it’s wet!” Whereat the Captain chuckled and departed.