Travels, Adventures, and Experiences of Thomas Trotter.
CHAPTER XIII.
Messina.—Trade of the place.—The Fata Morgana.—Embark for Naples.—The Sicilian pilot.—The Faro of Messina.—Scylla and Charybdis.—Exaggerations of the ancient writers.—Fatal adventure of a Neapolitan diver.
We found Messina quite a lively, bustling place, with a harbor full of all sorts of Mediterranean craft. Several American vessels lay at the quay, loading with oranges and lemons for Boston. These fruits constitute the chief trade of the place, and give employment to a great part of the population of the city and neighborhood. Every orange and lemon is carefully wrapped in a paper before being packed. The paper absorbs the moisture which exudes from the fruit, and prevents the rotting. Labor, however, is so cheap in this country that all this preparation adds but little to the cost of the cargoes. Another article exported is barilla, a sort of alkali, or potash, made by burning sea-weed. The barilla is used by our manufacturers for bleaching cotton cloth.
The city is very handsomely built, and has several fine squares, ornamented with statues and fountains. It has suffered severely from earthquakes at different times, and was once nearly destroyed; but its admirable situation for commerce has caused it to be rebuilt after every catastrophe. It stands just within the narrow strait which divides Sicily from the Italian coast, and has a very safe harbor, formed by a strip of land running out into the sea, in the shape of an elbow, which appears almost the work of art. In the interior, the city is enclosed by steep, rocky hills, which rise immediately from the walls, and shut out all prospect of the country; but the view toward the sea is very grand. The strait is six or eight miles wide in this part, though in the clear and transparent atmosphere of these regions, it does not appear to be more than three or four. The mountains of Calabria rise up majestically from the blue sea, dark, craggy, and frowning, with now and then a fleecy white cloud melting away on their summits. Feluccas, with latine sails, are gliding up and down the straits; and the white walls of Reggio rise from the water’s edge on the opposite side.
This is the spot on which that remarkable phenomena, called the Fata Morgana, has been observed. On the Italian side of the strait the inhabitants are sometimes astonished to behold in the air the images of castles, towns, palaces, houses, ships, &c. Being unable to account for these appearances, they ascribe them to magic; and these airy phantoms are supposed to be the work of a fairy named Morgana. The true cause is a certain rarefaction of the air, which brings into view objects far below the horizon; and the phenomena is not difficult to explain by the principles of optics. This appearance is not uncommon, near the shore, in all parts of the world. Lighthouses, towers, ships, &c., appear stretched up to three or four times their actual height. The sailors call this looming up. None of these apparitions, however, are so remarkable as the Fata Morgana.
On the 7th of March I went on board an Italian brig bound to Naples. It was a dead calm by the time we got out of the harbor, so we drifted back again and dropped anchor. Next morning the calm continued, and on looking across the water, we saw little specks of white cloud, hanging motionless on the sides of the mountains,—a sure sign that no wind was stirring there. The sea was as smooth as glass, and I expected a long delay; but presently a light breeze came down the strait. Though this was ahead, we determined to take advantage of it. We therefore got out the boats and warped out of the harbor, when we set our sails and beat up the straits to the north. Italian sailors are not very expert in the nicer arts of seamanship, and we made very little headway by our tacking. About the middle of the afternoon we dropped anchor, close to the Sicilian shore. There was a little village, with a pretty church at the water’s edge. The coast exhibited low sand-hills, with patches of green soil. After lying at anchor two or three hours, the wind hauled round, and we set sail again. About sunset we reached the mouth of the strait, where the extreme end of Sicily approaches close to the Italian shore. This is called the Faro of Messina. Here we set the pilot ashore, after an immense bawling and vociferation, occasioned by a dispute as to the amount of his fee. The Italians can seldom bargain to the amount of a shilling, without making a clamor and din as if it were a matter of life and death. The pilot wanted about twenty cents more than the captain was willing to pay. They plunged at once into a noisy dispute;—argued, contradicted, bawled, sputtered, grinned, stamped their feet, and flourished their arms like a couple of bedlamites. The sailors took part in the squabble; every ragged rogue put in his oar, and had something to say, till the hurly-burly became outrageous. The pilot was a queer looking fellow, with a red cap, tattered unmentionables, japanned with tar, a beard like a shoebrush, and a bluff, burly face, all bronzed by the sun, and weather-beaten—in short, the very picture of an old Triton; and so I called him from the moment he first met my eyes. I never laughed more heartily than at the sight of this squabble; but at length they agreed to split the difference, and old Triton paddled ashore, tolerably well satisfied.
The sun was going down as we passed out the strait. We had but a small breeze before, but almost in an instant we were assailed by violent gusts of wind that obliged us to take in our canvass. The captain pointed toward the rocky shore, and said to me, “There is Scylla.” I looked in the direction, and saw a huge, craggy rock not far from the shore, against which the waves were dashing. Here were Scylla and Charybdis, so famous in classical history, and so terrible to the mariners of old times. Homer, in his Odyssey, thus describes them:
“Dire Scylla there a scene of horror forms,
And here Charybdis fills the deep with storms:
When the tide rushes in her rumbling caves,
The rough rock roars, tumultuous boil the waves;
They toss, they foam, a dire confusion raise,
Like waters bubbling o’er a fiery blaze.”
The ancients, who were timid and unskilful in their navigation, give us exaggerated accounts of the dangers of the sea. Scylla they imagined to be a horrid monster, who sat on the seashore, and devoured the crews of such vessels as came within her reach. Charybdis was a fearful whirlpool, which swallowed up both ships and men. Very little of this description is true. Scylla is no monster, but only a steep, craggy rock, which is dangerous enough should a vessel run against it, but it is so easily seen that none but a very unskilful navigator need be afraid of it. Charybdis is no whirlpool, but only a spot where the winds and currents, drawing through the narrow strait between Italy and Sicily, cause a rough, chopping sea, with sudden and violent gusts. These, indeed, were great dangers to the small craft used by the ancients, but American sailors would laugh at them.
Some writers are of opinion that there was in reality a dangerous whirlpool in the strait, and that it has been destroyed by one of those violent earthquakes that have so often shaken the earth and sea in this quarter. It is my opinion, however, from a view of the coast on both sides, that no such alteration has taken place, and that the spot was no more dangerous in ancient times than it is at present. The marvellous part of the description is owing to the fictions and exaggerations of the ancient poets. But, at any rate, the water is very deep in the strait, and, like many other places in different parts of the world, it has the popular reputation of being bottomless. There was a man at Messina, famous for his exploits in swimming and diving, like our “Sam Patch.” He used to dive to immense depths in the water, and could walk on the bottom of the sea, if we are to believe his own story, for nobody ever went down with him to ascertain the truth. The king of Naples tempted him to dive into the gulf of Charybdis, by throwing a golden cup into the sea. He plunged in after it, but was not seen again till some days afterwards, when his body was found on the shore, thirty or forty miles distant.
CHAPTER XIV.
A calm among the Lipari islands.—Manners of the crew.—Stromboli.—A natural lighthouse.—A gale of wind.—Fright of the crew and danger of the vessel.—Loss of the topmasts, and narrow escape from shipwreck.—Arrival at Lipari.
Next morning, as I went on deck, I found the wind had died away, and left us becalmed among the Lipari islands. We were close to the island of Stromboli, which looked like the top of a mountain rising out of the water, with the smoke constantly pouring out at the top. All these islands are volcanic, and send forth flame and smoke occasionally, but Stromboli is constantly burning. Notwithstanding this, there are several thousand inhabitants upon it, who live chiefly by fishing. They pass a strange life, constantly pent up between fire and water. All day we lay becalmed, and I amused myself with looking at these curious islands through a spy-glass, and watching the odd behavior of the crew. They were picturesque-looking mortals, as all the Mediterranean sailors are: exceedingly ragged, noisy, and good-humored. When they were not telling stories, or cutting capers, they were sure to be eating. Indeed, there was very little time during the voyage that their jaws were not in motion. The principal food was bread and vegetables. There was a pile of greens on the deck nearly as big as a haycock: it was a species of fennel, which the Italians eat raw. The sailors munched it by handfuls as they went about their work. There was no meat in all the ship’s stores, but now and then a mess of fish was served up to the crew. They drank freely of red wine, but I never saw any one of them intoxicated.
The calm continued through the day and the following night. After dark, the summit of Stromboli began to grow red, and all night long it shot up streams of fire, giving a light that might be seen a great way off. This island is a natural lighthouse, loftier and more efficient than any work ever constructed by man. Volcanoes, with all their danger, are not without their uses.
A little after sunrise, a light breeze sprung up from the north, and by ten o’clock it blew pretty fresh. This was a head wind again, but we preferred it to a calm, as we were enabled to make some progress northward, by tacking. In a few hours, the clouds rose thick in the northwest, and the wind increased to a gale, with a violent chopping sea. We took in sail as fast as possible, but nothing could surpass the confusion and fright of the sailors. They ran fore and aft, as if out of their wits, and instead of pulling the ropes, did little else but cross themselves, fall on their knees, and pray to the Virgin Mary. I began to feel alarmed, though I had seen worse weather than this—and there was really no danger to the vessel with proper care—yet, with a crew half frightened to death, any accident might be the destruction of us all. The captain bawled to the sailors, who paid no attention to him, but bawled to one another, and cried, “Santissima Vergine! San Gennaro! Santa Rosolio!” and the names of forty other saints, male and female. My apprehensions became serious when I saw matters growing worse, instead of better. The crew did nothing which they should have done, and the vessel pitched, rolled, and floundered about, at the mercy of the winds and waves. The gale came on in harder gusts than ever; the sea dashed over the bows; and amid the roaring of the storm and the cries of the frightened wretches around me, I began to think it was all over with us. There was, however, one savage-looking fellow among the crew, whose looks gave me some hope: he was a real caitiff in appearance, and was evidently born to be hanged; therefore I concluded he could never be drowned.
Meantime, the masts were bending like twigs under the gale; the rigging was slack and crazy—worse than ever was seen on the clumsiest wood-thumper in Penobscot Bay. I saw it was impossible the spars could hold on much longer, unless the wind went down. Presently the foretopmast snapped short, just above the cap, and went over the side with an awful crash! The main-topmast followed almost immediately, and left us little better than a mere hulk. It is impossible to describe the scene of confusion and terror that followed. The miserable crew lost all courage and self-possession. They threw themselves upon their knees, and called upon the saints to save them. Had they behaved with the least coolness and discretion in the beginning of the gale, they might have guarded against this disaster. For my part, I almost gave myself over for lost; and as to my gallows-looking friend, I am quite certain that he lost for a time all hopes of dying by a rope. In fact, there was not a man in the whole crew but would have given his whole ragged wardrobe for the chance of a dry death. The vessel was now entirely unmanageable, and fell off with her broadside to the wind. A heavy sea came rolling on, and how we escaped being thrown on our beam-ends, I hardly know; but the vessel continued to roll and labor, with the sea dashing over the deck, to such a degree that I expected every moment would be our last. By good fortune at length she fell off still further, and brought her stern to the wind. The crew recovered from their fright sufficiently to attempt doing something to save their lives. With great exertions they got the wrecked spars clear, and set a little sail on the lower masts. By this help we began to scud before the wind. Having once more the vessel under some control, we gathered courage; but the gale was as furious as ever, and the sea increased in violence. We continued to scud for an hour and a half, when the cry of “terra! terra!” raised by the whole crew, announced the discovery of land, ahead. Such had been the hurly-burly, confusion, and terror on board, from the beginning of the gale, that not a man of the crew could guess where we were, or what land was in sight. Some thought it was Stromboli, and others imagined it to be the coast of Sicily. I now began to have more fear of the land than of the water, and wished for sea-room. Had there been any shoals in this quarter, we should infallibly have been shipwrecked; but fortunately there were none, as all the coasts have bold shores.
The land was high and mountainous, and we presently made it out to be the island of Lipari, about thirty miles from Stromboli. We steered as close to the island as we dared, and ran under the lee, where the height of the land broke the force of the gale. In this shelter we cast anchor, and found ourselves tolerably safe, with the probability that the gale would blow over in a few hours. I thanked Heaven for our escape; but formed a resolution never to trust myself at sea with Italian sailors again, as long as I had any other means of pursuing my rambles. In the midst of all these dangers, I would have given more for a couple of Yankee cabin boys than for the whole twenty lubbers of our valiant crew.
(To be continued.)