Brazil and La Plata: The personal record of a cruise

by C. S. Stewart

I do not recollect to have mentioned the romance of the honey-moon of Mr. and Madame L—— at Buenos Ayres, in the early days of the despotism of Rosas. Madame L——, previously the Signorita ——, a native of the city, and member of the Romish church, ventured to be married to Mr. L—— by an American missionary, without the consent of the Dictator. This was contrary to an existing law; and the consequence was that the bride was very unceremoniously immured for three months in a nunnery, while the groom and clergyman were as summarily arrested, and thrown into prison. Mr. L—— was then established in mercantile business at Buenos Ayres. But indignant at such an interference with the rights of conscience and personal freedom, on regaining his liberty, he withdrew with his wife to Montevideo, and is now a chief capitalist in this section of South America.

On joining the Commodore at Mrs. Z——’s, I found quite a party of the H——’s and other friends. The ladies were in more dress than usual; the rooms were well lighted; and the tea-table richly and elegantly appointed; and in the enjoyments of an evening of music, both vocal and instrumental, including some fine chants and psalmody, we were tempted for the time to forget our exile.

The private dwellings in Montevideo, whether only one, or two stories high, are all built in the Spanish-Morescan style, having a quadrangle within, enclosing a pateo, or open square in the centre. Upon this, where there is but one story, and upon an encircling verandah or corridor, above where there are two, all the apartments open, through doors and French windows. The pateos in the one case, and the verandahs in the other, are usually filled with running vines, and flowering plants and shrubs, in boxes of earth, or in urns and vases. The parapeted walls of the flat roofs are also often ornamented by vases, containing aloes and various cacti; and I have often been struck, on passing to the staircase in leaving, with the ornamental and picturesque effect of these—especially in bright moonlight—as they stand out in strong relief against the sky.

However good the promise of fair weather may have been in going on shore, we never take leave for a return to the ship at night, without a greater or less degree of uncertainty, as to the manner and circumstances in which we may get on board. The shallowness of the roadstead obliges vessels of the draught of the Congress to lie two or three miles from the shore; and even then, such are often cradled at low water in a bed of mud three or four feet deep; but the distance is a trifle, compared with the obstacle to a visit to the shore, either for exercise or pleasure, arising from the frequency and suddenness of the south and south-west winds, called pamperos. These often burst over the water with little or no warning, and by their fierceness and the sea they raise, cut off, for twenty-four hours or more, all communication between the ship and the shore. Twice within the first week of our arrival, a party in the Commodore’s barge was detained a night and a day on shore under such circumstances; and other boats sent on shore on various objects of duty, at least as many times. Fortunately for some of us, Mr. Frazier, of the American house of Frazier, Zimmerman & Co., being without other family than the employees of the counting-room, had it in his power to offer some of us, on those occasions, an asylum in the well-appointed residence in which he dispenses a liberal and generous hospitality. The few hotels in the place, kept principally by Frenchmen and Italians, are comfortless, especially in their accommodations for sleeping.

A few nights ago, on reaching the mole, a high and piercing wind was blowing, very much from the point we wished to steer, tumbling a rough and wild sea before it. We could not lay our course for the ship within several points: leaving a long and heavy pull for the oarsmen, after we should take in sail. Close hauled upon the wind, and plunging into the head sea, all hands were well showered, even as far aft as the stern-sheets, by the spray dashed from the bows. In disgust at this winding up of the pleasures of the evening, the Commodore exclaimed that it would be “the last of his night expeditions from the shore;” that hereafter he would limit his visits to the daytime, and then to fine weather. However, the barge is a beautiful sea-boat, riding the swelling waves—whether propelled by oars or canvas—like a duck, and under sail, skimming the crested waters like a sea-bird. When obliged at last to take to the oars, the pull to the ship was not so long, or the trouble in getting on board on the lee-side so great, as we had apprehended. The next morning the weather was tranquil as a summer’s day; and the Commodore, beckoning me to join him on the poop as he was taking a turn before breakfast, said, “Why, Mr. S——, the getting off last night was not so bad after all. I must take back my hard speeches about the place and weather, and recall my rash vows. I think we may still venture an evening’s visit.” This we soon did, and our return on board, for that and two or three successive nights, was the very perfection of every thing lovely in moonlight upon the water. The air was mild and balmy; the river, smooth and glassy as a lake, seemed beneath the moonbeams, a very sea of silver; a fair and gentle land-breeze kept the sails of the boat just steadily full—wafting us imperceptibly along, while every thing above, beneath, and around us, was so tranquil, so bright, and so pure, that we were charmed by it into a musing mood of the profoundest silence.

The prevailing weather, at present, is like that of the finest October at home, with which season—that of autumn—it corresponds. The mornings are cool, bracing, and brilliant; at noon, the temperature is almost hot, and the nights are humid and cold. The sunsets are equal, in the beauty and softness of the tintings and colors, to any I recollect to have observed in any part of the world. To judge from the apparent purity and elasticity of the atmosphere, it would seem that the climate could not be otherwise than healthful; yet the sick list on board the Congress, from catarrhs, inflammation of the lungs, and rheumatism, is greater than at any time since the beginning of our cruise. Some of the cases of pneumonia are very severe, and threaten to prove fatal. This increase of sickness and its character, are attributable, probably, to the frequent recurrence, amidst all this brightness, of wintry storms of two or three days’ continuance: like a cold and boisterous equinoctial gale in the United States, with pouring rain and piping winds. Indeed, the anchorage here is a terrible place for winds at all seasons of the year: terrible, not from danger to the ships—for the whole bottom is a soft and tenacious mud, into which large vessels safely cradle—but in the discomfort on board in a storm, and the inconvenience of communicating with the shore.

The special interruptions to the monotony of a daily routine on my own part, have been a series of infant baptisms, in the families of various foreign residents, English, Scotch, and German; three marriages in which the grooms were foreigners also—American and English; and the funeral of an American lady, long a resident of Montevideo. The groom at one of the weddings was Dr. K—— of the navy, surgeon of the St. Louis; his bride, the Signorita L——, daughter of Don Juan L——, Secretary to the Senate of the Republic of Uruguay. The ceremony was private, Commodore McKeever, the captain of the St. Louis, one or two other naval officers, Madame L——, the god-mother of the bride, and the immediate members of the family constituting the party. Another of the marriages was in the presence of a large company, and was followed by a general reception of the society of Montevideo, and a ball. The parties being English, the presence of the representative of the British government was necessary, to give validity to the rite, according to act of parliament; and the ceremony was followed by the making out of a certificate, at a centre-table of the drawing-room, on a folio sheet of paper, to which, as first witness, the Hon. Mr. Gore, H. M. Chargé d’ Affaires, attached his name officially. Nearly the whole company, both ladies and gentlemen, gave witness to the event in a similar manner, so that, in the end, the document, in its length of signatures, rivalled a Magna Charta or Declaration of Independence. It was the first occasion, except at the chapel, in which I had met so large a company of Montevideans, or in which there was a mingling of the native Americo-Spanish society. The ladies of this blood have been celebrated by travellers for their beauty, and for sprightliness and grace of manner; and justly, I would say, were I to judge in the matter, from one at least, of those present on this occasion: Mrs. R——, the wife of a young, but retired captain in the British navy, a son of Admiral Sir J—— R——. She is beautiful, and apparently truly lovely, with more of the bearing and manners of polished life than most other ladies I have met since I left the United States. Others equally favored may have joined the party afterwards, but of this I cannot speak. The general company were only beginning to arrive, as, under the guidance of Mr. Gore, I left for the British Consulate, to officiate in the baptism of a child, which had been appointed for the same evening.

The first funeral I have been called to attend, was at the house in which I performed the first marriage ceremony after our arrival. The mother of the young and lovely bride, an American lady, was, at the time, in so feeble a state from consumption, as scarce to be able to be present. She has failed rapidly since, and was buried on the 16th.

During the years of prosperity in Montevideo, a Protestant burial-ground was laid out, a half mile beyond the outer gate, along the edge of a narrow ravine and watercourse. It was enclosed by a handsome wall of brick, planted with trees and shrubbery, contained many tombstones and monuments of marble, and was one of the most attractive spots in the suburbs. It was found, however, on the commencement of hostilities, that the walls and trees gave shelter to the assailants, in their approaches to the city, and interfered with the effect of the batteries of the besieged. The walls consequently were razed, and the trees cut down by the inside party. The result is an entire ruin. The tombs and monuments are mostly overturned and destroyed, and the place, though still appropriated to its original use, is utterly desecrated. Scarce a stone is standing, and not a vestige of ornament or beauty remains. I could not avoid being struck, amid other objects in the scene—at the funeral, with the appearance of the hearse—the best the city now affords, and emblematic of all its attempts at display. Its curtains of velvet, once doubtless black, are now faded to a muddy orange, and are all tattered and torn; and what were, originally, plumes of ostrich feathers, nodding gracefully at each corner, are now only bristling quills, from which every feather has fallen in decay. It was drawn by two miserable, starved mules in a wretched harness, and altogether was a mockery of the pomp and pageantry of the grave.

The subject reminds me to mention the receipt by the last English mail, of a letter from the family of Ramsey, in whose fate you express an interest, from the account given of his sudden death, last October. It is in answer to one by which I communicated the bereavement. He was of a pious household, who were deeply afflicted by the intelligence sent, but consoled by the assurance, that every possible attention had been paid to him. The letter is from a young man, the only surviving son of the family. He says, “It is impossible to attempt a description of the scene exhibited, as I endeavored to read aloud the heart-rending account of the death of one we loved so dearly. It can never be forgotten by any one present. The whole family were overwhelmed, and I myself entirely unmanned;” and adds in another part—“the night after we received the melancholy tidings, a most touching incident occurred: caused by my youngest sister Jessie, a child of six years, when preparing to retire to rest. She had not been told the sad news, and while on her knees by my mother’s side praying aloud, her little hands resting upon her lap, she prayed, as was her custom, that God would keep and bless her dear brother at sea, and bring him in safety home to us. The scene that ensued was most afflicting; we all wept most bitterly, while the little one cried as if her heart would break, when told that the poor brother, for whom she prayed, was lost to her for ever in this world.”