A Nurse's Life in War and Peace

by E. C. Laurence

I have always wanted to see a storm at sea; but I am now quite satisfied, and I shall never want to see another. It is most unpleasant to be battened down, and the engines sound to be so fearfully on the strain and tremble that you feel you must listen for the next beat of the screw, knowing that if the engines should fail your chance of weathering the storm would be a very small one indeed.

After that the weather improved, and also became warmer, and the passengers one by one came crawling up on deck; but most of them looked as though they had been through a long illness, and could talk about nothing but their alarm in the storm; and the captain owned he had had a very anxious time.

We landed at Santa Cruz early one afternoon—a very unsavoury town, with dirty beggars exhibiting various loathsome diseases and following you about.

After a little delay we secured a carriage and three horses to drive across the island to Orotava, twenty-six miles distant—a pretty, winding road, cool up in the hills, but becoming hot as we descended to Puerto Orotava. The hotel was full, but we secured rooms in a dependence; and when we had rested and changed, we found a carros ready to take us across to dinner. A carros is a kind of sledge on broad runners drawn by two oxen. They are much used in the town, as the roads are paved with little cobbles, which would pull the wheels about a great deal.

This is a nice hotel, cool and airy, and the garden is lovely—such quantities of roses, bougainvillias, and bright trees of hibiscus. There is a good billiard-room we can use, and it is open all down one side (only matting blinds). That shows how dry the climate is, as the table is perfectly "true."

The waiters are Spaniards, who know a little English and like to use it. "This is jarm, very goot," &c. We go about with our little red book of phrases, and sometimes get what we want, but more often fail to make ourselves understood. The natives are most interesting, the children such pretty little things with very bright eyes. Up in the hills they still consider it is winter, and the men go about with blankets tied round their necks; and when they squat down on the ground, the blanket flows out and makes a little tent round them. Down here it is really hot, and the small children wear nothing but a little chemise. The women are pretty, and they wear brilliant-coloured handkerchiefs tied over their heads.

We are close to the sea, and it is such a gorgeous blue; I have never seen anything like it before. I suppose it is very deep round here, and the Peak rises 12,000 feet, straight from the sea.

There is no English church yet, but the chaplain holds services in a large room fitted up as a church. Every one rides when he goes anywhere here, even when going to church; so during service there is a large company of ponies and donkeys outside, with the attendant men and boys (all in white suits, with bright-coloured sashes), and now and again the donkeys lift up their voices.

I have found a good chestnut pony ("Leaña") that goes well. They are sure-footed little beasts here; and it is necessary for them to be so, as there is only one "made" road, and for the rest we scramble up mountain paths. But when we get on the road they simply scamper along.

M. has not done much riding; and sometimes, when we are scrambling up a steep place, I look back, and find her holding on for dear life with a most resigned expression on her face. But I think she is enjoying it all immensely.