Few harbors in the world are better adapted for such a scene. There is no deep bay, no narrow channel to choke the entrance. The harbor is simply an open roadstead of the Pacific. All that Admiral Evans had to do was to turn to one side, sweep along the city front just outside the line of moored shipping and pass on. He was on the broad swells of the Pacific again within an hour from the time he had turned in shore. It was an hour of education for Chile, with a lesson in it that otherwise she could not learn in years, and at its conclusion there was such a genuine note of appreciation in the exchange of farewells that any student of the forces that work for good or evil in international affairs must have been glad that the courtesy call was made.
One also could understand somewhat the feelings of Admiral Evans, who, after it was all over, sent this characteristic Evans message to the fleet in words that every man on every ship understood thoroughly:
"The Commander-in-Chief thanks the officers and men of the fleet for the handsome way they did the trick to-day."
It was handsome and it was stirring. Of course the word trick was used by the Admiral only in a colloquial sense; there was no trick about it, for it was simply going a little out of the way to be nice and decent to a people who for many years had mistrusted us and had said things too. But what is the use of being a big nation if you can't be big hearted with it and show that you don't hold resentments? A thousand to one that Chile's sincere friendship will be ours for many, many years to come.
Unusual as this cruise is, it is the unusual and unexpected that have come out from it as its salient features. The profound indifference of the people of Trinidad to the fleet was unusual and something of a bump. The exuberant welcome and unrestrained hospitality of Brazil was unusual. The salutes to the flags exchanged between the fleets of Argentina and the United States on the high seas were unusual. The despatch of a cruiser on the part of Chile to its most remote port and carrying our Minister was unusual. The Vice-Admiral salutes given all along the line to Admiral Evans, whether by accident or design, were unusual. Having a warship escort the fleet through almost the entire length of its coast line, as Chile did, was unusual. Lastly the departure from an established programme to run into the greatest harbor of another nation to fire salutes to its flag and President was unusual.
From the moment that the fleet headed out into the Pacific from the Strait of Magellan, in company with the flagship Chacabuco carrying the flag of Admiral Simpson of the Chilean navy, there was much speculation as to the kind of reception it would receive in Valparaiso. The great cordiality shown by Admiral Simpson and the Chilean authorities in Punta Arenas bespoke the warmest kind of a welcome. But speculation still continued, and indeed there was little else to do, for a fog settled upon the waters, which, added to the turbulent condition of the Pacific, made the trip for several days one of comparative gloom. Occasionally the fog would lift and you could catch a glimpse of some of the other divisions of the fleet. Once after nearly twenty-four hours it vanished completely and there was a genuine ring of satisfaction over the sight it must have presented to the Chacabuco far off to the westward, for there was the entire American fleet exactly in position, sailing precisely as if there had been no fog to hide the ships from one another. But everybody knew that it would be so.
"That's going some; wonder what the Chilean Admiral thinks of that?" was heard on all sides.
Then the fog shut in again and for two days more the fleet ploughed on. It was in a column of divisions formation, that is, the four ships of the first division were abreast of one another and 400 yards apart. Twelve hundred yards astern the ships of the second division were in a similar formation. The third and fourth followed in the same way. Sometimes the fog was so thick that on the Louisiana, which was on the left flank of the first line, we couldn't see our nearest neighbor, the Vermont. The Connecticut, off to the right, would toot her letter on the whistle, the Kansas would toot hers at once and then the Vermont would sound hers, followed by the Louisiana. The steering was done by compass almost entirely. Occasionally we would find the Vermont inching over to us and she would loom up out of the fog quite near, but her whistle would say:
"Give me a little more room, please; the Kansas is crowding me over. When she goes back toward the flagship, or the flagship eases off a bit, I'll go back. Just a little room, please!"
Then the Louisiana would swing off and a fog bank would cut off sight of each other. Then there would be another lift and it would be found that one ship was a hundred yards or so ahead of the others, or perhaps that they were exactly in line. The searchlights on the ships were thrown abeam so that for most of the time it was comparatively easy to tell where your immediate neighbor was. Sometimes we could hear the ships of the other divisions whistling faintly and we wondered whether the fleet formation had been broken seriously by currents or faulty steering, but every time the fog lightened there the ships were, shifted now and then a little, but in the main exactly where they should be.