I had long expected far-famed Rio to be the climax and end of my South American wanderings. Portuguese civilization had never aroused any great interest within me; a glimpse of Brazil, with possibly a glance at Venezuela on my way home, to complete my acquaintance with the former Spanish colonies, seemed a fitting conclusion of a journey that had already stretched out into almost three years. When I had “fiscalized” the “Botanical Garden” street-car line for nearly a fortnight, therefore, and seen the chief sights of the Brazilian capital, I began to think of looking into the question of getting back to the United States.
Contrary to my earlier expectations, it would not be necessary to sign on as a sailor or stoke my way across the equator. With my unanticipated salary of six thousand a day and by dint of long experience in sidestepping high prices, I had succeeded in clinging to the equivalent of a hundred dollars from my consular earnings, as a reserve fund for this last emergency. With that munificent sum on hand, I might even scorn the long-familiar steerage and treat myself to a second-class passage on any of the steamers sailing frequently from Rio to New York.
Unfortunately I had not been keeping my ear to the ground. Years of care-free wandering in those sections of the earth where life is simple and in which man learns to depend chiefly on himself had caused me to overlook certain characteristics of the more complicated world I was rejoining. There even a vagabond is only to a limited degree a free agent. The reserve fund I had unexpectedly saved from the maw of Brazilian profiteers was in paper milreis and as one had been able for more than a decade to turn 300$000 into twenty English gold sovereigns at will, I had neglected to do so at once. On the bright “winter” morning of Saturday, the first of August, I strolled out of my modest hotel and along the Avenida Central with my habitual air of a care-free man of unlimited leisure—almost instantly to recognize that there was something strange in the wind. Before the offices of the Jornal do Commercio and the Jornal do Brazil were gathered seething crowds, eagerly spelling out the voluminous bulletins in their windows. I paused to read with them. Some one, it seemed, had kicked over the balance of power in Europe and France and Russia had decided to try to give Germany the trouncing for which she had so long been spoiling.
The news came to me out of a tropically clear sky. I did recall having glanced at a brief newspaper paragraph somewhere during my journey northward from Uruguay, to the effect that some prince of Austria and his consort had been killed at a Serbian town of which I had never heard; but I had known other assassinations of Europeans of high degree to blow over without a war resulting. Squabbling was always going on in the Balkans anyway. Pessimists had it that there was going to be a long and a real war; in common with all other wise men of the period I smiled condescendingly at the silly notion.
Yet here were very decided rumors of war. Maps were already appearing in the windows of newspaper offices, with scores of black and red-headed pins on them to show the advance of the various armies. The flurry might not amount to much, but it was high time I turned my paper milreis into real money, bought my ticket, and got out of this temperamental country before something serious really did happen. I strolled on and dropped into one of the countless “exchange” booths that flourish in and about the Avenida Central. Handing out my three hundred thousand reis I requested the man inside to hand me back twenty gold sovereigns. He looked at me scornfully, pointed to a small paragraph in the newspaper under my elbow, and went on painting a sign on a piece of cardboard. Perusing these I learned the astounding news that the milreis, which had been rated fifteen to the English sovereign as far back as men with average memories could recall, had dropped overnight to twenty-three to the pound! In other words of the same profane nature, my hundred dollars had dwindled in a few hours, merely on the strength of a bit of news from squabbling Europe, to about seventy. I refused to be “done” in that fashion. It was merely the old familiar trick of bankers who were taking advantage of a temporary scare to rob the garden variety of mankind of our hard-won earnings. In a day or so honesty, or at least competition, would prevail, and my three hundred milreis would be worth more nearly their honest value again. I re-pocketed them and decided to wait until the exchange moderated—and two days later my seventy dollars was worth less than sixty!
It may seem ridiculous that a man with three hundred thousand in his pocket should worry—at least to those who do not know Brazil, her currency, her prices, and her profiteers. But I began to feel uneasy. Not merely was the money I had by superhuman efforts saved to carry me home calmly melting away in my pocket without even being touched, but before long touching became unavoidable. In less time than would have seemed possible a third of my miserable bills had disappeared. Even if I got away at once, I should have to go straight home without stopping at Venezuela, and if I did not hurry I should not get home at all. I raced to the steamship offices—only to get a new shock. Not only had the value of my money been cut in two, and a third of it used up, but the price of steamship tickets had suddenly and mysteriously doubled, and only English gold was accepted. If I could have jumped upon a steamer that day, I could still have paid for a third-class passage. But there was no boat due for three days, and there were good chances that this would be several days late!
The air was full of war-bred excitement. Before it was announced that England had declared war, the British cruiser that had been lying in the harbor for nearly a week with her fires up was out stopping and searching all traffic along the coast. Several ships flying the German flag were anxiously awaiting orders in the bay, little realizing that their last voyage under that banner was over. Another German vessel forcibly put ashore fifty Russian steerage passengers who had embarked in Buenos Aires with all their savings, generously giving them back one-third the money they had paid for passage to Europe. Detachments of rifle-bearing Brazilian policemen patrolled the wharves to preserve order between the various nationalities. The German consul general had ordered all Germans on the reserve list in Brazil to report to the nearest consulate prepared to sail for home. German reservists poured into the capital from the southern states until it was only by climbing over a score or so of them that I could reach my room, into which two of them had been thrust. A standing client of the hotel, a business man of some standing and education, presumed upon our slight acquaintance to insist one evening that I walk out with him. As we stood before the bulletin-blinded window of the Jornal do Brazil with its pin-spotted map of Europe, my companion gloated loudly over each piece of news:
“In two veeks ve are in Parees! I go mineself to-morrow morning to offer me to der gonsul. Oh, py Gott, ven only Eng-lant stop noytral, ven only Eng-lant stop noytral!”
Unfortunately, from the German point of view, England did not “stop noytral,” and a few days later the German reservists began drifting back to the fazendas and chacaras from which they had been called.
A twelve-day holiday was declared by the government, so that even those who had money in the banks were as badly off as I, and as the value of the milreis went steadily downward, prices went skyrocketing. Day after day I invaded every steamship office in Rio, without distinction as to race, color, or customary rascality. I took captive every ship’s captain who ventured ashore, offering to do anything for my passage from shoveling coal to parading the poop with his wife’s pet poodle. Nothing doing! Even if a ship did now and then lift anchor and sneak away in the general direction of the United States, there were crowds of would-be passengers with vastly more influence, and far more mesmerism over the root of evil, than I, who were quite as willing to do anything within the pale of respectability to reach “God’s country.” I might, of course, have cabled home for passage money. There were one or two persons in my native land who probably had both the wealth and the confidence required to answer properly to such an appeal. But I had long since made it a point of honor that when I got myself in a hole I should get out again without screaming for a rope.