Getting Off
The United Fruit Company’s Ships—Delay—Brushing up in Spanish—Getting off—The Musical Engineer—Spilling Soup—Threatened Arson—A Resolve Never to Take Too Much Liquor Again—The Pilot—Four Miles in Two Hours—The Captain’s Wink—Chicago as a Joke—The Jetty—Unexhilarating Speed—The Zigzag Habit.
From New Orleans the United Fruit Company sends a steamer every week to Colón and Bocas del Toro, in Panama, and one to Port Limón, in Costa Rica. Most of the boats are small and better adapted to the accommodation and comfort of bananas than of human beings. However, those who are poor sailors can, by arranging dates and taking one of the large (?) ships, get to Panama almost as comfortably as from New York, and in a little over half the time. If one is a good equilibrist and loves solitude, there is even an advantage in taking one of the smaller fruit boats, for they ordinarily have so few passengers that one has almost the whole boat to oneself—and needs it. Mr. M. J. Dempsey, the traffic manager at New Orleans of the United Fruit Company, was very accommodating and painstaking, both in corresponding with me and in placing me after I arrived at New Orleans. The company is better than its boats.
Having missed the Friday boat for Colón, I made the best of my misfortune by feasting on fresh oysters, French café-au-lait and French water-rolls. In fact, I was benefited by the short delay, as the S. S. Limón, the newest and largest in the service, sailed on Monday morning directly for Port Limón, offering me an opportunity of visiting San José, the capital of Costa Rica, the so-called Paris of Central America, and of avoiding the crowd of doctors who were going later. In this case I was particularly anxious to avoid the otherwise congenial crowd, because I wanted to get away from English-speaking people during the four or five days on the water. Thus I would have a chance to brush up my Spanish by being forced to speak it to the Central American passengers, the officers, steward, sailors, etc. I would then be better prepared to converse with the South American doctors. But when I went aboard I found that the S. S. Limón was an old Glasgow ship with a new name, and had a Canadian captain and Jamaican crew. The passengers were all Americans and English, and I was the only one on board who could speak, or cared to speak, a word of Spanish. I was, therefore, obliged to brush up my Spanish without a brush.
We got off at 11 A. M. There were several passengers standing about on deck gazing listlessly at the negroes on the dock,—but not a friend of any of us could be seen, not a smile or wave of hand or flutter of handkerchief. It seemed quite doleful not even to see a friend or relative of some one else.
The only incident that varied the monotony came near being an accident. It was the arrival of one of the engineers, who was a man of unusually refined features for one in his station of life, but who was in such a happy state of mind that had it not been for the assistance of his peers he would have walked off the gangplank into the water, for he took two steps and stoops sideways to every one forward. He was softly singing, “For to-night we’ll merry, merry be; to-morrow we’ll be shober.” I felt relieved when I saw that he was safely aboard where liquor was not sold, and I realized for the first time what a great blessing ships were to sailors. As soon as he was safely over the gangplank he straightened up and said, “I’m the besht eng’neer aboard. I can run an engine better’n I can walk a plank. I’ve been drinking like the —— but I’m not drunk. I’m a Christian scientist, I am. I only think I’m drunk (hic).”
About an hour afterward as I was wandering about exploring the ship, I came across him balancing himself along on his way from the kitchen to the mess room, carrying a big iron pot of greasy soup and spilling it liberally. Upon seeing me, he smiled blandly and said:
“Good shoup this, ain’t it?”
“Yes, I see it is. If you can eat that you’re all right.”
“Oh, I’m aw right (hic)!” he said, as he allowed about a pint of the soup to spill upon the deck. “It’s the shoup that’s gone wrong. It’s half seas over awready.”