At the beginning of July the whole squadron sailed for the harbor of Coquimbo, where the troops were decimated by the small-pox.
There prevailed in Chile a feeling very adverse to this campaign; so much so that most of the troops were embarked by force. I was standing on the muele when the Santiago battalion was shipped. The soldiers, who were in wretched uniforms, most of them wearing ponchos, and unarmed, were bound together two-and-two by ropes, and absolutely driven into the boats.
This war proved most unfortunate to Peru, a result which, however, cannot certainly be ascribed either to the courage of the enemy's troops or the judgment of their commanders. We shall presently see the circumstances which combined to secure triumph to the Chilenos.
I and my fellow-voyagers were also sufferers by the war, our captain having imprudently announced his intention of selling the Edmond to the protector Santa Cruz, as she might easily have been transformed into an excellent corvette. She was a quick sailer, tight-built, carrying ten guns of moderate calibre, and she might easily have mounted ten more.
The captain's intention having reached the knowledge of the Chilian government, the natural consequence was, that the port was closed, a measure deemed the more necessary inasmuch as an American captain was suspected of entertaining the design of selling his ship to the Peruvians. It was not until the fleet had had time to reach Peru, and the first blow was supposed to be struck, that the embargo was raised, and we obtained leave to depart. We lay in the port of Valparaiso five-and-forty days. To me the most annoying circumstance attending this delay was, that I could not absent myself from the port longer than twenty-four hours at a time, as the ship was constantly in readiness to get under weigh, as soon as we should receive permission to sail, which was hourly expected. My excursions were, therefore, confined to the immediate neighborhood of the town; and even there my walks and rides were much impeded by constant stormy and rainy weather.
On the 29th of July, preparations were made on board our ship for celebrating the Paris revolution of 1830. At eight o'clock in the morning we fired three guns, and the Edmond was soon decorated from her deck to her mast-heads with flags and streamers. At the fore-mast gaily floated the Swiss flag, probably the first time it had ever been seen in the Pacific. When the guns on board the French ship-of-war had ceased firing, we began our salute; but, as we had only ten guns, it was necessary to load a second time. Our seamen, being unused to this kind of duty, did not observe due precaution, and the consequence was that one of them had his hand so dreadfully shattered that immediate amputation was indispensable. The day's rejoicing was thus suddenly brought to a melancholy close.
The mole in front of the custom-house is exceedingly dangerous; so much so, that, during the prevalence of stormy north winds, it is impossible to pass along it. From the shore a sort of wooden jetty stretches into the sea, at the distance of about sixty paces. This jetty has been sometimes partially, and at other times completely, destroyed by the waves. The harbor-master's boats, and those belonging to the ships-of-war, land on the right side; the left side is allotted to the boats of the merchant ships. On the shore there are always a number of boats ready to convey persons who wish to go on board the different ships. Each boat is generally rowed by two Indians. Whenever any person approaches the shore he is beset by the boatmen, who throng round him, and alternately, in English and Spanish, importune him with the questions,—"Want a boat?" "Vamos á bordo?"
Day and night, parties of custom-house officers go round the port for the purpose of preventing smuggling. In this, however, they only partially succeed; for they detect only petty smugglers, whilst those who carry on contraband trade on a large scale elude their vigilance. The captains of French vessels are notorious for this kind of traffic, and they frequently succeed in landing vast quantities of goods surreptitiously.
The police of Valparaiso is probably as good as it is in any part of South America. Serenos (watchmen) perambulate the streets on foot and on horseback, and continually give signals one to another by blowing small whistles. For personal safety there is little risk, probably not more than in the most populous cities of Europe. It is true that nocturnal murders sometimes take place; but the police speedily succeed in capturing the criminals, who, after a summary trial, are shot.
In Valparaiso, as in most of the towns on the western coast of South America, the serenos go about all night, calling the hours and announcing the state of the weather. At ten o'clock they commence with their—"Viva Chile!"—"Ave Maria purissima!"—"Las diez han dado y sereno!" (past ten o'clock and a fine night!) or nublado (cloudy),—or lloviendo (raining). Thus, they continue calling every half-hour till four o'clock in the morning. Should an earthquake take place it is announced by the sereno when he goes his round in the following half hour. However, the phenomenon usually announces itself in so positive a way, that the inhabitants may easily dispense with the information of the serenos.