Life and Adventure in the South Pacific

by John D. Jones

The next day, Friday, the 15th of March, we devoted to riding through the country. The horses here are well trained, but, to one unaccustomed to the Chilian mode of guiding them, ludicrous incidents will sometimes occur. If you wish to turn to the left, you must pull the right rein, and vice versa. They are very tender-bitted, and a slight jerk of the reins will bring the horse to an immediate stand. It is very common to see a rider urging his horse to a full run, and, not understanding them, pull the reins in order to sit secure, when, lo and behold, the horse suddenly stops, and the rider keeps on going, measuring his length in the road some distance ahead.

While strolling about town in the evening, we heard low musical sounds proceeding from a house near by. On presenting ourselves at the door we were cordially invited to enter, and were immediately ushered into a large, square room, filled with Spaniards of both sexes. On a table at the farther end of the room was the corpse of a beautiful child of about two years of age, in a sitting posture. Its little arms were crossed on its breast; the sweet, heavenly smile that still lingered on the features of clay, and the fresh, rosy cheeks, gave it a most beautiful and angelic appearance. Our first conjecture on entering the room was that it was wax-work. It was dressed in white, and decorated with flowers. On the table were a large number of wax tapers burning, while the wall around and above was covered with paintings of the Crucifixion, Virgin Mary, etc. In one corner of the room some seven or eight persons were chanting the solemn death-chants of the Catholic Church, accompanied by several guitars. The parents of the child were seated on a low bed, mourning and sobbing in a most piteous manner, while several relatives, as we supposed them to be, were gathered around, endeavoring to comfort them in their affliction.

We advanced by invitation and saluted the corpse, and, as our eyes were fixed on the lovely image, we thought we could almost perceive it answer our gaze by a sweet smile, so fresh and life-like did it look. It was truly a solemn, mournful, and yet beautiful sight. Still, the appearance of the bottle disgraced the scene, as it was passed from one to the other, although it is customary at all Spanish wakes.

On the morning of Saturday, the 16th of March, we found that five men had deserted from the ship. The liberty of the remainder of the crew was therefore stopped, which appeared to cause considerable dissatisfaction. However, this was the only course left for the captain, as most of the men on board had made up their minds to desert in order to get to California. Stopping all communication of the crew with the shore must put an end to the desertions.

This state of affairs continued until the following Monday, when the crew, being so very much dissatisfied, sent a petition to the American consul requesting to be discharged from the ship. He came on board, and all those wishing to be discharged were ordered to take the starboard side of the quarter-deck. The captain, by request of the consul, inquired of each separately his reasons for wishing to be discharged. Some gave as a reason that they did not like the business; others, that they had been ill treated; and one, that he was under age when he shipped, and he wanted to go home. The consul could scarcely refrain from laughing outright at such reasons, and finally told them he could not help them. As they had signed the ship’s articles, he could not interfere in the matter; the captain was the man to settle that.

Mackey, who had been intently watching every word that fell from the lips of the consul, thought it about time for him to put in his oar, and, speaking out, said he “had been abused at various times, and once had been kicked while at the helm.” The officer who had taken this liberty said that “Mackey was asleep at the helm one night, and he gave him a slight kick, just sufficient to waken him.” The consul replied that he could do nothing about that. Mackey now broke forth with great earnestness: “I thought American consuls were sent to these places to protect and defend American citizens, whether sailors or captains; but you say you can do nothing about it. What are you good for, then? What business have you here? You might much better be at home about your business. Any way, you are good for nothing here but to pamper to every captain’s wishes that will give you a cake of hard bread and a pint of beans.”

This speech Mackey delivered with great gusto, making flourishes that would have shamed an orator. The speech, of course, “brought down the house,” and caused a broad grin upon the countenance of all. The consul took it very coolly; the men were sent forward, and he, in company with the captain, left for shore.

And here we would remark that in many cases Mackey’s words were true. It is a shameful and lamentable fact, that in many instances American consuls regard seamen as “having no rights that they are bound to respect;” and it is often the case that masters of vessels who have been ill treating their men will, on entering port, present the consul with a small quantity of provisions, or something of that kind, and the result is, that no “foremast hand” from that ship can obtain justice from the consul. We make no comments on this; we simply state the facts, and let our readers make their own.

Our crew were now heartily sick and tired of port, and longed to be on the “open sea” again. On Wednesday, March 20th, while all hands were at breakfast, Mackey determined to make one more effort for his liberty. Accordingly, he made his clothes up in a nice little bundle, fastened them on his back, slipped cautiously down the cable, and struck boldly out for the shore. On his crossing the stern of a ship, the captain of which had just come on deck, and espying a man swimming, hailed him:

“Where are you going, my man?”