From Billabong to London

by Mary Grant Bruce

They had been running for some hours in sight of the Grand Canary, the chief island of the group—its rugged hills and headlands had been a welcome sight after the long stretch of unbroken sea. Since their escape from the German warship there had been a feeling of unrest all over the Perseus: the time seemed interminable, and the old sense of security in which they had lived contentedly had altogether gone. People were apt to jump at unusual sounds; books and games languished, for there was a painful fascination in scanning the sea for a smoke-trail that might or might not be another enemy cruiser. Above all, the hunger for news of the war became more and more intense, blotting out all lesser interests.

The Perseus dropped anchor in the outer harbour—so crowded with shipping were the inner waters, that the huge vessel would have had difficulty in finding room to turn. Almost immediately the agents’ launch was seen hurrying out from the shore. In its wake came a huge flotilla of dinghies, containing every saleable article known to the bumboat-men of the Islands—lace, alleged to be Spanish, fine linen embroideries and drawn-thread work, silks, “sandalwood” boxes—made of any wood that came handy, and soaked in sandal oil to tickle tourist nostrils—roughly carved ivory, Canary knives and ebony elephants—probably of Birmingham manufacture—and a host of other “curios,” equally reliable and valuable. In addition, there were boats loaded to the gunwale with oranges and others with vegetables; and some that were top-heavy with an unwieldy cargo of basket-chairs. Until the medical officer of the port had granted pratique to the ship, no one was allowed on board; so the boats clustered thickly on each side, and the men held up their wares, shrieking their prices, and managed to conduct quite a number of sales by the simple expedient of passing the goods up in a bucket lowered from the deck.

Spanish medical officers are generally full of their own importance, but devoid of any inclination to hurry. It was some time before the impatient passengers saw the official boat coming leisurely across the harbour; and a further delay ensued before the pompous Spaniard had satisfied himself that the Perseus was sufficiently free from any disease.

“They had small-pox brought to them by a ship once,” Mr. MacTavish told Norah; “and ever since they’ve been so scared that they’d refuse to let any one ashore if we had as much as a case of nettle-rash on board! Judging by the smells of the place when you get there, I should think they bred for themselves all the diseases they’d need.”

“He’s going back to his boat,” Norah said, looking over the rail at the gorgeous, gold-laced official.

“Then I expect it’s all right,” said the officer. “Just watch those bumboat-men.”

Some one had communicated to the boatmen the fact that the Perseus was free ground, and the boats were crowding to the gangway in a struggling mass, each striving for first place at the steps. There seemed no rules of the game; they shoved each other aside furiously, edged boats out of the way with complete disregard of the safety of their crews or cargoes, and kept up a continuous babel of shouts and objurgations, coupled with wild appeals to the passengers to wait for the bargains they were bringing.

“Look at that chap!” Wally said, chuckling at a man whose boat had just reached the steps when a well-directed shove from the stern sent it flying lengths ahead. The man subsided in a heap on his wares, which were of a knobbly character and not adapted for reclining. He protested, in floods of fluent Spanish, while his wily ejector, who had promptly taken his place, proceeded to get his own goods on board with much calmness.

“They’re awful sharks,” said Mr. MacTavish. “Generally they bring on board about three decent things, in case of striking any one who really knows good stuff; the rest is just the scrapings of the Las Palmas shops—all the things they know they’ll never sell ashore. You want to be up to their tricks—and, whatever you do, don’t give them more than a quarter of the money they ask.”

The Spaniards were pouring on board in a steady stream. Some, without wasting time, dashed to vacant spaces on the deck and began to lay out their wares; others rushed up and down, thrusting goods, fruit, and post-cards almost into the faces of the passengers and asking fabulous prices for them. Norah, who had no wish at all to buy a fan for which the vendor demanded five shillings, said, “I’ll give you ninepence,” and expected to see him disappear in wrath. But the Spaniard smiled widely and said, “Thank you, miss!”—and Norah found herself the embarrassed possessor of the fan, while the seller as urgently begged her to buy an elephant.