“Why, yes!” said J.; “you may call it so. Three years ago today I went down to the North End (Boston’s Little Italy) in search of Parmesan cheese; an Italian grocer at the corner of North and Cross Streets sells the real kind in solid nubbles, hard as a brickbat, not that paltry grated stuff in bottles. As I passed the Catholic church, I saw a poor Italian woman trying to get in. She knocked, pounded, even kicked the church door; but nobody paid any attention. Then she took off her fazoletto—from her dress she was Abbruzese—spread it on the church steps, knelt, folded her hands, and began to pray:
“‘O Santo Washingtone mio, non hanno aperto la chiesa’ (O my Saint Washington, they have not opened the church!), her prayer began. You see she added Saint Washington, the patron of her new country, to her Calendar of Saints; she had come to say a prayer, perhaps light a candle to him, but the church, open on all other saints’ days, was inexplicably closed on this!”
A boatload of Italian naval officers and port officials now came on board to offer the usual courtesies; Brofferio explained to them the reason for the “Celtic’s” three flags and extra bunting; soon after this all the Italian navy ships in the harbor hoisted their masthead flags.
“You see?” said J., “they too are celebrating the festa of Santo Washingtone!”
“And the weather?” Brofferio asked an Italian officer, “always the same?”
“You may say so! Per Bacco, this is the fifty-sixth day since the disaster; on forty-five of these blessed days it has rained as in the time of the deluge!”
“The Quartermaster reports a steamer standing in towards the harbor, flying the American flag and a white pennant with the words: ‘Headquarters of the U. S. Carpenters.’”
When he heard that, J. ran for his kodak, just in time to photograph the “Eva,” the first American lumber ship, as she dropped anchor close in shore.
AMERICAN VILLAGE, MESSINA. GRAND HOTEL REGINA ELENA. [Page 237.]