ARRIVAL OF THE “EVA.” [Page 226.]
AMERICAN VILLAGE, MESSINA. FRAME OF FIRST HOUSE. Page 230.
“Gosh!” said Hugh, the Yeoman, scanning the “Eva’s” decks, “there are a couple of Boston cops aboard. Wonder who they’ve come for?” The American Carpenters’ uniform was very like the Boston policeman’s.
With the arrival of the “Eva,” we began to see the tangible results of all that telegraphing between America and Italy, the Ambassador’s despatches, Mr. Hooper’s appeal to Boston (never appealed to in vain), Mr. Parrish’s correspondence with Mr. Taft, President of the American Red Cross. They had not let the grass grow under their feet at home; when they understood that wood and building material for houses was what was most wanted in Italy, our people, acting through Congress and through the American Red Cross Society, “came up to the scratch” nobly, gave with two hands and never counted the cost. Here was the “Eva,” the first timber ship, as a living proof. No time, no expense, had been spared in fitting her out; as she lay alongside the dock in New York, the stevedores worked day and night, in double shifts, loading her with the good sweet-smelling Carolina pine. There was but one bitter drop in that cup; the “Eva” was a British steamer—when, oh, when shall we do our own carrying by sea?
Wednesday, February 23rd, though a drizzling rain was falling, the work of discharging the “Eva’s” cargo began at seven o’clock. Ensign Spofford was in charge of the men. He had a dozen “Scorpions” to help him discipline the shrieking, gesticulating mob of Sicilian stevedores and carters. The precious lumber, tools, glass, roofing paper, hardware, all the priceless materials for the American Village must be guarded from the poor homeless Messinesi, who thought they were only taking their own when they helped themselves. That first rainy day the task must have looked long and hard to officers and men. Belknap, fearful of demurrage, just touched them with his restless spur—it was enough, more than the rowelling of another—and they sprang with ardor to their task. The carts for transporting the lumber from the Marina were of every description, from gay little painted carretti to lumbering ox wains. The beasts of burthen included mules, carriage horses, saddle horses, infinitesimal donkeys. The carts must needs keep within hailing distance of each other, for the Viale San Martino, leading to the site of the future village, was a slough of despond, a sea of liquid mud. The poor animals floundered, the wheels sank hub deep in the dreadful mire. Time after time the beasts from three or four carts must be hitched to a wagon stuck in the mud.
The motley stream of carts, each under the guard of a “Scorpion,” crawled at a snail’s pace from the Marina, up the Viale San Martino, to the Valley of the Mosella, a lemon grove on the outskirts of the old city. The site assigned to the Americans (as beautiful a site as heart could wish) was on the farther side of the Torrente Zaera, a deep water course. At the Valley of the Mosella—usually called the Zona Case Americana—Lieutenant Buchanan, Ensign Wilcox and two American carpenters received the lumber. The Americans watched the leisurely Sicilians unload the first two carts.
“At this rate,” said Buchanan, “we shall pass the rest of our lives in Messina. Here, all you Scorpions!” Then followed an object lesson those Messinesi never forgot.