A Voyage round the World / A book for boys

by William Henry Giles Kingston

We were earned below—that is to say, Jerry and I. The men took care of Surley. We were put into our berths, and the doctor came to us, and we were rubbed, and had some hot brandy and water; and then I, at all events, felt all to rights. Jerry had been hurt by his fall, and it took him much longer to recover. The captain went and sat by him; and Jerry told me that he heard him offering up his thanks to our merciful God for having restored his son to him. He then came and talked to me, and told me how sorry he should have been had I been lost, and how grateful he felt to me for having been the means of saving his son’s life. I do not know exactly what I said. I remember I told him what I was sure of,—that Jerry would have done exactly the same for me. There was this difference, that I could swim very well, and that Jerry could swim very little, so that I deserved less thanks than he should have done had he jumped in for me, considering that he would have run far greater risk for my sake than I had done for his. The captain smiled when I said this, but made no remark. He had always been kind to me,—he was now kinder than ever; but this did not prevent him from taking every means to make me a sailor, and to keep me to my duty, while at the same time he afforded me every opportunity of seeing as much as possible of the world through which we were passing.

Silva, as I before have said, by his quiet manners, readiness to lend a hand when any work was going forward, and anxiety to be on good terms with all, had completely won the good-will of everybody on board. He was evidently a man of some attainments, and was more likely to have been an officer than a man before the mast. With Jerry and me he was apparently very frank. He told us how when a young lad he had been turned adrift into the world to seek his fortune, without parents or any one to care for him; and how he had battled on, picking up information where he could, reading what books he could lay hands on, and laying in a store of knowledge for future use.

“I have served on board vessels of every description. I’ve been on board slavers, and merchant vessels, and men-of-war of several nations. I’ve served with Lord Cochrane both in the Pacific and Atlantic; and for a long time I was in an opium clipper in the China Seas; but, as you know, lads, a rolling stone gathers no moss, and here I am, as poor as I was when I first began life. However, there are plenty of ways by which a man may make his fortune if he chooses, and I must find one of them some of these days.”

He spoke in a desperate, careless tone, as if he in reality cared very little what became of him, or what he did. We had begun to feel a strong liking for the man, and were now inclined to pity him sincerely.

I will not describe another gale which came on, and drove us away to the southward and westward for several days, the wind shifting about so much that we scarcely knew where we had got to. At length, when it had moderated, so that an observation could be taken, we found that we were on the coast of Mexico, not far from the harbour of Mazatlan, near the entrance of the Gulf of California. The ship had been so battered about during the gale, that the captain was glad of an opportunity of running into harbour to repair damages, before proceeding to San Francisco, where he could not expect to find workmen, and where, if he remained long, his own crew might be tempted to desert. As we stood in for the shore, a few barren rocks or small islands appeared in sight, and running through, we found ourselves before a pretty little town, part of it standing on the foot of a steep promontory, and partly on a sandy bank which encircles a wide lagoon. This was Mazatlan. It is inhabited by Mexican Spaniards. The first mate, Mr Renshaw, had not been on shore during the voyage, so the captain insisted on his going with the doctor and Jerry and me. We first went to an inn—a meson, as it was called. It consisted of a quadrangular building, with a court-yard in the centre, and a corridor running round it. All the rooms opened into this corridor, and had no communication with each other. The corridor was the general lounging-place; and at night many of the guests who preferred air to privacy, slung their hammocks in it. Round the walls, or on the pillars, they also hung up their saddles and other riding gear. As to furniture, there is something like a bedstead, a wooden elevation which keeps the sleeper from the floor; but chairs and tables are luxuries seldom met with, while washhand-stands are things unheard of—washing being but little in vogue among the travelling population. We were fortunate in falling in with two Englishmen—that is to say, one, Captain Driscoll, was an Irishman, who had been in the Mexican service; and the other, Dr Dwyer, was a merchant. They knew the country well, and were travelling towards Durango, the largest town in the neighbourhood. They had with them two young men, sons of rancheroes, as the Mexican cattle-farmers are called. They both lived some way up the country, and as they also were bound to Durango, and had speedily to return, it was arranged that we should all travel together. With the addition of our new friends’ two servants, we thus together mustered ten persons. We were all of us well-armed, and not without necessity: our friends told us that the country had lately been infested by large bands of Comanche Indians, who had been driven away from the borders of the United States, and had discovered that they were able to carry on their depredations among the Mexicans almost with impunity. “They are not likely to attack a well-armed party, and if they do, we can give a good account of them.” This account only the more excited our interest, and we quite hoped that the Indians would attack us. When we first went to the inn, we saw a large party on horseback just setting out, we understood, in the same direction. They were all armed to the teeth,—with pistols in their belts, some with swords by their sides, and others with lances or rifles. They made a gay appearance on their richly caparisoned steeds, with their broad-brimmed hats and feathers, bright-coloured sashes, trousers open at the knees, with silver buttons and loose jackets, with yellow boots and large silver spurs. They were laughing loudly and talking; and as they flourished their spears and rifles, they boasted how they would treat any Indians who might dare to attack them. The doctor said he thought that it was a pity we had not been ready to accompany them.

“Let them go alone,” answered our friend; “I know those boasting gentlemen too well to trust them. If attacked, they would leave all the fighting to us. We shall be better off by ourselves.” Our friends provided horses and all necessaries for the journey, and in high spirits we started, mounted on high Spanish saddles, from which it seemed impossible that we could

ever tumble off. I will not attempt to describe the scenery in detail. It was hilly, and woody, and rocky, with valleys and waterfalls; now and then we came to a plain with a wide extent of open country, and then had to cross rocky ridges, and climb lofty heights among crags and pine-trees; but nothing came amiss to us or our horses. The young farmers had pressed us to stop a day at their father’s house, which was only a little out of the way. It was built in the fashion of the inn I have described, surrounded by the farm-buildings and pens for cattle. The father was a fine, hearty old man, dressed in the ancient Spanish costume; and their mother and sisters were kind, fresh-looking people, very unlike the parchment-skinned, withered crones we had seen in the town. They gave us for supper tortillas, which are thin cakes made of corn, and eggs, and fried beans, and some other things, to which we did justice. The next morning our friends asked us if we would like to see a hunt.

“Of what?” we asked.

“Of a bear,” was the answer. “One has been seen in the neighbourhood, and his destruction is resolved on.”