Читать книгу Seven Legs Across the Seas: A Printer's Impressions of Many Lands - Samuel Murray - Страница 6

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On reaching the Bay of Biscay a storm was encountered, the decks being vacated by passengers and the cabin berths made use of for some time. During the night sounds were heard at intervals that reminded one of a large tree falling. The piano in the social hall had been forced loose from its fastening by the rolling and pitching of the ship, and while in what might be termed its periods of tantrum the big musical instrument seemed bent on smashing all the furniture "in the house." Most of the passengers were awake, and a great many were inquiring if the ship was breaking to pieces.

Those starting on long journeys should provide themselves with a passport. One may travel for years through certain sections of the world and not be called upon to show his national voucher to verify his identity; yet it is a good thing to have one in one's possession. One may be taken into custody in some foreign city through mistaken identity, or be detained in other ways, when a passport would clear matters at once with small inconvenience and little delay, compared to much uneasiness and considerable time lost, if one has neglected to include in his traveling outfit this means of identification. Again, when visiting a consulate, one will not have conversed with the officials long before he will be asked, directly or indirectly, if he has his passport with him. If the visitor should not have one, the conversation is usually of a casual nature. On the other hand, if the visitor has his government's credentials, an interesting chat will often result, during which information may be gathered of the character of the country he is traveling in that would not be volunteered to an American who had failed to identify himself with the standard voucher. When leaving the consulate, the person with a passport is generally invited to "call any time while in the city." Furthermore, if the assistance of a consul were needed in any contingency, that government officer, if he should not care to offer a helping hand, may evade a reasonable duty, and defend his actions behind the fact that the "alleged" American did not have a passport. If the person in need of official assistance had this means of identification, that same officer, fearing he would be later called upon by his government to explain why he neglected to do his duty, would exert himself and lend aid to his countryman. An American with a passport in foreign lands has a better standing with his government's representatives than a citizen who has not provided himself with one.

Being good for only two years, and not generally recognized after that time, in order to keep in good standing with his country, one must, if living in foreign parts, have his passport renewed or extended. Only in exceptional circumstances is a consul allowed to issue passports; these must come from Washington. A consul may extend one, however, for an additional two years; but the passport cannot be extended more than once. Application should be made to the Secretary of State, Washington, D. C., when two blanks—native and naturalized—will be sent to the applicant. If a native, he fills out the native blank and will have the contents sworn to before a notary public. The verified blank will then be sent to the Secretary of State, when a passport will soon reach the applicant. The charge is one dollar, plus the notary's fee.

"I wish I had one of those fat, juicy beefsteaks that I was served with while traveling across America," said a Portuguese woman globe-trotter, as some of us, like chickens after rain, began to appear on deck when the storm had subsided. "I never ate beefsteak in any country that tasted as good as those I got in America," she added, with a perceptible smacking of her lips. She wasn't the only one who wished they had a succulent piece of American beefsteak. But the commissary of the ship had little to do while traveling from Cape Ushant to Cape Finistierre—the former marking the north and the latter the south boundaries of the Bay of Biscay, 365 miles across.

At Lisbon, Portugal, the chilling winds of the north and the raw weather were succeeded by soft, south breezes and warm sunshine. Entering the Tagus River on our way to the Portuguese capital, we passed a commanding fort, the banks green with grass and vegetables. Reaching the city, women in their bare feet and none too tidy, bearing heavy burdens on their heads, mostly in baskets—fish, vegetables, coal, flowers, and other marketable commodities—revealed a condition in Southern Europe not pleasant to contemplate, and which is seen in few countries of Continental Europe. The first suggestion of the tropics was had at Lisbon, by reason of a great many of the people, dark skinned, appearing in thin clothing and bare feet. Verdure was growing on every side—it was the month of February.

Travelers cannot fail to show a slight weakness for the small Latin country, for Portugal was the home of Vasco da Gama, the explorer—a really great traveler—whose daring achievements late in the fifteenth century laid the foundation of an empire, and who discovered places and countries we are to visit later.

"Look!" said a man wearing the cloth of a church official, who was showing a number of visitors around a Lisbon cathedral. We were in the crypt, where, in expensive coffins, rested the remains of some of the distinguished dead of Portugal. He had opened the lid of a casket and invited his visitors to look inside. To our astonishment, in the gruesome light, our eyes rested on the crumbling remains of a personage who, the official said, had passed away a long time before. More coffin lids were turned back, and in the boxes were seen, in the murky light, the grim, long outline of a human being. We had never known any one to go so far to obtain a fee.

American-made street cars are in use in the Portuguese capital, and were easily recognized from those manufactured in other countries, as the American car is single, while those of other countries are mostly of a double-decked pattern.

Pavement of dark gray and white colored stone in that city looks odd, laid at twisting angles. A plaza is paved entirely with this deceptive stone, which sailors call "Rolling Motion Square." This square is located close to the wharf, and sailors, having finished their shore leave and returning to their ship, usually find trouble in getting off "Rolling Motion Square."

Egg soup is a delicacy made in Lisbon. When served, it resembles consommé, with halves of a hard-boiled egg swimming in the dish.

The business section of Lisbon is built between two high hills, which necessitates using an elevator, in some instances, if one is going from the center to the higher part of the city. The buildings are of stone and brick, faced with cement. One of the most attractive avenues in the world runs through the commercial district of the city. This boulevard is unusually wide, the center comprising a broad park place, with roadways of a good width on each side. Nearly half a million people compose the population of this Latin capital. Portugal was a Roman province as early as 200 BC

Funchal, Madeira Island, located about 450 miles west of the Moroccan coast, was next reached, being favored with a good sea from Lisbon, the first since leaving Southampton. This place, with a population of 20,000, is the chief port of Madeira, and its attractiveness—flowers, vines, spreading trees, climate and tidy appearance—proves a magnet to many Europeans who seek rest and recreation.

A strange and unusual public "hack" here arrests one's attention. This vehicle, covered with canvas and drawn by oxen, is really a sleigh, although it is doubtful if a flake of snow has ever fallen in this section. The runners, as those of a snow sled, are shod with strips of steel, which are pulled over streets paved with cobblestone. When ready to start, the driver says a word to the oxen, and off they go, the sleigh gliding over the paving nearly as smoothly as if drawn over snow. The steel runners, passing over them for years, have worn the stones quite smooth, even slippery in some instances, hence the practicability of the sleigh-hack.

Madeira Island, termed the Pearl of the Atlantic, a Portuguese possession, has an area of 315 square miles, and is 35 miles long and 12 wide. It is very productive of fruit—oranges, lemons, figs, pomegranates, pears, peaches and grapes. The island is more noted for its good climate and wines, however, most of the inhabitants being engaged in the grape growing industry. The United States came to the fore in 1871 by saving the grapevines here, which were being destroyed by a pest. The American grapevine stock was introduced and grafted to the native stump, which withstood the attacks of phyloxera.

Funchal is a sea junction, as most of the passenger steamships plying between Europe and South American ports stop at this place. Passengers coming north from South America and going to South Africa come to Madeira, and those coming from South Africa and going to South America also transship at this island.

Getting a glimpse of the places mentioned in the foregoing will account for one traveling from the United States to South America by way of England. The fare was also cheaper for the same accommodation than by going direct from New York.

We regretfully return to our ship, there being no more stops for eight days, as we are to recross the Atlantic Ocean diagonally. The big vessel, with a crowded passenger list and loaded to the water line with cargo, was headed toward the equatorial line, sailing on a velvety sea. Sailors were busy stretching canvas over the decks to make the hot weather soon to be encountered more bearable, while the electric fans in the cabins were being put in order. Every one had settled down for the sail to Pernambuco, Brazil, the next port.

During the trip British third-class passengers enjoyed the benefits of the good maritime laws of their country, while passengers from other countries traveling in the same section of the ship did not fare so well. Britishers were allowed privileges on a portion of the upper deck, as provided by law, while third-class passengers who embarked at ports south of Southampton remained on the third-class deck.

It is surprising how time slips by during long voyages, and it is interesting to note the national grouping of travelers. The French passengers will be found assembled on a certain portion of the deck, the Spaniards likewise, also Germans—each nationality generally keeping to itself. Our breakfast was ready at 8 o'clock, and a light lunch served two and a half hours later. Ship inspection usually takes place at from 10 to 11 o'clock in the forenoon, the captain, the purser, the doctor or the chief steward being the officers who form this committee. Each deck is visited, when the dining saloons, kitchens, berths, bedding and other furnishings of the cabins generally receive the critical attention of the inspectors. Passengers having complaints to make or suggestions to offer concerning ship conditions may do so at this time. At half-past twelve dinner was ready. In the second class section mealtimes are designated as breakfast, dinner and supper; in the first-class, breakfast, luncheon and dinner. When ready, these are generally announced by ringing a bell, beating a gong, or by bugle call. Many passengers take a nap in their cabins after dinner, and, if not in the cabin, one is pretty sure to find them in the Land of Nod in their steamer chair on deck; others read a great deal and divide the time with sleep. The sleepers are sometimes hurriedly awakened from their slumbers, however, as what is termed "fire practice" takes place several times a week on well-conducted ships. Bells clang, without warning; the ship's whistle blows shrill blasts; sailors, stewards and officers hurry to the lifeboats to which they had been assigned before sailing, which are soon raised from their davits, swung outward, and lowered at the sides of the vessel; members of the crew may be seen wearing life-saving devices, and the passengers generally give evidence of anxious concern on such occasions until they learn it is but a "fire drill" that is being enacted instead of the ship being really afire. Beef tea was served in the cool climate and ices when the hot zones were reached between noontime and supper. Light lunch—generally cheese and crackers and tea—was served between the evening meal and bedtime. Music was furnished twice a day by an orchestra. Religious services—those of the Church of England—on British passenger steamships are made obligatory by maritime law. On Sunday mornings many of the passengers attended, which took place in the social hall of the first-class section, the ritual being read by the captain or purser. Most of the ship's crew must be present, some of whom generally lead the singing and furnish the music. It often happens, however, preachers are among the travelers, when one of them will be invited to preach. First class passengers are expected to appear in evening dress for dinner on vessels of some of the popular British lines running to far Southern ports.

So far as bird life is concerned, the sea is a graveyard when sailing through the equatorial zone. All fowl leave the ship when the sun gets hot and the breezes become warm. The only winged life appearing in this hot section of the sea was flying fish, sometimes hundreds of them rising from the water at the same time. These fish are from four to ten inches in length, slender, and resemble young mackerel. They spring from the sea by a quick stroke of the tail, and, with fins outspread, are able to sustain and prolong their leap for a minute or more. The fins measure several inches across and become transparent in the sun, but do not flap like the wings of a bird. As the fish rise only from six inches to a few feet from the water, their flight, in a choppy or rough ocean, is generally not more than from two to twenty feet, as they disappear on coming in contact with a wave. On a calm sea, however, their isinglass-like "wings" will often remain outstretched for a distance of a hundred yards or so, when the fish will dart into the water as suddenly as they emerged from it.