With the Battle Fleet Part 13

The Connecticut would sound her signal. Then across the line could be heard the signal of the Kansas, and then the Vermont would sound hers and then the Louisiana would get busy. After a short interval the whistling would be repeated. This and the searchlights made it possible to keep the line well fixed. The quartermasters were taking special pains to steer the exact course that had been set. You saw how nicely it all worked out when the fog lifted, and there would be the leading ships almost exactly in line, ploughing their ways to the southwest, just as if there had been no interception of vision. One glimpse of this really fine work rea.s.sured you at once and you began to think that a fleet of warships all huddled close together in a thick fog was not in the unsafe predicament you had fancied it to be. About noon the fog lifted entirely as the sun burned it away. One evening later there was about twenty minutes of fog, but that was the end of this kind of experience on the Atlantic coast.

For five days before Cape Virgin was sighted at the eastern end of the Strait of Magellan the change in the temperature became marked. The thermometer went down to the fifties. The air became bracing. Gradually all white was eliminated from the uniforms. You put on your overcoat and sweater when you went on the bridge to stay. You slept under a blanket at night. Then you closed your port. You rubbed your fingers together to warm them up in the morning. Preparations were made for turning on steam. Only the cranks took a cold shower bath in the morning.

The men showed the change from the enervating climate of the tropics to the bracing one of the lower temperate zone by their sprightly movements. All hands felt good, as the saying is. We had gone from the beginning of winter at home, with the snowstorms, into the oppressive heat of the equator, and now we were back in the weather conditions of the Nova Scotia coast in midsummer, only the cold winds were from the south off the Antarctic ice, instead of from the frozen north, as at home.

Things do get turned around in this Southern Hemisphere, sure enough. It was strange to see the moon curving itself from east to west in the northern sky. We have already crossed the line of the sun and that is beginning to steal off to the north, although it is almost directly overhead at meridian. You see new stars--such bright ones!--with the beautiful Southern Cross as the most conspicuous constellation, just now in such a position that it has its top turned toward the eastern horizon as if to point toward Jerusalem. The winds come from an unusual direction and you soon become so mixed that you are not sure whether a clear, brilliant sunset with a dry air is an augury for clear weather on the morrow.

Cape Virgin's fine headland came in sight on Friday morning, January 31.

It was thought desirable to swing ships before the strait was entered, and then it was too late to try to make the run through the eastern part of the strait to Punta Arenas, about 120 miles, with the first and second narrows, that day, and so we anch.o.r.ed for the night in Possession Bay, a great open sheet of water, with the Patagonian mountains to the north. Early this morning we started on the first leg of the picturesque pa.s.sage that Magellan first revealed to the world, and this afternoon came to anchor here.

The departure of our fleet from Rio was dramatic rather than spectacular. Nature took a hand in the snapping of the heartstrings and scolded and wept copiously. It was precisely as if an overwrought woman had been keeping a smiling face up to the last moment before the parting with some one close to her heart whom she might never see again and then giving way to hysterical weeping and even lamentations, her face turned away after one look and covered with a veil except for an occasional peep until the loved one was out of sight.

The morning had been blistering hot. Sh.o.r.e leaves had expired at 9 o'clock, all were aboard except those sent ash.o.r.e to look out for any stragglers that had not reported and the mail orderlies who took off the last missives. By 10 o'clock the seams in the decks of the ships were exuding pitch. President Penna of Brazil was expected to come down the bay soon after noon to call upon Admiral Thomas on the Minnesota. About 11:30 one of those delightful sea breezes that make the summer afternoons in Rio not only tolerable but even attractive sprang up and every one was happy.

Just before noon it was observed that a few fog banks with darkening edges were being swept in over the tops of Sugar Loaf and Corcovado. It was soon a little lowery in the southern horizon. Then the word was pa.s.sed that the Presidential yacht was approaching. At a signal from the flagship the long lines of flags used to dress ship were swayed aloft and all the American battleships, the Brazilian ships, the Italian cruiser and the German cruiser in port suddenly were alive with snapping pennants from bows to taffrails. The American ensign was at the fore and the Brazilian ensign at the main of our ships.

The saluting signal came and the 3-inch guns on the ships roared out a welcome of twenty-one guns on each vessel to the President. Slowly the yacht approached the fleet and began to encircle it, pa.s.sing first on the side opposite from Rio. The Louisiana was the first ship to be pa.s.sed. The rail was manned with men with locked arms, the band played the Brazilian national air, the officers stood at salute. Then the Virginia was pa.s.sed and the same greeting was repeated. Down around the line the yacht went until it drew up near the Minnesota on the opposite side. A launch steamed off to get the President. As he approached the Minnesota gave him twenty-one more guns.

Then the fleet gave itself up to final preparations for departure.

Twenty minutes later the Minnesota fired another salute to mark the President's leavetaking. He went to the Brazilian cruiser, Benjamin Constant, which, with the rest of the Brazilian ships, sixteen in number, was to escort the American fleet out of the harbor. By that time the clouds had begun to descend from the hills, the wind to blow in gusts and a few raindrops to fall. It was seen that the waterfront was black with people. Then sharp dashes of rain swept over the city and hid it from view. The clouds fell upon the sh.o.r.e in great fog banks.

The President by this time had gone to Fort Villegagnon, the naval station in the harbor half a mile from the beautiful Flamingo boulevard and beach. The starting signal for the American fleet was given precisely at 3 o'clock. Anchors were aweigh on the minute. The harbor was so thick and black that one could scarcely see 1,000 yards. With the black smoke of the funnels of the ships being swept down upon the water an inky darkness spread itself over everything, and often it was with difficulty that the ship ahead at 400 yards could be made out clearly.

As one ship after another swung in toward Villegagnon and thundered her twenty-one good-by guns the rain descended in sheets. If the President was reviewing the fleet no one on board could see him. Rio was wiped out. The thunder peals from Sugar Loaf and Corcovado at times outroared those of the guns. Nature was saluting in angry tones. She seemed indignant that the fleet was going away and made no bones about saying it. From 'way back on the north where the majestic Organ Mountains nearly pierce the clouds there came the roar of protest.

The mountain-encircled city was surely giving way to hysteria. Sackcloth and ashes were in evidence, the furiously driving fog clouds being the sackcloth and the soot from smoke of funnels and powder blasts being the ashes. Half the ships had pa.s.sed Villegagnon when the rain became a patter suddenly and the veil was lifted from Rio. The waterfront was still black. The people had stood there for nearly an hour in a driving rain. Their fluttering handkerchiefs could be seen plainly.

More and more the clouds lifted and once or twice old Corcovado and Sugar Loaf peeped out as if for a final look. Then they hid their faces.

Soon the entire American fleet could be made out in the murky atmosphere. At last the line became clear. Directly behind it came the line of Brazilian ships. They added their salutes to the noise of the day in pa.s.sing Villegagnon, but nature had ceased to cry out; the thunder was over.

Down at the harbor entrance were launches, rowboats, sailing craft, ferryboats, yachts and several ocean-going liners, all loaded down with people. Dozens of them went outside with the fleet and rolled and tossed about while their occupants waved and shouted good-bys. Some of the little craft ran close to the ships in the hope of saying a frantic last good-by to the American friends they had made at private dinner parties and receptions. A mist soon settled upon the water and finally blotted the harbor entrance from view. The Brazilian ships following were made out from time to time. The good-by was over and every one was glad.

It was entirely different from the Hampton Roads departure. There was a President present at each place, but there were twice as many ships roaring out salutes at Rio. There were twenty times as many people on sh.o.r.e. Nature smiled at Hampton Roads; nature not only sulked but made a pitiable exhibition of her uncontrolled anger and grief at Rio. The fresh breezes crinkled out the flags and made them beautiful at Hampton Roads; the driving gusts tore ensigns to ribbons at Rio and made a prolonged job of mending bunting on all the ships.

When darkness was beginning to fall and speed cones had been lowered and masthead and other lights had been turned on a steamship was noticed coming out of the mist behind the fleet. She was alive with bunting and ran straight toward the middle of the fleet. Close at hand she began a great tooting of the whistle. She was one of the ocean-going vessels that had been chartered for the good-by, and she had run nearly twenty-five miles in the thick weather for a final glimpse and farewell shriek. Rio certainly hated to let the fleet go. Hospitality such as the Brazilians showed was never experienced by an American fleet, or probably any other nation's, before. It is likely to pa.s.s down as one of the brightest spots in our naval annals.

The farewell had a double side. The emotions of the Americans were divided for the reason that the mail had just arrived that morning--the first mail from home in six weeks. Letters from loved ones took the thoughts away from Rio for an hour or two, and then came the parting with the memory of those back in the States freshened by the missives that had come--well, naval officers don't show it when they are blue, but that night you couldn't find three men in the Louisiana's wardroom--the same was probably true of the other ships--and if you made a trip around the ship, far out in some sheltered place where the rain gusts did not fall and the wind did not blow, you would find some fellow sitting looking blankly out in the darkness. When you gave him a greeting you got a low growl for an answer and you pa.s.sed on.

The ordinary civilian can scarcely appreciate what it means to a warship to get mail. Officers and men talk about it for days. The departure of the fleet from Rio was set for December 21, but it was seen that it meant that the mail from New York would probably be missed by one day.

The fleet was all agog as to whether Admiral Evans would remain over one day or would leave a collier to bring the mail on. When it was learned that the official receptions and good-bys would require another day in port there was rejoicing.

"We'll get the mail!" was on every one's lips.

Soon word was pa.s.sed that the steamship Byron, bringing it, had reached Bahia. Then came the announcement that she would reach Rio between 4 and 6 P. M. on January 21. The time came and no mail ship. Then came 8, 9 and 10 o'clock, and no steamship had been reported pa.s.sing in. Long faces were everywhere. Just before 6 o'clock the next morning the lookout reported the Byron pa.s.sing in. Word was pa.s.sed around and many an officer tumbled out of his bunk to catch a sight of the vessel that had letters from home on her. The bluejackets were already at work, but they stopped long enough with the others to give greeting to the ship.

"The mail has come! The mail has come! The mail has come!"

You heard it everywhere. Even the bugles seemed to sound it out. Good cheer was on all sides. Soon it was learned that the ship had been pa.s.sed by the quarantine officer. Then came a race for her with launches. More than twenty of these boats, counting those from auxiliaries as well as battleships, began a race to reach her. The engineers. .h.i.t 'er up and the c.o.xswains steered as straight as they could. Over the rollicking waves the little craft plunged and rolled and every snort they gave seemed to say:

"The mail has come. We're after it. We'll soon be back. The mail has come!"

The launches cl.u.s.tered about the ship like an eager crowd of boys scrambling for pennies. They had to be straightened out. The bags had been arranged on deck and then there came a stream of men pa.s.sing them down. There was an average of twenty bags to each ship. As fast as each launch got its load it dashed back at full speed to its ship. The bags were hurried up the sides and fairly ripped open. Half a dozen men were set at sorting out the letters and papers. In less than two hours after the Byron had anch.o.r.ed hundreds of men were going about with a contented but far away look upon their faces.

"Oh, yes, thank you," was a general remark. "They're all well and they had a pleasant Christmas. Your people all right, too? That's good. 'Twas nice to hear from home, wasn't it? Wonder when we'll get the next one?"

There are many stock questions asked on board of a man-o'-war. In time of conflict the chief one is:

"Wonder where we'll catch the enemy?"

In time of peace the chief one seems to be:

"Wonder where we'll get the mail?"

To a pa.s.senger on one of these ships that seems to be the most important question to be asked and answered. Speculation as to the time of reaching port, of remaining in port, of departing, of the length of the cruise, as to the routine or even unusual work to be accomplished--all these seem to be of minor importance to the question as to when the mail will come. The American man-o'-warsman surely does love his home and people. "G.o.d's country and G.o.d's people!" is the way he puts it.

Apparently what he cares for most in all the world is mail from G.o.d's country and G.o.d's people.

But there will be no mail for the ships here at Punta. There used to be a hidden post office in the straits for sailormen. It was where the Indians could not find it. Letters and papers were left there to be mailed and reading matter was dropped behind for another vessel to pick up. It is said that never was that strange mail box trifled with and never robbed. But all that was years ago.

Now there is a modern city of something like 12,000 people here, with a Chilean post office to see that things are managed properly; but the mails are irregular, for they still depend for their despatch more or less on the irregular calls of steamers. Of course there are certain vessels which make regular trips, but these are few and far between, and you never know when you mail a letter here how long it will be before it reaches its destination.

If you don't find the old sea post office here there is one thing you do find, and it exists nowhere else in the world.

Did you ever hear about the w.i.l.l.ywaws? No? Well, you see 'em here when the season's right.

Did you ever see a hobgoblin? No? Well, a w.i.l.l.ywaw isn't a hobgoblin.

Neither is it anything like a w.i.l.l.y-boy. Any one who knows what w.i.l.l.ywaws are knows they are a thousand times worse.

Well, what is a w.i.l.l.ywaw? We'll save that for another article. You see there might not be much else to write about.

CHAPTER VII

PUNTA ARENAS THE WORLD'S JUMPING-OFF PLACE

Pleasant and Busy Life in City of Perpetual Winter--Wealthy and Well Ruled--Millions Made in Wool, Mutton and Furs--One Splendid Mansion Amid Many Corrugated Iron Buildings--Famine in Postal Cards--Jack on Horseback--Officers Found More Fun in Social Gatherings Than Out in the Wilds--Surrept.i.tious Traffic of a Free Port.

_On Board U. S. S. Louisiana, U. S. Battle Fleet_, PUNTA ARENAS, Feb. 7.

Punta Arenas is known commonly as the jumping-off place of the earth.

The generally accepted meaning of that characterization is that it is not only the southernmost settlement of any size of civilized people in the world, but that it is the most forlorn, dreary, desolate place that any one could find in which to live.

Indeed, before this fleet arrived here it is probable that not one person in a hundred in the United States knew where Punta Arenas was, and those who had some vague idea about it had an impression that it is one of those reformed penal colonies where the driftwood of humanity huddle together, tolerate one another because they are birds of a feather and eke out a miserable existence in trafficking with Indians, herding sheep, looting wrecks and spending their spare time in low ceilinged saloons gulping down liquor that would put knockout drops to shame.

Well, it simply isn't true! Punta Arenas is a lively city of 12,000 residents, one of the best governed in the world, with all modern improvements except trolley cars, half a dozen millionaires and scores of men worth $500,000 or more, with one residence at least that would hold its own more than favorably with the residences on Madison Avenue in the Murray Hill part of New York, with excellent schools, with a "society" that knows as well as any on earth how to wear Paris gowns and to give entertainments as finished in all the delicate niceties as could be found in any capital.

Punta Arenas isn't pretty in any sense and even the well-to-do are content to live in one-story houses with corrugated iron roofs, but it is a hustling, busy place where every comfort and luxury can be secured, and it has a p.r.o.nounced twentieth century air about it. It resembles strongly a western Kansas or Nebraska town. Its climate is always cool but never seriously cold. The lowest recorded temperature in this place, which corresponds in lat.i.tude to Labrador in the Northern Hemisphere, is 20 degrees Fahrenheit above zero. The highest is 77. Why, there are two four-in-hands and one French automobile, this in a town, mind you, where there are no roads out in the country and no place except the town streets in which to drive! Any one who has seen these smart turnouts is justified in dropping into slang far enough to say that is going some!