Part 2 (1/2)
On arriving at the Dockyard gates we are summoned to give the pa.s.s-word by the vigilant guard before we are allowed to pa.s.s the ponderous portal. Those who have read Captain Marryatt's delightful story, ”Peter Simple,” and I should hope there are few sailors who have not, will perhaps recall the amusing scene which took place on this very spot between lieutenant O'Brien and the soldier on guard.
Our days at pleasant ”Gib.” are drawing to a close. I feel a.s.sured that we shall carry with us, in our voyage to the far east, many pleasing recollections of Gibraltar--its balmy air and genial climate--its abundance of grapes, melons, and oranges. Would we could send some to our friends in England.
CHAPTER III.
Melita! The glory of a triumph clings, odorous as incense, Around thy hero dead!
UP THE MEDITERRANEAN.--MALTA.
With the dawn of August 15th we were rounding Europa Point, and leaving Gibraltar far away astern. On our starboard hand three or four luminous points in the atmosphere indicate the position of the snow peaks of Atlas, the range itself being lost in the distance.
We chanced on a favoring breeze, so all sail was spread to help us against the strong five knot current always setting out from this sea. I cannot tell with what feelings you entered upon this, the greatest highway of commerce in the world. For all of us it possesses a certain interest, but to some more so than to others. I refer to those who love to wander in imagination amidst the departed glories of Greece and Rome--empires which lived, moved, and had their being when our forefathers were but tattooed savages.
As we advance, the sea begins to widen, the mountainous outline of the Spanish coast trends boldly to the northward; whilst the African sh.o.r.e grows indistinct and flatter, save where here and there some mighty peak rears its head from out of cloudland. Since leaving ”Gib.” we have been under the escort of shoals of porpoises, who ever and anon shoot ahead to compare rate of speed; or, by way of change in the programme, to exhibit their fishy feats under the s.h.i.+p's bows. Whether there be any truth in the mariners' yarn, that the presence of porpoises generally indicates a change in the wind, I will leave for you to form your own opinion; but certain it was, that on the present occasion, the wind did change, and to a ”muzzler” ill.u.s.trating in the most practical manner that our s.h.i.+p could be just as lively on occasion as other pieces of naval architecture. The stomachs of some of our younger hands, too, seemed to have suddenly acquired a sympathetic feeling with the movements of the s.h.i.+p, which, strangely enough, impressed them with a desire to reveal what they had had for dinner. The s.h.i.+p, though, dashed onward like a mad thing, regardless of the agony she was inflicting on some of her human parasites.
This was but the commencement of our sufferings for now the heat was beginning to annoy us. To us who could go on deck when we wished it was bad enough, but to those poor fellows who had to swelter and toil in the stokehole it must have been very trying, though compared with what was yet to come this was a mere bagatelle. We had encountered that blasting wind known as the ”sirocco”--the scourge of the Mediterranean--which after gathering force and heat in the African deserts comes with its fiery and sand-laden breath to sap the moisture from all who have not the natures of salamanders. Fortunately we soon pa.s.sed beyond its sphere of action.
Darkness rapidly sets in in these regions of eternal summer. The sunny sh.o.r.es and genial climes of the Mediterranean, where the very touch of the air seems a perfumed caress, lack only one thing to make them a paradise. Those pleasant hours which obtain in our less favoured land after the sun has set, and which we call twilight, are entirely unknown here, hours which England's youths and maidens generally appropriate to themselves, and which, in after years, recall some of the sweetest memories of their lives. Fancy a day deprived of such hours! No sooner has Phoebus veiled his glorious beams than there is a general demand for candles, and we find our liberal supply of two 'dips' a very inadequate apology for about four hours' illuminating purposes on a draughty deck.
But we must haste on our way past the Tunisian Coast, past Galita, onward through fleets of lateen rigged piratical looking crafts, with snowy sails and bird-like movements, das.h.i.+ng their white wings in the surge. We must not dwell too long on this peaceful and pleasant sh.o.r.e, for Pantellaria--an island of more interest in one sense--begins to rise ahead. This, in all probability, is the ”Calypso's Isle” of the cla.s.sics, but now the less poetical ”Botany Bay” of the Italians. I should think that a few years' compulsory residence here is a thing to be desired rather than not, for it is a delightful spot enough, a sort of embryo continent, and nature seems to have achieved here some of her grandest works in the smallest possible s.p.a.ce and with the least possible amount of material. As we near its sh.o.r.e we catch a glimpse of a pure white town, gracefully reclining on the slopes of a hill at the head of a perfect miniature of a bay. Artistically the effect is very pleasing, the glistening white houses seem as if embowered in the darkest of green foliage, each roof, each angle standing out most distinctly. Much as we regret it we see charming Pantellaria vanis.h.i.+ng astern, for our engines will not cease their everlasting plunges to satisfy any weaknesses of ours.
How wonderfully strange and new everything seems to us; the sea, the land, its peoples, all so different to England; even the very heavens shed milder lights, have purer depths of colour. At night the stars s.h.i.+ne out larger and with greater brilliance than we are wont to see them. Our old friend, the Great Bear, still remains true to us, though he keeps shorter watches in our southward way, others less loyal, forsake us altogether, yet in exchange if we get new forms they are not less beautiful.
Brilliant as are the skies the sea is equally so, for there seem as many gems beneath as above us; we appear to be cleaving our way through a yielding ma.s.s of liquid gold. Every dash the s.h.i.+p makes she seems to set the sea on fire, throwing starry sprays far over our heads on to the deck where the drops still retain their light.
At early morning on August 22nd, a great jabbering outside the s.h.i.+p, as though a colony of monkeys had encountered another babel, announced that we were at Malta. Boats by the hundred swarm around us, and never was seen such a gesticulating, swearing crowd, as their occupants, nor such pus.h.i.+ng and hauling, such splas.h.i.+ng and wrangling, and even fighting to maintain their stations alongside. One's eyes cannot fail to be arrested by these boats, but the colouring of them is what attracts particular attention. We get here our first idea of the criental love for colour, though at Malta the idea is exaggerated, because the colours do not blend harmoniously. For instance, the same boat will be painted with emerald green, vermillion, cobalt, and chrome yellow, put on without the slightest regard to effect or harmony. The eye on the bow is universal, no waterman would dare venture from the sh.o.r.e without such a pilot.
These little crafts, in addition to their legitimate use, have a secondary, though very important one, that of advertising mediums, not unworthy the genius of our American cousins. To select an example here and there. One boat bearing the characteristic and truly Catholic legend ”Nostra Senora di Lordes,” also sets forth another legend to the effect that ”Every ting ver cheap here Jack,” though _what_ is cheap and _where_ is not so clearly indicated; on another this extraordinary piece of English, ”Spose you c.u.m my housee, have got plenty.” Of these same ”housees” numerous tales are told; of one in particular, where you can obtain ”ebery ting” except the right. You ask for beef steak, or ham and eggs, and the master of the house, in the blandest manner and with much shrugging of the shoulders, will answer you, ”Me ver sorry, hab got ebery ting but that,” and ditto to your next order, he has also the sang froid to tell you on your complaining of the toughness of that succulent, that his cabbage must be tender because it has been boiling _ever since the ”Caledonia” went home_. If you don't enjoy it after that, all that I can say is you are over fastidious.
But to return to the busy and noisy throng alongside. Its composition differs very little from that usually encountered by s.h.i.+ps of war in all parts of call. The washerwomen are the undoubted masters of the situation, and carry all before them. The alacrity with which they scramble up the perpendicular side of the s.h.i.+p is simply astonis.h.i.+ng. It struck me that we could not do it with greater ease, notwithstanding that we possess the advantage of unfettered extremities. In the twinkling of an eye they are below, and besieging us in our messes, holding out for our inspection greasy looking rolls of paper, purporting to set forth in English, French, Italian and Spanish, and even in Greek and Turkish, the bearers' exploits amidst the soap suds. To read the English certificates while at breakfast is highly amusing and provocative of much merriment. Here is one. The writer is one ”Bill Pumpkin,” H.M.S. ”Ugly Mug,” who states that the holder, Mary Brown (who does not know Mary the ubiquitous Mary), ”has a strange knack of forgetting the gender of a s.h.i.+rt, for it not unfrequently happens that you may find her with that article of male apparel on her own 'proper person,' otherwise, he says, she is all that can be desired.” The said Mary B being unable to read English--or for that matter any other language--holds up her paper in triumph. Happy, ignorant Mary!
Having squared yards with the black-eyed nymphs (all the shady side of thirty), we are next a.s.sailed with the milkmen, who not only bring their cans, but also their goats on board. When the can is run out ”nanny” is milked, and sent about to look for a feed under the mess-tables, a locality she is thoroughly acquainted with from frequent experience.
Our first breakfast in Malta is over, a meal not easily to be forgotten, for fruit is plentiful and good and very cheap, and milk equally so, and cans full of the latter added to the chocolate make that nutritious beverage truly delightful, while luscious grapes supply a wholesome and refres.h.i.+ng dietary.
Now for a run on sh.o.r.e. Valetta, or la Valette, in honor of one of the most famous of the Grand Masters, the modern capital of Malta, is a fairly large place, though by no means extensive enough to be styled a City, except out of courtesy. How dingy the buildings and how dusty the pavements from the crumbling masonry. The houses are so lofty that the strip of blue sky can scarcely send its light to the bottom, whilst the upper storeys have such an affectionate leaning towards each other, that the wonder is that any mortar is capable of restraining their eagerness to fall on each other's necks. But all the houses are not like this, and the character of the masonry speedily improves on emerging from the gloomy alleys into the magnificent Strada Reale, more of a roadway than a street, for though there are many grand edifices and numerous shop fronts, yet one may walk to Floriana on the one hand, and to Civita Vecchia on the other, without turning to the right or left.
This crowded thoroughfare presents at this special time in particular a most cosmopolitan appearance, for we have dropped in at Malta during the sojourn here of the Indian Contingent, brought to Europe in antic.i.p.ation of difficulties with Russia.
The Maltese themselves, though unquestionably a small race, are wiry and capable of enduring great hards.h.i.+ps. They are very skilful artisans, the filigree jewellery of their silversmiths, for example, is unequalled as a work of art by anything of its kind in Europe. They are splendid divers, and seem equally at home in the water as on the land; the smallest coin thrown overboard being brought to the surface in a twinkling. Whatever their original language might have been, that which they now possess is a most animated one; for they throw their spars about in a most alarming manner in emphasis of what they say, inclining one to the belief that sailors have of this people, namely--if you tie a Maltese hands he can't speak.
Just a word or two descriptive of the s.e.xes: the men we will dismiss with a few words; they are, as I said before, below the medium height, with dark Italian faces and eyes, but otherwise not remarkable. The women are, though, or perhaps I ought to have said their appearance is.
Landing in Malta for the first time, a stranger is apt to conclude that every woman he sees is either a sister of mercy or a nun. This is due, in a great measure, to their national costume, about the only national possession they can now boast of, which consists of a loose gown of rusty black and a hood-like covering over the head and shoulders, also black. This construction throws their face--a rather comely one--into deep shade, almost as sombre-looking as their dress. No doubt if they could be induced to wear the various so-called aids to nature which our ladies use to make ”a good figure,” the Maltese women might do as an advertis.e.m.e.nt for Worth; but under the present system of dressing well, I would guarantee to produce as shapely a structure out of a stuffed bread bag with a spun-yarn around its middle.
If a people be religious, in proportion to the number of priests and sacred edifices seen in their midst, then ought the Maltese to be pre-eminently a devout people; for it seems as if every third building is a church, and every other man one meets a priest; whilst the incessant and not always melodious clanging of bells all day long, is a constant reminder that there is no lack of opportunity for devotees.
So far as the outward appearance of the priests may be taken as the index to the man's worldly position, I should p.r.o.nounce their calling anything but a lucrative one; for a more seedy-looking cla.s.s is rarely to be met with. Their care-worn faces and rusty and tattered garments testifying that in Valetta, at least, the proverbial easy and jolly life of the priesthood does not prevail.