| Title: | McMahon Glynn, Patrick to Glynn, Ellen, 1880 |
|---|---|
| ID | 4360 |
| Collection | Patrick McMahon Glynn: Letters to his family (1874-1927) [Gerald Glynn O'Collins] |
| File | glynn/10 |
| Year | 1880 |
| Sender | McMahon Glynn, Patrick |
| Sender Gender | male |
| Sender Occupation | migrant |
| Sender Religion | unknown |
| Origin | Ship Orient |
| Destination | Gort, Co. Galway, Ireland |
| Recipient | Glynn, Ellen |
| Recipient Gender | female |
| Relationship | son-mother |
| Source | |
| Archive | |
| Doc. No. | |
| Date | |
| Partial Date | |
| Doc. Type | |
| Log | unknown |
| Word Count | 2457 |
| Genre | account of passage |
| Note | |
| Transcript | S.S. Orient Friday 25th Sept. 1880. My dear Mother As we are approaching the Cape where we will arrive early on tomorrow, I have an opportunity of writing another letter. Since I last wrote to you, we have been at St. Vincent, one of the Cape Verde Islands, a Portugese settlement of about 4000 inhabitants, principally niggars. It is a coaling station, where we took on board about 700 tons of coals. On our arrival, we are soon surrounded by young niggars who dived for any money we threw overboard and recovered it with wonderful quickness. They were perfectly naked. We remained there nearly two days—arriving at noon on Saturday, and sailing on Monday at 9 a.m. The bay is very fine—surrounded by conical hills—the summit of one to the west (called Washington's head) bears a most extra-ordinary resemblance to the face of a man looking upwards. I went on shore both days with a lot of other fellows. The first thing one becomes aware of on landing is that the art of begging is brought to wonderful perfection at St. Vincent. Every young naked niggar knows how to ask for a penny. The town itself is of the Portugese style, verandahs in front of the open windows,—-narrow but well paved streets—relieved by occassional squares with seats under orange trees—among the principal buildings being a Roman Catholic chapel, which I visited during Mass on Sunday. The native Police stand round the altar—or rather at its sides—during mass— with swords fixed in their guns. The swells go there in their Sunday togs—being a mixture of Colors, outvieing the rainbow. Dancing at several "Public Houses" is always possible—Sundays included—to the music of the banjo and with black women—the latter being well built, but by no means prepossessing as regards facial structure. Oranges (green), lemons and cigars are cheap—home drinks (such as Guiness's stout and Irish whiskey) dear, but Spanish wines moderate and bad. The heat was very great—but not uncomfortable, as perspiration was always going on—but I was very bad with rheumatism and have been for 10 days, in the arms and left big toe. I am a little better today. I had a swim on Sunday. I don't think there is much more to tell about St. Vincent—except that its black hills, standing up in the dark yellow athmosphere of the day, exhibit no sign of vegetation. The harbour has made it the "half-way house"— larger islands being perceptible in the distance. Day fades into night there and in the tropics almost at once. We sailed from St. Vincent on the morning of Monday the 12th, and as we approached the equator the weather became perceptibly colder, with a strong wind ahead, blowing from the S.E. until now it is almost too cold to sit on deck. People had top coats on within the tropical lines. The South east breeze was I think the cause of this. I did not see the equator, but several children kept a sharp look out for it—some alleging they could see it, in order to beat the others in optics. The Northern constellations have disappeared, and the Southern taken their place. I saw the Southern cross for the first time last night. It is not much to look at, consisting of four bright stars —at present lying near the horizon like the following elegant diagram. * ** * Concerts—piano—concertina—& Kid-throttle-playing—teetotal lectures (at one of which I spoke on behalf of the drinkers, receiving ovations therefore) bible readings—drinking—card—domino—chess playing—boxing in case of a few of us, etc. etc. continue to divert people. We were to have had a niggar entertainment, followed by a farce last night, for which I wrote and was to have delivered a prologue, but had to postpone it until we leave the Cape, as a first class passenger died on board about noon (8 bells) yesterday. He was sewn up in canvas by the sail maker, tied on a board with lead attached to it by the carpenter, placed on deck—the plank resting on the bulwarks astern—and the Union Jack laid across it—at 8 a.m. this morning, and after a few prayers said by the Capt. and Chief Officer as substitutes for clergymen—thrown overboard. The Second Saloon passengers were at breakfast just then but I remained on deck getting up the rigging for a good view. The sad event—now 12 noon— scarcely lives in the memory of this busy little world. A few whales seen about ten afforded a better subject to gossip about. All that live, must die—passing thro' nature to eternity. I think I have brought you down to the present time, the burial of this morning being the only thing of note. I keep a diary every day: reading incidents as I describe them causes a good deal of amusement among my clique—several having taken extracts from it to send to their friends. Now I must clear out as the table is being laid for dinner. 3 p.m. I have had my dinner—to carve for a lot as usual—and a walk up to the forecastle. There the sea is coming over, as there is a very strong wind and a high sea—big-blue-foam crested monsters. It will be worse by and by, as the sea rises after the wind abates. Passengers seem to be getting wonderfully affectionate towards one another; embracing—whether one wishes or not—very much in vogue at present. I will give you an extract from my Diary, to enable you to form an idea of its style, as well as the habits and incidents of life on board. Sat. 11th Sept. After describing St. Vincent it thus proceeds: "On the arrival of our visiting parties at the vessel each night a few mistakes occurred. A disciple of Bacchus for instance mistook the sea for the gang-way and was received into the liquid bosom of his Oceanic Majesty, from which, minus some grog, he was soon recovered; while a teetotaller, heavily laden with a cargo of sherbet, lime juice, jalap, and other cooling beverages displayed the rectitude of his judgment by insinuating one of his legs into a coalshoot, breaking several bottles and thereby demonstrating with mathematical precision that the possibility of acquiring an angular gait was not altogether without the province of a waterdrinker. Another of the heterogeneous qualifications of the said teetotaller, namely his skill in comic singing, being displayed with nasal accompaniments about 1 a.m, in his cabin, had the effect of causing a volley of cigar boxes to be discharged at his head from the bunk of Mr. Schofield cannoning on to the sleeping carcass of Mackey. The effect of the discharge was only to stimulate the water-drinker to the utterance of a species of music bearing some affinity to the dying elegy of a goose; whereupon Schofield, whose amunition was exhausted, with the agility of a kangaroo sprang linen-sheathed, from his bunk, and in the twinkling of an eye grappled him by the throat. Through the guttral apparatus of the discomfited lime-juice, sherbet, and jalap consumer there emerged some gasping sounds of sufficient power to arouse the slumbering Mackey. As an ass, with a saucepan appended to his tail, if perchance a pin be insinuated into the unfashionable portion of his body, pounces and buck-jumps, his ears being assailed by sauce-pan music from behind—so the valiant Mackey indented as to his forehead by the cigar-box, and terrified by the unusual din, rushed upon the combatants dealing his blows on every side to the utter astonishment of the originals. For full 10 seconds the battle raged with doubtful victory, until the eyes of the valiant Mackey being sufficiently open to enable him to perceive the real state of affairs, like a second Jupiter, he commanded a cessation of hostilities. On the resumption of peace Schofield advised his opponent to study the Noble art of Swimming as in case of an involuntary emergence through a Porthole he might find it useful." While I was writing this extract bang across the table went paper, pens, work-boxes, and writing cases. My hat located itself between an old lady's feet, where it must remain for the present, as she is deaf, and from considerations of delicacy I decline to pursue it. There is another extract perfectly true, however startling. "Sat. 18 Lat. 3.3S'-S Long. 7.36'-W. Just as the boatswain had tolled 8 bells to announce the arrival of noon, and the time of the watches relief, a quick succession of peals, rung out from a bell immediately in front of and under the promenade deck, notified to all the fearful fact that a fire had broken out. Fire!! What a terrible word! In the midst of the lonely ocean and with over 800 souls on board. I have read in books of fires at sea and can remember how vividly, in my early days, the pen of a romance writer, supplemented by the poetic imagery of a youthful mind, have conjured up such scenes before my imagination; but never before experienced that fearful consciousness which is compounded of awe, inspired by the contemplation of a terrific grandeur and a feeling of proximate personal danger. Ah well—my children—may you when such a story is being told gather closer round the fire, and from your cosey security, with importunate eyes, ask Papa all about it. Poor Papa, that omniscient individual from whom children expect all the information of personal acquaintanceship with every fact in history. But listen. Words are insufficient to describe what followed. Try and picture to yourself a ship of 5,400 tons burden, with 800 passengers and crew, only a few boats, steaming at the rate of 14 nets an hour thro' the Gulf of Guinea, and the fire alarm ringing. Imagine, if you can, the palid glare of fear sickening every face, the consciousness of unpreparedness and death's approach stultifying many a look; conceive the heart-ache which comes from looking on the prospect of a last hour unsolaced by a kindly word of sympathy and a fate for which the friendly tear will fall only when the wreck of mortality consists of a skeleton; confusion and terror everywhere except where the sailors, with the hydrants set, send a torrent of spray upon the flames, as they hiss upwards thro' the steerage deck vomiting smoke and sooty ashes over the sea, which jealous of destruction, gurgles and boils around; up-up-along the masts, snapping ropes, igniting sails, cracking yards go the flames wagging their blood-red tongues until the very top-masts receive their Judas-kiss; down, after a few seconds oscillation, come the iron masts, smashing as if in the devilry of despair, every impediment to their descent, and, at last, amidst the din of mingled screams, yells, curses, prayers, whistles, signal guns and rattle of disgorging waters—imagine —well imagine what asses you are to believe anything of the kind occurred. It was simply a false alarm of fire, to test the men's knowledge of and aptitude for their respective duties in case a real one broke out." Such is the style of my Diary. You see I began my description with "Imagine". The false alarm of fire is rung very often to keep the men in readiness. Several fainted at first when they heard it. The vessel is a little world. The same indications of human nature as on land—gossipping—dancing—raffling—lying—swindling —cursing—praying—flirting—jealousies—open heartedness—selfishness — marriage-eye-openness — mother-in-law's long windedness, never-open-your-mouth-at-all-ed-ness,—all here the same as on land.' For instance I carve for a young lady—open-hearted and agreeable —on my right; a selfish old lady on my left, that would eat the devil himself if he was wasted, or rather if he was unwasted, as I believe that would be the way to cook him,—another young, capricious, flirting, little, but innocent-hearted girl opposite outflanked on both sides by silent juvenile and mid-juvenile females—an ogre-like Scotch man and his wife, that seize everything on the table at once and pile them on their plates for fear of losing anything—with several skirmishes in the distance—principally Irish by birth, but all right sort of fellows. We expect to arrive at the Cape early in the morning and I will go ashore. Letters must be posted on board tonight, so farwell until Australia receives me. I can [not] write to all my friends, but you could lend them or send them copies of this, James, P.B.T. etc. with love to all Your affect, son P. McM. Glynn P.S. I find I can write a few more lines. I have had tea at 6 and it is now about 7 p.m. The sea is running very high—the vessel rolling and dipping, but with wonderful grace and majesty owing to its great length. Several sick again. The solemn thud of the engines always going on, regular and unceasing, in intonation just like its heart. I am now in saloon, the lamps being all alight, with all sorts of people around at all sorts of businesses. Some playing cards—some chatting —some writing, some reading—some sewing—and some gazing at nothing in the air and evidently surprised at the keenness of their visions in seeing it. Smash go fifty or a hundred plates. In comes the melancholic Scotchman—misery and desolation sitting on his imitation of a face. In comes after him old Tozer—another cabin fellow —jolly—laughing—goodnatured and every one's favourite as usual. In do not come—but are forcibly projected—after him a brace of females—and up I am going to have a smoke, and post this letter as it is now the witching hour. I just see an old stout lady, at the end of the table, playing cards and beaming with good nature. There are some agreeable people in the world, and I have a jolly crew near me now. Up goes the screw sometimes, and then there is a tremor thro' the vessel. There is a poor old lady from Denmark on board going out to her son. She speaks no language but Danish and has no one to converse with. I tried her in French and had Germans at her, but no use. Nevertheless she is always a model of patience and good temper. We are endeavouring to exclude the ladies from our smoking place, which they always monopolise, but I have got an exemption in her favour, as it enables her to be on deck, without drafts. Goodbye again. |
