There was no milk, of course, except the
heavily sweetened sort, which I could not use: it was the
old-time condensed and canned milk; the meats were beyond
everything, except the poor, tough, fresh beef we had seen
hoisted over the side, at Cape St. Lucas. The butter, poor at the
best, began to pour like oil. Black coffee and bread, and a baked
sweet potato, seemed the only things that I could swallow.
The heat in the Gulf of California was intense. Our trunks were
brought up from the vessel's hold, and we took out summer
clothing. But how inadequate and inappropriate it was for that
climate! Our faces burned and blistered; even the parting on the
head burned, under the awnings which were kept spread. The
ice-supply decreased alarmingly, the meats turned green, and when
the steward went down into the refrigerator, which was somewhere
below the quarter-deck, to get provisions for the day, every
woman held a bottle of salts to her nose, and the officers fled
to the forward part of the ship. The odor which ascended from
that refrigerator was indescribable: it lingered and would not
go. It followed us to the table, and when we tasted the food we
tasted the odor. We bribed the steward for ice. Finally, I could
not go below at all, but had a baked sweet potato brought on
deck, and lived several days upon that diet.
On the 14th of August we anchored off Mazatlan, a picturesque and
ancient adobe town in old Mexico. The approach to this port was
strikingly beautiful. Great rocks, cut by the surf into arches
and caverns, guarded the entrance to the harbor. We anchored two
miles out. A customs and a Wells-Fargo boat boarded us, and many
natives came along side, bringing fresh cocoanuts, bananas, and
limes. Some Mexicans bound for Guaymas came on board, and a
troupe of Japanese jugglers.
While we were unloading cargo, some officers and their wives went
on shore in one of the ship's boats, and found it a most
interesting place. It was garrisoned by Mexican troops, uniformed
in white cotton shirts and trousers. They visited the old hotel,
the amphitheatre where the bull-fights were held, and the old
fort. They told also about the cock-pits - and about the
refreshing drinks they had.
My thirst began to be abnormal. We bought a dozen cocoanuts, and
I drank the milk from them, and made up my mind to go ashore at
the next port; for after nine days with only thick black coffee
and bad warm water to drink, I was longing for a cup of good tea
or a glass of fresh, sweet milk.
A day or so more brought us to Guaymas, another Mexican port.
Mrs. Wilkins said she had heard something about an old Spaniard
there, who used to cook meals for stray travellers. This was
enough. I was desperately hungry and thirsty, and we decided to
try and find him. Mrs. Wilkins spoke a little Spanish, and by
dint of inquiries we found the man's house, a little old,
forlorn, deserted-looking adobe casa.
We rapped vigorously upon the old door, and after some minutes a
small, withered old man appeared.
Mrs. Wilkins told him what we wanted, but this ancient Delmonico
declined to serve us, and said, in Spanish, the country was "a
desert"; he had "nothing in the house"; he had "not cooked a meal
in years"; he could not; and, finally, he would not; and he
gently pushed the door to in our faces. But we did not give it
up, and Mrs. Wilkins continued to persuade. I mustered what
Spanish I knew, and told him I would pay him any price for a cup
of coffee with fresh milk. He finally yielded, and told us to
return in one hour.
So we walked around the little deserted town. I could think only
of the breakfast we were to have in the old man's casa. And it
met and exceeded our wildest anticipations, for, just fancy! We
were served with a delicious boullion, then chicken, perfectly
cooked, accompanied by some dish flavored with chile verde,
creamy biscuit, fresh butter, and golden coffee with milk. There
were three or four women and several officers in the party, and
we had a merry breakfast. We paid the old man generously, thanked
him warmly, and returned to the ship, fortified to endure the
sight of all the green ducks that came out of the lower hold.
You must remember that the "Newbern" was a small and old
propeller, not fitted up for passengers, and in those days the
great refrigerating plants were unheard of. The women who go to
the Philippines on our great transports of to-day cannot realize
and will scarcely believe what we endured for lack of ice and of
good food on that never-to-be-forgotten voyage down the Pacific
coast and up the Gulf of California in the summer of 1874.
CHAPTER V
THE SLUE
At last, after a voyage of thirteen days, we came to anchor a
mile or so off Port Isabel, at the mouth of the Colorado River.
A narrow but deep slue runs up into the desert land, on the east
side of the river's mouth, and provides a harbor of refuge for
the flat-bottomed stern-wheelers which meet the ocean steamers at
this point. Hurricanes are prevalent at this season in the Gulf
of California, but we had been fortunate in not meeting with any
on the voyage. The wind now freshened, however, and beat the
waves into angry foam, and there we lay for three days on the
"Newbern," off Port Isabel, before the sea was calm enough for
the transfer of troops and baggage to the lighters.
