|
Joshua Slocum - Sailing Alone Around The World
of the old landmarks. The man who sold "lemonade" on the plaza when first I visited this wonderful city
I found selling lemonade still at two cents a glass; he had made a fortune by it. His stock in trade was a
wash-tub and a neighboring hydrant, a moderate supply of brown sugar, and about six lemons that
floated on the sweetened water. The water from time to time was renewed from the friendly pump, but
the lemon "went on forever," and all at two cents a glass.
But we looked in vain for the man who once sold whisky and coffins in Buenos Aires; the march of
civilization had crushed him - memory only clung to his name. Enterprising man that he was, I fain
would have looked him up. I remember the tiers of whisky-barrels, ranged on end, on one side of the
store, while on the other side, and divided by a thin partition, were the coffins in the same order, of all
sizes and in great numbers. The unique arrangement seemed in order, for as a cask was emptied a coffin
might be filled. Besides cheap whisky and many other liquors, he sold "cider," which he manufactured
from damaged Malaga raisins. Within the scope of his enterprise was also the sale of mineral waters, not
entirely blameless of the germs of disease. This man surely catered to all the tastes, wants, and conditions
of his customers.
Farther along in the city, however, survived the good man who wrote on the side of his store, where
thoughtful men might read and learn: "This wicked world will be destroyed by a comet! The owner of
this store is therefore bound to sell out at any price and avoid the catastrophe." My friend Mr. Mulhall
drove me round to view the fearful comet with streaming tail pictured large on the trembling merchant's
walls.
I unshipped the sloop's mast at Buenos Aires and shortened it by seven feet. I reduced the length of the
bowsprit by about five feet, and even then I found it reaching far enough from home; and more than
once, when on the end of it reefing the jib, I regretted that I had not shortened it another foot.
CHAPTER VII
Weighing anchor at Buenos Aires - An outburst of emotion at the mouth of the Plate - Submerged by a
great wave - A stormy entrance to the strait - Captain Samblich's happy gift of a bag of carpet-tacks - Off
Cape Froward - Chased by Indians from Fortescue Bay - A miss-shot for "Black Pedro" - Taking in
supplies of wood and water at Three Island Cove - Animal life.
On January 26, 1896, the Spray, being refitted and well provisioned in every way, sailed from
Buenos Aires. There was little wind at the start; the surface of the great river was like a silver disk, and I
was glad of a tow from a harbor tug to clear the port entrance. But a gale came up soon after, and caused
an ugly sea, and instead of being all silver, as before, the river was now all mud. The Plate is a
treacherous place for storms. One sailing there should always be on the alert for squalls. I cast anchor
before dark in the best lee I could find near the land, but was tossed miserably all night, heartsore of
choppy seas. On the following morning I got the sloop under way, and with reefed sails worked her down
the river against a head wind. Standing in that night to the place where pilot Howard joined me for the
up-river sail, I took a departure, shaping my course to clear Point Indio on the one hand, and the English
Bank on the other.
I had not for many years been south of these regions. I will not say that I expected all fine sailing on the
course for Cape Horn direct, but while I worked at the sails and rigging I thought only of onward and
forward. It was when I anchored in the lonely places that a feeling of awe crept over me. At the last
anchorage on the monotonous and muddy river, weak as it may seem, I gave way to my feelings. I
resolved then that I would anchor no more north of the Strait of Magellan.
|
