Where Strongest Tide Winds Blew. McReynolds Robert
to his home for the night. The next morning I returned to the Aven and received a reprimand.
A few days later we weighed anchor for Valparaiso. The sky was overcast and the sea was rolling high off the Patagonian coast, when we heard signal guns of distress. Captain McKenzie changed the course of the ship and we soon came in view of the Spanish sloop Seville going to pieces on the rocks. Her bow was lifted high, while the waves were breaking over her stern. Her sails were in shreds, and a dozen sailors clung to the rigging. We lowered the life-boat, and after hours of battle with wind and wave, rescued the crew. They were in an exhausted and famished condition, having been for almost three days without food or water. They were given every kindly attention by our officers and crew.
We saw the dark, jagged, rugged bluffs and steeps of Staten and Terra del Fuego. We rounded Cape St. John, amid tempestuous gales and giant seas of the polar regions. We lost sight of the land, reefed the sails close down and then bid defiance to the storm. Strange sea birds shrieked their dismal cries, while dull leaden skies added to the gloom. We cleared Cape Horn in safety and were soon sailing over the smooth seas of the south Pacific Ocean beneath the Southern Cross.
“Sail ho!” cried the lookout. All eyes were turned to the leeward. A stately ship, under full sail, had suddenly appeared, bearing down upon us. She came silently, the water splitting in foam at her bows. We could see the crew working about her decks, but no sound came from the spectre. All at once we noticed her hull and sails were transparent. We could see through them to the ocean beyond.
It was only a mirage of the sea, but to our crew it was the spectre of the Flying Dutchman–a phantom ship had crossed our bow.
Once in port, no more would we walk the deck of the Aven of Aberdeen. She had seen a ghost.
IV.
GRAVES GAVE UP THEIR DEAD
I was in the streets of Arica, Peru, when the earth began to rock and reel. Buildings surged and fell, with a crashing noise. The dust rose dense, and darkened the sky. The earth gaped and swallowed up many of the people fleeing to the hills back of the town. I followed to an elevation where an awful sight met the terror-stricken populace. The hills of Arica had for centuries been the burying grounds of the ancient Agmaras, a race of Indians who ages ago it seems were fishermen. The convulsions of the earth threw to the surface hundreds of the dried bodies of the Indians, still wrapped in their coarse garments, the nature of the soil had prevented decay. When the people beheld this they believed the world had come to an end, and they threw themselves on their faces praying for mercy.
There was a thunderous roar from the sea, growing louder and louder as each moment of terror sped on, and then, with one mighty crash, a tidal wave fifty feet high,–the aftermath of the earthquake–struck the shore, bearing upon its crest the U. S. Battleship Wateree, one German and two British vessels, leaving them stranded far inland. A sailor from the Wateree was in a boat, and as he was swept past his vessel he waved the Stars and Stripes in farewell to his comrades on board.
The shocks had ceased and the storm that followed had spent its fury, when the pall of night came over the stricken city. Human wolves crept from their hiding places and began their work of prowling amid the ruins and robbing the dead. All night long they held high carnival amid the scenes of terror and desolation.
Through it all I had been a silent, bewildered spectator. I had fled to the hills only because others did, for I could speak but little of the language of the country. I was among the graves when morning dawned and I heard a voice in my own language. Going to the spot I found a man with a sprained ankle fighting away a thief. I seized a rock and he ran. I aided the injured man to a place of safety, where we remained for several days until a conveyance took us back to town.
The man whom I had helped was John L. Thorndike, an American, well known in Peru and all over South America, as having built the highest standard-gauge railway in the world, and a man who at once became my warmest friend.
But to return to my ship. When the Aven of Aberdeen reached Valparaiso, the mate and a number of sailors immediately deserted the vessel in a boat. The Captain saw them leaving but was powerless to stop them. That night John Mitchell and I stood watch alone. There being no boat it did not occur to them that we would attempt to escape, but about midnight Mitchell said to me, “Spriggings, I dare you to run away.”
“I’ll take the dare,” I said, “but how will we get ashore?”
“We’ll launch one of the hatches,” he replied.
It was no sooner said than we tied a rope around one of the heavy hatches, and bearing it to the side of the ship, we lowered it noiselessly into the water, then let ourselves down the rope and by holding to the hatch, one on either side, we safely swam ashore.
We avoided the business streets of Valparaiso and made our way to the country, where we hid in a grove until night. We were without money, our clothes were such as we wore at sea, night was coming on, we were hungry and with no place to sleep. Our only thought had been to escape from the Aven, for we had imbibed the superstition of sailors, and nothing could induce us to remain aboard that vessel since the phantom ship had crossed our bow.
I saw a light in a farmhouse in the distance and on our approach the inmates were aroused by the barking of their dog. The man was a typical Chilean, short and stout. He looked curiously at us and by signs Mitchell made him understand that we were hungry. He entered the house and returned with his wife and two children. Mitchell repeated his signs and the woman went inside and returned with a cup of milk, which we drank greedily. The man then beckoned us inside where we had a supper of meat, bread and coffee. They collected a number of sheep skins, gave us two mats for covering, and we slept soundly.
The next morning we helped the man in his garden, drew water for the cattle and made ourselves useful in other ways. I went almost every day for two weeks to the summit of the hill where I had seen a splendid view of the bay, to see if the Aven was still in port. One day I saw her spread her sails and I watched her until she was but a speck on the horizon.
Our host by this time, I think, knew we had run away, for on one occasion he followed me when I making my observation, but if he suspected anything he never took any steps to have us arrested, and in fact treated us with great kindness. When we left he gave us a large package of food and some clean stockings and shirts which his wife had made for us.
It was nightfall when we entered Valparaiso. Near the plaza Victoria we paused before an English boarding house sign. As we stood looking, a middle-aged man came out and asked us our business. Before we could reply he said: “I bet you are the two boys from the Aven.” Our frightened looks told him we were. He invited us in and gave us supper.
We soon learned to our dismay that this man was the notorious Cockney Spider, keeper of a runaway sailor’s boarding house. At night Cockney would start out to some vessel in the bay of Valparaiso, everything having been pre-arranged, take off those sailors desiring to runaway, secrete them in the house and when opportunity offered, ship them again. The amount of bounty paid by ships short of men was often large, and as Cockney always arranged to have poor runaways deep in debt for board and lodging, the sailor on being re-shipped was worse off, and Cockney the gainer. He often took desperate chances in stealing sailors, as the coast guard and other officials were sharp. Many in that traffic were captured, but Cockney always escaped.
After we spent the night in his home he asked me if I could write. Replying in the affirmative, I was installed as chief book-keeper of the notorious runaway sailor boarding house. My duties were to register the sailors brought to the house, keep a record of their meals, charge so much a night for lodging, and present their bill when they were ready to leave. I held the position for two weeks, when one night Cockney came home intoxicated and told me that he had shipped Mitchell that night on a French bark. A sailor gave me a sly wink and whispered, “Your turn will come next, he intends to ship you on a whaler.” My experience with the ice on the Aven had given me a horror of frozen seas, and that night I stole away from the boarding house.
I was in dread of Cockney Spider, and, in my determination to escape, I became a stowaway on a coast steamer and landed at Arica, with a few dollars in my pocket, paid to me by Spider.
When I arrived at Mollendo in company with