IT IS nearly time for the S. S. Eden to start on her southward course and the busy scene on board increases in interest as the moment draws near. The noisy derrick is hastened in its work as it hoists its huge loads of boxes and barrels, half a dozen at a time, from the boats alongside, swings them over and lowers them into the hold of the ship. The passengers coming out in the little boats also hasten and, as some of the last of them ascend the gangway, a fierce storm of rain comes on and there is bustle enough to get aboard and get their luggage under shelter. On the front deck are 78 Coolies, or East. Indians, who are returning, to their home in Hindoostan after an absence of ten years. Let us take a peep at them as they move about trying to settle themselves and their children, after the shower. Their hair is straight and their features are like those of the white man, but their skin is back. Some of the men have turbans on their heads, but their feet and a good portion of their legs are bare. A long strip of cloth which is secured by a belt at the waist and is so arranged as to cover the hips and hang down half way to the knees in front is the only garment in shape of pants. A shirt, longer or shorter, as the case may be, hanging loose, completes the male attire. The women have on loose sacks or jackets, and skirts coming down to their ankles; their feet and arms are hare. On the head is a strip of some thin goods, white, red or green, which it hangs loosely and rather gracefully, and is draped in at the waist. A greater number of them are quite precisely ornamented, but not all. They have rings in their noses, usually in the left nostril; in some cases it is a bright button screwed into the left side of the nose; some of them have a button on the left side and a ring in the middle hanging over the upper lip. Some have ear-rings—there is one with a pair each of which has two dangles as large as a silver dollar, and they have to be supported over the top of the ear. On the wrists and above the elbows are bracelets, one, two and on some arms three pairs. On the ankles they have anklets, and on the neck, beads and pewter necklaces. The little girls, and a few of the boys, are decked with nose rings and ear-rings. Whether they have clothes or not, they must have ornaments. Do you say, How foolish! And yet how many in our own land are decking their poor bodies with ornaments of one kind or another.
But while we are scanning the faces and dress of these semi-barbarous people, another fierce shower of rain is upon us and the poor Coolies are gathering in groups here and there under the canvas covering, seeking thus to have shelter. But it is insecure for the heavy rain is coming through; and now they are huddling together back in the passages of the ship. They seem to be patient under it; many of them are jabbering away in their Hindustani, but some faces look anxious and troubled.
Soon the storm is over, the decks are swept again, the sun shines out in his strength, and the passengers begin to move about once more. They bring out some pieces of coarse canvas, such as our “gunny sacks” are made of, and putting them down begin to sit and lie here and there over the deck. A mother spreads a large woolen kerchief over a piece of canvas and tenderly lays her little child upon it. A little girl of four or five years is holding her baby sister as carefully as if she thought her worth her weight in gold.
And now one and another are getting out some bread, or a little something to eat. One of the cabin passengers, who has been interestedly looking on, goes among them with a big basket in which are a number of hard-boiled eggs, two loaves of bread, some cheese, a quantity of bananas and other fruit which you would not know even if I told you the name. A loaf is handed to a woman, and she is asked to divide it with others; she nods assent and looks very happy; another loaf is handed out and the one who gets it raises her eyes to heaven with an exclamation of thanks, then folds it in her arms as if she had a treasure. Now the eggs and fruit are handed out, but it can no longer be in order, for children little and big, have crowded about, and oh! the outstretched hands and eager eyes that pry into the face of the giver, while cries of “mammy, mammy,” sound from the women on this side and that. The basket is soon emptied of its contents, and the one who carries it, wishing she had ten times as much to distribute, turns away, while “mammy good-bye, mammy good-bye,” sounds out from smiling lips and pleased faces as she passes.
But the derrick has ceased its work, the gang-way has been drawn up, the anchor lifted, and for some time the ship has been under way. Let us now pass “aft,” and mingle for a little time with the more favored cabin passengers. We find, them under good shelter, and spread out on their easy chairs, taking all the comforts they can; but that is not a great deal for the sea is now rolling high, and a sick. feeling begins to take possession of most of them. We will sit down for a time. But soon—Ah! what is that—a tremendous crash as if a huge cylinder of glass had been shivered to a thousand pieces just behind us. While questioning what it could be, we hear, “Jump up, jump up, jump up,” and make all haste to get out of our steamer chairs, and now we find the water rolling about our feet. A huge wave has dashed up and broken on the other side of the ship, and, as she rights herself, comes rolling round the raised portion of the deck, at the other side of which we had our seats, and now is about our feet. All seem now to be of one mind, for all hasten down to their state rooms, and are, apparently, glad enough to remain there until next afternoon.
But what about the poor deck passengers? Our hearts ache as we think of them, and what shall we say as we think of the eternal night of darkness to which they are going!
We learn next day that the water swept over the deck during the night and that they have had a bad time. And in the morning one of the little ones, three years old, died. The body was sewed up in canvas in which weights had been placed, and then, according to the custom at sea, it was lowered into the water, there to remain until the sea shall give up its dead. There was no prayer, no burial service, but the Lord, in mercy, had taken the little one to Himself, for “The Son of man is come to save that which was lost.” It was not old enough to be responsible to God for its ways, so did not need seeking after; and when Jesus comes and calls His own from the earth and from the sea, it will answer to the call. But von, my reader, are responsible. Has the Son of man sought and found you?
Another day has come, and now we ride at anchor outside the harbor bar waiting for the tide to rise.
A few hours more, and we are safely over the bar, and putting in to the dock at the mouth of the Demerara river.
We will say good-bye, and perhaps send you a message later from Georgetown.
ML 10/16/1904