BOUND FOR BRAZIL.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 57, 14 April 1914, Page 5

BOUND FOR BRAZIL.

ON AN EMIGRANT SHIP. The liner anchored in the narrow harbour of Leixoes, and awaited her thirdclass passengers for Brazil. A horde of noisy boatmen quarrelled at the foot of the companion ladder, and the saloon passengers who leaned over the deck encouraged them with pennies. At the top of the ladder stood the ship's doctor, ready for the usual thankless task of separating the fit from the unfit, as the newcomers climbed aboard with their bundles and boxes.

He, like the two untidy Portuguese policemen beside him was unmoved by the anguished farewells, said hurriedly by each traveller who reached the deck. Ship's doctors have no time for tears or sentiment. The little policemen helped, to separate the voyagers from their friends by the simple' process of kicking the latter down the steps to their boats, and pushing the accepted emigrants along the deck. They came abroad equipped with a strange variety of luggage. Some staggered under the weight of mysterious bags tied with rope. Others clung to small metal boxes that apparently contained all .their worldly goods, and still others started for the Land of Promise with no more than a parcel wrapped in a newspaper. TOIL-WORN PEASANTS. They were mostly peasants from the farms of Northern Portugal, toilworn, pathetically shabby, " and very bewildered by their new experience. They followed each other like sheep, accepting the rough orders of the two Republican gendarmes as a matter of course, and humbly acknowledging the ship's doctor as the embodiment of authority. The doctor sifted them without emotion. One searching glance, a quick, skilful pressure of the eyelids for traces of the dreaded trachoma, and a tap on the shoulder. . "All Tight." A harbour boat approached the liner. Two men rowed unsteadily, and three others sat in the stern, endeavouring to embrace a fourth. The fourth man wore a new black suit and a black wideawake hat. His collar ha. 1 , recently been white, and his green and purple tie heralded his coming. In the bottom of the boat reposed a new red and green tin trunk, two bottles of wine that had been pressed upon him by his friends (without trouble), and one of those villainous deck chairs, consisting of rotten canvas and matchwood struts, that collapse before the gaze of a fat man. As the rowers clumsily brought their boat alongside the companion ladder, the man in the new clothes rose and hugged his friends in turn. There was more wine aboard than that contained in the two corked bottles, and its presence was manifest in the attitudes ofall four.

The traveller kissed each man and tried to do a few tango steps before lie started up the ship's ladder. The especial Providence that watches over such alcoholic ceremonials kept him upright, although the small boat danced about dangerously in the choppy sea and threatened every moment to fling its occupants overboard.

ANTI-CLIMAX. The ship's doctor looked down from an enormous height and surveyed the scene impassively. Up came the traveller, dragging his new red and green trunk; a bottle of wine swayed drunkenly in each pocket of his coat. Behind him panted a friend, who was hauling aboard the canvas chair.

Lamentations arose from the small boat. One man sank back in the stern sheets and wept loudly. "Wine and sorrow convulsed him, and the tears rolled down his grimy cheeks. Derisive laughter from the liner's passengers caused him to weep all the harder. The two rowers kept back their own tears in order to reply to the policeman, who cursed them for having come alongside in a singularly unhandy manner. The traveller —his own eyes overflowing at the thought of parting—reached the top of the companion ladder. He flung his trunk on the deck. His friend added the canvas chair, and they turned for a last embrace, when "Not so fast, my friend." The doctor pulled him forward like a tailor's dummy. Thumb and forefinger stretched back one eyelid, then the other. Both men stopped weeping in their amazement. "No." ,

The doctor made a gesture. An eloquent gesture, spelling disappointment, ruined hopes—beyond everything, an anti-climax. It was no more than a slight motion of the hand in the direction of the small boat. But it closed the gates of the new Eldorado to the red and tin trunk, the two bottles of wine, and the new suit of clothes, and it dried the tears of the man who had amassed them.

I 'BACK TO THE LAND." He did not understand at first. He gazed stupidly at the authoritative figure in uniform; his open mouth transfixed in the middle of a sob. One of the policemen brought him back to reality with a rush. He was bundled down the ladder, his friend after him. The red and green trunk followed. The canvas chair was forgotten. A sound of cracking glass could be heard as the near-traveller was flung against the ship's side by his police escort. He reached the small boat with wine dripping from his coat. The man in the stern ceased crying. He and his friends —speechless with astonishment —watched the returning guest, as he was flung violently beside them. The policemen shook their fists, and the rowers pushed off. The situation developed as I watched the receding boat through my glasses. The damp and dishevelled voyager sat on his new trunk and appeared to be trying.to explain something. The man who had sobbed the loudest was now shouting violently, and there were no tears in his eyes. Before the boat reached the jetty the rejected emigrant was overwhelmed with reproaches. There appeared to be repeated demands for the repayment of money spent. Even the tin trunk was a target for abuse. The sliijj's doctor leaned over the rail and yawned wearily. —"Express."