Mul­ti­ple Page Post

The only sign of com­mer­cial acti­vity within the har­bour, visi­ble from the beach of the Great Isa­bel, is the square blunt end of the woo­den jetty which the Ocea­nic Steam Navi­ga­tion Com­pany (the O.S.N. of fami­liar speech) had thrown over the shal­low part of the bay soon after they had resol­ved to make of Sulaco one of their ports of call for the Repu­blic of Cos­ta­guana. The State pos­s­es­ses seve­ral har­bours on its long sea­board, but except Cayta, an important place, all are eit­her small and incon­ve­ni­ent inlets in an iron-bound coast—like Esme­ralda, for ins­tance, sixty miles to the south—or else mere open roadsteads expo­sed to the winds and fret­ted by the surf.

Per­haps the very atmo­sphe­ric con­di­ti­ons which had kept away the mer­chant fleets of bygone ages indu­ced the O.S.N. Com­pany to vio­late the sanc­tuary of peace shel­te­ring the calm exis­tence of Sulaco. The varia­ble airs sport­ing lightly with the vast semicir­cle of waters within the head of Azu­era could not baffle the steam power of their excel­lent fleet. Year after year the black hulls of their ships had gone up and down the coast, in and out, past Azu­era, past the Isa­bels, past Punta Mala—disregarding ever­y­thing but the tyranny of time. Their names, the names of all mytho­logy, became the house­hold words of a coast that had never been ruled by the gods of Olym­pus. The Juno was known only for her com­for­ta­ble cab­ins amid­ships, the Saturn for the genia­lity of her cap­tain and the pain­ted and gilt luxu­rious­ness of her saloon, whe­reas the Gany­mede was fit­ted out mainly for cattle trans­port, and to be avo­ided by coast­wise pas­sen­gers. The hum­blest Indian in the obscu­rest vil­lage on the coast was fami­liar with the Cer­be­rus, a little black puf­fer wit­hout charm or living accom­mo­da­tion to speak of, whose mis­sion was to creep inshore along the woo­ded bea­ches close to mighty ugly rocks, stop­ping obligin­gly before every clus­ter of huts to coll­ect pro­duce, down to three-pound par­cels of indi­a­rub­ber bound in a wrap­per of dry grass.
And as they sel­dom fai­led to account for the smal­lest package, rarely lost a bul­lock, and had never drow­ned a sin­gle pas­sen­ger, the name of the O.S.N. stood very high for trust­wort­hi­ness. Peo­ple declared that under the Company’s care their lives and pro­perty were safer on the water than in their own hou­ses on shore.