A LONELY RIDE.
Ronie and Jack were crossing the vast plain which extends westward and
southward along the shore of Lake Maracaibo, upon the border of which
stands that beautiful city by the same name, and which is the capital
of the State of Zulia. The climate of this region is warm, but cooled
by the lake breezes, as well as by the breath of old ocean, it becomes
very enjoyable. Thus they rode on under conditions that must have been
pleasant had it not been for the shadows of war which overhung every
step of their journey.
The road, if the trampled path at places overgrown with rank
vegetation, and at others smooth and bare as an open floor, deserved
the dignity of the name, soon after leaving the sand belt of the coast,
wound across broad fields of sugar cane, indigo and tobacco, or through
great plantations given over to the cultivation of cacao trees, which
yield those luscious beans that have been described as affording food
for gods. These trees to flourish well have to be protected by some
taller species of tree, and for this purpose the tall, over-arching
_Erithynas_ is raised, giving the scene the appearance at a distance of
being a huge forest, rather than a cultivated field.
Frequently the progress of our heroes was checked, if not quite
stopped, by growths of weeds which had sprung up on deserted
plantations. In Venezuela land is so cheap that it is more
advantageous to abandon a tract of land when it becomes worn out by
cultivation, and clear a new territory, than it is to reclaim the old.
The latter thus soon becomes a forest of weeds, which, insignificant at
first, soon develop into trees with branches, so that by the second
season these overtop the head of a man on horseback. These huge
tree-weeds afford support for dense masses of creepers, among which
Ronie noticed the convolvulus, begonias and passion flowers. These at
places hung their flowering heads so as to form graceful festoons, or
anon lifted them proudly to the breeze, forming picturesque bowers and
floral archways.
If displaying beauty and magnificence in their bountiful offerings,
these jungles were anything but pleasant paths to follow, and it
required skillful management on the part of the rider to save himself
from being pulled from his seat, or escape that fate he might expect at
the hands of the hangman. The native riders show wonderful ability to
run these gantlets, which the newcomer must naturally lack. Now
hanging by one leg down the side of his horse, or stretching himself
along its back, he would escape the blows a novice would be sure to
receive while continuing his flight with speed scarcely abated.
By and by, however, Ronie and Jack came out into a more thickly
populated country. The sun was beginning to crimson the eastern
horizon with its early beams, and the two drew rein for a short
consultation.
"I am afraid we have kept too far to our right," said Jack. "Manuel
spoke of leaving the mountains over our shoulder, and we seem to be
approaching them."
"If the country is becoming more broken, it has the appearance of being
more thickly populated. Do you think, Jack, we need to stand in much
fear of the insurgents in this vicinity?"
"Manuel spoke of a victory for his side recently at Barquisimete, and
if I am not mistaken, we shall pass near that city--certainly near
enough to be within range of the revolutionists. In fact, I feel
pretty sure that the revolution is mainly centered in this part of the
republic."
"I almost wish we had taken the route to Valencia."
"No doubt, whichever we had taken we should wish we had taken the other
before we reached our destination. But that is not the right way to
look at it. We must put on a bold front and push ahead."
"In order to do that we must see that our horses have sufficient food
to enable them to keep moving, even if we go hungry ourselves."
"Right, my lad, and if there is an inn in yonder village I suggest we
stop there long enough to allow them rest and feed."
"I agree to that. Shall you claim to be a revolutionist or a follower
of Castro?"
"At present that must depend on circumstances. Ha! as I thought, we
are approaching a coffee planter's little republic, with the liberty of
his followers left out. Look beyond that ridge, and in the valley
formed by the twin ranges of foothills you will see a typical peasant
settlement, which certainly denotes that not far ahead we shall come
upon some wealthy planter. These peons of Venezuela are to all intents
and conditions slaves, resulting from the debts, it may be, contracted
by their remote ancestors, as generation after generation have been
doomed to work to satisfy the laws and customs of a country which never
outlaws its debts, when those debts have been contracted by a weaker
party. The consequence is that the poor of these South American States
are destined to remain poor until some radical change has been made in
this direction. It is true, Venezuela is not as bad off in this
respect as some of the other republics, but it is bad enough here. Ay,
in South America the word 'republic' loses the significance of liberty
that it bears in other lands. It is natural a people condemned to
lifelong poverty, for no fault of their own in most cases, should be
ever ready to listen to the call to arms as a summons to a holiday. So
you see it is easy to raise an army of this sort, and it is small
wonder Venezuela has been bothered with so many outbreaks against its
peace and progress. But here we are close upon the spacious abode of
the coffee planter, who is the principal man of this vicinity, unless
there happens to be another of his class."
After having seen the pyramidal structures of the peasants or peons,
with roofs slanting to within a few feet of the ground, and thatched
with palm leaves, the collection looking like a colony of beehives,
Ronie was somewhat surprised to find now a dwelling that closely
resembled the houses of his native land. It was, in fact, a fine
residence, standing back several rods from the road, and reached by a
broad avenue running under rows of stately trees resembling the
American elms. He was to learn that these were known here as the
_Alcornoque_, lifting as graceful heads, and as tall, tapering trunks
as their northern cousins. Everything about this home of the coffee
planter denoted wealth and comfort, in marked contrast to the humble
huts scarcely beyond the vision, and of a style of architecture
peculiar to the country.
"Whoever lives here must be a man of importance," remarked Ronie.
"True, lad, and being such a rich man, we are running little risk in
assuming him to be a follower of Castro at this time. The cultivation
of coffee is, in fact, a more certain way of earning a competence, and
it may be, something above a living, than any other calling in
Venezuela. For this reason nearly all others have been neglected.
Sugar cane can be raised profitably, but that requires more capital to
start with, and more manual labor to carry it on. To cultivate sugar
successfully one must fertilize it, so to speak, with gold. But any
man, if he is poor, can have a coffee estate if he has courage to work
and wait for a short season. The day his bushes yield their first red
berries he finds something coming into his pockets. The berries are
worth as high as thirty dollars a hundred pounds, and cost less than
one-third to raise. So you see a poor man, who may have hired the use
of a piece of land, which he pays for on long instalments, may plant a
coffee farm with the aid of his family, living on products that mature
earlier on the same land, until at the end of three years he gathers
his first crop of berries, followed by a full crop the next year. We
shall doubtless meet with more of these small coffee plantations after
this. If I mistake not, here comes the planter himself. Let us risk
it in claiming to be friendly to the government."
Their approach had evidently attracted the owner of the estate, for
Ronie had already seen a small, wiry-framed man, of a very dark
complexion and dashing dress, coming, toward them. He now stopped to
allow them to come forward, saying in a tone of apparent friendliness:
"Good-morning, senors," somewhat to their surprise speaking in their
language.
"Good-morning," replied both in unison.
"You must have taken an early start, senors."
"It is because our journey is a long one, senor," replied Jack, who
acted as spokesman. "Our horses are tired, and we would bespeak for
them food and rest at your hospitality."
"Dismount, gentlemen. My men will look after them, while I entertain
you."
While Jack and Ronie did as they were told, a couple of peons appeared
on the scene, to lead the tired animals away, as the hospitable planter
requested his visitors to follow him to his favorite morning retreat
under one of the beautiful shade trees standing in his yard within
sight of his house. If he had shown a friendly spirit in his tone so
far, his next words, as the three sank upon the rustic benches
encircling the tree, showed that he was not free from concern in regard
to the character of his early callers:
"You say your journey is a long one, sirs; no man travels a long
journey without an urgent purpose. Especially is this true on an
occasion like this."
Jack, who could see no good likely to result from appearing mysterious,
replied frankly and promptly:
"We are bound for Caracas, though it may not be well for every idle ear
to catch the word."
"Right, sir. Who would you see in Caracas?"
"President Castro."
"Then your journey will be in vain, for the President is unavoidably
kept away from the capital. You might have traveled much quicker by
rail."
"Possibly. But as you say the President is not in Caracas, that would
not have helped us. Can you tell if Minister Bowen is at the capital?"
"If he is, he would hardly be accessible at this time. Come,
strangers, throw off your cloak of reticence and let us be frank with
each other. My name is Jose Pelado, and having lived several years in
your country, I am free to confess I have imbibed some of your Yankee
spirit."
Our Americans immediately gave their names, adding that it was to
obtain assistance in securing the freedom of a companion that they were
on their way to the capital.
"I expected something of this kind. It is fortunate that you have come
thus far without molestation, and I will assure you you cannot go as
far on your next stage without falling into the hands of the guerilla
hordes that infest the jungles. But, pardon me for keeping you from
the rest and food that you must need. Partake of such refreshments as
I can offer you, then we will discuss the situation."
Ronie and Jack were not loathe to do this, though while they ate, their
host related to them much they had not known of the situation in the
country. He showed that he was not only an educated man, but that he
was well posted upon affairs, while he was very pronounced in his
admiration for Castro.
"Venezuela has had revolutions and shades of revolutions, but not one
more unwarranted than this. Castro is a patriot, and the uprising that
he led a few years since, and which placed him at the head of the
government, is no more to be compared to this than the snarling of a
cowardly cur seeking to rob a bigger dog of his breakfast because he is
too lazy to hunt for his own, is to the good, honest bark of a mastiff
that seeks to defend his master's property. Andrade's administration,
following Crespo's, was grossly dishonest, and would have drained the
republic of its healthy interest, had it not been for the mountain
patriot, Castro, who fought his way straight from the Venezuelan
frontier, a good thousand miles, to Caracas, the capital. In a
twinkling Andrade went out and Castro went in. He lost no time in
setting about to clear up the clouded system of government. It
required a masterly hand to guide the current of affairs. He soon
found it difficult to know whom to trust.
"Among those who had rebelled with apparent honesty against Crespo and
then his successor, Andrade, was the hunchback warrior, Manuel
Hernandez, called by friends and foes alike as 'El Mocho.' His forces
were scattered about in this region, he having rallied them by
inflammable speeches against Andrade, whom he declared had been
selected by fraud. Finally two thousand men, under the command of a
relative of Crespo, met his band of scarcely five hundred near
Valencia. In this unequal fight Crespo was killed and his men utterly
routed by the hunchback, who instantly sprang into wild favor. His
little army was swiftly increased by recruits. The people in general
rejoiced at the fate of Crespo, who had made himself obnoxious to many.
But the military prestige of Hernandez suffered an early frost.
Andrade sent his minister of war to treat with him, and in the next
battle he was defeated, his troops utterly routed, and he himself put
into prison.
"Then Castro's triumph completely changed this. Andrade fled, and many
of the followers of El Mocho joined the new ruler, who soon freed
Hernandez, and offered him a place in his cabinet. Hernandez accepted,
though it proved that he had not stifled his ambition to become
president. He improved his new opportunity to inflate some of Castro's
followers with his wild dreams. He believed he had had the experience
now to enable him to overthrow the ruling power, so he stole out of the
capital between two days, leading a small army at his heels.
"El Mocho made a desperate fight for his cause, but he misjudged the
ability of his rival. Castro did not worry over his escapades, but
when the favorable opportunity came he caught the hunchback rebel and
returned him to the prison where he is likely to remain for a goodly
time. Castro is the last man to be baffled where so much is at stake.
What can be on foot now?"