We approached the Mosquito Shore timidly. The shallowing sea was of the
color of amber; the land so low and level that the foliage which covered
it seemed to be rooted in the water. We dropped anchor in the mouth of
the San Juan River. On our right lay the little Spanish village of San
Juan del Norte; its five hundred inhabitants may have been wading
through its one street at that moment, for aught we know; the place
seemed to be knee-deep in water. On our left was a long strip of
land--the depot and coaling station of the Vanderbilt Steamship Company.
It did not appear to be much, that sandspit known as Punta Arenas, with
its row of sheds at the water's edge, and its scattering shrubs tossing
in the wind; but sovereignty over this very point was claimed by three
petty powers: Costa Rica, Nicaragua, and "Mosquito." Great Britain
backed the "Mosquito" claim; and, in virtue of certain privileges
granted by the "Mosquito" King, the authorities of San Juan del
Norte--the port better known in those days as Graytown, albeit 'twas as
green as grass--threatened to seize Punta Arenas for public use.
Thereupon Graytown was bombarded; but immediately rose, Phoenix-like,
from its ashes, and was flourishing when we arrived. The current number
of _Harper's Monthly_, a copy of which we brought on board when we
embarked at New York, contained an illustrated account of the
bombardment of Graytown, which added not a little to the interest of the
hour.
While we were speculating as to the nature of our next experience,
suddenly a stern-wheel, flat-bottom boat backed up alongside of the Star
of the West. She was of the pattern of the small freight-boats that
still ply the Ohio and Mississippi rivers. If the Star of the West was
small, this stern-wheel scow was infinitely smaller. There was but one
cabin, and it was rendered insufferably hot by the boilers that were set
in the middle of it. There was one flush deck, with an awning stretched
above it that extended nearly to the prow of the boat. It was said our
passenger list numbered fourteen hundred. The gold boom in California
was still at fever heat. Every craft that set sail for the Isthmus by
the Nicaragua or Panama route, or by the weary route around Cape Horn,
was packed full of gold-seekers. It was the Golden Age of the Argonauts;
and, if my memory serves me well, there were no reserved seats worth the
price thereof.
The first river boat at our disposal was for the exclusive accommodation
of the cabin passengers, or as many of them as could be crowded upon
her--and we were among them. Other steamers were to follow as soon as
practicable. Hours, even days, passed by, and the passengers on the
ocean steamers were sometimes kept waiting the arrival of the river
boats that were aground or had been belated up the stream.
About two hundred of us boarded the first boat. Our luggage of the
larger sort was stowed away in barges and towed after us. The decks were
strewn with hand-bags, camp-stools, bundles, and rolls of rugs. The
lower deck was two feet above the water. As we looked back upon the Star
of the West, waving a glad farewell to the ship that had brought us more
than two thousand miles across the sea, she loomed like a Noah's Ark
above the flood, and we were quite proud of her--but not sorry to say
good-bye.
And now away, into the very heart of a Central American forest! And hail
to the new life that lay all before us in El Dorado! The river was as
yellow as saffron; its shores were hidden in a dense growth of
underbrush that trailed its boughs in the water, and rose, a wall of
verdure, far above our smokestacks. As we ascended the stream the forest
deepened; the trees grew taller and taller; wide-spreading branches
hung over us; gigantic vines clambered everywhere and made huge hammocks
of themselves; they bridged the bayous, and made dark leafy caverns
wherein the shadows were forbidding; for the sunshine seemed never to
have penetrated them, and they were the haunts of weirdness and mystery
profound.
Sometimes a tree that had fallen into the water and lay at a convenient
angle by the shore afforded the alligator a comfortable couch for his
sun-bath. Shall I ever forget the excitement occasioned by the discovery
of our first alligator! Not the ancient and honorable crocodile of the
Nile was ever greeted with greater enthusiasm; yet our sportsmen had
very little respect for him, and his sleep was disturbed by a shower of
bullets that spattered upon his hoary scales as harmlessly as rain.
Though the alligator punctuated every adventurous hour of that memorable
voyage in Nicaragua, we children were more interested in our Darwinian
friends, the monkeys. They were of all shades and shapes and sizes; they
descended in troops among the trees by the river side; they called to us
and beckoned us shoreward; they cried to us, they laughed at us; they
reached out their bony arms, and stretched wide their slim, cold hands
to us, as if they would pluck us as we passed. We exchanged compliments
and clubs in a sham-battle that was immensely diverting; we returned
the missiles they threw at us as long as the ammunition held out, but
captured none of the enemy, nor did the slightest damage--as far as we
could ascertain.
Often the parrots squalled at us, but their vocabulary was limited; for
they were untaught of men. Sometimes the magnificent macaw flew over us,
with its scarlet plumage flickering like flame. Oh, but those gorgeous
birds were splashes of splendid color in the intense green of that
tropical background!
There were islands in this river,--islands that seemed to have no
shores, but lay half submerged in mid-stream, like huge water-logged
bouquets. There were sand-bars in the river, and upon these we sometimes
ran, and were brought to a sudden stand-still that startled us not a
little; then we backed off with what dignity we might, and gave the
unwelcome obstructions a wide berth.
Perhaps the most interesting event of the voyage was "wooding up." A few
hours after we had entered the river our steamer made for the shore.
More than once in her course she had rounded points that seemed to block
the way; and occasionally there were bends so abrupt that we found
ourselves apparently land-locked in the depths of a wilderness which
might well be called prodigious. Now it was evident that we were heading
for the shore, and with a purpose, too. As we drew nearer, we saw among
the deep tangle of leaves and vines a primitive landing. It was a little
dock with a thatched lodge in the rear of it and a few cords of wood
stacked upon its end. There were some natives here--Indians
probably,--with dark skins bared from head to foot; they wore only the
breech-clout, and this of the briefest. Evidently they were children of
Nature.
Having made fast to this dock, these woodmen speedily shouldered the
fuel and hurried it on board, while they chanted a rhythmical chant that
lent a charm to the scene. We were never weary of "wooding up," and were
always wondering where these gentle savages lived and how they escaped
with their lives from the thousand and one pests that haunted the forest
and lay in wait for them. Every biting and stinging thing was there. The
mosquitoes nearly devoured us, especially at night; while serpents,
scorpions, centipedes, possessed the jungle. There also was the lair of
larger game. It is said that sharks will pick a white man out of a crowd
of dark ones in the sea; not that he is a more tempting and toothsome
morsel--drenched with nicotine, he may indeed be less appetizing than
his dark-skinned, fruit-fed fellow,--but his silvery skin is a good
sea-mark, as the shark has often confirmed. So these dark ones in the
semi-darkness of the wood may, perhaps, pass with impunity where a
pale-face would fall an easy prey.
At the Rapids of Machuca we debarked. Here was a miry portage about a
mile in length, through which we waded right merrily; for it seemed an
age since last we had set foot to earth. Our freight was pulled up the
Rapids in _bongas_ (row-boats), manned by natives; but our steamer could
not pass, and so returned to the Star of the West for another load of
passengers.
There was mire at Machuca, and steaming heat; but the path along the
river-bank was shaded by wondrous trees, and we were overwhelmed with
the offer of all the edible luxuries of the season at the most alarming
prices. There was no coin in circulation smaller than a dime. Everything
salable was worth a dime, or two or three, to the seller. It didn't seem
to make much difference what price was asked by the merchant: he got it,
or you went without refreshments. It was evident there was no market
between meals at Machuca Rapids, and steamer traffic enlivened it but
twice in the month.
What oranges were there!--such as one seldom sees outside the tropics:
great globes of delicious dew shut in a pulpy crust half an inch in
thickness, of a pale green tinge, and oozing syrup and an oily spray
when they are broken. Bananas, mangoes, guavas, sugar-cane,--on these we
fed; and drank the cream of the young cocoanut, goat's milk, and the
juices of various luscious fruits served in carven gourds,--delectable
indeed, but the nature of which was past our speculation. It was enough
to eat and to drink and to wallow a muddy mile for the very joy of it,
after having been toeing the mark on a ship's deck for a dozen days or
less, and feeding on ship's fodder.
Our second transport was scarcely an improvement on the first. Again we
threaded the river, which seemed to grow broader and deeper as we drew
near its fountain-head, Lake Nicaragua. Upon a height above the river
stood a military post, El Castillo, much fallen to decay. Here were
other rapids, and here we were transferred to a lake boat on which we
were to conclude our voyage. Those stern-wheel scows could never weather
the lake waters.
We had passed a night on the river boat,--a night of picturesque
horrors. The cabin was impossible: nobody braved its heat. The deck was
littered with luggage and crowded with recumbent forms. A few fortunate
voyagers--men of wisdom and experience--were provided with comfortable
hammocks; and while most of us were squirming beneath them, they swung
in mid-air, under a breadth of mosquito netting, slumbering sonorously
and obviously oblivious of all our woes.
If I forget not, I cared not to sleep. We were very soon to leave the
river and enter the lake. From the boughs of overarching trees swept
beards of dark gray moss some yards in length, that waved to and fro in
the gathering twilight like folds of funereal crape. There were
camp-fires at the wooding stations, the flames of which painted the
foliage extraordinary colors and spangled it with sparks. Great flocks
of unfamiliar birds flew over us, their brilliant plumage taking a
deeper dye as they flashed their wings in the firelight. The chattering
monkeys skirmished among the branches; sometimes a dull splash in the
water reminded us that the alligator was still our neighbor; and ever
there was the piping of wild birds whose notes we had never heard
before, and whose outlines were as fantastic as those of the bright
objects that glorify an antique Japanese screen.
Once from the shore, a canoe shot out of the shadow and approached us.
It was a log hollowed out--only the shell remained. Within it sat two
Indians,--not the dark creatures we had grown familiar with down the
river; these also were nearly nude, but with the picturesque nudeness
that served only to set off the ornaments with which they had adorned
themselves--necklaces of shells, wristlets and armlets of bright metal,
wreaths of gorgeous flowers and the gaudy plumage of the flamingo. They
drew near us for a moment, only to greet us and turn away; and very
soon, with splash of dipping paddles, they vanished in the dusk.
These were the flowers of the forest. All the winding way from the sea
the river walls had been decked with floral splendor. Gigantic blossoms
that might shame a rainbow starred the green spaces of the wood; but of
all we had seen or heard or felt or dreamed of, none has left an
impression so vivid, so inspiring, so instinct with the beauty and the
poetry and the music of the tropics, as those twilight mysteries that
smiled upon us for a moment and vanished, even as the great fire-flies
that paled like golden rockets in the dark.