THE ATLANTIC COAST AND ITS CONNECTIONS.
As the steamer anchors far from the shore at the port of Livingston, the
traveller sees almost exactly what the Spaniards saw,—earth, sky, and
sea, so little change have four centuries wrought on the outer shores
of Guatemala. Northward are the picturesque hills of British Honduras,
backed by the blue summits of the Cockscomb range; southward the majestic
San Gil, bearing like another Atlas the clouds on his broad shoulders;
eastward the low Cays, covered with the feathery coconuts; before
him the shore, here marked by a long limestone cliff crowned by the
palm-sheltered houses of the Caribs, while farther to the westward rise
the Santa Cruz mountains. The yellow waters of some great river lave the
vessel’s sides; but no break is visible in the landward horizon.
For a while all is as it was when Hernan Cortez, in the year 1525, came
to this shore after his terrible march from Mexico. There was even then
a little village on the high bluff; and he found two of his countrymen
gathering _sapotes_ (_Lucuma mammosa_) to save the little colony of
Spaniards, a few leagues farther south, from starving. Waiting in the
early dawn for the landing-boats, I cannot but recall the ancient times;
imagination sinks the great steamer into the little caravel, and the
feelings of the _conquistadores_ are mine for the time. Soon the white
sails drop out from the foliage, the canoes are seen rapidly approaching,
and the chatter of Caribs, both men and women, banishes all daydreams.
The “Progreso,” once a Buzzard Bay racer, sails rapidly out and takes on
board her cargo,—my friend, his mother, and myself, and traps of no light
weight. Her bows are soon turned landward, and as she glides along, all
the features of the shore unfold,—the coco-palms of marked luxuriance,
the thatched houses with shining white walls, the limestone cliff almost
covered with convolvulus and other foliage, the narrow beach, the canoes
of various size and shape. We turn a point, and the town of Livingston is
before us, and we are in the mouth of the Rio Dulce.
On the shore the only prominent building is the custom-house, built
before Livingston was declared a free port; and in front of this is a
low, dilapidated wharf, at which our tender landed us, the water being
not more than fifteen inches deep. The tides here are less than a foot,
so that shoal-water keeps boats of any size at a distance, making landing
difficult. It was comforting to know that a charter for a wharf had been
obtained, and that our successors may land with greater ease.
We did not find the heat greater than on the steamer in the offing, and
even the necessary bustle and trouble in getting luggage transferred to
the backs of men did not cause discomfort. The custom-house and a few
offices occupy the front of an amphitheatre with very steep sides, above
which is the town. Springs burst from the gravel and furnish pools for
the washerwomen, whose sturdy, yet graceful forms, barely concealed by
their scanty garb, are very attractive. Some stood in the clear pools,
others bent over the washing-stones, some played with their children in
the water, while others climbed the steep path to the town, carrying a
head-burden of great weight.
[Illustration: Barrack Point, Livingston.]
Our abode was on the Campo Santo Viejo, the burial-hill of former days,
and right across our path lay the empty tomb of a son of Carrera, the
former President of Guatemala; as we passed this we noted the admirable
mortar with which its bricks were laid,—so strong that no brick can be
cut out whole. On this resting-place of perished Caribs the foreign
inhabitants of Livingston dwell. It is the west end of the town, and
overlooks both the river and the native town, where are also the stores
and the hotels.
All descriptions of a growing town must be unsatisfactory, so rapidly
does the population and topography change; and a few words may convey all
the geographical knowledge needed. Rolling ground, which might easily be
drained, but is not; streets generally at right angles, none paved, and
most of them exceedingly muddy in wet weather; fences of the rudest form,
mostly sticks bound together with vines; houses with walls of adobe or
of wattle, in both cases covered with mud plaster and whitewashed, none
of them over one story, but with high roofs thatched with palm; yards,
but no gardens; stores here and there built of boards from New Orleans,
and occupied by foreigners,—French, Germans, Italians, Americans (_del
Norte_); a dilapidated chapel on or among the neglected foundations of an
intended church; beyond this the barracks on a beautiful point; children
of all ages playing in the dirt and merrily greeting the passer-by
with their black, shiny, healthy faces; palm-trees, mangoes, sapotes,
bread-fruit, oranges, anonas, bananas, and coffee-trees scattered without
order, and wholly uncultivated,—make the external features of this place.
No vehicles are in the streets, though a few horses roam untethered
through the town. Every burden is carried on the heads of men or women.
The house-doors are all open; but the interior is generally too dark to
disclose much of the inner mysteries to the stranger. Westward from the
town lies the new Campo Santo, and beyond this the almost impenetrable
forest.
[Illustration: A STREET IN LIVINGSTON.]
The situation of Livingston is good,—at the mouth of one of the finest
rivers of the Atlantic coast of Central America. The climate is very
healthful and agreeable, and the frequent communication by two lines
of steamers with New Orleans, one line with New York, and another with
Liverpool, make it an important business-centre. All the fine coffee
from Alta Verapaz and the fruit from the plantations on the Chocon
and Polochic is shipped here; and the product might be indefinitely
increased. The drawbacks are a bar with only a fathom of water at the
mouth of a river navigable otherwise for many miles by the largest
steamers, no wharves, little enterprise on the part of the native
inhabitants, and a frequent sea-breeze in the afternoon, which sometimes
makes landing through the rough water on the bar unpleasant. The
population is about two thousand, chiefly Caribs; and long inaction and
complete lack of enterprise have produced a people poor and careless of
riches if obtained at the price of labor. As in all similar places, there
is no lack of adventurers of the lowest character.
All this matter is not, however, learned at once, and observation must
be depended on rather than report; for the merchants of Livingston see
the prospects of their town in very different lights when talking with a
mere visitor or with a possible rival in the small but very profitable
business. As a stranger, I was told that the place was an el dorado;
that limitless crops grew without urging from a soil of unequalled
richness; that the climate was salubrious, and eternal summer reigned;
that business was brisk, and constantly increasing under wise laws and
a favoring government. As a settler, the song was sung to me in a minor
key: labor was not to be had; no good lands could be obtained; the
steamers were the tyrants of the place, and all earnings were eaten up
by freights. Then there were the warning cries of those unfortunate
men who wanted to make money in a newly opened country, but had not the
necessary courage and endurance for a pioneer. They had not met success,
and they had not grit enough to seek it. Micawbers far from home, they
waited for something to turn up.
The process of finding out about the place was not an unpleasant one; it
was what we had come for, and we began it the first day at breakfast.
While we lodged in our house on the hill, we took our meals—with the
exception of early coffee and rolls—in the town at the house of Señor
Castellan; and they were in genuine Hispano-American style. Eleven
o’clock is the hour for _almuerzo_, or breakfast, and thus the time for
ceasing work and taking the needed midday rest. Late in the afternoon
came the _comida_, or dinner,—differing from breakfast only in the
occasional provision of _dulces_, or sweetmeats. The _menu_ was constant;
an oily soup, beans black or white, beef or chicken stew with chillis,
fish, bread, and coffee, formed the almost unvarying round. Our waiters
were two little boys,—one the son of our host, the other his ward. With
our coffee we generally had fresh milk; but when the supply of this
failed, a can of condensed milk took its place. Not infrequently the
sugar also failed; and then one of the boys ran to the nearest store and
bought half a pound of a coarse brown kind, and replenished the saucer
that did duty as sugar-bowl. No supply of anything was ever kept in the
house.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF A CARIB HOUSE.]
Our dining-room was dark,—the only light coming from the open doors at
either end. There was but the earth, hard trodden, for the floor, and the
furnishing was simple enough,—a rough table and half a dozen rickety
chairs. A tablecloth served also for napkins, and the dishes were of many
patterns, colors, and degrees of dirtiness. It seemed absurd to call for
a clean plate; but we did so, to see what would happen. Besides our own
party of four, we had a _padre_ and an Italian as fellow-boarders; and a
little observation of the habits of these polite friends helped us much
in our new circumstances.
A large tame duck used to waddle under my chair, and at last would take
bits of tortilla from my hand. Several mangy dogs and cats had to be
driven out whenever we sat down to eat; but the hens were not disturbed,
for they contributed so much to our larder that they were privileged,
and one nested in an old felt hat on a corner shelf, while another came
cackling out of one of the dark bedrooms that opened on either side. In
spite of all these drawbacks, we liked the cookery, and did ample justice
to it.
As the ancient Romans in their luxury had entertainment for the eye as
they reclined at meat, we in our simplicity had a constantly moving
panorama at our street door. Stout Carib women, straight as one could
wish, walked by, with every burden, however insignificant, balanced on
the head. Half a pound of sugar or a dose of salts would be placed above
the turban as surely as would a heavy jar of water or a house-timber.
Some fine forms, both of men and women, made part of this procession; and
the latter wore garments short at either end, fastened over one shoulder
only, and displaying the bust perfectly. A soldier came along once in a
while, but only his cap and musket told his class. Boys wrestling but
seldom fighting, dogs fighting for a bone,—all helped us to prolong our
meal. It was difficult to make the boys understand that they must not
spit on the floor as they handed us the dishes. A large brick oven in the
courtyard furnished bread for a number of families, and good bread.
In our walks about the town we were often politely invited into the
houses, and so had a chance to see the cassava bread making. The tuberous
roots of the manioc (_Manihot utilissima_) often attain a weight of
twenty or thirty pounds, and are full of a poisonous juice, deadly when
swallowed. A mahogany board is provided, into which broken crystals of
quartz are inserted, and this serves to grate the root into a coarse
meal, which is washed carefully (the starch is partly removed, and
settles in the water as tapioca), and is then placed in a long sack of
basket-work, called very appropriately _serpiente_. This ingenious press
is fastened at one end to a house-beam, while on a lever placed through
the loop at the other end all the children of the family sit in turn,
or together if they are small; and the squeezed mass is dexterously
made afterwards into flat loaves about three feet in diameter, and not
more than a quarter of an inch thick, dried, and then baked. The result
is a wholesome and very nutritious bread, which keeps a long time and
is capital on an excursion. Later on, when our own housekeeping was in
order, we found it made excellent puddings, and was better than crackers
in soup; while in the woods it was indispensable. It is also a capital
diet in dyspepsia, can be eaten in sea-sickness when all other food is
rejected, and serves to fill out the bony outlines of an emaciated human
frame better than anything else. The clean white loaves can be easily
exported, and are very attractive. Fine oranges we bought from a tree in
the yard of our cassava-maker at ten for a medio (five cents).
[Illustration: GRATING CASSAVA.]
The fine view from the fort can be seen in the illustration; but as Frank
and I stepped over the low wall and set up the camera to photograph it,
we attracted the attention of the officer in charge, who at once ordered
us to come to him. A convenient temporary ignorance of Spanish delayed
us until the view was secured and a squad of soldiers sent to arrest us,
when the officer wanted to know what we were “telegraphing in the fort
for.” With a very few words I exposed his ignorance to his soldiers,
who laughed as heartily at him as if they had not been quite as stupid
as he; and he begged us to leave at once. Of this same garrison it is
related that some years ago a French corvette anchored off the point and
fired a salute. The first gun was all right; but the second astonished
the valiant soldiers, and at the third they all threw down their guns
and fled to the bush, fully convinced that an attack on the village was
intended. After a while boys were sent out into the woods to tell these
warriors that it was safe to come home. The lighthouse here, which all
incoming vessels are taxed to maintain, consists of a stout pole; but the
lantern has been broken, and not replaced.
Below this military post is the usual landing-place for canoas. These
are nearly all dug out of single mahogany or cedar logs, and are not
only well made, but of good form. Some are forty feet long and six feet
wide. The paddles were of mahogany, and the women paddled as well and
powerfully as the men; both, indeed, seemed to be quite at home on the
water.
Some of the incoming canoes were laden with coconuts, others with bananas
and plantains from the little _fincas_ along the coast, and yet others
with fish. The last we noted more carefully, as there is no fish-market
in Livingston, and the fish are always interesting to a stranger; for
odd and various as may be the fruits of a new clime, the produce of the
sea generally surpasses that of the land in curious forms. There were
some of the oddest of the Central American waters; and the man who first
ate them must have been very brave or very hungry. One of them had flesh
resembling beef in color, and good and substantial when cooked.
Paths about the town are narrow and grass-grown, and the hooked seeds of
a _Desmodium_ cling to the clothes, and the thorns of the sensitive-plant
(_Mimosa pudicans_) scratch the bare feet of the passer; but worse than
all these, in the grass are tiny insects called _coloradía_, which bite
the ankles and other exposed parts, causing red spots and an intolerable
itching,—easily allayed, however, by salt-water or bay-rum applications.
Mosquitoes were not troublesome, and we used no nettings; nor did we see
any house-flies.
A bath in the Rio Dulce was tempered by the dread of sharks; and
refreshing as the sweet water was, there was a self-congratulatory
feeling on getting safely back to the huge square-hewn mahogany logs that
served for dressing-room.
To the outward world Livingston is principally interesting as the free
port of Guatemala,—the outlet of the coffee of Alta Verapaz and the
fruits of the Atlantic coast-region. In its early history it was a
settlement of Caribs,—those splendid negroes who were driven from the
islands of the sea, which still bear their name, when the Spaniards
enslaved or destroyed their fellow-owners of the land. Its situation at
the entrance of the chief waterway to the interior and the capital soon
marked it for a Spanish post; but the buccaneers were too powerful, and
before their advance the port of entry was moved far up the Rio Dulce to
Izabal, on the lake of that name,—the fort of San Felipe blocking the
way to these lawless enemies. Not only pirates, but the Home Government
hastened the decay and disuse of this port, and the banks of the Rio
Dulce were of little importance, except to the mahogany-cutters and
sarsaparilla-gatherers, for two centuries.
An enlightened Government, in fostering the immense agricultural wealth
of Guatemala, turned the attention of foreign capital, first to the rich
coffee-lands in the neighborhood of Coban, and later to the even richer
fruit-lands of the valleys east of the high table-lands of the interior.
The outlet for all the produce was by the Polochic, and the shipping-port
was Livingston; so the little village built by the exiled Caribals
(cannibals) has been gradually occupied by business men of various
nations, until now the population may be nearly two thousand. The shores
are high and healthful, and the anchorage within the river is secure.
Dredging would easily open a channel, and jetties like those placed in
the Mississippi by Captain Eads would doubtless keep the way open; for
the current is frequently very strong, but now wastes its strength over
a mile of shoal-water. At present all the ocean steamers lie at anchor
outside; and consequently the lighterage is an important business.
In the immediate neighborhood of this port, and accessible by water,
are lands pre-eminently adapted for sugar or cotton cultivation;
although now, owing to the smaller capital required, and speedier
returns, bananas and plantains are the chief products. The Government
determined to develop these lands,—which have hitherto been left to the
solitude of their dense forests and the occasional intrusion of the
mahogany-cutter,—and in 1882 declared Livingston a free port, including
in its territory a large triangular part of the eastern coast. The public
lands were then offered for sale at reasonable rates; and in consequence,
several capitalists from the United States have purchased large tracts,
and are cultivating soil perhaps the most fertile on the continent.
Climatic changes are insensible here, and it may truly be said that the
one season is summer. Never has yellow fever or other dangerous zymotic
disease visited Livingston, and the death-rate is about one quarter that
of Boston. The rapid increase of its population and commercial importance
will make imperative the demand for improved harbor and wharf facilities.
Ten miles to the south of Livingston is the fine harbor of Santo Tomas,
where in 1843 a Belgian colony was established; and as this unfortunate
attempt has given an ill reputation to all Central America, it is well
to state that failure was by no means due to the insalubrity of the
climate, but to the want of foresight of the projectors and the abject
ignorance of tropical trials on the part of the immigrants. Landed
in an unaccustomed climate, in the wet season, without shelter, and
inadequately provisioned, they lost heart, health, or life itself.
[Illustration: WEAVING A SERPIENTE.]
Pioneers and frontiersmen should not be recruited from shops and
counters. The pluck and caution needed for a struggle with untried
conditions, the determination to be content with slim comforts and
undaunted in the face of every discouragement, looking always to the
final result, experience shows cannot be found in this class. They
do well enough as eleventh-hour assistants, when the strong men have
felled the forest and broken the ground and built houses and shops for
these weaker but still useful brothers; but the first colonists must
be of sterner stuff. Probably, had shelter and good food been provided
for those inexperienced Belgians, there would have been at Santo Tomas
something more to-day than the memory of their visit.
In 1881 the little town contained but one hundred and twenty-nine
inhabitants, mostly fishermen; but the construction of the Ferro-carril
del Norte, to connect the capital with the Atlantic, changed for a time
the sleepy hamlet into the busy haunt of contractors and laborers. The
exigencies of the railroad calling for the deepest water, however, the
new town of Port Barrios has been founded, some three miles to the
eastward of the ancient village. Curiously enough, the Bay of Santo Tomas
has no river; but it lies between the Rio Dulce and the Motagua.
From Livingston to New Orleans the distance is 900 miles; to Belize,
125; to Kingston, Jamaica, 800; to Puerto Cortez (Caballos), 55; to
Izabal, 45; to Pansos, 90; and to Guatemala City (water to Izabal, and
mule-path thence), 120. The usual steamer time from New Orleans is six
days, including a stop of two days at Belize; from New York, ten days,
including stops at Kingston and Belize; and three days should be ample to
New Orleans, seven to New York, and eight to Boston. A glance at a map
will show that the course as well as the distance between Livingston
and New York is much in favor of that route over the better-known one
from Aspinwall to the metropolis; and when to this saving of time and
avoidance of the dangers of navigation is added the greater facilities
for raising and shipping fruit which Livingston is now developing, there
is great probability that New Orleans will not long be allowed to absorb
all the bananas, plantains, and pines, or England all the coffee and
mahogany, shipped at Livingston.
The natural advantages of a port and the conveniences of trade between
that and other countries are of small moment if there is nothing beyond
the port; and one must look well into the interior of the country to see
its poverty or richness. Before crossing the republic, the fruit-lands of
Livingston are worthy of exploration. The little plantations at Cocali,
on the coast northward, and those along the banks of the Rio Dulce,
are easily seen, and in their present condition offer nothing new or
especially interesting. Bananas and plantains are almost the only product
of commercial importance; for the pines grow wild, cassava, bread-fruit,
mangoes, and sapotes are not exported, and the coconut is native on the
shores.
No systematic cultivation is known in this region, and the crops grow
very much as they did in the Garden of Eden. Plantation-work consists
of clearing the land of forest (which is done in January and February),
allowing the felled trees to dry, burning in May, and planting in June.
No plough ever furrows the rich ground, and the hoe is sufficient for the
planter’s needs, while most handy for the laborers. As may be supposed,
the labor of keeping the crops clear of weeds is considerable, but not
so great as on our Northern farms; for although the vegetable growth is
very rapid, the country is as yet free from foreign weeds. With us the
most rapidly growing and pernicious weeds have all been imported; and on
the Hawaiian Islands the vegetable growths that have laid waste thousands
of acres of the best pasturage are the lantana, verbena, and indigo,
not one of them indigenous. In the course of years cultivation may
bring these agricultural curses; but at present the Guatemalan planter
in Livingston has only palms, canes, ferns, ginger, and other easily
eradicated plants to contend with.
Indian corn (_maiz_) is planted in slight holes made with a stick and
covered with the foot, and seed planted on Thursday has been found four
inches high on the following Monday. The stalks are sometimes seventeen
feet high, and average three ears each; only ninety days are required to
mature the crop, which is gathered three times each year. Upland rice is
scattered broadcast on the soil, and the straw grows six feet high, with
generous heads, yielding the finest rice known; two crops can be raised
each year. Sugar-cane has been found to yield three tons of sugar per
acre for twenty years without replanting,—a result unknown in any other
sugar-country. At present there are no mills in eastern Guatemala, and
only enough cane is planted to supply the demand for eating, or rather
chewing.
Bananas have within the last ten years become very common all over the
United States, and every one is familiar with the imported varieties; but
few are aware that the varieties grown in the tropics exceed two hundred,
many of them too delicate to bear transportation, and as far superior to
the common sorts as a choice table-apple surpasses the cider-apple of our
New England pastures. The kinds of banana most raised near Livingston
are the same as those of Aspinwall; but the quality is superior.
Plantains are grown even more commonly than bananas, and the domestic
consumption is much greater. Among Northern fruit-dealers the banana and
plantain are frequently confounded; but they are as different as pears
and apples. To grow either, simply requires planting of suckers, which
in nine months should bear a bunch of fruit. The stem is now cut down,
and from its base sprout several suckers, all over three being removed
for planting elsewhere. It is only necessary to remove the finished stem
and extra suckers to insure crops for a long series of years. No attempt
has been made to use the valuable fibre, of which there is an average of
three pounds to a stalk.
When we turn from what is done here to the consideration of what may be,
the interest vastly increases; and to this end let the reader join us in
an exploration of one of the rivers flowing from a valley of great extent
and unrivalled fertility, but covered with forest, and unknown save to
the mahogany-cutters and an occasional huntsman. The Rio Chocon is almost
unnoticed on the maps, and its source unknown; but it probably rises in
the Santa Cruz mountains.
In the middle of October, 1883, the “Progreso” was manned and
provisioned, and in the early afternoon we were on board waiting for
the sea-breeze to help us up the river. The light wind served to carry
us across the Rio Dulce, but no more; and anchoring, we sent three
men ashore to lay in a supply of plantains, bananas, coconuts, and
sugar-cane. Travelling in the tropics is usually far from luxurious;
and our present outfit was no exception to the rule. Our captain
had provided a Jamaica negro for cook, Santiago, a half-breed, for
_montero_, or guide in the forest, and our crew consisted of Guillermo,
an attractive looking but bad boy, who was always singing about his
_corazon_ (heart), Francisco, and two other men, whose exact ethnological
classification was a puzzle. Our cook, his oil-stove and canned
provisions filled the little cabin; but the cock-pit was large, and Frank
shared with me one side, while the captain occupied the other, and at
night we had a canvas awning over the whole. Folding-chairs served for
beds as well, and our traps were put into the capital water-proof baskets
called _petácas_.
[Illustration: Entrance to the Rio Dulce.]
Later than usual the breeze freshened, and we were sailing apparently
for the spur of San Gil, which stretches northward right across the
river. As we advanced, the walls opened, and we entered a gorge far finer
than that of the Saguenay; for the savage cliffs of the wild Canadian
stream are here replaced by white limestone precipices jealously covered
with palms and vines, until only here and there could the rock be seen
under or through its richly colored mantle. The river is deep, in places
eighteen fathoms, and, except in the overhanging trees, there was no
place to land on either side for some distance.
Frank shot at a fine pelican, but only broke a wing; and although he
pursued the wounded bird rapidly in a little _cayuco_ that we had in
tow, he did not gain on the powerful swimmer until a shot from the
“Progreso” killed the fugitive, whose remains measured seven feet across
the wings. Other birds tempted us, but the fast-waning daylight warned us
against delay; and as darkness fell upon us with tropical rapidity, we
came to the lake-like Golfete, nine miles from Livingston, and anchored
for the night off Cayo Paloma (Dove Island), the only inhabited spot
on the river. Our crew went ashore for shelter, and we retired under
our substantial awning, which protected us from the rain which fell in
torrents during the night. We had found no mosquitoes at Livingston, and
there were none here; so our sleep was not broken until our boys came
on board before daybreak. Where we had entered this beautiful lake we
strangers did not know; and even when the direction was ascertained, the
opening of the river was invisible. Coconut-palms and bananas will give a
charm to any landscape; yet the little Cayo Paloma hardly needed them, so
beautiful was it in itself.
Grand San Gil brushed the clouds from his forehead and looked down
smilingly upon us in promise of a fair day as we sailed up the Golfete.
A short league brought us to a curious limestone rock on the northern
shore,—a regular cube, rising from deep water, and capped with a pyramid
of foliage. So unusual a formation could hardly have failed to attract
the aboriginal mind; and there may be on the summit some remains,—a
sacrificial altar, or stele. We did not go near enough to see any way of
access; but the branches seem to hang low enough on one side to promise
an entrance to an active climber, and we determined to try it some other
day when we had more time.[4]
If the entrance to the Rio Dulce was well concealed, that to the Rio
Chocon was still harder to find; and but for the rock island, one might
try several apparent openings in the hedge-like border of the stream
before entering the canal that sweeps in a semicircle into the actual
river. Two alligators sat, like the porters at an Egyptian palace,
opposite each other at the entrance, but dropped incontinently into the
stream before our rifles were ready,—giving us an unpleasant reminder of
what we might expect should we take a bath in the cool river. From animal
to vegetable was but a glance; and the musky odor of the reptiles faded
into the fragrance of a large purple passion-flower, which hung so low
that we slipped into the _cayuco_, Frank and I, and paddled from bank to
bank in the little mahogany dug-out, pulling down branches and vines,
shaking out lizards and beetles, while humming-birds of almost every
bright color, and butterflies of hues seldom seen in cooler climates,
would hardly leave the fragrant flowers we gathered. Nothing could be
seen beyond the river, for we were in a green lane bordered by all the
tropics can produce of vegetable life; and as the day wore on we felt
the weariness of seeing. A little white passion-flower (_P. Brighami_),
with curiously clipped leaves, three kinds of morning-glory, a crimson
abutilon, and a host of plants whose family alone was known to us, had
been consigned to the plant-press. At first there were no palms; but as
we ascended the stream, which was in flood, the banks at last appeared,
growing gradually higher, and only on solid ground could the palms find
foothold. The cohune (_Attalea cohune_), with its long clusters of hard
oily nuts, came first; then a small pinnate-leaved, graceful, but unknown
species; then an astrocarya, with dreadful spines and hard but edible
nuts; and finally, on the rocky banks, slender, long-stemmed species,
and a climbing palm that, like the rattan, attained a length of several
hundred feet. Our first glimpse of the family in full force was at the
junction of the two mouths of the Chocon. Here there is an enlargement of
the river into a lagoon, and the eastern branch looks as large and easily
navigable as that we had entered. At another time we found this was the
case. Bambus bent their graceful stems in clusters over the water, and
here and there tall reeds in blossom waved their light plumes against the
dark-green trees behind them.
With the drift floating down stream we noticed queer green things
which were evidently vegetable; but what else? At last we came to some
sapoton-trees (_Pachira_); and it was their fruit, now ripening,—like
in size and appearance to a husked coconut,—that furnished our puzzle.
The fruits split while on the tree, and drop the nuts, which are about
as large as a hen’s egg, into the water, where they soon germinate, and
float about with expanded cotyledons until caught on some shoal, or at
the bank, where they take root.
[Illustration: EL RIO CHOCON.]
Not once all day did we see a place to land; indeed, until we had
ascended the river several miles there was no land, so high was the
flood. Dense foliage, suitably defended with spines of palm and the no
less unpleasant thorns of the guilandina and sarsaparilla, hid what might
be disagreeable of animal life along shore; and as we could not land,
neither could we plunge into the cool river,—that was already engaged by
the alligators.
As the sun dropped behind the trees we made fast to a large post in
midstream, starting a whole family of little leaf-nosed bats out of a
woodpecker’s hole in this dead tree; and as our _comida_ was being laid,
I explored more carefully this curious mooring. Water-logged and stranded
on the bottom, some twenty feet below us, it was a perfect image of life
in death; for every part above the water was covered with a luxuriant
growth not its own, and yet perfectly in place. On one side clung three
different orchids in seed, a cluster of peperomias in blossom, and a fine
cereus, while mosses and ferns quite covered the interstices. We did not
at that time know the naughty habits of the bright little bats,[5] or
we should not have slept so quietly; as it was, the mosquitoes were very
thick, and only our veils protected us.
It was a strange bed-chamber. The river, black beneath and around us,
was silent enough; for the current hardly rippled against our boat, no
wind moved the leaves, and only our own voices broke the stillness while
we waited for sleep. Suddenly a sound between a shriek and a roar burst
almost over our heads. “Tigre,” muttered Frank as he felt for his rifle.
It was only a lion-bird; but its terrible cry was repeated until it
seemed to awake all the nocturnal noises of the forests that stretched
for fifty miles around us. Howling monkeys (_Mycetes ursinus_), a shrill
water-bird, hooting owls, were all easily distinguished by our _montero_;
and we slept more tranquilly after his explanation, even though we
thought we felt the rough back of an alligator scrape the bottom of our
boat. I have heard the real tiger’s howl in the Sumatran jungle; but it
was not so terrible as this wretched bird, nor are the tropical nocturnal
noises so loud and various in any other place where I have been.
So far the country through which we passed was worthless for agricultural
purposes; but early the next morning we came to an elevated limestone
ridge, and beyond this outwork the banks grew sensibly higher, until they
were some twelve feet above the present high water. With the higher banks
appeared the iguanas; and I made my first shot,—a large female,— which
was picked up, while three others fell into the water and sank before we
could reach them. It was some time before I learned to distinguish these
reptiles; for they are nearly of the color of the branches on which they
bask, and until they move, are to the unpractised eye only a part of the
bewildering foliage. I did not like to be told where to look, so before
the day was half gone I could see an iguana as soon as a native.
[Illustration: Female Iguanas.]
A mouth like a toad’s, green, glittering eyes, a large pendulous dewlap,
a row of lancet-shaped spines down the back, slender claws, and a long,
pointed tail, certainly are not features to make the iguana an attractive
pet; and yet it is gentle, easily tamed, and there are people who enjoy
its company. Let not the Northern ladies shudder as they look on this
picture; for do they not know, are there not among their number those
who fondle and kiss(!) even the deformed pugs and lap-dogs? Unlike the
worthless curs, the iguana is a most excellent food-animal; its delicate
white meat is not unlike chicken, and the eggs—of which the female lays
five or six dozen—are all yolk, and very delicious.[6] Being good
swimmers, they drop from their perches over the river when alarmed, and
after a fall sometimes of sixty to eighty feet the splash is suggestive
of broken ribs, or at least a total loss of wind; but they scramble
nimbly up the banks under the overhanging shrubs, and are lost in the
forest. Like the chameleon, they change color, and from green of various
hues become greenish gray when taken from the trees. We had much less
difficulty than Columbus and his companions experienced in adding these
“serpentes” to our cosmopolitan bill of fare.
In the afternoon a boom across the river showed the neighborhood of
mahogany-cutters, and a short row above this brought us to the head of
navigation for our large boat, and we made fast to a tree on the right
bank, where there was no clearing nor any easy way to land, although we
could see that the banks were some ten feet above the water, and steep.
Leaving the “Progreso” in the cook’s charge, we continued up stream in
the little _cayuco_ until we broke a paddle and had to return,—not,
however, until we had made two landings.
Once up the steep and slippery bank, we found the land level, and in the
dense forest there was no undergrowth. It always seems odd to a stranger
in the tropics,—this entire absence of sod; but so dense is the upper
foliage that there is no chance for small plants below, except such as
can, like the sarsaparilla, climb up into the light above, or orchids,
like the vanilla, which cling to, if they do not draw a part of their
sustenance from, the tree-stems. The cohune palm (_Attalea cohune_,
Martius.) was abundant, and by its presence confirmed the testimony of
the dark chocolate soil to the exceeding fertility of the land. This palm
seems to have three names applied to as many stages of growth. When young
and stemless, it is _manàca_; in middle age, when the bases of the old
leaves still cling to the trunk, it is _cohune_; and when age removes
these scales, the smooth stem is _corozo_. I have never seen the manàca
in flower or fruit, but I believe the three are but one species. Other
palms were intermingled with these,—some in blossom, some in fruit,—but
none so common nor so large, both in stem and leaf. Later on we shall see
a picture of the cohune and its very valuable fruit.
In one place along the bank I measured fourteen feet of soil of the best
quality; nor was this surprising, since the valley through which the Rio
Chocon flows is a catch-basin for the detritus of the limestone ranges
of the Sarstun and Santa Cruz mountains, and its form guards against
torrential floods which might wash away the rich deposit. When the summer
rains flood the banks, as we found later, the water subsides in a few
hours, owing to the wide-open lower course of the river.
[Illustration: Barbecue at Benito.]
A gigantic ceiba-tree (_Eriodendron_) stood not far from the river,
and two of its great buttresses enclosed a semicircle thirty feet in
diameter, while the projections themselves were not half a foot thick.
Trees of very various kinds throw out these supports. I have even seen
a goyava (_Psidium_), which usually has a rather slender trunk, expand
most astonishingly into these buttresses when growing in a rich loose
soil. It will, not unnaturally, occur to the reader that this must
greatly increase the difficulty of felling such trees in clearing land.
The difficulty is met by the woodmen in this way. A platform—called,
strangely enough, a “barbecue”—is built of slim poles, often to a height
of fifteen feet; and balanced on these frail supports, the cutter
swings his long-handled axe. Of course he leaves a stump as high as his
barbecue; but the ants (_comajen_) soon reduce this to dust. I have since
then watched the cutters, and have wondered how they so speedily fell
(they call it “fall”) a hard-wood tree, with no better vantage than two
poles for their bare feet to cling to.
All through the forest there was a close, damp feeling, and in some
places there was little light. We saw sarsaparilla, india-rubber,
vanilla, and cacao growing wild, and every step brought some new thing to
view; but it was less oppressive on the river, where there was sky above
us of the true blue,—so much better to our tastes than the green canopy
that met our eyes as we looked up on land. While on the river, we saw
some curious long-legged spiders, seemingly plastered against the white
limestone; and they were very unwilling to move their legs, which were
two inches long. The vejucos from the over-hanging branches were very
interesting, as these long, slender rootlets, if rootlets they be, hung
sometimes a hundred feet, ending close to the water, but not touching
it except in flood-time, nor do they, like subterranean roots, have
branches or fibrous ends, although sometimes they seem to be unravelled
into separate strands, like a cord whose form they imitate and whose
use they usurp. We often pulled them and shook the branches from which
they spring, without detaching them. The water was now clear and cool,
and everything was enticing us to loiter; but the day was closing, and
_comida_ awaiting us on the “Progreso.”
The moon that night was full; and with no mosquitoes in the air, we
hardly cared to creep under our _toldo_. The light filtered through the
palm-leaves and sparkled on the black river as it glided around the bend.
We could see but a few rods either up or down stream, and we almost
wondered how we came there, and should we ever get away. Far in the
distance the howls of the monkeys and the cries of the night-birds broke
the stillness around us; but we slept unconscious of the shower that
poured on our toldo before morning.
A very bright, warm morning in the middle of October is not unpleasant in
the temperate zone; but here it seemed almost too warm to be seasonable,
although the thermometer persisted in indicating 83°. Five of us were in
our little cayuco at early dawn on our way down stream. The cayuco was
not especially crank, but it was loaded to the water’s edge with five
solid men; and as my hands grasped the gunwales, my fingers dipped in
water on both sides. It was impossible for me to restrain the attempt
to balance, which of course kept the cayuco in a constant quiver, alike
unpleasant to myself and my companions. Add to this the consciousness
that alligators were ready for us if we did upset, and it will be
supposed that the voyage was not altogether agreeable.
We landed at last, and had a hard scramble up the steep, muddy bank, as
many of the palms were armed with spines like needles (_Acrocomia sp._),
and there was little else to catch by. I was on the watch for snakes, and
had my machete in my hand; but the first living denizen of the forest
that met me was a fine blue butterfly (_Morpho_), nearly eight inches
across. I could not, and Guillermo would not, catch it, because he said
it was _mala por los ojos_ (bad for the eyes). It was a “sight for sair
e’en.” I found this curious superstition about butterflies common all
through the country, and I confess that following their brilliantly
colored wings in their rapid flight, under a blazing sun, does give one’s
eyes a very tired feeling that may explain the origin of the popular
belief. I will not compel any one to follow me through the forest, nor
up the steep limestone ridges where the corroded rock was worn into
fantastic forms and partly covered with begonias, lycopodiums, and other
plants. We found several circular valleys among those ridges drained by
sink-holes, and often I heard water running beneath my feet. In some
places were little wells, like the _cenotes_ of Yucatan, containing fish,
which pass from one to another by underground aqueducts. Again and again
I mistook for serpents the huge, green, scaly creepers that flattened
themselves against the trees or swung from the branches. Sluggish and
insignificant centipedes were not uncommon on the trees; but nothing
except tracks of wild hogs, peccaries, jaguars, and tapirs indicated that
the forest was the resort of troublesome animals. The entire absence of
any fallen or decaying trees or dead branches was a marked feature of
this forest. The insects had eaten all this unpleasant matter; and in
one place we saw a cavity as large as a barrel, where the ants had eaten
a palm-stump, leaving only the fibrous roots to keep the earth in place
about the large hole.
Towards noon the air, loaded with moisture and unmoved by any wind in
the forest, became almost unbearable, and we were parched with thirst.
Santiago came to our aid; and selecting a rough-looking vine, of which we
could not see the leaves, cut from it a length of some three feet, and
from this trickled a tumblerful of clear, cool, tasteless water. This
_vejuco de agua_ was as large as a man’s wrist, of tender substance and
very porous. The mozos declared that if the vejuco was cut only once,
the juice would all run up from the pendent end; so it was necessary
to cut at once above, and block its retreat. On the palm-trees were
often found clusters of nuts of various sizes, some with such hard
shells that even the parrots must have been baffled. We cracked several
kinds, and found them more woody and less oily than the coconut. Several
mahogany-trees came in our way, and they impressed me more than the
sequoias of California or the banians and baobabs of India. Rising with
a straight and uniform stem far above the surrounding trees, they then
spread their dense foliage like a massive oak above the tree-top plane.
Rosewood, palo de mulatto, sapodilla, ironwood, and many other kinds were
recognized, and our exploration ended for the day with a bath on board
the boat, in which we dashed the cool river water over each other. The
air was 86°, while the water was 78°. Our men who had been sent up stream
to build a _champa_, or native house, returned to us at sundown in true
monkey style, swinging down on to the boat from the branches of the tree
overhanging the “Progreso.” The absence of mosquitoes puzzled us, as it
had the night before.
[Illustration: Section of Vejuco de Agua.]
[Illustration: Dragon Rock, Chocon.]
After the rain ceased, the next morning about seven, we paddled up stream
in the cayuco. I have never seen rocks so curiously corroded; in some
places they were like fossil bones of mammoth size, then like battered
capitals and fluted columns, always of rather smooth surface, sometimes
quite perforated. In the hollows were ferns, selaginellas, and sometimes
curious spiders; one rock was just like some monster crawling into the
river. On the right bank several small springs trickled in, and on the
other side a swift-flowing creek added materially to the volume of the
river. Still we were getting into shallower water, and after passing
in one way and another fifteen rapids or _corrientes_, we came to a
huge tree that completely blocked our way. With a satisfied feeling, we
declined to drag our heavy cayuco over, but beached her on a sand-spit,
and waited for the return through the forest of part of our men whom we
had sent to explore inland. Wild figs of good size came tumbling into the
stream from the trees above; but they were not to our taste, although
Guillermo said they were eaten when ripe. While we waited, a large canoe
came down from the mahogany region miles above, and the three Caribs
in it dragged it over the log with great labor. Besides their petácas,
they had mahogany mortars for rice-hulling, and mahogany platters. In
the forest their work is task-work, and they often have half the day
to themselves; in this leisure time they carve the rejected butts into
various useful articles, which they sell at the _Boca_, or mouth of the
river. As we returned, we saw another use to which the ever-present
machete is put; it is in turn knife, axe, adze, hammer, spoon,
back-scratcher, shovel, pump-handle, door-bolt, blind-fastener,—and now a
fishing-rod! Guillermo actually split the head of a large fish that was
in the shadow of a rock,—a fish weighing some five pounds!
In the afternoon we inspected the champa our men had been building. The
building process was certainly a novel one. On receiving our orders, the
Caribs held a brief consultation, chattering in their very unattractive
language; while we knew no more of their talk than we knew of the
intelligent ants, who are equally black, and hold their consultations
unbeknown to us. The result was, however, that they separated and
disappeared in the forest. Soon we heard the blows of the machetes; and
then they came straggling back, two with the _aucones_ or main posts
of the house, others with side-posts, rafters, coils of vejucos, and
bundles of manàca-leaves. In an incredibly short time the frame was tied
together. The thatching with the palm-leaves took longer, as it was
necessary to split each of the immense leaves, which were quite thirty
feet long. These were tied on to the rafters closely, like clapboards,
and formed an excellent roof, only surpassed by that made of another
palm, called _confra_, found nearer the sea, which is so durable as to
last eight or ten years. Butts of the manàca formed the sides of the
champa; and then we had a house large enough for twenty men, with the
labor of five men a day and a half, at a cost of $3.75. For our purpose
it was better than the Palace of the Cæsars.
One morning I explored the tree to which we were moored. A fine
balloon-vine (_Cardiospermum_) hung in festoons of fragrant flowers from
the branches; among them was a humming-bird’s nest fashioned as daintily
as usual of the golden down of tree-ferns, and shingled with bits of
lichens. It was not the season for eggs; but I have at other times found
many nests, with never more than two white eggs of the size of a small
bean. The young birds, I may add, are, when first hatched, most amusing
little things, all heads and eyes, and without the long bill of maturer
days. I found also a green grasshopper (_Tropideres_), five inches long,
and very handsome of his kind. I wondered if he ate sugar-cane, and other
things one might want to grow if living in the champa.
One day, going ashore to cut some sticks for an awning on the canoa, I
hacked with my machete at a tall, slim tree very common along the banks,
and which had often bothered me by its curled, dried leaves, clinging
to the tree and looking very much like the doves (_qualm_) which were
so often on the tree that it is named for them. This tree, which is
botanically known as a cecropia, one of the nettle family, had a hollow
trunk divided transversely by thin partitions, and from this cavity
came a swarm of ants. I had here a chance to verify the interesting
description given by Mr. Belt[7] of the habits of these remarkable
creatures. As he says, they get into the tree by boring a small hole,
and then eat their way through the many floors of this vegetable tower;
they do not, however, eat the tree directly for sustenance, but import
with great care numbers of coccidæ, or scale-insects, to feed on the
tree-juices and elaborate a honey-like matter, which the ants eagerly
suck from a pore on the back of these little cows. I tried in vain to
find the queen ant; but while every cecropia that I touched was tenanted
by ants, never a single female came to light. There are several small
outer doors, for the disturbed stem is dotted with the pugnacious little
ants in a very short time. What first taught the ants to farm these dull,
inert coccidæ? Other vegetables are ant-inhabited, but none that I know
of afford such spacious accommodations.
Pleasant as this life on the river and in the forest was, the time came
when we must return; and it was startling how many things we saw on
our way down which we had passed unnoticed coming up,—tall reeds with
feathery blossoms more graceful than the pampas-grass; palms with bluish
green foliage; flowers of the arum family more beautiful than a calla;
blue herons; butterflies of the most attractive colors; fish like glass,
that is as transparent, and about a foot long. Frank shot a beautiful
grossbeak with scarlet breast and metallic green back, and brought me a
fine purple passion-flower; another of the party shot an alligator, who
turned over, exposing his yellow belly as he died. Altogether, the voyage
down was more agreeable than the hard run up. Trees that were bare a few
days before were now covered with white feathery flowers, and others
presented masses of greenish flowers on their flat tops. We sailed and
floated down the Rio Dulce by moonlight, and at early dawn anchored at
Livingston.
[Illustration: San Gil, from Author’s House in Livingston.]
Opposite the town are lands fertile and capable of producing fine crops
to an enterprising owner. Frank and I rowed over several times, once
exploring a neglected _finca_, where cane, sapotes, cassava, bananas,
plantains, rose-apples, and coconuts were all jumbled together; at
another time visiting a cacao-plantation farther up the stream. There is
certainly room for a wise investment of capital on these lands on the
eastern slope of San Gil as far as Santo Tomas. And here let me write of
this port, Puerto Barrios, and the Northern Railroad, although I did not
visit them until the spring of 1885.
Santo Tomas is beautifully situated; but since the sad failure of the
Belgian colony established there by a legislative decree of April, 1843,
it has borne a bad reputation, and its inhabitants diminished to the
insignificant number of a hundred and twenty-nine by the last census.
Its harbor, into which no large river empties, is an exceedingly good
one, and a wharf might be constructed on deep water; but the authorities,
in selecting a terminus for the projected railway which is to connect
Guatemala City with the Atlantic coast, and so unite the Atlantic and
Pacific oceans, chose a place some three miles eastward from Santo Tomas,
where they must construct a wharf some three hundred feet in length to
reach twenty feet of water, and where often ships cannot lie, but must
run for Santo Tomas in bad weather. Add to this that the site of the fine
city of Puerto Barrios is a swamp at present uninhabitable, although
laid out (on paper) in a very attractive way, with castle, theatre,
hippodrome, and all the elements of a Centro-American city of the first
rank. The splendid mango-trees, with their dark, dense foliage, are
abundant in the old village, while here even the palms are dwarfed.
[Illustration: Puerto Barrios.]
Arriving at Puerto Barrios late in the afternoon, we were kindly received
by the contractors, and after an exceedingly good supper allotted
comfortable beds in the large storehouse. We had heard of the cruelty
practised towards the workmen on the railroad, and wished to know the
truth. I of course understood the circumstances under which men were
induced to go there to work, and knew that agents in New Orleans and
elsewhere might and did make unauthorized promises to the shiftless
adventurers who sought to better their fortunes in a new land. Men from
the North cannot do hard manual work in this climate unless they are very
careful in regard to diet, clothing, and general sanitary conditions. If
they get wet, and sleep in their wet clothes, they will have a malarial
fever in a newly cleared country. If they eat improper food, or proper
food at improper times, their bowels will certainly protest. Now, I was
convinced that the contractors did not take these precautions with their
men, that in consequence of this negligence a large amount of sickness
resulted, and that complaints printed in the newspapers of the United
States from the sick men were justified. I have seen the men who left
the railroad and took service on plantations, and have talked with them,
although I have never mentioned the subject to the several contractors
and overseers I met; my opinion is therefore formed from what these
unfortunate men told me.
In the morning we were provided with the only hand-car the road owns,
and began our explorations. I will not mention the builders of that car,
for it was a worthless article, and had it belonged to me I should have
run it off the track and down a steep place into the sea. The road,
of thirty-six inch gauge, was graded (in March, 1885) some six miles,
and rails were laid four miles; but the thirty-ton locomotive, which
had to do the work one of half the size could do, could run only over
three miles, the track was so uneven. Men were cutting sleepers in the
adjoining forest, and we saw many of mahogany. The grade is also being
pushed from Tenedores, on the Motagua River, to meet this end. No great
engineering is here visible, and the main difficulty seems to have been
in getting suitable foundations for the bridges over the numerous small
creeks. Along the track we saw two large snakes of the boa family which
had been killed by the workmen. Some five miles from Puerto Barrios we
came to the hot sulphur-spring. It is a pool, fifteen feet in diameter,
close by the track, and pours out a considerable volume of clear, hot
water, pleasant to drink when cooled, but while in the pool too hot to
put one’s finger in. Bubbles, probably of hydrosulphuric acid, escaped
freely; but vegetation extended to the very borders of the pool, and all
around the forest was dense. A cool brook ran near at hand and gave a
fine bathing-place as the hot water mingled with it. We were assured that
the men who drank the sulphurous hot water never had fever.
[Illustration: Sulphur Spring.]
From Tenedores the surveyed line of railroad extends up the valley of
the Motagua to Gualan, thence up the ascent to the high plateau on which
stands Chiquimula, and thence to Guatemala City, where it will connect
with the road now in operation from that city to San José, on the
Pacific, five thousand feet below.
Before leaving the Atlantic coast we must again mention the numerous
steamship lines from Livingston to New Orleans, New York, Belize, Puerto
Cortez, Jamaica, and England. Communication may thus be had with the
best markets for all tropical products. The lowlands are amply able
to supply New Orleans, New York, and Boston with bananas, plantains,
pine-apples, and coconuts, the latter growing most abundantly at Cabo
de Tres Puntas on Manabique. The climate is healthful and not too hot,
averaging for the year about 80°; and as there is no marked change of
season, a perpetual June seems to exist. Capital alone is wanted to
develop this Atlantic coast into the great fruit-producing orchard of the
United States. Sugar-cane grows rapidly; and so strong is the soil that
rattoon crops have been cut for twenty years without replanting, and no
diminution of the saccharine yield has been noticed. Sugar can certainly
be raised much cheaper here than in Cuba or in the Hawaiian Islands.[8]
One day carries the crop to Belize, four days to New Orleans, and eight
to Boston or New York. Yet, notwithstanding all these advantages, the
Northern farmer wears out his life in the consumptive fields of New
England, where his crops grow only four months of the year, instead of
settling here, where he can plant any day of the year (except saints’
days, unless he employ coolies), and reap a rich harvest in due season.
He sometimes goes to Florida, which is neither tropical nor temperate,
which is nothing but a raised coral reef with a veneering of soil,
and where frosts cut off his crops every few years. We often hear of
the extreme unhealthfulness of the tropics; but is it generally known
that more persons die of consumption in Massachusetts than of the most
dreaded tropical diseases in Central America? The last time an official
census was taken, Livingston had a population of a thousand, in round
numbers, and the deaths of the year numbered seven,—one a centenarian,
and two youths who fell from coconut-trees and broke their necks; while
in Boston the rate for July, 1885, was 28.1 per thousand.
The objection to being among a strange people and under a foreign
government and strange laws may best be met by following me through the
country, where my object was to answer these very objections for myself;
and if my readers will patiently follow me, I will tell what I saw, and
they may form their own opinions.
[Illustration: Paddle and Machete.]