FROM QUEZALTENANGO TO THE PACIFIC.
Our little mozo was only fifteen years old, and his load was so heavy
that we had to wait for him at every turn in the road; until, after
helping the poor little fellow for miles, Frank took the load himself. As
we reached the high ridge where there is the last view of Quezaltenango,
we noticed that all the mozos—of whom there were many on the road—looked
back at the city and removed their hats, as if in salutation. We did not
reach the hotel at Totonicapan until nearly eight o’clock; but we had no
trouble in the clear night,—except in trying to get a drink at a way-side
fountain, into which we nearly tumbled headlong.
[Illustration: J. Rufino Barrios.]
The President arrived in the morning with a cavalcade of thirty riders
and several large mule-wagons. The Plaza was deserted, and the streets
almost empty. All the Indios kept within doors, and evidently were not
anxious to honor the chief magistrate. The usual nuisance of soldiers,
however, was there; and it was very amusing to watch them fire the guns
in the Plaza for a salute. To obtain animals was our first desire, and we
telegraphed to the Jefe of Sololà, who had promised to send his mules;
but he answered us that he could not, as he was called away, with all
his attendants. So we seemed to be imprisoned in this Indian city, and I
resolved to apply at headquarters. Not expecting to meet the President
out of Guatemala City, I had no letters with me, nor even any suitable
attire for a visit of ceremony; but there was no alternative, and through
one of his attendants I obtained an appointment for the evening. In the
mean time we wandered impatiently about the town. In the church, over
the main altar, we saw, what had before escaped notice, three life-sized
figures representing God and Christ kneeling to and crowning the Virgin
Mary, over whose head a dove hovered. God had a white beard and _bald
head_, while Christ’s hair was black. Neither this Quaternity, nor
anything else we noticed in the service of religion here, surprised me;
though the shudder of disgust was stronger than when I stood on the
threshold of the sanctuary of Kali, near Calcutta, and saw the hideous
idol with its gory lips and necklace of bleeding human heads.
In the evening the President received me very politely in the _sala_
where we had called on the Jefe. I stated my case, while Frank looked
in at the window. Señor Barrios was much better looking than he appears
in his portraits; he was not a large man, but muscular, and with a very
determined and intelligent face. His little daughter, who had been
educated in New York, acted as his interpreter; and never, among the
scores of interpreters I have had in many countries, have I found so
capital a one. Once only my Spanish failed me; and instantly the little
girl repeated in idiomatic, concise English, her father’s question. I
told him I had more important business with him at the capital, but that
at present I wished only the privilege of hiring or purchasing bestias
for our journey to Sololà. He at once summoned the stupid little Jefe and
asked him why he had not furnished us as we requested. “No háy” (there
are none), replied the Indio. “Then make some before to-morrow, or you
shall suffer for it!” said President Barrios; and told me to let him know
if they were not furnished us in the morning. Next day the Jefe offered
us his own mule; but his wife, a perfect shrew, declared it should not
leave town. If I had liked that Jefe better, I would have wished that the
mule might run away with his wife and break her neck. At last he got us
two good horses, for which he would take no pay, as we were _amigos del
Presidente_. A mozo was included in this arrangement, and we started him
at noon, we following soon after two. We shook off the dust from our
feet, and were glad enough to leave Totonicapan, where we had found the
Indios so impudent and disobliging that at one time I feared I should
have to shoot some of them with my revolver in driving them from my door.
After the first steep ascent of twelve hundred feet, we rode rapidly
over the level plateau; but with all our haste we could not get to those
steep and difficult stairs before dark. Luckily we overtook two ladinos,
who rode with us; and we consequently were saved by their guidance the
discomfort of a camp in the cold night. At Argueta we were put into a
large room in the deserted monastery, where we had some excellent coffee.
In the middle of the room we made a fire of the fat-pine that we had
gathered in the mountain in preparation for camping out, thus taking off
the chill which is very decided in these high altitudes; and the clear
burning chips of _ocote_ did not smoke us out.
We were up at five next morning (_muy temprano_); and although it was
still dark, got our coffee and started for Sololà. In the corridor of the
monastery was a large pile of an odd-looking corn, the kernels shaped
like rice-corn, but yellow, and much larger. Six grains, which I brought
home, were planted in Worcester County, Massachusetts, and they all
grew,—some to a height of seventeen feet, with a diameter near the ground
of three inches. The season, however, was not long enough for them to
ripen.
In the pale dawn we saw the distant volcano of Fuego smoking. We rode on
briskly in the cool morning, getting to our hotel at eight. Certainly
this was the best and fastest ride we had in Guatemala. We took no time
to rest, but at once proceeded to photograph the town. After almuerzo
we climbed down to the Lago de Atitlan by a path about twelve hundred
feet in perpendicular descent. It was a league and a half from town to
shore. We were in another climate. Oranges, sugar-cane, avocados, limes,
jocotes, and other fruits that cannot bear the cold of the town above us,
flourished here. Walled on every side by vast cliffs, and overshadowed by
high volcanoes, there were yet fertile valleys opening on the Lago here
and there. Streams of considerable volume pour into it over rocky beds,
or dash foaming down the high cliffs. Ten miles across was the ancient
town of Atitlan, famed in legend and history. We stood in one of those
mysterious places seemingly below the rest of the world, for we could see
the water fall into this valley; but no human eye sees the outlet, nor
are the waters, as in the valley of the Dead Sea, chiefly evaporated.
The surface is evidently of nearly the same level at all seasons. In
the opinion of some observers it is not improbable that this valley
was an ancient crater, in the midst of which the volcano of Atitlan
has risen,—much as Vesuvius has sprung from the ancient Somma; but the
more probable origin of the lake is that the rising volcanoes dammed
up a valley. In the lava are many cavities, and possibly through these
the surplus waters flow, to reappear in the many copious springs of the
southern shore. We were minded to try the truth of that strange assertion
of Juarros that the waters are so cold that all who venture in have their
limbs frost-bitten and swollen. The water was clear and sweet, and we
waded out some distance before there was depth enough to swim. From the
sandy bottom rose abundant bubbles,—probably of carbonic acid, as they
had no smell. It was a most refreshing bath,—cool, but not so cold as
the old historian reported. A new experience, as we stood drying on the
shore, was a shave with pumice-stones, which abound here. A little care
is needed to avoid taking the cuticle away with the hair; but these stone
razors are admirable substitutes for Sheffield steel, and are always
sharp. Water-fowl were abundant, and very tame. A good survey of this
lake would be of great geological and antiquarian interest; and we will
speak of its depth and formation in a later chapter.
[Illustration: Boat on the Lago de Atitlan.]
We should much have liked to cross the lake to the ruins on the other
side; but the sight of the only boats on the lake, as well as our limited
time, deterred us. I have never before seen boats constructed on these
lines; the handles on the stern seeming necessary to lift the large,
clumsy craft out of the water.
Oh, the hot climb up that hill to Sololà! We started at half-past one,
and did not get back until six; and were then so tired that, soon after
comida, we fell asleep, in spite of the music and rockets within a few
rods of our bedroom. The decencies of life are much neglected here, as
elsewhere in Guatemala, and our only washing-place was the veranda-rail,
over which we leaned while Santiago poured a calabash of water over us.
Those who have travelled in Central France will have some idea of the
privies of Central America, where they exist in any form,—indeed, if it
were not for the hungry dogs, who act as scavengers, the streets would be
in a most disgusting condition.
[Illustration: Sketch Map of the Lago de Atitlan.]
All this day the mountains were clear; but on the morrow the clouds
came down again. We called on the Jefe to say our adios, and found that
neither he nor his secretary could tell us the names of the immense
volcanoes before his very eyes every time he went out of his house-door.
However, he called in an old Indio, who pointed out the distant Fuego,
Agua, and Pacaya, and the nearer Atitlan, San Pedro, and Santa Clara. All
these volcanoes have been duly baptized into the Church, to induce them
to act as good citizens and _christianos_.
The Jefe had promised me his mule, and Frank was to have the horse of the
alcalde, as his mare, Mabel, had a sore back from the breaking of the
_tenedora_, or crupper, on the journey to Sololà. We secured for a dollar
and twenty-five cents two mozos to take our luggage—much increased in
weight by the cloths we had purchased in Quezaltenango—as far as Antigua,
and at noon we started. Frank’s little mare was a character. She took
the saddle all right; but when he tried to bridle her, she rose on her
hind-legs and proposed a boxing-match. Frank very naturally declined, as
he had no fists to match hers; and as Santiago and the mozos had been
sent ahead, we hardly knew what to do, until an old Spaniard kindly came
to our aid and taught us a trick. He tied some rope around the creature’s
left ear,—a proceeding to which she made not the slightest objection,—and
inserting a stout stick and twisting the rope so as to have a firm hold
of the ear, I was able to keep her down while Frank put on the bridle.
She was perfectly still as long as her ear was in limbo, and did not seem
to suffer; but it was useless to try to hold her by _mane_ force or by
the nostrils. Every time she was bridled we had to go through the same
process.
We first rode down a very steep grade, sixteen hundred feet, to
Panajachel,—a pleasing village a league and a half from Sololà. Here are
cultivated fields on the borders of the lake far surpassing anything
of the kind I saw elsewhere in the republic. They are completely
irrigated by the water of many brooks, some of which make cascades by
the wayside. Panajachel is the garden of Sololà; with about twelve
hundred inhabitants, it has, besides its agricultural advantages,
various minerals and especially fine clays. Hot-springs come to the
surface on the lake shore. The road was being repaired, and we had to
travel slowly,—glad, however, of the excuse for loitering, as the views
of the lake and valley were not to be lightly passed by and forgotten.
Then came a long, slow climb of fourteen hundred feet to San Andres
Semetabaj,—a town of seventeen hundred inhabitants, which showed us as
its only attraction a ruined church with a remarkably fine dome; even Sir
Christopher Wren never designed a finer. On this long climb we lingered
to photograph the last view of the Lago de Atitlan and its volcanoes. The
sun was in our faces, and shone over the silvery waters with the effect
of moonlight. The three black giants—once so terrible, now so solemnly
grand—kept back the surging sea of cloud from the Pacific that seemed
struggling to climb their sides and reach the lake. Not a boat, not a
human being, was visible as we looked our last on the beautiful lago and
turned to a road quite unlike any we had travelled before.
[Illustration: LAGO DE ATITLAN.]
And now every day brought a quite new experience, as not merely the
flowers and vegetation, but the very physical aspect of the country
changed; and, strangely enough, the night was the _entr’acte_. To-day
we were crossing the immense wrinkles of the earth, while from
Chichicastenango to Sololà we had travelled with them. As we went up and
down, the light faded; and we still had three “wide rivers to cross,”
as well as many leagues to ride. As we passed the camps of the mozos de
cargo the bright light of their fires dazzled us and made the road some
way beyond seem much darker. We came at last to a plain. Here the good
resolves never to travel in this country after dark, made when we lost
the road at Encuentros, were renewed and strengthened; for every now
and then we saw in the dim gray path what looked like ink-puddles, but,
to our horror, as we were about to ride through one, we found it to be
the head of an immense barranca which was gradually eating its way into
the plain over which the road extended. The walls of this barranca were
perpendicular, and apparently thirty yards deep; and it was only one of
a dozen intersecting our path. I have never since then passed a dark
spot in the road at night without thinking of those awful abysses lying
in wait to entrap the unwary traveller. Evidently few here travel after
dark. In places were hedges of agave, and we saw here and there a house;
while the barking of dogs became more frequent, and we at last, about
half-past nine, rode into Patzùn. We had no little difficulty in finding
where the posada was; for Santiago, who led Mabel, did not like to leave
the road, and the burden, as usual, fell on Frank,—who, fortunately,
was well able to bear it. The inhabitants were all in bed; but he at
last aroused a man to direct us, and we found a good posada, with a
comfortable room, clean beds, and hot chocolate.
[Illustration: Washout in the Road.]
We slept long, and did not get our early meal until eight. Santiago added
to his disrepute by failing to find any _sacate_ (green fodder) for the
animals, while Frank found a supply at once. We always had to buy or pay
separately for our sacate and corn; seldom was either to be found in a
posada. While our bestias were feeding we went to the church, which had
a curious campanile decorated (?) with sculptured angels at the angles.
Inside, there was a wedding,—the couple kneeling within the chancel-rail
under one red shawl. The officiating priest seemed to be an Irishman. As
we rode out of town we passed a public fountain, to which excellent water
is brought from a distance of several miles by a very ancient aqueduct.
The fountain was of the usual form,—a column more or less ornamented
rising in the midst of a circular or polygonal basin, which catches the
water falling from one or more spouts near the top of the column. From
this common basin horses drink and women dip water, the spouts being
quite out of reach. The Indios place their water-jars on the edge of the
large basin and conduct the water by a bambu pole just long enough to
reach from the spout to the jar.
At eleven o’clock we reached Patzicia, but did not stop even to examine
the ruined church. The evening before we had noticed a long cliff some
ten feet high,—evidently caused by a comparatively recent subsidence;
and here we saw other evidences of earthquakes in remote ages before the
present town was built. On the trees by the road was a beautiful yellow
bignonia, and in the yards we saw fine double pink and white dahlias
growing as trees,—fifteen feet high, and with stems eight inches in
diameter. Chimaltenango, the head of this Department, did not interest
us, and we did not linger.
The road was level, but winding and dusty. We were approaching the
volcanoes Agua and Fuego, which kept changing their relative position
in a very puzzling manner. Several small hamlets—San Lorenzo, San Luis,
Pastores, and Jocotenango—served as milestones on our way. Near the
last place we discovered a man on fire in the road; and it was no easy
matter to extinguish the conflagration. Tobacco did the mischief, and
aguardiente prevented the senses of the poor Indio from working fast
enough to save much of his clothing; and as we rode away we saw his
companions stripping the smoking rags from his singed body. About dusk we
came to the Hotel del Commercio in Antigua, the capital of the Department
of Sacatepequez.
[Illustration: Antigua and the Volcan de Agua.]
Early Sunday morning we went to the Plaza, and from the second story
of the cabildo photographed both the great volcanoes Agua and Fuego.
Directly before us were the ruins of the palace of the Viceroy, the
arms of Spain carved in the stone, which still stands firmly, a century
after the terrible earthquake which shattered the rest of the building
and ruined the whole city. On the left stood the roofless cathedral,
and dotted thickly over the plain were other ruined churches,—eighty, it
is said,—which looked as if recently demolished. We had our _bestias_
saddled, and rode over to Ciudad Vieja, distant about a league. This
was the second city founded by Alvarado (Tecpan Quatemalan being the
first), and destroyed, together with the widow of the Conquistador, in
1541, by the earthquake and torrent of water from the ancient crater of
Agua. The town is small enough now. After watching a man make _roquetas_
(rockets),[22] we rode to the Baños de Medina, which we had some
difficulty in finding; we took, however, at last a short cut through a
coffee plantation where the berries were large and ripening. The baths
are in a small house of several rooms. The one Frank and I occupied had
a large tank, deep enough for a swim; the water was slightly sulphurous,
and but a few degrees warmer than the atmosphere. It was well worth the
real it cost us.
In the afternoon we strolled among the ruins of Antigua, which are
very fascinating. All the churches were of solid masonry, with vaulted
roofs,—some still entire, and supporting a mass of vegetation, among
which the Phytolacca was common. The outlay of money in building all
these elaborate churches must have been enormous for material and
transportation (many of the tiles being Spanish), although the actual
labor was by unpaid slaves. We were told strange stories of the skeletons
of mother and child found walled in a church; tunnels connecting the
churches and nunneries just outside the city; infant skeletons in a vault
of one of the nunneries, etc. With these romantic associations in mind,
we poked hither and thither among the mighty ruins; but we found only the
curiosities of architecture (of these there were enough to occupy me many
days) and the traces the treasure-hunters had left in the walls. Frank
found in one of the vaults a well-drawn fresco covered with a thick coat
of whitewash, and we tried to pry off a portion; but could not succeed
without too much damaging it. Horses were pasturing on the grass-grown
roof of a part of one of the churches, and a few had portions still in
use as places of worship, while another was occupied by a blacksmith.
In one of these we saw some finely carved wooden panels. All about the
city eucalyptus-trees had been planted. The roads are very good, and the
_alameda_, or public promenade, is attractive. The corner houses often
had most comfortable projecting windows, so placed that one could see in
both streets at once.
[Illustration: Ruined Church in Antigua.]
There are two industries in Antigua of considerable interest to the
visitor,—the carving of cane-heads, which is done in a most artistic
manner, equalling, perhaps, the famous ivory carvings of Dieppe, in
Normandy; and the manufacture of dolls, or effigies, mostly of cloth,
representing every costume and occupation of the Indios. These little
figures—seldom more than five inches high—have often an expression that
would not be thought possible, considering the material of their fabric.
Sololà is another place where these dolls, or _muñecos_, are made,—a
single family, I believe, having the monopoly; but in Antigua we found
a much greater variety. Especially good are their figures to represent
the Nativity of Christ; for it is customary in many of the towns to
keep open house at Christmas-tide, and each household tries to provide
a Bethlehem,—much as in Germany a Christmas-tree is arranged; but the
groups of Shepherds, the Wise Men from the East, as well as the Holy
Family, are often made in the most careful and artistic way, all from
bits of cloth.
Here I bought my first mule, paying for her eighty dollars in
Guatemaltecan money (silver of the value of the buzzard dollar of the
United States), the purchaser giving United States gold at twenty per
cent premium; consequently the mule cost really sixty-six dollars and
sixty-seven cents. After riding her two months I sold her for a hundred
dollars. We engaged two mozos de cargo, and then felt at leisure to
look more about the city. Near the hotel was a _chichería_, or place
where _chicha_ is sold. This drink is here made from jocotes, and the
cider-like beverage is drunk from pint bowls or calabashes. Intoxication
follows; and we frequently heard women shrieking in the arms of men,
while unearthly yells and laughter greeted the outcries. Owing to
indulgence in this dissipation, our mozos could not walk in the morning,
and we spent some hours in searching for others. The best we could do was
to get one for six reals to take our carcaste to Ciudad Vieja, the Jefe
at Antigua giving me a requisition on the comandante there for another.
We sent Santiago with a drunken mozo direct to Guatemala City; and we
afterwards found that the wretched mozo, when well out of the city,
dropped his burden and ran away, compelling Santiago to get a substitute,
with whom he arrived safely.
For ourselves, we retraced the road of yesterday to Ciudad Vieja,
and found the cabildo, where the soldiers captured the necessary
mozo,—literally at the point of the bayonet; but he was a capital fellow,
in spite of his forced service. While the hunt was in progress, we looked
about the town; but there was not much to see, except the elaborately
wrought doors of the church. There were few indications of the awful
ruin the flood from Agua had brought upon the town in 1541; but some
of the buildings seemed to be partly resting on substructures of older
date. Some of the slaves in uniform called soldiers told us we could not
go into the presence of the comandante without taking off our spurs;
so I haughtily declined to go in, or even dismount, and ordered him to
come out and receive the Jefe’s letter. He meekly obeyed, seeming to be
a very decent fellow. Clouds covered both volcanoes, and our road led
southward between them. We had a good enough road, down hill constantly,
and winding into the valleys on the side of Fuego,—often crossing
fine streams of clear cold water. The crater of the volcano was still
smoking,—as it has been since 1880, when there was a slight eruption.
We could see that the crater-wall was broken down to give issue to what
looked more like scoriæ than lava. Gases have acted extensively on the
whole summit, which displays many colors, from the decomposition of the
lavas.
As the day closed, the road became bad and full of small stones. The
foothills were capped with irregular masses of lava, which in the sunset
looked not unlike the ruined castles on the Rhine. We were in the region
of canefields, and we often caught a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean. At
seven we rode into Escuintla and found the hotel comfortable enough; but
all night there was a horrid noise,—drums, rockets, bombs, and shouts,
and we dreamed that the town was being captured by storm.
We had entered the region of railroads again; and our train started
next morning at half-past six for San José, on the Pacific. The fare
for the round trip was three dollars. We had a second-class carriage,
as the only first-class carriage is reserved for the President. At the
station, in the lowest part of the town, the height above sea-level is
eleven hundred feet; and for the first three miles out the grade is
rather steep. The remaining twenty-five miles offered no difficulties
in road-building; but the culverts and bridges are fast decaying, and
as they are not promptly repaired, the road is not safe. The run was
made in two hours,—certainly not a high rate of speed. There were fine
views of the volcanoes, and some interesting scenes at the stations. As
we approached the coast the line crossed several shallow lagoons, and
the country looked low and uninviting. I did not, however, see evidence
of much ill-health among the natives, although the manners and customs
were loose enough. The railroad (_ferro-carril_) ended in a respectable
station in San José, at the head of a fine iron pier extending some six
hundred feet into the sea,—beyond the surf, but not where vessels can
come alongside.
We had seen the Pacific the day before as we rode from Antigua, and it
was, as always, a welcome sight to me, for some of the pleasantest years
of my life have been passed on its shores or on its islands. To-day its
waves rolled up on the sand in so inviting a way that as soon as we had
found the hotel on the beach and ordered almuerzo, we returned to the
pier, and, under its shelter, stripped and waded in. The rollers took us
off our feet; and as large sharks were snuffing about just outside the
iron piles of the pier, within a few yards of us, we had a sufficiently
exciting bath. I have never seen such large sharks before, even in the
shark-haunted shores of the Antilles or the Hawaiian Islands; but it is
claimed that they dare not venture between the piles. The young sharks
however have no such scruples; and we kicked several of the little
fellows out of our way. The ironwork was thickly covered with barnacles
and other crustaceans, and it took considerable skill to avoid being
dashed against this.
On the pier-head there was a cool sea-breeze, and we spent much of our
time there while waiting for the return train. A pier was built here in
1868; but a storm of unusual severity soon after destroyed it, and the
present structure was built in a more substantial manner. The piles are
of cast iron and hollow, fitted with auger-points, by which they are
screwed down into the sand. The end of the wharf is covered by a shed,
where are provided three steam hoisting-engines. As San José is, like
most of the ports on the Pacific coast, merely an open roadstead, vessels
do not care to wait long there, and stout lighters are provided to bring
cargo between ship and pier. Even with lighters of some twenty-five
tons, the task is not always easy, and many a passenger gets a wetting
in jumping from the small boat to the iron cage used in rough weather
to hoist the human freight to the pier-top. Since the completion of
the railroad, in 1880, the tracks have been laid along the pier,—thus
facilitating the handling of freight, much of which is lumber coming from
the Oregon coast, and sugar, coffee, and hides going to San Francisco.
To-day two ships were at anchor, and a steamer was expected.
[Illustration]
As we sat in the cool shade on the end of the pier, looking dreamily
over the Pacific, I felt that the journey across the continent, as
we had made it, was far pleasanter than when, in 1869, I had used the
railroad,—then but a week old. We decided unanimously that the difference
between the two oceans was not a matter of fancy merely. I had seen the
middle Atlantic smooth as a mill-pond, and had been miserably seasick
on the raging Pacific; so without going deeper into this question, our
thoughts wandered from one thing to another, mine going back to the
days when Istapa, the old port at our left hand, was more than a swamp,
and when the Spanish shipyards there were humming with the busy workmen
who had learned their craft on the Rio Tinto at Palos or on the sandy
shores of Cadiz. Why had the place become so changed? My eye wandered
up and down the coast for an answer to a suggestion that came to me.
But only a rather steep beach was there,—no cliff, not even a detached
rock, to solve the problem of whether the coast was at the same level
as in the seventeenth century; for this was the way I was trying to
answer my own question. A rise of eight feet would explain everything
about that deserted harbor; but there was nothing except the steep slope
of the beach to indicate any change of level. Had I been able to see
any rocks within the limit of two miles, I should have left the cool
pier and trudged through the hot black sand to ask them. Frank’s more
practical mind was working in another direction; and he took up the
conversation with a question whether a railroad to the Atlantic would
change this port as well as the rest of the republic. Then we discussed
the several schemes proposed for infusing a commercial spirit into this
charmingly uncommercial country; and although we had not yet seen the
route selected for the Northern Railroad, we had been over the track of
several of the other paper railroads, and on our map—that inseparable
companion—we sketched the roads. Here is the map we made, with several
additions of a later date,—a map which shows fairly enough what can, and
in time probably will, be done to open the country. First we discussed a
road from Livingston to Coban, to open the coffee region; and as we were
fresh from the very route, we tackled the problem unhesitatingly. The
road, we decided, should run up the coast towards Cocali, turn through
the forest six miles to Chocon, crossing the Chocon River on a single
span, then over the smaller Rio Cienega and along the north shore of
the Lago de Izabal, then a little to the northward of the Rio Polochic,
bridging the Cahabon near the limestone ledges east of Pansos, thence
through Teleman, and by nearly the cart-road route to Coban. Perhaps a
hundred and twenty-five or thirty miles, in all, of single track, would
result in quadrupling the coffee export of Guatemala. It would then be
profitable to raise more of the delicious oranges of Teleman,—oranges
such as Florida can never raise; the mahogany of the Cienega and Chocon
could be marketed; and all Alta Verapaz be a plantation of coffee and
fruits. More than this, the road would pay from the first through train.
Before us on the west coast was the sugar and cacao region,—that land
that produces the royal chocolate which outside barbarians never get,
but which might be raised very extensively from Soconusco eastward
if a railroad should be built over the level lands from Escuintla to
Retalhuleu and Ocós. A road from Guatemala City through Salamà to Coban
would not only open the rich sugar estate of San Geronimo, but connect
the capital with the Mexican system, which will probably go to Coban
eventually. At Belize the English are trying to build a road inland to
Peten to open the logwood and mahogany forests; and they need a road
along the coast to open the settlements that now have no outlet save by
water. A hundred and forty miles, at the outside, would connect Belize
with Livingston. The roads in Honduras will extend between Trujillo
and Puerto Barrios, there connecting with the Northern Railroad of
Guatemala. Not one of these projected lines presents any very difficult
engineering problems. The financial question is the only obstacle; and
with the exception of the first two,—both coast roads, and of simple
construction,—they would not pay for a few years; that is, until the
plantations that would spring up along their way came into bearing,—that,
however, in this climate, would not be long, even for india-rubber.
We had not finished our discussion of the railways when it was time for
almuerzo; and we went to the hotel, where, besides a good meal and the
largest plantains (thirteen inches long) I ever saw, there were a number
of captive animals,—the most attractive being a bright little monkey who
was very eager to open my watch.
[Illustration: Bread-fruit (Artocarpus incisa).]