_Colombia and Cartagena_
If in the matter of details the history of Colombia--the republic in the
extreme north-west corner of the South American continent--has been more
lurid than some of its neighbours, in general outline that history has
followed the course with which students of Spanish-American affairs are
so familiar. There was, first, the discovery of the territory away back
in the fifteenth century by Spanish mariners, and its subsequent
settlement by colonists from the mother country. Spain always started
this work with magnificent enthusiasm, but the feeling of rapture over
the possession of new dominions soon wore off, and the annals of these
colonies during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries make drab and
uninteresting reading. Colombia’s history is no exception to the general
rule. All its existing cities were founded during the early rule of the
conquistadores, and the type of slavery imposed upon the Indian
population was given its enduring shape. No great developments or
changes occurred in the country until the Spanish rule ended and
independence was declared.
Being next-door neighbour to Venezuela, Colombia was naturally one of
the first states drawn into the ambitious operations of Bolivar, and for
a time it looked as though its capital, Bogota, would assume a
predominant importance in the southern continent, but the liberator
underestimated the strong sense of nationality which had developed in
the different sections of the vast country, and when his influence died
down Colombia retained her individuality just as Venezuela preserved
hers. Not only did the Spanish sovereignty entirely disappear from the
State, but the name, New Granada, given to it by the early conquerors,
in honour of the province in the mother country, was changed for the
more American substitute, Colombia. At first it was known as the
“United States of Colombia,” but in 1886 a reform in the direction of
centralisation was brought about, and the country is now called “the
Republic.”
[Illustration: A COLOMBIAN MOTHER.]
The mania for revolution which has infected the inhabitants of South
America has found in Colombia very amenable material to work upon. For
years during the last century stable government was a thing unknown;
rival factions were always springing at each other’s throats, drenching
the country in blood, decimating its population, crippling its
prosperity, and embarrassing its finances. Where so many other states
have indulged in revolutions, it is dangerous to use the superlative
degree; but it is fairly safe to say that Colombia has been _facile
princeps_ in the insensate and sanguinary game. Since the establishment
of the constitution in 1886, however, events have tended a little
towards tranquillity and security; but it would be much too sanguine to
dream that the rival parties, the Clericals and the Liberals, have
become sufficiently reconciled to play the game in a constitutional
manner, although their volcanic passions are for the moment lying
dormant. Now that the United States have such important interests in the
adjacent Isthmus of Panama, the firebrands of Colombia have to be on
their better behaviour, for the “big stick” is a menace which they are
bound to recognise. The efforts of the Government to render the country
less liable to disturbances are praiseworthy, but the material they have
to handle is not very promising, and development is slow. Railways are
very gradually connecting up places in the interior. The army is badly
equipped, and lack of funds prevents many of its most urgent needs from
being satisfied. The navy cannot be said to exist, although the
necessity for coast defence agitates the mind of the Government.
A slight improvement is, however, manifest in the latest budgets of the
country, but the task of making “both ends meet” is a difficult one. If
the republic in many of its features cannot compare for sheer interest
with its neighbours, it has yet a commanding claim to the attention of
antiquarians, for it possesses the city of Cartagena, which was the most
ancient and strongest of the Spanish power in South America. The renown
of the city’s prototype in Spain, itself inheriting the name of the
still more ancient and famous colony, Carthage, was transplanted to the
New World, and for two centuries it enjoyed the esteem of the whole
maritime world. Its sun-bleached walls still endure, stern relics of the
power of Spain. Belonging entirely to the past, it has escaped unharmed
the vandal hand of progress. Surrounded on all sides with walls, it gave
shelter to the great “plate” ships and their convoys which anchored
within its land-locked waters. There are three harbours, which together
extend for some nine miles from north to south, and have a surface of
nearly forty thousand acres. The situation was well chosen, for although
the waters of the Caribbean form the western boundary of the city, great
rocks protect it from the approach of ships; and of the two entrances
to the harbour, the Boca Grande and Boca Chica, only the latter is of
sufficient depth to allow the passage of vessels of any size. The middle
harbour is protected by two forts, and the narrow entrance to the
shallow waters of the inner harbour was an additional protection to the
city which lies within. To the east of the city, standing upon a
formidable hill, is the fort of San Lazar, whilst on another hill about
a mile away stands an ancient convent. Although the city stands upon
flat ground, it has a magnificent panorama of undulating hills spread
before it. Innumerable islets, bays, and capes fill the great harbour,
and as the steamer makes its way across the smooth waters it passes many
of the loveliest bits of tropical scenery to be found anywhere.
Cartagena formerly possessed untold wealth; rich and powerful merchants
prospered within its protecting walls. Its fame was world-wide, and
attracted the unwelcome attentions of the pirates, adventurers, and
privateers of the sixteenth century. Sir Francis Drake captured the city
by one of the most daring assaults recorded in the annals of piracy, and
the very defences thrown up by the garrison proved helpful to his
purpose. As the Spaniards retreated from the hard-pressing invaders,
they fell upon the poisoned stakes they had driven into the ground, and
their bodies made a soft foothold for the English. The Cartagenians,
dismayed and demoralised, fled in all directions, and the city fell into
the hands of Drake, who profited by the adventure to the tune of one
hundred thousand ducats, which added to the store of gold and glory he
had already acquired upon the Spanish Main. The wealth of Cartagena had
an irresistible attraction to all kinds of enemies which even its strong
fortifications could not dispel. Ten years after it was founded by
Heredia it was captured by the French. In 1586 Drake, fresh from
humbling the Spanish pride at Vigo and San Domingo, here repeated his
successes. Again, at the end of the seventeenth century the French took
the city and obtained over a million of money. The power of the mother
country was rapidly declining during the following century. Her home and
foreign policy had so aroused the bitter antagonism of England that
peace between the two countries was impossible. The war of “Jenkins’s
ear” arose ostensibly over the treatment meted out to smugglers by the
Spanish coastguards. The story told by Jenkins of his having his ear cut
off fanned the smouldering indignation of the English people into a
flame, and Walpole was reluctantly compelled by the popular clamour to
declare war. In October, 1739, the operations were entrusted to Admiral
Vernon, a fiery old sailor who gloried in his motto, “No peace with
Spain.” Old Grog, as he was familiarly called by his contemporaries, was
a gallant enough seaman, although a little given to bragging and
blustering. He pledged himself to take Porto Bello; and when he
accomplished this feat with the small loss of seven men, medals were
struck in honour of him and his victory.
Popular enthusiasm hailed him as a hero, and the public hero was
returned to Parliament by a large majority. In the following year, with
a larger squadron under his command, he set sail for Cartagena,
confident in his power to take the city. He met with a stubborn
resistance, however, and although he succeeded in capturing Fort San
Fernando that guards the Boca Chica, his further advances were repulsed.
General Wentworth, who accompanied the fleet in charge of the land
forces, had serious differences with “Old Grog,” and these were not
calculated to help matters. A company of soldiers were landed to take
Fort San Lazar, but they were obliged to retreat, leaving two hundred
dead and having over four hundred wounded. To add to the discomfiture of
the English, yellow fever broke out and wrought great havoc, and the
last attempt to capture the city proving unavailing, the fleet gave up
the enterprise, retired from the harbour, and made their way to Jamaica,
glad to escape the warmth of their reception and the enervating heat of
the bay.
Cartagena is one of the most picturesque, if one of the most
insalubrious cities, in South America. It is Spanish throughout, and
contains few modern buildings of any importance. The atmosphere of
bygone centuries hangs over it; time and the elements have imparted a
richness to its walls that constitutes its only charm. It is like an old
painting by a master hand, mellow and sedate. In the joints and cracks
of its discoloured walls, creepers, weeds, and mosses find root-hold and
nourishment. The buttresses, bastions, battlements, and sentry towers
that strengthen and equip the ramparts, all give evidence of the
important part the city was designed to play in the colonial system of
Spain. The entrance to the city from the little harbour is through a
gateway of three arches of imposing proportions. The larger central
archway is for mules, horses, and vehicular
[Illustration: A COLOMBIAN VILLAGE.]
traffic, the two smaller ones for pedestrians. The Plaza de los Coches,
the square to which the gateway gives immediate entrance, is surrounded
by an arched colonnade that gives a deep shade to the pavement, shops,
and stores. A stream of dark, swarthy, and yellow humanity flows through
the open space. The bright dresses of the negresses blazing in the
sunlight stand out vividly from the dark shadows of the arches and
doorways. The white dust of the streets dazzles the eye, and the gloom
of the narrow streets that lead in all directions is intensified by the
sharp contrast. The streets are fairly well paved, but very unclean and
evil smelling. Quaint balconies overhang the pavements, and through the
lattices dark, sleepy eyes gaze languidly at the passers-by. The heat is
almost unendurable during the summer months, and the inhabitants are to
be excused if they lack energy and indulge themselves freely in the use
of hammocks and easy rocking-chairs. The fine white dust that covers the
streets in the dry season becomes a kind of mud-like mortar when the
torrential rains descend, and the tatterdemalion shoeblacks reap their
harvests. Most of the houses in the narrow streets are of two stories,
and are painted with vivid primary colours so dear to Spanish eyes. When
fresh applied these colours are blinding in their intensity,
particularly when the sunlight falls upon them, but when faded and
weather-stained they become really beautiful. The red of the pantiles on
the roofs, the vivid greens and blues of balconies and doors, give a
sparkle to this otherwise grey city. The windows of the lower floors are
grilled with the usual iron or wooden bars, and the interiors are but
poorly furnished, with one or two chairs and tables. Through open doors,
green patios are seen filled with plants and palms, which cover much of
the accumulated dirt, rubbish, and garbage. It is amidst these
surroundings that families sit and take their siestas or oily smelling
repasts. The rooms are dirty and the kitchens full of smoke or odours,
so that with the freely circulating air the patio is the most desirable
part of the house. A French writer of the last century who visited the
city said of the town, that it contained “skilful jewellers, good
carpenters, excellent shoemakers, tolerable tailors, indifferent
joiners, black rather than white smiths, masons destitute of ideas of
proportion, bad painters, but impassioned musicians.” If this was true
of the inhabitants of one hundred years ago, it might with considerable
aptness be applied to their descendants to-day. The arts and crafts are
in a poor way, but they still love music. The population of the whole of
Colombia has a lot of black blood running through its veins; and as is
the case elsewhere where the same mixture exists, it is rare to find
much culture or refinement. The women of Cartagena, the half-breeds,
mulattoes, and octoroons, are tall and lithe, often very handsome,
resembling the types of Martinique more than those of the English
islands of the Caribbean. The whites so called and coloured people mix
freely with one another, and no defined colour-line seems to exist. In
Cartagena the old order is loath to give place to the new, although in
many cases new uses have been found for old buildings. Erstwhile forts
are now common dwellings; stately buildings have been turned into shops
and warehouses, churches and chapels into stables. The cathedral, an
imposing building with a magnificent altar-piece and many curious relics
of the past, stands out conspicuously from the other buildings in the
town. In its dark vaults are great piles of human skulls and bones, the
crumbling remains of victims of the Inquisition, which exercised its
terrible power in the early days of the city. These mouldering bones
have little respect shown them by the verger of the church, who turns
them over with his foot to pick out specimens to show to visitors, and
anyone who cares can possess a souvenir. There is a cemetery on a flat,
sandy site, a little way out of the city, surrounded by white walls. The
enclosed space
[Illustration: ON THE BANKS OF THE MAGDALENA RIVER.]
is a field of soft yielding sand, which the wind drives about so that
graves are covered and uncovered from time to time, and often the tops
of the iron crosses that mark the graves are barely visible above the
yellow dust. Around the walls are a series of oven-like vaults, three
deep, some sealed with bricks or plaster, others, although containing
coffins, left open to the view. A more revolting, unsanitary
burial-place could hardly be imagined. Yet in spite of the terrible
epidemics of yellow fever and smallpox to which the inhabitants are
inured, they regard this plague spot with perfect equanimity. Cartagena
was for many years the starting-point from the northern coast for
Bogota, the capital, but Barranquilla has taken its place in this
respect. The journey up the Magdalena River is made in small steamers,
although much of the merchandise is carried still in large canoes about
thirty feet long. “Piraguas,” as these craft are locally called, have
generally two masts which carry large, square sails, and are manned by a
crew who can take an oar when the wind fails. The navigation of the
river is not free from danger, and often the journey up to Bogota takes
about four weeks. The roads in the country are bad, where they do exist,
so that the river is the principal highway. The country people cultivate
a little cotton, maize, and indigo, but the agriculture of the country
is generally in a very backward state. Isolated dwellings are pitched by
the banks of the river, and the inmates live a short if sad life,
weaving a few mats for household use, nets for hammocks and for fishing.
Their houses, mostly of reeds and bamboos, afford but the slightest
protection from the heavy torrential rains. Cartagena, far removed from
the capital, is a listless, almost lifeless city, and the foreigner who
tries to make business headway amongst the people is doomed to cultivate
patience, if he intends to remain in one of the most backward of the
cities on the southern continent.
[Illustration: PERU & BOLIVIA.]