FROM CURAÇAO TO LA GUAYRA
Leaving the steamer, our friends proceeded to the main thoroughfare of
Willemstad, a quaint old street, scrupulously clean--a characteristic
of every Dutch town--and with buildings that looked as if they had been
moved over from Amsterdam. Not far off was the home of the governor
of the island, a mansion with walls of immense thickness. The place
fronted the bay and near by was something of a fortress with a few
ancient cannon. Here a number of Dutch soldiers were on duty.
“I will see if I cannot get carriages, and then we can drive around,”
said Professor Strong, and this was done, and soon they were moving
along slowly, for no Dutch hackman ever thinks of driving fast. Besides
it was now the noon hour, and the hackmen would rather have taken their
midday nap than earn a couple of dollars. The boys soon discovered
that in the tropics to do anything, or to have anything done for you,
between the hours of eleven to three is extremely difficult. Merchants
close their places of business and everybody smokes and dreams or goes
to sleep.
“I see a lot of negroes,” observed Mark, as they moved along.
“The population is mostly of colored blood,” answered the professor.
“The colored people are all free, yet the few Dutchmen that are here
are virtually their masters. The negroes work in the phosphate mines,
and their task is harder than that of a Pennsylvania coal miner ten
times over. If we had time we might visit one of the phosphate works,
but I hate to risk it.”
“For such a small place there are lots of ships here,” put in Sam.
“That is true and I think the reason is because this is a free port of
entry. The ships bring in all sorts of things, and some say a good deal
of the stuff is afterwards smuggled into Venezuela and Colombia.”
They drove on, past the quaint shops and other buildings, but in an
opposite direction to that taken by Dan Markel. During the drive
Hockley had little or nothing to say. He was worried over the
non-appearance of the man from Baltimore, and looked for him eagerly
at every corner and cross road.
“He’s made a mess of it,” he thought. “We’ll be driving back soon and
that will be the end of it.” And then he thought of the fifty dollars
and began to suspect Markel, and something like a chill passed over him.
“If he cheated me I’ll fix him, see if I don’t!” he told himself. Yet
he felt that he was helpless and could do nothing, for the loan had
been a fair one.
“There is a curious story connected with the Island of Curaçao,” said
the professor, as they passed along through the suburbs of the capital.
“It is said that in years gone by some of the old Spanish pirates
filled a cave in the interior with gold and then sprinkled a trail of
salt from the cave to the sea. Some time after that the pirates were
captured and all made to walk the plank. One of them, in an endeavor
to save his life, told of the treasure and of the trail that had been
left. Those who had captured the pirates immediately sailed for the
island, but before they could reach here a fearful hurricane came up,
washing the land from end to end and entirely destroying the trail of
salt, so that the treasure has not been unearthed to this day.”
For the greater part the road was hard, dusty and unshaded. But in
spots were beautiful groves of plantains and oranges, while cocoanut
palms were by no means lacking. The houses everywhere were low, broad,
and with walls of great thickness, and in between them were scattered
the huts of the poorer class, built of palm thatch and often covered
with vines.
On the return they passed an old Dutch saw-mill, where a stout Dutchman
was directing the labors of a dozen coal-black natives. The natives
droned a tune as they moved the heavy logs into the mill. They appeared
to be only half awake, and the master threatened them continually in an
endeavor to make them move faster.
“They are not killing themselves with work,” observed Sam.
“They never work as fast in the tropics as they do in the temperate
zone of our own country,” answered Professor Strong. “The heat is
against it. Even the most active of men are apt to become easy-going
after they have been here a number of years.”
The drive took longer than anticipated and when they again reached
the docks the steamer was ready to sail. They were soon on board, and
a little later St. Anna harbor was left behind and the journey to
Venezuela was resumed.
“What’s up?” asked Mark, of Hockley, when he saw the lank youth
walking through the cabins looking in one direction and another. “Lost
anything?”
“No,” was the curt answer, and then with a peculiar look in his eyes,
Hockley continued: “Have you seen anything of Mr. Markel since we came
on board?”
“I have not. He got off at Willemstad.”
“I know it. But he was going through to La Guayra and Caracas.”
“Well, I haven’t seen him,” answered Mark, and moved on.
Hockley continued his search for over an hour and then went to the
purser, and from that individual learned that Markel had taken no
stateroom for the coming night nor had he paid passage money to be
carried to La Guayra.
“That settles it,” muttered Hockley to himself, as he walked off. “He
has given me the slip and I am out my fifty dollars. What a fool I was
to trust him! And I thought he was such a fine fellow!” And he gripped
his fists in useless rage. He fancied that he had seen the last of the
man from Baltimore, but he was mistaken.
That night the boys went to bed full of expectations for the morrow,
for the run from Curaçao to La Guayra, the nearest seaport to Caracas,
is but a short one.
“My, but it’s getting hot!” observed Frank, while undressing. “It’s
more than I bargained for.”
“You must remember we are only twelve degrees north of the equator,”
answered Mark. “Wait till we strike the Orinoco, then I guess you’ll do
some sweating. That stream is only about seven or eight degrees above
the line.”
Nevertheless the boys passed a fairly comfortable night and did not
arise until it was time for breakfast. Then they went on deck to watch
for the first sight of land.
“Hurrah! There’s land!” was Darry’s cry, some hours later. He held a
glass in his hand. “My, what a mountain!”
One after another looked through the glass, and at a great distance
made out a gigantic cliff overhanging the sea. As the steamer came
closer they made out the wall more plainly, and saw the lazy clouds
drifting by its top and between its clefts. At the foot of the gigantic
cliff was a narrow patch of sand with here and there a few tropical
trees and bushes. Upon the sand the breakers rushed with a low, booming
sound, and in spots they covered the rocks with a milklike foam.
“I don’t see anything of a town,” said Frank.
“We have got to round yonder point before you can see it,” answered an
under-officer standing near. “It’s not much of a place, and it’s tucked
away right under the mountain.”
An hour later they rounded the point that had been mentioned and at
a distance made out La Guayra, which is located on a narrow strip of
land between the great cliff and the sea. They could see but little
outside of several long and narrow streets running parallel with the
mountain. At one end of the town was a small hill, with several long,
low government buildings and a church or two.
“When I was here before, one had to be taken ashore in a small boat,”
said Professor Strong. “The ocean ran with great swiftness along the
beach. But now they have a breakwater and some first-class docks and
there is little trouble.”
“The town seems to be hemmed in,” said Sam. “How do they get anywhere
excepting by boat?”
“There is a road over the mountain and a railroad track, too. But it’s
up-hill climbing from beginning to end.”
“What’s that thing on yonder hillside?” asked Mark, pointing to a
somewhat dilapidated building, one side of which was set up on long
sticks.
“That is the old bull fighting ring. In days gone by they used to have
very fierce fights there and much money used to be wagered on the
contests. But the folks are beginning to become civilized now and the
bull fighting doesn’t amount to much.”
As soon as the passengers had landed from the steamer they found
themselves in the hands of the custom-house officials, who proceeded to
collect all they thought was due. In the meantime, while the professor
was busy paying the duties, Mark and the others strolled through the
little park fronting the pier.
“This isn’t so bad,” said Frank, as he gazed at the fountain and the
heroic statue of General Guzman Blanco. “Wonder what that big building
behind us is.”
It proved to be the custom house, an ancient building looking for all
the world like a fort. There was a heavy wall, with an arched gateway
and a great staircase leading to the rooms in the upper part of the
building. The walls were of huge stones and were five to six feet in
thickness.
“Whoever built this, built it to last,” said Sam. “I don’t think
anything less than an earthquake could bring it down.”
“I suppose they have used it for a fort for years,” said Darry, and
he hit the truth exactly. “When there is a rebellion in a country the
custom house is always more or less of a point of interest.”
They were soon joined by Professor Strong, who conducted them to a
modest looking hotel not many squares away.
“We will remain here over night and take the train for Caracas in the
morning,” said the professor. “I want you to see what a triumph of
engineering skill this road is, and you can’t see that in the darkness.”
“Phew! what a smell!” came from Hockley, as he turned up his nose. “La
Guayra isn’t very clean.”
“You are right, Hockley, although the town is much better than it used
to be. When I was here years ago the streets were literally covered
with filth and there was a good deal of sickness. You see, it is really
nothing but a seaport. Only those who have to work here will stay.”
Their rooms were not of the best, and during the night Frank got up
several times, declaring that his bed was inhabited. All were outside
by dawn and saw the sun rise over the rolling sea. Then a breakfast
of rolls, coffee and fish was had and they proceeded to the railroad
station--to take the most exciting railroad ride that they had ever
experienced.