FOLLOWING THE CONQUISTADORES
UP THE ORINOCO AND DOWN THE MAGDALENA
BY
H. J. MOZANS, A.M., Ph.D.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1910
Copyright, 1910, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Published May, 1910
TO
MY GENIAL
COMPAGNON DE VOYAGE
BRAVE LOYAL
C.
Res ardua vetustis novitatem dare; novis auctoritatem; absoletis,
nitorem; obscuris, lucem; fastiditis, gratiam; dubiis, fidem;
omnibus vero naturam, et naturae sua omnia. Itaque etiam non
assecutis, voluisse abunde pulchrum atque magnificum est. That is
to say: It is a dyfficulte thynge to gyue newenes to owlde thynges,
autoritie to newe thynges, bewtie to thynges owt of vse, fame to
the obscure, fauoure to the hatefull, credite to the doubtefull,
nature to all and all to nature. To such neuerthelesse as can not
atayne to all these, it is greately commendable and magnificall
to haue attempted the fame.
From the preface, addressed to the Emperor Vespasian, of Pliny's
Natural History.
FOREWORD
The following pages contain the record of a journey made to islands
and lands that border the Caribbean and to the less frequented
parts of Venezuela and Colombia. Thanks to our trade relations
with the Antilles, and the number of meritorious books that have
been written about them during the last few decades, our knowledge
of the West Indies is fairly complete and satisfactory. The same,
however, cannot be said of the two extensive republics just south of
us. Outside of their capitals and a few of their coast towns, they
are rarely visited, and as a consequence, the most erroneous ideas
prevail regarding them. Vast regions in both republics are now less
known than they were three centuries ago, while there are certain
sections about which our knowledge is as limited as it is regarding
the least explored portions of darkest Africa.
This is not the place to account for the prevailing ignorance regarding
the parts of the New Hemisphere that first claimed the attention of
discoverers and explorers. Suffice it to state that, paradoxical as
it may seem, it is, nevertheless, a fact.
When we recollect that the lands in question were not only the
first discovered but that they were also witnesses of the marvelous
achievements of some of the most renowned of the conquistadores,
our surprise becomes doubly great that our information respecting
them is so meager and confined almost exclusively to those who make
a special study of things South American.
Never, perhaps, in the history of our race was the spirit of
adventure so generally diffused as it was at the dawn of the sixteenth
century--just after the epoch-making discoveries of Columbus and his
hardy followers. It was like the spirit that animated the Crusaders
when they started on their long march to recover the Holy Sepulchre
from the possession of the Moslem. It was, indeed, in many of its
aspects, a revival of the age of chivalry. The Sea of Darkness had at
last been successfully crossed. That ocean of legend and mystery with
its enchanted islands inhabited by witches and gnomes and griffins
had been explored. And that strange island of Satanaxio, "the island
of the hand of Satan," where the Evil One was "supposed once a day to
thrust forth a gigantic hand from the ocean to grasp a number of the
inhabitants" was consigned to the limbo of mediæval superstitions. A
new world was revealed to the astonished Spaniards. Every animal,
tree, plant seemed new to them and often entirely different from
anything the Old World could show. There was, too, a new race of men,
with strange manners and customs--men who told them of a Fountain of
Youth, of regions of pearls and precious stones, of cities and palaces
of gold in the lofty plateau and in the heart of the wilderness.
Those who first came to the New World acted as if they were
in a land of enchantment and were prepared to believe any tale,
however preposterous, that appealed to their lust of gold or love of
adventure. No enterprise was too difficult for them, no hardship too
great. Neither trackless forests, nor miasmatic climates, nor ruthless
savages could deter them from their quest of treasure, or quench their
thirst for glory and emolument. Hence those extraordinary expeditions
in search of El Dorado,--that El Dorado which Quesada hoped to find in
Cundinamarca, his brother in Casanare, Orsua among the Omaguas on the
Amazon, Philipp von Hutten in the regions of the Meta and the Guaviare,
and Cesar and Belalcazar in the territories drained by the Cauca and
the Magdalena,--in which were combined the extravagant performances of
a Don Quixote with the feats of prowess of a Rodrigo Diaz. The spirit
of knight-errantry seemed to revive and to bring with it an age of
romance that for hardihood of enterprise and variety of incident
surpassed any period that had preceded it. The feats of individual
prowess were as brilliant as the success of Spanish arms was pronounced
and far-reaching. It was an age of epics, of poetry in action.
Lord Macaulay, in his essay on Lord Clive, writes, "We have always
thought it strange that, while the history of the Spanish empire in
America is familiarly known to all the nations of Europe, the great
actions of our countrymen in the East should, even among ourselves,
excite little interest."
One reason for the difference noted was the absence, in the English
conquest of India, of those romantic and picturesque elements that
so distinguished the achievements of the conquistadores in the New
World, and which so fascinated Leo X, that he sat up all night to
read the Decades of Peter Martyr. "The picturesque descriptions,"
declares Theodore Irving, in his Conquest of Florida, "of steel-clad
cavaliers with lance and helmet and prancing steed, glittering through
the wildernesses of Florida, Georgia, Alabama and the prairies of
the Far West, would seem to us fictions of romance, did they not
come to us recorded in matter-of-fact narratives of contemporaries,
and corroborated by minute and daily memoranda of eye-witnesses."
The same can be said with even more truth of the conquistadores of the
Spanish Main and of the daring adventurers who first penetrated the
trackless forests and scaled the lofty mountains of Venezuela and New
Granada. "Their minds," as Fiske well observes, "were in a state like
that of the heroes of the Arabian Nights who, if they only wander far
enough through the dark forest or across the burning desert, are sure
at length to come upon some enchanted palace whereof they may fairly
hope, with the aid of some gracious Jinni, to become masters." Thus
it was that Cortes, unaided, however, by a gracious Jinni, became the
master of the capital of the Aztecs, as Quesada and Pizarro became the
masters of the lands and the treasures of the Muiscas and the Incas.
It is impossible for the student of early American history to cruise
along the Spanish Main, or sail on the broad waters of the Orinoco,
the Meta and the Magdalena, without harking back at every turn to the
achievements of some of the early discoverers or conquistadores. Every
island, every promontory, every river has been visited by them and,
if endowed with speech, they could tell thrilling stories of daring
adventure and brilliant exploit unsurpassed in the annals of chivalry
and crusading valor. Every place he goes, he will find that he has been
preceded by the Spaniard by three or four centuries, for everywhere
he will find traces or traditions of his passage.
It matters not that the Spaniards were lured on by such ever-receding
chimeras as Manoa, El Dorado and Lake Parime, that many other
objects of their quest were as mythical as that of the Argonauts or as
unattainable as the golden apples of the Hesperides. Their expeditions
were not for these reasons wholly fruitless. Every one of them, whether
for the purpose of exploration or conquest or colonization, contributed
to our knowledge of the lands visited and of the tribes inhabiting
them, many of whom have long since disappeared. And everywhere one
finds towns founded by them, or places, mountains and rivers that still
bear the names that were given them at the time of their discovery.
It was always our pleasure, during our wanderings in the tropics, to
recall what the first explorers thought of the new lands visited by
them while they were still under the spell of the novel and marvelous
things that were ever claiming their rapt attention whithersoever
they went. We loved to look upon the countries we visited as their
first explorers had looked upon them. This we were able to do, for
thanks to the old chroniclers, the wonderment of the discovery of
the New World has been preserved, as in amber, in all its freshness,
and that, too, for all time to come.
Comparatively few people realize how extensive is the literature,
especially in Spanish, that relates to the period of the conquest and
that immediately following it. And still fewer are aware of its intense
interest and importance. In addition to the well-known classic works
of Peter Martyr, Las Casas, Herrera, Oviedo, Garcilaso de la Vega,
Cieza de Leon, Gomara, Acosta, and others scarcely less valuable,
there are scores of similar annals that have for centuries lain in
the archives of Spain and of the various countries of Latin-America
which have but recently been published. Many of these--beyond price
for the historian--were absolutely unknown until a few years ago,
and are still awaiting the artistic pen of a Prescott or an Irving
to transmute their contents in masterpieces of literature. It is safe
to say that nowhere else will the man of letters find a more fertile
and a less cultivated field to engage his talent.
Then there are the works, equally precious, of the early
missionaries. Many of them are veritable mines of information
respecting the manners and customs of the native inhabitants of
the tropics, while not a few of them are the only sources extant
of knowledge respecting many interesting Indian tribes that have
long since become extinct. Among these deserving of special notice
are the works of Simon, Gilli, Caulin, Rivero, Cassani, Gumilla
and Piedrahita--not to mention others of lesser note--that treat
specially of Venezuela and New Granada, and afford us the truest
picture of the condition of these countries during their existence
under Spanish domination. Humboldt frequently quotes them in his
instructive Personal Narrative of Travels to the Equinoctial Regions
of America, and usually with the generous approval and commendation
which they so well deserve. To the humble and intelligent and often
erudite missionaries of the tropics the illustrious German savant
was indebted for much of the success that attended his explorations
in the basin of the Orinoco and along the plateau of the Cordilleras.
Worthy of mention, too, in traversing countries where the traveler has
not the benefit of a Murray or a Baedeker, are the numerous works of
those explorers--German, English, French, American--who have followed
in the footsteps of Humboldt and his compagnon de voyage, Bonpland,
and who have cast a flood of light upon the fauna and flora of the
countries visited, and supplemented the works of the early historians
and missionaries by describing the condition of their inhabitants as
it obtains to-day.
In the following pages the author has endeavored to give not
only his own impressions of the lands he has visited but also,
when the narrative permitted or required it, the impressions of
others--conquistadores, missionaries and men of science--who have gone
over the same grounds or discussed the same topics as constitute the
subject-matter of this volume. The rapidly increasing interest of our
people in all matters pertaining to South America, and the eagerness
now manifested to see closer trade-relations established between the
United States and the various republics of Latin America, seemed to
justify this course. For the student, as well as for the general
reader, it seemed to be desirable, if not necessary, to indicate,
at least cursorily, by citations and footnotes, the character and
extent of that large class of works, historical and scientific,
that occupy so important a position in the annals of discovery and
of material and intellectual progress.
In the words of Pliny, quoted on the title page, it has been the aim
of the author "to give newness to old things, authority to new things,
beauty to things out of use, fame to the obscure, favor to the hateful,
credit to the doubtful, nature to all and all to nature." A difficult
task truly; how difficult no one can more fully recognize than the
author himself. If he has failed in many of the things proposed,
he cherishes the hope that the reader's verdict will incline to
that contained in the last sentence of the paragraph cited: "To
such neverthelesse as can not attayne to all these, it is greatly
commendable and magnificall to have attempted the same."
The present book will be followed by a volume to be entitled: "Along
the Andes and Down the Amazon."
The Author.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Introductory 1
II. Trinidad and the Orinoco 54
III. The Great River 82
IV. In Mid-Orinoquia 112
V. El Rio Meta 139
VI. Approaching the Andes 165
VII. The Llanos of Colombia 195
VIII. The Cordillera of the Andes 228
IX. In Cloudland 255
X. The Athens of South America 285
XI. The Muisca Trail 313
XII. The Valley of the Magdalena 346
XIII. In the Track of Plate-Fleets and Buccaneers 377
XIV. The Rich Coast 399
BIBLIOGRAPHY 429
INDEX 435
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
A cavalcade in the Andes Frontispiece
On the Coast Range, Venezuela 42
Scene on the Orinoco 76
An Indian home on the Orinoco 94
In the llanos of Venezuela 122
Indians of Mid-Orinoquia 122
Our crew ashore for fuel 160
La Niñita, our launch, on the Upper Meta 176
A traveler's lodge in the llanos of Colombia 204
A shelter on the banks of the Ocoa 220
Our camp in the llanos 220
Stopping for luncheon in the Lower Cordilleras 240
Peons fording a river in the Andes 262
A valley in the Cordilleras 286
Road between Bogotá and Honda 332
Champan going up the Magdalena 354
A palm forest in the tropics 372
Method of transporting freight between Honda and Bogotá 414
UP THE ORINOCO AND DOWN THE MAGDALENA
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
EASTER LAND
On a dark, cold day toward the close of January, 1907, the writer
stood at a window in New York, observing some score of a mittened
army removing the avalanche of snow that cumbered the streets after
a half week of continuous storm. He was pondering a long vacation,
musing where rest and recreation might be found, at once wholesome
and instructive, amid scenes quite different from any afforded by his
previous journeys. He was familiar with every place of interest in
North America, from Canada to the Gulf, from Alaska to Yucatan. He
had spent many years in Europe, had visited Asia, Africa, and the
far-off isles of the Pacific. He cared not to revisit these, much
less to go where he must entertain or be entertained. He sought rest,
absolute rest and freedom, untrammeled by conventional life. For
the present he would shun the society of his fellows for the serene
solitude of the wilderness, or the companionship of mighty mountains
and rivers. Not that he was a misanthrope or that he wished to become
an anchoret. Far from it. Still less did he wish to spend his time in
idleness. This for him would have been almost tantamount to solitary
confinement. He dreamed of a land where he could spend most of the
time in the open air close to Nature and in communion with her--where
both mind and body could be always active and yet always free--free
as the bird that comes and goes as it lists.
Whilst thus absorbed in thought, and casting an occasional glance
at the laborers in the street battling against the Frost-King, whose
work continued without intermission, the writer was awakened from his
reverie by the dulcet notes evoked from a Steinway grand and the sweet,
sympathetic voice of one who had just intoned the opening words of
Goethe's matchless song as set to music by Liszt:--
"Knowest thou the land where the pale citron grows,
And the gold orange through dark foliage glows?
A soft wind flutters through the deep blue sky,
The myrtle blooms, and towers the laurel high,
Knowest thou it well?
O there with thee!
O that I might, my own beloved one, flee."
It was La Niña--the pet name of the young musician--that came as a
special providence to clear up a question that seemed to be growing
more difficult the longer it was pondered. The effect was magical,
and all doubt and hesitation disappeared forthwith. La Niña, as if
inspired, had, without in the least suspecting it, indicated the land
of the heart's desire. Yes, the writer would leave, and leave at once,
the region of cloud and frost and chilling blast, and seek the land
of flowers and sunshine, the land of "soft wind" and "blue sky," "the
land where the pale citron grows," where "the gold orange glows." It
would not, however, be the land of which Mignon sang and which she
so yearned to see again. Lovely, charming Italy, with its manifold
attractions of every kind, must for once yield to the sun-land of
another clime far away, and in another hemisphere.
A few days afterwards the writer, with a few friends, had taken his
place in a through Pullman car bound for the Land of Easter--the land
of Ponce de Leon. They found every berth in the car occupied by people
like themselves hastening away from the rigors of winter and betaking
themselves to where
"Trees bloom throughout the year, soft breezes blow,
And fragrant Flora wears a lasting smile."
Some were going for the rest and the amusement promised at several
noted winter resorts. Others were in search of health that had been
shattered by confinement or over-work. Some were going away for a few
weeks only; others for the entire winter. Some were going no farther
south than Florida, others purposed visiting some of the Antilles,
and even, mayhap, the Spanish Main.
As for the writer, he had no fixed plan, and for this reason he had
not even thought of making out an itinerary. He would go to Florida to
take up again a line of travel that had been interrupted some decades
before. He had always been interested in the lives and achievements
of the early Spanish discoverers and conquistadores, and had, in
days gone by, followed in the footsteps of Narvaez and de Soto,
of Cabeza de Vaca and Coronado, Fray Marcos de Niza, and Hernando
Cortes. And now that he had the opportunity, it occurred to him that
he could do nothing better or more profitable than make a reality what
had been a dream from boyhood. He would visit the islands and lands
discovered by the immortal "Admiral of the ocean sea" and follow in
the footsteps of the conquistadores in Tierra Firme. He would explore
the lands first made known by Balboa, and Quesada, and Belalcazar and
rendered famous by the prowess of the Almagros and the Pizarros. He
would visit the homes of the Musicas, the Incas, and the Ayamaras,
wander among the Cordilleras from the Caribbean Sea to Lake Titicaca
and beyond, and follow in the wake of Diego de Ordaz and Alonzo de
Herrera on the broad waters of the Orinoco and in that of Pedro de
Orsua and Francisco de Orellana in the mighty flood of the Amazon.
A great undertaking apparently, and, considered in the light of certain
reports published about tropical America, seemingly impossible. To
say the least, such a journey, it was averred, implied difficulties
and privations and dangers innumerable.
"Do you wish to spend the rest of your life in South America? It will
require a lifetime to visit the regions you have mentioned. I have
myself spent many years in traveling in tropical America, and knowing,
as I do, the lack of facilities for travel, the countless unforeseen
delays of every kind, and the mañana habit that obtains everywhere in
the countries you would visit, I have no hesitation in stating that
you are attempting the impossible, if you mean to accomplish all you
have spoken of in the limited time you have allotted to yourself."
Such were the words addressed to the writer on the eve of his departure
by a noted traveler and one who is considered an authority on all
things South American. Not very encouraging, truly, especially to
one who was seeking rest and recreation and who was anything but
inclined to court hardships and dangers in foreign lands and among
peoples that were reputed to be only half-civilized, where-ever they
chanced to be above the aboriginal savage that still roams over so
much of the territory on both sides of the equator.
But, as already stated, the writer had on leaving home no definite
programme mapped out. He left that to shape itself according to events
and circumstances. He departed on his journey with little more of a
plan than the vague indications of a life-long dream. Still, confiding
in Providence, he hoped that he would be able to realize this, as he
had, in years gone by, realized other dreams that seemed even less
likely ever to become actualities.
LA FLORIDA
Twenty-eight hours after leaving New York, with its snow and ice
and arctic blasts, our party found itself wandering among the orange
groves and promenading beneath the graceful palms of old, romantic
St. Augustine. We could scarcely credit our senses, so complete was the
change in our environment. A soft, balmy atmosphere, gentle zephyrs,
sweet, feathered songsters without number, all joining in a chorus
of welcome to the strangers from the North, made us think that we had
been transported to the Hesperides or to the delights of the Elysian
Fields. And when, after nightfall, we walked about the grounds and
the courts of the famous hostelries that have been recently erected
regardless of expense, and provided with every luxury that money
and art can command--all brilliantly illuminated by thousands of
electric lights of divers colors--it seemed as if we had, in very
deed, suddenly, we knew not how, become denizens of fairyland. To
find anything similar to the scene that here bursts upon the view of
the delighted visitor one must go to Monte Carlo during the season
when thousands are attracted thither from all parts of the world,
or betake oneself to the Place de la Concorde when the gay French
capital is en fête.
St. Augustine, with all its traditions and historic associations,
is one of the most restful and interesting of places, especially
in winter, and a place, too, where one might tarry for months with
pleasure. Nothing can be more delightful than the drives in the
pine-forests adjacent to the city,
"Where west-winds with musky wing
About the cedarn alleys fling
Nard and cassias balmy smells."
We could now verify at our leisure what we had been wont to consider
as the exaggerated statements of the early explorers of Florida
regarding the beautiful forests--"trellised with vines and gay
with blossoms"--and the fragrant odors that were wafted from them
by the breeze even out to the ships passing along the coast, and
"in such abundance that the entire orient could not produce so
much." "We stretched forth our hands," writes Lescarbot, in his
Historie de la Nouvelle France, "as if to grasp them, so palpable
were they." All carried away with them the same impression about the
"douceur odoriferante de plusieurs bonnes choses"--the odoriferous
sweetness of many good things--that was everywhere observable.
Nor were their accounts of this grateful feature of the country
overdrawn. It is the same to-day as it was four centuries ago,
when the European had just landed on these shores and found so many
things--as novel as they were marvelous--to excite his delight and
enthusiasm. It is something that is denied to us whose homes are
in the North, and, to enjoy it in all its newness and freshness,
we must perforce immigrate to tropical and subtropical climes.
But the foregoing is only one of the delectable features of this
favored land. As we wander through the groves and gardens and sail on
the placid waters of the rivers and lakes through the silent everglades
or the dark and mysterious forests, we find at every turn something
to charm the ear or delight the eyes. Everywhere we meet with new
and beauteous form of animal and vegetable life and realize for the
first time, perhaps, how diverse and multitudinous are the forms of
animated nature.
If we are to credit Herrera, it was on account of its beautiful aspect,
as well as on the day on which it was discovered, that the locality
received the name it now bears. The historian says explicitly that
Ponce de Leon and his companions "named it Florida because it appeared
very delightful, having many pleasant groves, and it was all level;
as also because they discovered it at Easter, which, as has been said,
the Spaniards call Pascua de Flores or Florida." [1]
In view of this clear and positive statement of Herrera, one is
surprised to see that writers treating the subject ex professo have
fallen into error regarding the origin of the name Florida. Thus
Barnard Shipp writes: "The Peninsula of Florida was discovered by
Juan Ponce de Leon on Pascua Florida, Palm Sunday, in the year 1512,
[2] and because of the day on which he discovered it, he gave it the
name Florida." [3]
All doubt, however, about the real origin of the name, about which
there has been so much misunderstanding, is removed by the declaration
of Peter Martyr, the father of American history. In his delightfully
refreshing work, De Orbe Novo, which is not so well known as it
should be, he asserts in language that does not admit of ambiguity,
that Juan Ponce named the newly discovered territory Florida because
it was discovered the day of the Resurrection, for the Spaniards call
the day of the Resurrection Pascua de Flores." [4]
When the French Huguenots some decades later attempted to colonize
the country they called it "La Nouvelle France"--New France--a name
they also subsequently gave to Canada.
More interesting, however, is the fact that the Spaniards first thought
the peninsula to be an island and called it Isla Florida. Ponce de Leon
in writing to Charles V calls it an island, and it is figured as such
in the Turin map of the New World, circa 1523. But after they learned
that it was the mainland, Florida was made to embrace the whole of
North America except Mexico. Thus writes Herrera and Las Casas. The
latter make it extend from what we now know as Cape Sable to "the
land of Codfish" (Newfoundland), "otherwise known as Labrador, which
is not very far from the island of England." The present boundaries
of Florida, it may be remarked, were not determined until 1795,
when they were fixed by treaty with Spain.
But what in more interesting than names and boundaries, and what will,
perhaps, be more surprising to the readers of popular works on the
subject, is the fact that Ponce de Leon, in spite of all that has
been said to the contrary, was not the discoverer of Florida, the
fact that it was discovered nearly two decades before Ponce de Leon
reached its shores, and the further and more unexpected fact that it
was discovered by that much misrepresented and much abused navigator,
Americus Vespucius.
Thanks to the researches of Varnhagen, Harrisse and others, these facts
have been apparently demonstrated beyond doubt. In his work on the
voyages of the brothers Cortereal, Harrisse has clearly proven that,
between the end of the year 1500 and the summer of 1502, certain
navigators, whose names and nationality are unknown, but who were
presumably Spaniards, discovered, explored and named that part of the
coast-line of the United States which extends from Pensacola Bay,
along the Gulf of Mexico, to the Cape of Florida, and, turning it,
runs northward along the Atlantic coast to about the mouth of the
Chesapeake or the Hudson. [5] The maps of Juan de la Cosa--drawn
in 1500--and the one made for Alberto Cantino in 1502--maps which
have only recently received the attention due them--are overwhelming
evidence of the truth of these conclusions.
According to M. Varnhagen, the one who furnished the data for these
maps, if indeed, he did not construct the prototype from which they
were both executed, was no other than Americus Vespucius, who from now
on must receive different treatment from that which has hitherto been
accorded him. By marshalling a brilliant array of facts, presented with
masterly logic, Varnhagen, silences the detractors of the illustrious
Florentine navigator, and disarms those objectors who have been
unwilling to accept as true the statements contained in the celebrated
Soderini letter regarding his first voyage to the New World in 1497 and
1498. He leaves no doubt on the reader's mind, that Vespucius, after
visiting Honduras and Yucatan, sailed thence to and around Florida,
and that, if he did not himself actually construct the original of the
Cantino map, it was he that supplied the data from which both this
map and that of Juan de la Cosa were rendered possible. [6] If some
fortunate student of early Americana should eventually ferret out
the Quattro Giornate--Four Journeys--of which Vespucius frequently
makes mention, and in which he gives an account of all his voyages,
he would render an incalculable service to the cause of truth, and
would be able to demonstrate to the satisfaction of even the most
exacting critic the extent and importance of the services rendered by
the pilot major of Spain to the crown of Leon and Castile--services
only second to those which distinguish Columbus himself.
FONS JUVENTUTIS
But whatever may be said about the discovery of the country, Ponce
de Leon's name will always remain so closely linked with Florida
that it will never be possible to dissociate the two. One may forget
all about his enterprise as a navigator and may ignore his claims
as a discoverer, but one can never become oblivious of that strange
episode with which his name is inseparably connected--the romantic
search for the Fountain of Youth.
For the historian, as for the psychologist, the subject possesses
an abiding interest, and even the casual visitor to Florida finds
himself unconsciously dreaming about the days long gone by when
Spaniard and Indian were wandering through forest and everglade in
search of the life-giving fountain about which they had heard such
marvelous reports. And if his dreams do not consume all his time,
he also finds himself speculating on the origin of such reports, or
the basis of the legend which started Ponce de Leon and others on a
search for what proved to be an ignis fatuus as extraordinary as was
the mythical Eldorado a few years later.
The historian Gomara, referring to this episode in the life of Ponce de
Leon, writes as follows: "The gouernour of the Islande of Boriquena,
John Ponce de Leon, beinge discharged of his office and very ryche,
furnysshed and sente foorth two carvels to seeke the Ilandes of Boyuca
in the which the Indians affirmed to be a fontayne or spring whose
water is of vertue to make owlde men younge."
"Whyle he trauayled syxe monethes with owtragious desyre among many
Ilandes to fynde that he sought, and coulde fynde no token of any
such fountayne, he entered into Bimini and discouered the lande of
Florida in the yeare 1512 on Easter day which the Spanyardes caule the
florisshing day of Pascha, wherby they named that lande Florida." [7]
Antonio de Herrera speaks not only of this Fountain of Youth but
also of a river whose waters had likewise the marvelous property
of restoring youth to old age. This river was also supposed to be
in Florida. It was known as the Jordan and received quite as much
attention from both Spaniards and Indians as did the Fountain of Youth.
Fonteneda, who spent seventeen years in the wilds of Florida, as a
captive of the Indians, gives more explicit information about the
subject than either Gomara or Herrera. "Juan Ponce de Leon," he says,
"believing the reports of the Indians of Cuba and San Domingo to
be true, made an expedition into Florida to discover the river
Jordan. This he did, either because he wished to acquire renown,
or, perhaps, because he hoped to become young again by bathing in
its waters. Many years ago a number of Cuban Indians went in search
of this river, and entered the province of Carlos, but Sequene, the
father of Carlos, took them prisoners and settled them in a village,
where their descendants are still living. The news that these people
had left their own country to bathe in the river Jordan spread among
all the kings and chiefs of Florida, and, an they were an ignorant
people, they set out in search of this river, which was supposed
to possess the powers of rejuvenating old men and women. So eager
were they in their search, that they did not pass a river, a brook,
a lake, or even a swamp, without bathing in it, and even to this day
they have not ceased to look for it, but always without success. The
natives of Cuba, braving the dangers of the sea, became the victims
of their faith, and thus it happened that they came to Carlos,
where they built a village. They came in such great numbers that,
although many have died, there are still many living there, both old
and young. While I was a prisoner in those parts I bathed in a great
many rivers but never found the right one." [8]
The poet-historian, Juan de Castellanos, writing in mock heroic
style, says that so great were the virtues of the Fountain of
Youth, that by means of its waters old women were able to get rid
of their wrinkles and gray hairs. "A few draughts of the water and
a bath in the restoring fluid sufficed to restore strength to their
enfeebled members, give beauty to their features, and impart to a faded
complexion the glow of youth. And, considering the vanity of our times,
I wonder how many old women would drag themselves to this saving wave,
if the puerilities of which I speak were certainties. How rich and
puissant would not be the king who should own such a fountain! What
farms, jewels, and prized treasures would not men sell in order to
become young again! And what cries of joy would not proceed from
the women-folk--from the fair as well as from the homely! In what
a variety of costumes and liveries would not all go to seek such
favors! Certainly they would take greater pains than they would in
making a visit to the Holy Land." [9]
What Castellanos said might be repeated to-day. If the Fountain of
Youth or the river Jordan, such as Ponce de Leon, Ayllon and de Soto
sought, now existed, Florida would be the most frequented and most
thickly populated country on the face of the globe. Vichy, Homburg,
Karlsbad and other similar resorts would at once be abandoned, and
there would forthwith be a mad rush for the Land of Easter. The
Fountain of Youth would be worth more to its possessor than the
diamond mines of Kimberley, more than the combined interests of
Standard Oil, more than all the stocks and bonds of the United
States Steel Corporation. There would be countless numbers who,
like Faust, would be ready to sell their souls for a single draught
of the life-giving fountain, for a single plunge into the health-
and strength-restoring river.
That the simple and ignorant Indians of Cuba and Haiti and adjacent
islands should have credited the stories in circulation about
the marvelous waters said to exist somewhere in Florida we can
understand. The marvelous and the supernatural always appeal in a
special manner to the superstitious and untutored savage. We are,
however, disposed to smile at the credulity of the enlightened
Spaniard who did not hesitate to sacrifice fortune and life in the
quest of what could never be found outside of Utopia. But, viewing
things in our present state of knowledge, it is easy to judge them
rashly and do them a grave injustice. We must transport ourselves
back to the times in which they lived and acted, and consider
the strange and novel environment in which they suddenly found
themselves. A new world had just been discovered--a world in which
everything--plants, trees, animals, men--seemed different from what
they were familiar with in their own land. And for a people who from
their youth had eagerly listened to stories of knight-errantry, and
who, by long association with their Moorish neighbors, were ready
to accept as sober facts the wildest statements of oriental fable,
a special allowance must be made. They had heard of the adventures
of Marco Polo, and of the wonders of Cathay and Cipango, and their
minds were full of the oft-told tales about the Fortunate Isles, and
the Islands of the Blest--located somewhere in the broad Atlantic,
and presumably in the region of the setting sun--and what more natural
than that they should expect to find themselves some bright morning
in a land of enchantment? The marvelous stories current about the
voyages of St. Brendan and his companions, about the island in the
Western sea inhabited by Enoch and Elias, about the Garden of Eden
moved from the distant East to the more distant West, all contributed
to prepare their minds for a ready acceptance of the most extravagant
statements. Had not the great Admiral, Columbus, announced that he
had located the site of the Terrestrial Paradise, when he sailed by
the rushing water of the Orinoco, and had not his views been accepted
by thousands of his wondering contemporaries?
Such being the case, is it astonishing that the early explorers should
have seriously believed in what we are now so ready to denounce
as absurd? The romantic world of the sixteenth century, when Pliny
and the Physiologus and the Bestiaries, were accepted by students
of nature as unquestioned authorities; when learned men spent their
lives in search of the elixir of life and the philosopher's stone,
and believed in the transmutation of the baser metals into gold,
was quite different from our prosaic twentieth-century world, when
nothing is accepted that cannot pass the ordeal of exact science.
Again, we must not imagine, as is so often done, that a Fons
Juventutis, such as Ponce de Leon and his contemporaries sought for,
was something unheard of in the history of our race. Stories of
miraculously healing fountains have been current from early times
and in divers parts of the world--in India, in Ethiopia, and in the
isles of the Pacific.
The reader will recall what Sir John Mandeville says about a well
of youth he found during his travels in India. It was, he declares,
"a right faire and a clere well, that hath a full good and sweete
savoure, and it smelleth of all maner of sortes of spyces, and also
at eche houre of the daye it changeth his savor diversely, and whoso
drinketh thries on the daye of that well, he is made hole of all maner
of sickenesse that he hathe. I have sometime dronke of that well and me
thinketh yet that I fare the better; some call it the well of youth,
for they that drinke thereof seme to be yong alway, and live without
great sicknesse, and they saye this, cometh from Paradise terrestre,
for it is so vertuous." [10]
So writes Mandeville, but there is reason to believe that he cribbed
this account of the Fountain of Youth from a medieval legend of
Prester John, from which, on account of the interest that attaches
to the subject, I select the following paragraph:--
"Item aboute this passage is a fonteyne or a conduyte so who of this
watere drinked, IIJ. tymes he shall waxe yonge and also yf a man haue
had a sykenes, XXX. yere and drynked of thys same water he shall therof
be hole and sonde. And also as a man thereof drinked hym semeth that
he had occupyed the beste mete and drinke of the worlde, and this same
fonteyne is full of the grace of the holy goost, and who sowe in this
same water wasshed his body he shall become yonge of XXX. yere." [11]
Whether these stories had their origin in folklore or not, they
found their way into Europe at least two centuries before the voyage
of Ponce de Leon to Florida. Mandeville's work appeared in French,
Latin, and English, and such was its popularity, that Halliwell did
not hesitate to declare that "of no book, with the exception of the
Scriptures, can more MSS. be found at the end of the fourteenth and
the beginning of the fifteenth century."
Such being the case, it would be strange indeed if the Spaniards were
not familiar with stories so widely circulated, and stranger still
if, on arriving in the New World, and learning from the Indians of
the existence of a fountain of youth, and at no great distance away,
they should not seek to locate it and test its virtues. Given the
state of knowledge at the time, and the credence accorded to the
accounts of similar fountains in the Old World, the much ridiculed
expedition of Ponce de Leon followed as a natural consequence. It
would have been more surprising if the expedition had not been made
than that it was made.
The foregoing remarks on the Florida Fountain of Youth and river
Jordan would be incomplete without a few words about the probable
origin of the traditions concerning them. To attribute their origin
to folklore simply may be true, but it explains nothing.
M. E. Beauvois, in a series of interesting articles--very plausible
if not conclusive--on the subject, contends that all the traditions
regarding the Fountain of Youth and the river Jordan, which proved
so attractive to the Spaniards, are of Christian origin. He maintains
that the Gaels, as early as 1380, "had established relations with the
aborigines from the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the tropical zone of North
America, and that it is very probable that missionaries accompanied
the merchants in their voyages to Florida and the Antilles." He argues
that these missionaries baptized the indigenes in some river which,
for that reason, they called the Jordan, or that they spoke to them
of a river in their country, on which a Christian mission had been
established, and that this fact gave rise to the formation of the
tradition of a Jordan situated somewhere at the north of the Antilles.
It remains to show how this tradition came to be confounded with
the story of the Fountain of Youth. This confusion was the more
natural that the same idea is at the foundation of the two parallel
traditions. The one has reference to the regeneration of the soul,
the other to the rejuvenation of the body, both being effected by
means of vivifying water. In the beginning, but one kind of water
was known, that "which saved by its own proper virtue, the water of
baptism, which is exclusively spiritual." Subsequently, however, the
simple and superstitious Indian attributed to the waters of baptism
properties which seemed to him preferable to those spoken of by the
missionary--the properties, namely, "of curing diseases of the body,
or of restoring youth to the decrepit and of indefinitely prolonging
life. From that time the Fountain of Youth had a proper existence
and began to play an important role in popular traditions."
How long the tradition of the beneficent waters of Florida
existed--and Florida, it must be remembered, meant to the Spaniards
of the sixteenth century all the Atlantic coast--M. Beauvois does
not determine. It may have been only a few generations, or it may
have been several centuries. It may even have dated back to about
the year 1008, when Thorfinn Karlsefni was baptized in "Vinland the
Good"--Massachusetts--the first Christian, so far as known, born on
the American continent. Or it may have originated as far north as New
Brunswick--"Great Ireland or Huitramannaland--which had been occupied
by a Gaelic colony from the year 1000, or from an earlier date,
until the end of the fourteenth century, and where, about the year
1000, the Papas, Columbite monks, the evangelizers of that region,
had baptized the Icelander, Aré Mârsson, who had left his native
island before his conversion to Christianity."
At all events, whatever conclusions may be reached as to the time when
and the place where the tradition originated, it is manifest that
"it could have been propagated in the New World only by Christians
and as it was in existence before the arrival of the Spaniards,
we must attribute its propagation to other Europeans, to those,
for example, whose crosses the indigenes of Tennessee and Georgia
had exhumed from their ancient burial places, or to those whom the
inhabitants of Haiti had known either de visu or by hearsay." [12]
What is here said of the Christian origin of the Florida Fountain of
Youth can likewise be predicated of the one mentioned in the legend
of Prester John--whence, as we have seen, Mandeville got his story,
for it is said, "this same fonteyne is full of the grace of the holy
goost," an obvious allusion to the regenerating waters of baptism.
But it is time to resume the thread of our narrative, interrupted by a
discussion unavoidably long, but pardonable, it is hoped, in view of
its abiding interest and intimate connection with the early history
of Florida. Besides, my purpose is not so much to give descriptions
of the countries through which we shall pass--something which has
in most instances been done before--as to give the impressions of
their earliest explorers and to dwell, as briefly as may be, on topics
relating to the various regions visited, that possess even for the most
casual reader a perennial fascination and importance. In countries like
those we shall visit, the impressions of the first explorers are often
more interesting and instructive than those of the latest tourist or
naturalist, for such impressions have about them a freshness and an
originality--often a quaintness and a simplicity--that are entirely
absent from modern works of travel. Another reason for so doing is that
much of the ground, over which we shall travel, is practically the
same to-day as when it first greeted the eyes of the conquistadores,
and many of the towns and cities we shall visit, no less than the
manners and customs of the people, differ but little from what they
were in the time of Charles V and Philip II. Thus, regarding many
things, the statements of the Spanish writers and missionaries of
four centuries ago are still as true as if they had been penned but
yesterday, and that, too, by the most accurate observer.
From St. Augustine, the oldest city in the United States, the traveler
has the choice of two routes to Havana. One is by way of Tampa Bay,
called by De Soto the Bay of Espíritu Santo, and by some of the early
geographers designated as the Bay of Ponce de Leon. What, however,
is now known as Ponce de Leon Bay, is farther south and near the
southernmost point of the peninsula. The other route is along the
east coast of the state. At the time of our visit the railroad was in
operation only as far as Miami, but was being rapidly pushed towards
its terminus at Key West.
We chose the eastern route because we could in fancy follow more
closely in the footsteps of the conquistadores and picture to
ourselves, in the ocean, nearly always visible, that long procession
of barks and brigantines which four centuries ago plowed the main,
some moving northward, others southward--all manned by brawny,
hardy mariners in search of gold and glory. Spaniards, like Ponce
de Leon and Pedro Menendez; Italians, like Americus Vespucius and
Verrazano; Englishmen, like Hawkins and Raleigh; Frenchmen, like
Ribaut and Laudonniere, all passed along this coast--all bent on
achieving distinction or extending the possessions of their respective
sovereigns. Brave and gallant mariners these, men whose names are
writ large on the pages of story and who occupy a conspicuous place
in the records of the heroes of adventure.
From Miami we went by steamer to Key West, which will soon be
accessible by rail from St. Augustine. The sea was as placid as an
inland lakelet and the voyage to Havana was in every way ideal. We
skirted along the Florida Keys--those countless coral islets that
are to serve as piers for the railroad under construction, which is
to form so important a link between Cuba and the United States. When
completed the time consumed in going to the Pearl of the Antilles
will not only be greatly lessened, but the former discomforts and
terrors of the journey will be entirely eliminated. No longer will
the traveler be obliged to encounter the hurricanes of the Bahamas or
the heavy seas off Cape Hatteras. He will be able to take his seat
in a Pullman car in New York and go, without change, through to Key
West and thence to Havana and Santiago de Cuba.
How different was it when the small Spanish craft of four centuries
ago navigated these waters on their way from Panama and Vera Cruz to
the mother country! Then, as the reader will observe, by reference
to the old maps of Florida, the keys or coral reefs along the coast
were known as Los Mártires--the Martyrs--so named by Ponce de Leon on
account of the number of shipwrecks that occurred here, and because
of the number of lives that were lost on these treacherous shoals
and also, as Herrera informs us, because of certain rock-formations
in the vicinity that have the appearance of men in distress.
If we may credit the legends and traditions that have obtained in
those parts, many a Spanish treasure-ship has been lost in threading
its way through the uncharted shoals and islands of Los Mártires and
the Bahamas, and many futile attempts have been made to recover at
least a part of the treasure lost, but it was
"Lost in a way that made search vain."
And of the adventurous divers, who braved the dangers of current and
wave, one can safely say in the words of Bret Harte
"Never a sign,
East or West, or under the line,
They saw of the missing galleon;
Never a sail or plank or chip,
They found of the long-lost treasure-ship,
Or enough to build a tale upon."
THE PEARL OF THE ANTILLES
Early the morning following our departure from Miami we were aroused
from our slumbers by the cry of a mariner, "Land ho! all hands
ahoy!" We were on deck without delay, and there before us, under a
sky of purest azure, we beheld the hills of Cuba, clad in a mantle
of undying verdure. Its resplendent shores were arrayed in hues of
glowing beauty and unimagined loveliness. Fragrant groves of orange
and pomegranate, luxuriant forests white with clouds of bloom, formed
a glorious setting to the refulgent waves that reflected the crimson
splendors of the rising sun. Delicious zephyrs, fanning their balmy
wings, bathed our brows with dewy freshness, sweet with perfume from
ambrosial fruits and tropic flowers. Yes, we were in the Pearl of
the Antilles, the "Sweet Isle of Flowers"; in Gan Eden--the Garden
of Delight--that in the legends of long ago was reckoned among the
Isles of the Blest.
The beautiful pictures before us, however, were but as a fleeting
panorama. We had but little time to feast our eyes on them before we
were in front of grim, frowning Morro Castle, that for three centuries
and more has stood sentinel of the fair city at its feet. Adjoining
the Castle are the Cabañas, a vast range of fortifications more than a
mile in length, and nearly a thousand feet in breadth. Just opposite,
on the other side of the harbor's entrance, is the Bateria de la
Punta, and some distance farther beyond is the star-shaped Castle
Atares. From a military standpoint Havana is well protected, and,
with Morro Castle properly equipped with modern artillery, would be
practically impregnable.
Few West Indian cities have greater historic interest than Havana. From
the time it was first visited by Ocampo, four hundred years ago, until
the raising of the flag of the Cuban Republic in 1904, it has been
the witness of many stirring events that have effected the destinies
of millions of people in various parts of the world. It was from
Havana's port that Cortes, in 1519, sailed on his memorable voyage to
Mexico. It was from this port that Pamphilio de Narvaez and Hernando
de Soto started on their ill-starred expeditions to Florida. Time
and again the city was harassed by Dutch, French and English pirates
and Buccaneers. Oftentimes, too, the daring sea-rovers, who so long
infested West Indian waters, levied tribute on the unfortunate
inhabitants who were unable to defend themselves. Indeed, it was
to defend the city from these marauders that the kings of Spain,
in the middle of the sixteenth century, began the erection of
those fortifications that, since their completion, have excited the
admiration of all who have visited them.
Cuba was one of the islands Columbus discovered during his first
voyage. But he thought he had discovered a continent--that he had
reached the eastern extremity of Asia. He had set out from Spain
to find a western route to the Indies, to offset the discoveries
of Bartholomew Diaz and Vasco da Gama. To him Cuba was the land
of the Great Khan, far-off Cathay, and Española, discovered shortly
afterwards, was Cipango, Japan. Indeed, there is reason to believe that
he died in the belief that Cuba, far from being an island, was a part
of China, as mapped by Toscanelli and described by Marco Polo. We have
no positive evidence that he was ever aware of the circumnavigation
of the island by Pinzón and Solís in 1497, and he was dead two years
before its insularity was again proved by Ocampo. He never dreamed
that he had discovered a new world, nor did any of his contemporaries
or immediate successors have any conclusive reason to infer that the
lands discovered by the great Admiral in his third and fourth voyages
were not a part of the Asiatic continent.
Balboa's discovery of the Pacific Ocean did not supply such reasons,
neither did the rounding of South America and the circumnavigation
of the globe by Magellan. Nor were the necessary proofs furnished by
the explorations of Drake or Frobisher, Davis or Hudson or Baffin.
The final demonstration of the complete separation of America from
Asia was a long process and was not given until the noted explorations
of Vitus Behring in 1728, more than two centuries after Balboa from
the summit of a peak in Darien first descried the placid waters of
the great South Sea. [13]
We had desired to visit the northern and southern coasts of Cuba,
and to feast our eyes on the beautiful scenes that had so captivated
Columbus; to view the hundred harbors that indent its tortuous
shores; to see the Queen's Gardens--now known as Los Cayos de
las Doce Leguas--which the great navigator fancied to be the seven
thousand spice islands of Marco Polo, but our time was too limited to
permit the long and slow coasting that would be required. Besides,
we preferred to study the interior of the country, and pass through
the sugar and tobacco plantations for which the island is so famous.
Fortunately for the comfort of the traveler, there is now a through
train from Havana to Santiago, so that one can make the entire five
hundred and forty miles in twenty-four hours, and that, too, if one
so elect, in a Pullman car.
Columbus, in writing of his first voyage to Rafael Sánchez and Luis
de Santangel, says that all the countries he had discovered, but
particularly Juana--the name he gave to Cuba--"are of surpassing
excellence," and "exceedingly fertile." "All these islands" he
continues, "are very beautiful and distinguished by a diversity of
scenery; they are filled with a great variety of trees of immense
height, and which I believe retain their foliage in all seasons; for
when I saw them"--in November--"they were as verdant and luxuriant
as they usually are in Spain in the month of May--some of them were
blossoming, some bearing fruit, and all flourishing in the greatest
perfection, according to their respective stages of growth, and the
nature and quality of each." Again he writes, "The nightingale and a
thousand other sorts of birds were singing in the month of November
wherever I went. There are palm trees in these countries of six
or eight sorts, which are surprising to see, on account of their
diversity from ours, but, indeed, this is the case with respect to
the other trees, as well as the fruits and weeds. Here are also honey,
and fruits of a thousand sorts, and birds of every variety." [14]
The Admiral's delight and enthusiasm at all he saw knew no bounds,
and in his diary he gives frequent expression to the pleasurable
emotions he experienced. All was new to him, and all beautiful beyond
words to describe. Trees and plants were as different from those in
Spain as day is from night, and the verdure and bloom in November
were as fresh and brilliant as in the month of May in Andalusia. [15]
The great navigator had a poet's love of nature, and artist's eye
for the beautiful. Indeed, it may be truthfully said that no one
since his time has more correctly and more succinctly portrayed the
salient features of these islands, and it may be questioned if any
one has more deeply appreciated their beauty and splendor.
That which frequently arrests the attention of the traveler, on the way
from Havana to Santiago, is the numerous sugar and tobacco plantations
everywhere visible. Sugar cane, as is known, was not found by the
Spaniards on their arrival in the New World, but was introduced there
a short time after, most probably from the Madeira or Canary Islands.
Tobacco, however, is an American plant, and one of the things that
most surprised the Europeans on first coming in contact with the
Indians of the newly discovered islands was to find them smoking the
dried leaves of this now favorite narcotic.
The first mention of tobacco is in Columbus' diary under date of
November 6, 1492. Referring to two messengers he had sent out among the
Indians, he writes, "The two Christians met on the road a great many
people going to their villages, men and women with brands in their
hands, made of herbs, for taking their customary smoke." [16] These,
then, were the first cigars of which we have any record. The use of
tobacco in pipes was apparently first observed in Florida by Captain
John Hawkins during his voyage to the peninsula in 1566. Among many
other interesting things he tells us about the inhabitants is that
of their use and love of the pipe.
"The Floridians when they trauel haue a kinde of herbe dryed, which
with a cane, and an earthen cup in the end, with fire, and the dried
herbs put together do sucke thoro the cane the smoke thereof, which
smoke satisfieth their hunger, and therewith they liue foure or five
days without meat or drinke, and this all the Frenchmen vsed for this
purpose; yet do they holde opinion withall, that it causeth water
and flame to void from their stomachs." [17]
The early Italian traveler, Girolamo Benzoni, evidently did not
share the views of the Floridians and Frenchmen regarding the
value of tobacco. To him it was nothing less than an invention of
Satan. Speaking of its evil effects, he says, "See what a pestiferous
and wicked poison from the devil this must be." [18]
But it is the good Old Dominican, Père Labat, who has the most to
say about the introduction and use of tobacco. His charming, gossipy
account of men and things and his vagabunda loquacitas, have lost
none of their fascination for the curious reader since they were
first written nearly two centuries ago.
Among other things he does not hesitate to affirm that the Indians,
"by introducing the use of tobacco among their pitiless conquerors,
succeeded, in great measure, in avenging themselves for the unjust
servitude to which they had been reduced." [19] According to the good
father, tobacco proved to be a veritable apple of discord, because it
gave rise to a protracted war of words among men of science. In this
war a large number of ignoramuses as well as savants participated. And
not the last to declare themselves in favor of or opposed to what
they understood no better than the serious affairs of the day, in
which they had been but too active, were the woman-folk.
Physicians discussed its properties, nature and virtues, as if it
had been known all over the habitable world from the times of Galen,
Hippocrates, and Æsculapius, and their opinions were as diverse, and
as opposed to one another as are to-day the opinions of allopaths
and homeopaths, osteopaths and psychopaths. They prescribed when
and how it was to be taken and in what doses. They and the chemists
of the time soon recognized in tobacco a valuable addition to their
pharmacopoea. Nay, more, it was not long before it was proclaimed as
a panacea for all the ills that poor suffering humanity is heir to.
Its ashes cured glanders; taken as a powder it cured rheumatism,
headache, dropsy, and paralysis. It was a specific against melancholy
and insanity; against the smallpox and the plague, against fever,
asthma and liver troubles. It strengthened the memory and excited
the imagination, and philosophers and men of science could be, it
was averred, no better prepared to grapple with the most difficult
of abstract problems than by having the nose primed with snuff.
The effects induced by chewing tobacco were said to be even more
marvelous, for among other things it was claimed that by thus using
it hunger and thirst were allayed or prevented. It removed bile,
cured toothache and freed an over-charged brain from all kinds of
deleterious humors. It strengthened and preserved the sight. Oil,
extracted from tobacco, cured deafness, gout, sciatica, improved the
circulation, and was a tonic for the nervous. In a word, it was the
great panacea of which physicians and alchemists had so long dreamed,
but had hitherto been unable to find.
Finally, however, a reaction came. Books were written against it,
and kings and princes forbade its use. On the 26th of March, 1699,
the question was seriously discussed before L'Ecole de Médecine
whether the frequent use of tobacco shortened life--An ex tabaci usu
frequenti vita summa brevior? And the conclusion was a demonstration
that the frequent use of tobacco did shorten life. Ergo ex frequenti
tabaci usu vita summa brevior. [20]
But notwithstanding the opinions of learned men and university
faculties regarding the alleged deleterious properties of tobacco,
and the denunciations hurled against the use of this invention of
the Evil One, the smoking of cigars and pipes soon became a general
habit the world over, and, it was at times difficult for the supply
to meet the demand. How little Las Casas dreamed that this "vicious
habit," as he called it, was soon to become universal, and that the
time would come when young and old would regard the "fragrant weed,"
prepared in one way or another, not only as an indispensable luxury,
but also as a prime necessity--for rich and poor alike, if life were
to be worth living.
And how far was Columbus from imagining, when he saw the Indians taking
"their customary smoke," that the leaves which they had so carefully
rolled together for this purpose, would eventually prove to be one
of the great staples of commerce, and one of the world's most valued
sources of revenue. He crossed "the Sea of Darkness" to discover a
direct route to the lands of spice and the Golden Chersonese in order
to fill the coffers of the land of his adoption. He and his companions
explored every island they met in their wanderings in quest of gold
and pearls and precious stones and here, in the narcotic plant, that
appeared to them as little more than a curiosity, there were treasures
greater than those of "Ormus and Ind." In this very island of Cuba,
of whose charms he has left us so glowing a picture, was in after
years to be developed from the humble plant--Nicotiana Tabacum--one
of Spain's most important industries--an industry that would, in the
course of time, contribute more to the nation's exchequer than the
combined output of the mines of Pasco and Potosí. Such was evidently
the thought of the Cuban poet, Zequeira, when, in his much praised
Horatian ode, A La Piña, he sings
"¡Salve, suelo felíz, donde prodiga
Madre naturaleza en abundancia
La ordorifeva planta fumigable!
¡Salve, felíz Habana!" [21]
Santiago, like Havana, is a historic city, and, from its foundation,
nearly four centuries ago, until the memorable siege of 1898, it
experienced many reverses at the hands of privateers and pirates. We
lingered just long enough to see its chief attractions--there are
not many--outside of the Morro--and to get a view of the now famous
El Caney and San Juan Hill.
The sun was sinking below the horizon when we boarded the steamer
that was to take us to Haiti and Santo Domingo. As we passed under El
Morro, that has so long and faithfully guarded the entrance to the
placid harbor, and looked towards the setting sun where Cervera's
proud fleet was scattered, we could not but recall the prophetic
words of Las Casas penned in his last will and testament. Speaking of
the Indians, to whose care and protection he had devoted a long and
fruitful life, the holy bishop writes: "As God is my witness that I
never had earthly interest in view, I declare it to be my conviction
and my faith--I believe it to be in accordance with the faith of
the Holy Roman Catholic Church, which is our rule and guide--that
by all the thefts, all the deaths, and all the confiscations of
estates and other uncalculable riches, by the dethroning of rulers
with unspeakable cruelty, the perfect and immaculate law of Jesus
Christ and the natural law itself have been broken, the name of our
Lord and His holy religion have been outraged, the spreading of the
faith has been retarded, and irreparable harm done to these innocent
people. Hence I believe that, unless it atones with much penance for
these abominable and unspeakably wicked deeds, Spain will be visited
by the wrath of God, because the whole nation has shared, more or
less, in the bloody wealth that has been acquired by the slaughter and
extermination of those people. But I fear that it will repent too late,
or never. For God punishes with blindness the sins sometimes of the
lowly, but especially and more frequently the sins of those who think
themselves wise, and who presume to rule the world. We ourselves are
eyewitnesses of this darkening of the understanding. It is now seventy
years since we began to scandalize, to rob and to murder those peoples,
but to this day we have not come to realize that so many scandals, so
much injustice, so many thefts, so many massacres, so much slavery,
and the depopulation of so many provinces, which have disgraced our
holy religion, are sins or injustices at all." [22]
Were the tragic scenes enacted in these waters and in the harbor of
Manila the fulfillment of the prophecy? If we should be disposed to
think so, let us not forget, in contemplating the humiliation and
punishment of Spain, that we too have sinned as Spain sinned. And
let us pray that the blood of the millions of Indians that have been
exterminated in our own land may not call down the vengeance of Heaven
on our children and our children's children. Nations, like individuals,
are punished where they have sinned. [23]
HAITI AND SAN DOMINGO
A short sail eastwards and we found ourselves crossing the
Windward Passage. Not far from our port quarter was Cape Maisi,
which Columbus, on his first voyage, named Cape Alpha and Omega, as
being the easternmost extremity of Asia; Alpha, therefore, from his
own point of view, and Omega from that of his Portuguese rivals. On
his second voyage Columbus came down through this passage to satisfy
himself that he had actually reached Mangi, the land of the Great Khan,
and coasted along the island of Cuba, as he reckoned, for a thousand
miles. But as fate would have it, he stopped short in his westward
course within a few hours' sail of the present Cape San Antonio,
the westernmost promontory of the island. If he had only journeyed
on a few miles further, he would have detected the insularity of what
he considered a continent, and thus have anticipated the discoveries
of Vespucius and Ocampo. And he would have done more. He would have
reached the shores of Yucatan and Campeachy and had an opportunity of
exploring the famous ruins of Chichen Itza and Uxmal. How different,
too, it would have been, if, after discovering Guanahuani, he had
directed the prow of the Santa Maria slightly to the northwest, when
a short sail would have brought him to the coast of Florida! It is
interesting to speculate not only how much his own life, but also how
greatly the entire course of American history would have been affected
by these slight changes in his course on these momentous occasions.
But during his four voyages among these mysterious islands the great
navigator was as one groping his way in the Cretan labyrinth. On his
return eastward from the Cape of Good Hope--the name he gave to the
westernmost point of Cuba attained by him--he found, almost before
he was aware of it, that he had actually circumnavigated what he had
imagined to be Cipango, the great island of Japan. This surprised
and puzzled him beyond expression. Evidently, either he was mistaken
or the authorities on whom he had been relying were mistaken. If the
island--Española--was not Cipango, what was it? He soon learned that
gold mines existed in the interior of the country and that there was
evidence of excavations that had been long abandoned. [24] What more
natural, then, than his conclusion that this was the far-famed Ophir
whence King Solomon had obtained the gold used in the adornment of
the temple of Jerusalem!
Whatever may be said of the Admiral's theory, one thing is certain,
and that is that the discovery of gold in Española [25] was directly or
indirectly the cause of untold misery to the aborigines, and eventually
led up to the present unfortunate condition of this hapless island. It
was, as the reader knows, the work in the mines that was the chief
factor in the gradual decimation and the final extinction of the
Indians in Española. When there were no longer Indians to do the work,
negroes were imported from Africa, and thence dates that hideous period
of cruel traffic in human beings which, for more than three centuries,
was the blackest stain on the vaunted civilization of the Caucasian
race. But in this, as in other similar cases, an avenging Nemesis
has either already overtaken the offending nations or is giving them
grave concern regarding the future. In the black republics of Haiti and
Santo Domingo the slave has replaced the master, and there are already
indications that the day of reckoning is approaching for the powers
that are in control of the other islands of the West Indies. We saw
evidences of this during our visit in Cuba, and are convinced that,
if it were not for the strong arm of the United States, it would not
be long before we should have another black republic at our doors. And
what is said of Cuba may be said of all the islands of the Lesser
Antilles from Trinidad to Puerto Rico. The race question is one
that will have to be met sooner or later. The whites are decreasing
in numbers and the blacks are rapidly increasing and becoming more
insistent on what they claim to be their rights, especially to that
of a greater representation in government affairs, and to a larger
share of the emoluments of public office.
It was only a few years after the colonizing of Española when negro
slavery was introduced into the island. The motive was, in some
measure, a humane one--namely, to spare the Indians the arduous
labor in the mines for which they were physically incapacitated. The
African was much stronger and had much greater powers of endurance
than the native. According to Herrera, "the negroes flourished so
well in Española, that it was thought that if a negro was not hanged
he would never die, for no one had ever seen one die of disease. Thus
the negroes found, like the oranges, a soil in Española better suited
to them than their own country, Guinea." [26]
Monopolies of licenses were granted by the Spanish monarchs for the
importation of negro slaves to the West Indies, first to their own
subjects, and later on to certain Genoese and Germans, and finally,
by a special asiento, or contract, the Spanish government conveyed
to the English the "exclusive right to carry on the most nefarious
of all trades between Africa and Spanish America." The British
engaged to transport annually to the Spanish Indies during a term
of thirty years, four thousand and eight hundred of what, in trade
language, were called "Indian pieces," that is to say, negro slaves,
paying a duty per head of thirty-three escudos and one-third. [27]
So great was the number of negroes imported into America from 1517,
when Charles V first permitted the traffic, until 1807, when the slave
trade was abolished by an act of the English Parliament, that it has
been computed that their total number was not less than five or six
millions. In one single year, 1768, it is said that the number torn
from their homes and country and transported to Spain's new colonies
was no less than ninety-seven thousand. [28]
But the inevitable soon came to pass--much sooner than even the wisest
statesman could have foreseen. The great Cardinal Ximenes, it is true,
realized from the beginning the risk incurred by sending negroes to
the Indies. He contended that it was wrong to send beyond the ocean
people so "apt in war" as the blacks, who might at any time stir up
a servile war against Spanish rule. He insisted that "the negroes,
who were as malicious as they were strong, would no sooner perceive
themselves to be more numerous in the New World than the Spaniards,
than they would lay their heads together to put on their masters the
chains they now carried." [29]
The cardinal's prediction soon came true. In all parts of the
Indies--in the islands of the sea and on Tierra Firme--there
were massacres and uprisings and "servile wars," without number,
and both the colonies and the mother country had often occasion to
regret the introduction within their boundaries of so dangerous and
warlike subjects. But it was too late to rectify the mistake. It
was impossible to drive them out of the country, or to return them
to the land whence they had been brought against their will. So
rapidly had they increased in numbers that they now, in many places,
constituted a great majority of the population. Española, to-day
constituting the two republics of Haiti and Santo Domingo, was the
first island of which they got supreme control. Which will be the
next? The question is not an idle one. It is one frequently asked
in the West Indies. The unrest and agitation of the blacks are much
greater than we in the North imagine. Their ambition is greater and
their political aspirations higher than those who have not been among
them are prepared to admit. The situation is certainly not one that
justifies supine indifference on the part of the governments now in
control, nor is the difficulty one whose solution can be indefinitely
postponed. Every lover of law and order must hope that some modus
vivendi can be arrived at whereby, while all the legitimate claims
of the negro are conceded, the world will he spared another "decline
and fall" like that which has been witnessed in Española.
We called at several of the ports of Haiti and Santo Domingo but we
found little to interest us outside of the capital of the latter
republic. Santo Domingo is not only the oldest city in the New
World--the early abandoned settlement of Isabella never deserved the
name of city--but is, in many respects, the most interesting. Founded
by Bartholomew Columbus in 1496, and named Santo Domingo after the
patron saint of his father, Domenico, it was, for a while, the seat
of the vice-royalty. It was to this place that Don Diego Colon, the
son of the Admiral, brought his lovely bride, Doña Maria de Toledo,
a daughter of one of the oldest and proudest families of Spain. Here
he set up a vice-regal court that excited the envy of his enemies,
and was by them made the basis of charges preferred against him that
he meditated establishing a government independent of the mother
country. Of the viceroy's palace, Oviedo writes to Charles V, it
"seemeth unto me so magnificall and princelyke that yowr maiestie
maye bee as well lodged therin as in any of the mooste exquisite
builded houses of Spayne." [30]
From Santo Domingo radiated the lines of discovery and conquest that
culminated in the achievements of Cortes, Balboa and Pizarro. Here
Columbus was loaded with chains and imprisoned by Bobadilla. Here was
established the first university of the New World. Here, within the
walls of the Convent of San Domingo, prayed and labored that noble
"Protector of the Indians," Las Casas, and here he planned and began
work on his monumental Historia de las Indias. Until the last assault
by Drake in 1586, it was the centre of commercial activity in the
Indies, for it was the chief port of call to and from Spain and
the place where merchants, miners, and planters disposed of their
commodities and amassed fortunes.
But Santo Domingo's halcyon days were of short duration. Before the
end of the sixteenth century the city began to decline. The theatre of
activity, that had hitherto been confined to Española, was transferred
to Cuba and Mexico, Panama and Peru, and to-day the once gay and
prosperous capital exhibits but a shadow of its pristine glory.
Homenage Castle, the crumbling palace of Don Diego Columbus, and the
few churches and monasteries that still, even in their neglected
condition, attest the former importance of the place, present a
pathetic picture, and tell, in mute but elegant language, of the
reverses and evil days that have been the lot of America's first city.
Besides the buildings just named we were especially interested in the
Cathedral. It is a noble structure and its interior decorations compare
favorably with similar edifices in Spain and Mexico. But there was one
attraction there that had for us, as it must have for all Americans,
a special interest, and which alone would well repay a pilgrimage to
Santo Domingo--the last resting place of the one "who to Castile and
Leon gave a new world."
As the reader is aware, there has been a long and spirited controversy
as to the location of los restos--the remains--of the illustrious
discoverer. We have been shown his sepulchre in the Cathedral
of Havana, and in that of Seville, yet it has been demonstrated
beyond question that his ashes have never reposed in either of these
places. Without entering into details, it may now be stated, as facts
which no longer admit of any reasonable doubt, that after his death
in 1506, the remains of Columbus were interred in the Franciscan
monastery of Valladolid, whence, in 1508, they were transferred to
the monastery of Las Cuevas, at Seville. In 1541, at the request of
"Doña Maria of Toledo, Vicereine of the Indies, wife that was of the
Admiral Don Diego Columbus," Charles V, by a special cedula, granted
permission for the transfer of the remains of Christopher Columbus
to Española, to be interred in the capilla mayor of the Cathedral of
Santo Domingo. Here they have since reposed, with the exception of
the short time during which they were kept in the adjoining church,
when the Cathedral was undergoing certain necessary repairs in 1877
and 1878. The supposed remains of the first Admiral, that were taken
to Havana in 1795, and finally transferred to Seville in 1899, have
been shown to be those of his son, Don Diego, who, together with Don
Luis Columbus, the third Admiral, and the first Duke of Veragua, was
also buried in the capilla mayor of the Cathedral, where the remains
of Don Luis still lie near those of his illustrious grandfather. [31]
As our steamer moved out of the water of Santo Domingo our eyes
remained fixed on the Cathedral, whose Spanish tiled roof reflected
the vermilion rays of the setting sun, and afford shelter for one of
the world's greatest heroes and benefactors.
"Hic locus abscondit præclari membra Coloni,"
This place hides the remains of the illustrious Columbus, of him who,
in the language of one of the many epitaphs devoted to his memory,
"Dió riquezas immensas á la tierra,
Innumerables almas al cielo." [32]
And then, as the last vestiges of this noble old temple vanished
from our vision, we thought of the words of Humboldt, than whom no
one was better qualified to pronounce a fitting eulogy on one of the
world's immortals.
"The majesty of great memories," he declares, "seems concentrated
in the name of Christopher Columbus. It is the originality of his
vast conceptions, the compass and fertility of his genius, and the
courage which bore out against the long series of misfortunes, which
have exalted the Admiral high above all his contemporaries." [33]
And we dreamed--or was it a telepathic intimation of a future
reality?--when the precious remains, that have so long been guarded
in this distant and rarely visited island, should be transferred for
a third and a last time, but this time where they might be visited
and venerated by millions instead of the few hundred that now find
their way hither, and where they might occupy a noble sarcophagus,
like that which beneath the dome of the Invalides, holds all that is
mortal of the great Corsican, and in a temple worthy alike of the
man and of the greatest nation in the world. There is one edifice
in which all the nations of the hemisphere discovered by Columbus
have a common interest, the splendid structure now being erected in
Washington, for the special use and benefit of the North and South
American Republics. Here in the capital of the nation, in the district
named after the discoverer, in sight of the tomb of the "Father of
his Country," should the remains of "The Admiral of the Ocean Sea,"
find an abiding place of sepulture commensurate with the magnitude of
his achievements. Alongside and in connection with this Pan-American
building, in the heart of what is to be "the City Beautiful," and
there alone, let there be erected a mausoleum that, as a monument of
art, shall rank, as did those of Hadrian and Mausolus, amongst the
world's wonders, and be a fitting culmination of the architectural
creations that have been planned for the great and growing capital
of the New World, the world of Columbus.
PUERTO RICO AND CURAÇAO
From Santo Domingo we went to Puerto Rico. As is well known,
this island was discovered by Columbus during his second voyage in
1493. Sixteen years later a settlement was founded here by Ponce de
Leon. It was from here that he set forth in quest of the "Fountain
of Youth," and it is in San Juan, in the Church of Santo Domingo,
that he was buried after a poisoned arrow from the bow of an Indian
brave had terminated his existence during his second expedition to
Florida. Over his tomb was inscribed the following epitaph:--
"Mole sub hac fortis requiescunt ossa Leonis
Qui vicit factis nomina magna suis." [34]
After sojourning a week in Puerto Rico, we called at the little Dutch
island Curaçao and spent the greater part of the day in the quaint
little town of Willemstad. The harbor is perfectly landlocked and was
at one time the favorite rendezvous for pirates and buccaneers. In
strolling through its streets, we could easily fancy ourselves in
some quiet section of Rotterdam or Amsterdam. The island is known for
its much prized liqueur, Curaçao, which, however, strange to say,
is not made here but in Holland. Curaçao supplies only the orange
rind with which the liqueur is flavored. Willemstad is a popular
resort for smugglers, who do an extensive business on the mainland,
and the temporary home of a colony of exiled Venezuelan generals and
colonels, who here eke out a precarious existence in the hope that
one of their periodical revolutions may soon give them the eagerly
desired opportunity of enjoying some of the spoils of office, that,
for the time being, are monopolized by their enemies.
ON THE SPANISH MAIN
We arrived in the roadstead of La Guayra early in the morning, after
our departure from Curaçao, and our vessel was soon moored alongside a
splendid breakwater, which extends out from the shore for more than
a half mile, and gives this port a fairly good harbor, which even
the largest ships may enter. We were now on the Spanish Main where
we had our first view of the great continent of South America.
As the phrase, "The Spanish Main," has been given many and different
significations since it was first introduced, I shall employ it,
in what was long its generally accepted meaning, as designating
the southern part of the Caribbean Sea, and the coast line of what,
on the early maps of South America, was known as Tierra Firme--the
Firm Land--namely, that part of the present republics of Venezuela
and Colombia on which the Spaniards effected their first settlements.
The first thing to attract our attention and that which impressed
us most, was the apparently stupendous height of the mountains in
the rear of the town. Before us were La Silla and Pico de Naiguata,
sheer and precipitous, rising almost from the water's edge and piercing
the clouds at an altitude of more than eight thousand and two hundred
feet. They are thus apparently higher than any of the peaks of the
Rocky Mountain chain. The summits of the latter are attained only
after traveling over a long and gradual incline, that is scarcely
perceptible, and after scaling numerous foothills that conceal and
dwarf the giants which tower behind and above them. Thus, while the
summit of Pike's Peak is more then fourteen thousand feet above sea
level, it is less than seven thousand feet above the charming town of
Manitou, that nestles at its feet. For this reason, and because the
sides of the Colorado peak are not so steep as those behind La Guayra,
La Silla and the Pico de Naiguata give an impression of height and
majesty that is not experienced even when contemplating the loftiest
monarchs of the Alps.
The distance from La Guayra to Caracas, in a straight line, is less
than six miles; by rail it is twenty-three. There has been talk
of connecting the capital and its port by a tunnel but under the
existing conditions of the country it will be a long time before such
an undertaking shall be realized.
From sea level to the summit of the range, the railroad is conspicuous
for its heavy grade--about four per cent.--its sharp curves, its cuts
and tunnels, but above all for the magnificent scenery everywhere
visible. From the car window one may look over precipitous cliffs
into yawning abysses far below the track on which the train slowly
and carefully winds its way. On the beetling rocks above, in the dark
and wild gorge below--what a wealth of vegetation, what luxuriance
of growth, what a gorgeous display of vari-colored fruit and flower,
of delicate fern and majestic palm!
As a feat of engineering the road is quite equal to any of the kind
that may be seen in Europe or the United States; but for scenic beauty
and splendor it is absolutely unrivaled. On the lofty flanks of the
Rockies, and in the deep cañons of the Fraser and Colorado rivers,
where the shrill whistle of the locomotive startles the falcon and
the eagle, one can have fully gratified one's sense of the grand and
the sublime in nature; but here it is beauty, grandeur, sublimity
all combined. And what marvelous perspectives, what delightful
exhibitions of color, what superb and ever-changing effects of light
and shade--scenes that would be the despair of Claude Lorrain and
Salvator Rosa, and as difficult to catch on canvas as the glories of
the setting sun.
No where else in the wide world can one find such another picture as
greets one's vision when, rising into cloudland, one gets one's last
view of the Caribbean circling the mountain thousands of feet beneath
the silent and awe-stricken spectator. It is matchless, unique--like
Raphael's Madonna di San Xysto, impossible to duplicate.
As we reached this point, the sea disclosed itself as a vast mirror
resplendent under the aureate glow of the quivering beams of the
departing lord of day. Fleecy clouds of every form and hue flitting
over sea and land, by a peculiar optical illusion, magnified both
objects and distances, and unfolded before the astonished beholder
a panorama of constantly varying magnitude and of surpassing
loveliness. On the foreground Nature shed her brightest green, and
imparted to flower and foliage the flush of the rainbow. Of a truth,
"Never did Ariel's plume
At golden sunset hover
O'er scenes so full of bloom."
Away and beyond was the boundless, glimmering sea, ravishing in
its thousand tints, and in its harmonious dance of vanishing light
and color.
So occupied were we in observing the beauties of the everchanging
landscape, that, before we realized it, we were in Caracas. And so
momentary was the twilight-- a characteristic of the tropics--that the
transition from daylight to darkness was almost startling. We found an
unexpected compensation, however, in the friendly glow of the electric
lights which illumine the street and plazas of Venezuela's capital.
We spent a month in and about Caracas, finding every hour enjoyable. It
is, in many respects, a beautiful city and located near the base of
the mountains La Silla, the saddle--from its fancied resemblance to
an army saddle--and El Cerro de Avila, in a charming valley from one
to three miles wide and about ten miles long. The valley was at one
time, seemingly, the bed of a lake, and its soil is, consequently,
exceedingly fertile, and admirably adapted to cultivation of the farm
and garden produce of both tropical and temperate climates.
A friend, who had traveled much, once told us that he regarded
Taormina, in Sicily, as the best and most beautiful winter resort
in the world. We are familiar with both places, and can say, in all
candor, that we prefer Caracas. True, Taormina is one of the beauty
spots of the world, but one expects to find more than beauty in a
winter resort. Some years before our visit to Caracas we were in
Taormina, and during the same time of the winter as marked our visit
to Caracas, and we found it so cold that, during our entire stay, we
were obliged to have our rooms heated by steam. In the latter place we
could leave the doors and windows of our room open day and night, and
enjoyed, during all the time we tarried there, the name soft, balmy,
fragrant air, and the same equable temperature. The mean temperature
we found to be about 70° F., the thermometer seldom rising above 75°
F. and rarely falling below 65° F. The only place where we over had a
like experience was on the slope of a mountain in one of the Hawaiian
Islands, where the temperature is so constant that the native language
has no word to express the idea of weather--what we call "weather"
being always the same.
Considering the many natural beauties of the valley of Caracas,
its rich, tropical vegetation, its matchless climate, its soft,
balmy atmosphere, the rippling brooks and purling rivulets that
everywhere gladden the landscape, we can understand how an early
Spanish historian, Oviedo y Baños, [35] was in his enthusiasm led to
declare this location of the capital of Venezuela to be that of the
home of perpetual spring--nay, more, that of a terrestrial paradise. If
he could revisit these scenes to-day, he would find but little change
in their general physical aspect, but he would see at once that the
serpent's trailing has cast a blight over its former beauty, and that
the people, as a whole, have sadly degenerated since his time. Then,
as he tells us, the stranger that had spent two months in this Eden
would never wish to leave it. Alas, that one cannot say this now! [36]
After a month's sojourn in Caracas we felt the Spiritus movendi again
upon us, urging us onward, we knew not whither. We were under the
spell of what the Germans so aptly call the Wanderlust and it did
not make much difference what direction we took so long as the road
we traveled enabled us to enjoy new scenes and visit peoples whose
manners and customs were different from our own.
Having thoroughly rested and recuperated the strength we so much
needed, we felt that we should like to take a trip to the Orinoco,
in order that we might have an opportunity of studying the fauna and
flora of its wonderful valley and of meeting some of the many Indian
tribes that rove through its forests. In spite of all our efforts,
however, we could find no one who could give us any satisfactory
information about the best means of reaching the river or the time
that would be required to make the journey. We consulted government
officials and merchants that had business relations along the Orinoco,
but their information was vague and contradictory.
We purposed going first to San Fernando de Apure, on an affluent
of the Orinoco, and thence by water to Ciudad Bolivar and the
Port-of-Spain. We were told that there were steamers plying between San
Fernando and Ciudad Bolivar--the chief city on the Orinoco--during the
wet season, our summer, but not during the dry season, our winter. That
meant that if we went to San Fernando we should be obliged to use
a canoe to reach Ciudad Bolivar, and this implied a long, tiresome,
and somewhat dangerous voyage under a burning sun and in what we were
assured was a malarious region. The time necessary to reach the river
on horseback varied, according to our informants, from one to two
weeks. One well known general, it was stated, had by an extraordinary
tour de force made the trip the preceding year in four days. Some
assured us we could go by carriage the entire distance. Others were
equally positive that there was nothing more than a trail connecting
the points we wished to visit, and that mules would be better than
horses for such a journey. Outside of one or two small towns, there
were no hotels along the route. But this did not matter. We had our
camping outfit with us, and rather preferred to live in our tent to
risking our night's rest in such uninviting posadas--lodging houses--as
we should meet with in the way.
Finding that we could not get in Caracas the information we desired,
we resolved to go to Victoria, an interesting town southwest of the
capital, and accessible by rail in a few hours. But our success in
Victoria was no better than it had been in Caracas. In spite of all
our efforts we could elicit no information that would warrant us in
starting on so long a journey as that to the Orinoco, and one that
might involve many hardships and dangers without adequate compensation.
Yet, notwithstanding our ill success so far, we did not for a moment
think of abandoning our contemplated trip to the valley of the
Orinoco. Far from it. The more we thought of it the more fascinating
the project became. Now that we had gone so far, we were determined to
see the famous river at all hazards. If we could not reach it by one
route we would go by another. We accordingly concluded to continue
our journey by rail to Puerto Cabello, and thence go by steamer to
Trinidad. Once there, we felt reasonably sure we should find some
means of attaining our goal--the grassy plains and vast forests of
the Orinoco basin. As proved by subsequent events, it was for us
a most fortunate occurrence that we did not adhere to our original
plan of reaching the Orinoco by San Fernando de Apure, as our change
of programme enabled us to see far more of South America and under
more favorable auspices, than we had before deemed possible.
Instead of going directly to Puerto Cabello, we spent a week at
the quiet old city of Valencia, Nueva Valencia del Rey, as it was
originally called, and which, according to the Valencianos, should
be the capital of the republic. It was begun in 1555, by Alonzo Diaz
Moreno, twelve years before Santiago de Leon de Caracas--the original
name of the capital--was founded by Diego de Losada. As a matter
of fact, Valencia was designated as the capital of Venezuela at the
time of the revolt against Spain, and congress was actually in session
there at the time Caracas was destroyed by an earthquake in 1812. Five
years after its foundation, Valencia was captured by the infamous Lopez
de Aguirre and his sanguinary band, who treated its inhabitants with
the greatest atrocity. Near by, on the plains of Carabobo, was fought
the decisive victory which resulted in Venezuelan independence. [37]
As a port of entry, Puerto Cabello is incomparably superior to
La Guayra, and has one of the finest harbors on the Caribbean. The
climate, however, is far from salubrious. Situated, as it is, in low,
marshy ground, surrounded by countless pools of stagnant water,
it is not surprising to find that malarial fevers are prevalent
here, and that El vómito--yellow fever--is a frequent visitant. The
"nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks" can here count more fetid
effluvia and putrefactive ferments than in any place we had so far
seen in Venezuela.
THE PEARL COAST
A most delightful voyage was ours from Puerto Cabello to the
Port-of-Spain, the capital of Trinidad. The sea was as placid as an
inland lake on a windless day, and the air as balmy as in a morning
of June. The coast of the mainland was nearly always in sight,
and at times the peaks of the Coast Range rose far above the fleecy
clouds that encircled their lofty flanks. The days were beautiful
but the nights were glorious. All our youthful dreams about the
delights of sailing on southern seas, amid emerald isles, and under
bright starlit skies, where soft spice-scented zephyrs blow, were
here realized. The serenity and transparency of the azure vault of
heaven, with its countless shooting stars, had their counterpart in
the smooth, unruffled Caribbean, to whose water millions of Noctilucæ
imparted a phosphorescent glow which rivaled that of molten gold. We
were at last in the favored home of the chambered nautilus, happily,
dreamily gliding along on an even keel
"In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings,
And coral reefs lie bare,
Where the cold sea-maids rise from crystal springs
To sun their streaming hair."
Yes, we were skirting along the Pearl Coast, [38] celebrated in legend
and story--darkened by deeds of barbarous cruelty and resplendent
in records of heroic achievement. I shall not tell of our second
visit to La Guayra and of the day we spent at Macuto or describe the
present conditions of the historic old towns of Barcelona, Cumana and
Carupano, which lay on our course. Much might be said of all these
places, distinguished, since their foundation, both in peace and war.
I cannot, however, pass this part of the Pearl Coast without recalling
the fact that it was near Cumana that the earliest settlements in
Venezuela were effected and that here it was that one of the first--if
not the first--permanent colonies on the mainland of the New World was
established. Columbus, during his fourth voyage, attempted to make a
settlement in Veragua, that might serve as a base of future operations,
but the attempt resulted in complete failure. Similar efforts had been
made by Alonso de Ojeda and others, but without lasting results. Panama
was not founded until 1516 or 1517. Nombre de Dios, it is true, was
founded somewhat earlier, but in the beginning was little more than
a blockhouse. But here, as early in 1514, on the Rio Manzanares,
then the River Cumana, only "a cross-bow-shot" from the shore, the
zealous Sons of St. Francis had erected a monastery, and a short time
subsequently the Dominicans established another monastery, not far
distant, at Santa Fe de Chiribichi. Here they gathered the simple
children of the forest around them, and soon had the beginnings
of flourishing missions. [39] The trusting and unspoiled Indians
welcomed these apostles of the gospel of peace and love, and soon
learned to regard them as friends and fathers. So peaceful did all
this land become under the influence of the benign teaching of the
gentle friars, that, according to Oviedo and Las Casas, a Christian
trader could go alone anywhere without ever being molested. [40]
It was to the Pearl Coast that Las Casas came, after he found, by
sad experience, that his efforts in behalf of the Indians in Cuba,
Española and Puerto Rico were frustrated by influences he was unable
to control. It was here, aided by Franciscans and Dominicans, who had
preceded him by only a few years, that he purposed laying the corner
stone of that vast Indian commonwealth, for which he had secured
letters patent from Charles V.
For this great experiment in colonization, the greatest the world
has ever known, he had received a grant of land extending from
Paria to Santa Marta, and from the Caribbean Sea to Peru. In his
colossal undertaking he planned to have the coöperation of an order
of knights--the Knights of the Golden Spur--specially created to
aid him in the work of civilizing and christianizing the Indians. It
was his dream to bring within the fold of the Church all the Indians
of Central and South America, and to establish for their behoof and
benefit an ideal Christian state such as a century and a half later
was realized in the fertile basins of the Parana and Paraguay. [41]
If the noble philanthropist had been properly supported by the rich and
the powerful, the entire course of subsequent events in South America
would have been altered, and the historian would have been spared the
task of penning those dark annals of injustice and iniquity which,
for long centuries, were such a foul blot on humanity. But from the
time he set foot on the Pearl Coast, in pursuance of his noble plan,
he found himself beset by untold difficulties, and his designs thwarted
at every turn, and that, too, by his own countrymen. Blinded by lust
of gold and pleasure, they left nothing undone to insure the failure
of his project, and in the end succeeded in their nefarious purpose.
Abandoned by those on whose coöperation he fully relied, he was, in its
very inception, forced to relinquish his heroic enterprise, and return
to Española. Discomfited and heartsick, but not crushed, he sought
an asylum in the monastery of Santo Domingo. There for eight years
he devoted himself to prayer and study, and, true Christian athlete
that he was, he was always preparing himself for a final struggle in
a new arena. When his enemies least expected it, he came forth from
his retirement, and, clad in the habit of a Dominican, proclaimed
himself again the champion of the downtrodden Indian. And from that
moment until the day of his death, at the advanced age of ninety-two,
whether as a simple monk or as the bishop of Chiapa, [42] his voice
was always raised in behalf of the children of the forest, and against
their enslavement by cruel, soulless seekers after fortune. [43]
He was, if not the first, the world's greatest abolitionist, and if
there are still many millions of red men in the New World to-day
who have escaped the bond of servitude, it is mainly due to their
illustrious protector, Bartolomé de Las Casas. [44]
THE PEARL ISLANDS
Within sight of the land where Las Casas went to lay the first
foundation-stone of his ideal commonwealth is a group of islands
which had a special claim on our attention--islands which, during
four centuries, have been the scene of many a romance and have been
stained, no one can tell how often, by the blood of tragedy.
These islands are Coche, Cubagua and Margarita. They were discovered
by Columbus during his third voyage, and the larger of the two was
called Margarita--pearl--from the number and beauty of the pearls
found in the waters that wash its shore. Even before he had left the
Gulf of Paria, between Trinidad and the mainland, he had observed
that the aborigines of Tierra Firme were decked with bracelets and
necklaces of pearl, and soon discovered, to his great satisfaction,
that these much-prized gems could be obtained in great abundance,
and that many of them were of extraordinary size and beauty. Peter
Martyr, as translated by Eden, tells us, "Many of these pearls were
as bygge as hasellnuttes, and oriente (as we caule it), that is lyke
unto them of the Easte partes." [45] During the first third of the
sixteenth century the value of the pearls sent to Europe was equal
to nearly one-half of the output of all the mines in America. [46]
In one year--1587--after the pearl fisheries of the Gulf of Panama
had been discovered, nearly seven hundred pounds weight of pearls
was sent to the markets of Europe, some of them rivaling in beauty
of sheen and perfection of form the rarest gems ever found in the
waters of Persia or Ceylon. It was from these fisheries of the New
World that Philip II obtained the famous pearl, weighing two hundred
and fifty carats, of the size and shape of a pigeon's egg, mentioned
by the early chroniclers.
So great was the commercial activity among these little islands,
especially in Cubagua, that the Spaniards built a town there, which
they called New Cadiz, although the site chosen was without water,
and so sterile that the Indians had never lived on it. Toward the end
of the sixteenth century the pearl fishery in these parts diminished
rapidly, and in the early part of the century following, the industry,
according to Laet, had died out altogether, and the islands of Coche
and Cubagua fell into oblivion. But while it lasted, sad to say,
it meant untold misery for the thousands of Indian and Negro slaves
who were forced, at the sacrifice of their health and often of their
lives, to enrich their cruel masters by work that was almost as fatal
as that in the mines of Española.
For more than two hundred years the pearl fisheries in the waters
around these islands were practically abandoned. Even during the last
century comparatively little work was done to develop an industry
that, during the sixteenth century, contributed so much to the
coffers of Spain. About the year 1900, however, a French company
secured a concession from Venezuela to fish in the neighborhood of
these islands. According to agreement, it is to pay the government
ten per cent. royalty, and to employ divers and diving apparatus so
as to select only the larger oysters and avoid the destruction of
those that are immature.
From the estimates available, about $600,000 worth of pearls are
annually sent to the Paris market from Margarita. While a large
proportion of them are cracked and of poor color, there are,
nevertheless, many of the finest orient, and these find ready
purchasers. As for ourselves, we saw few of large size, and none of
great value. Even in Caracas, where we made diligent inquiry about
them, we did not find a single one from these waters that would
attract attention for either size or lustre. [47]
The weather could not have been more delightful than it was during
our all too brief cruise among these islands around which at one time,
as has been truly remarked, "all the wonder, all the pity and all the
greed of the age had concentrated itself." They are now shorn of all
their former glory, and there is little to indicate their pristine
importance. They are practically deserted, with the exception of
Margarita, which, on account of the arid and unproductive soil,
is but sparsely inhabited. And yet, as they lay clustered there on
the calm bosom of the Caribbean, without a ripple to disturb its
mirror-like surface, they possessed a certain undefinable beauty
that defied analysis. Besides, there was still hovering over and
around them the glamour of days long past, when they were visited
for the first time by the great Admiral of the Ocean Sea, and later
on, by Cristobal Guerra and Alonzo Niño, and by Francisco Orellana,
after his memorable voyage down the Amazon.
The sun was sloping down to his ocean bed--the air was glimmering with
a mellow light, as we drifted from these waters over which Merlin
seemed to wave his enchanting wand. As the orb of day touched the
distant horizon, and sank into the crimson mist that floated above
the placid sea, it assumed strange oval and pear-shaped figures that
grew larger in their waning splendor. The rainbow hues that steeped
in molten lustre the receding shores seemed to float on clouds from
spirit-land.
A scene it was to swell the tamest bosom, a fairy realm where Fancy
would
"Bid the blue Tritons sound their twisted shells,
And call the Nereids from their pearly cells."
Below us, beneath the dark depths of the crystal sea, illumined by
the lamps of the sea-nymphs, were living flower beds of coral, the
blooms and the palms of the ocean recesses, where the pearl lies hid,
and caves where the gem is sleeping, the gardens, fair and bewildering
in their richness and beauty, of Nereus and Amphitrite. It was indeed
such a scene as the poet has painted for us in these charming verses:--
"Wherever you wander the sea is in sight,
With its changeable turquoise green and blue,
And its strange transparence of limpid light.
You can watch the work that the Nereids do
Down, down, where their purple fans unfurl,
Planting their coral and sowing their pearl."