THE GREAT RIVER
"What a wide river!" was the exclamation of a fellow-passenger as
our steamer passed out of the Macareo and turned the apex of the
delta. It was, indeed, very wide, and the bank of the Orinoco on our
port-quarter was almost invisible. Here, even during the dry season,
this mighty water course is no less than four leagues in width. We
now, for the first time, fully realized that we were sailing on the
broad waters of one of the world's master rivers. After the Parana
and the Amazon, it is the largest waterway in South America, and,
for the volume of water it carries into the ocean, it ranks with the
Mississippi, the Congo, Yang-tse-Kiang, and the Brahmaputra. Well have
the natives of the lands through which it flows named it the Great
River--for it is great in every way--great in the immense basin it
drains; great in the tribute it carries to the ocean, and great in
the number and magnitude of the rivers it counts among its affluents
from the distant Cordilleras.
As along the Macareo, so here along the Orinoco, one never tires of
gazing at the magnificent forest trees and the dense shrubbery with
which the banks are fringed. At one time it is the wide-branched ceiba,
covered with bright-blooming epiphytes; at another a clump of graceful
moriche palms, whose tremulous plumes are given an added beauty by the
presence of a bevy of multicolored parrots and macaws. The foliage of
tree and shrub is here ever fresh and luxuriant and retains always
that delicate hue so characteristic of the leafage of our northern
woodlands in the early days of spring.
Most of the trees, large and small, are literally weighed down with
parasites and epiphytes. Among the latter growths are orchids of
countless variety and rarest beauty, such as are seldom seen in our
northern floral conservatories. And the way in which the trees are held
together by those strange forms of vegetable life--so abundant in the
tropics--the bejucos or bush ropes! Sometimes they are as thick as a
man's arm, sometimes they are like a ship's cable, sometimes they may
be mistaken for telegraph wires--so long and fine are they. They extend
from the ground to the tops of the highest trees, or drop from the
summits of the loftiest monarchs of the forest to the earth beneath,
sometimes singly, sometimes by scores. Then again they cross one
another from tree to tree and form a trelliswork that at times is next
to impassable. And these bejucos, or lianas, as they are also called,
are, like the trees, burdened with air-plants of various species,
at one time large masses of leaves, at another long spikes of the
richest blossoms.
At almost every turn the vision is delighted by lovely arboreal
groups and charming natural bowers, all graced with the most gorgeous
combinations of emerald foliage and ruby bloom--interspersed with
delicate tufts of lilac, pink and canary--and illumined by gleams of
flitting sunshine which bring out a glorious play of color effects
with which the eye is never tired. "A dryad's home," we heard an
enthusiastic señorita exclaim, as we passed one of these flower-decked
bowers, on which glittered the checkered sunlight. And so well it
might be, it was so rare a gem of sylvan loveliness.
While passing up this majestic river and admiring the ever-varying
panorama of rarest floral beauty, we recalled a couple of paragraphs
in Darwin's Journal of Researches, in which he refers to the futility
of attempting to describe, for one who has never visited the tropics,
the wonders of the scenery there and above all the marvels of the
vegetable world. He expresses himself as follows:
"Such are the elements of the scenery, but it is a hopeless attempt to
paint the general effect. Learned naturalists describe these scenes
of the tropics by naming a multitude of objects, and mentioning some
characteristic feature of each. To a learned traveler this possibly
may communicate some definite ideas; but who else from seeing a plant
in an herbarium can imagine its appearance when growing in its native
soil? Who from seeing choice plants in a hothouse, can magnify some
into the dimensions of forest trees, and crowd others into an entangled
jungle? Who, when examining in the cabinet of the entomologist the
gay exotic butterflies, and singular cicadas, will associate with
these lifeless objects, the ceaseless harsh music of the latter, and
the lazy flight of the former--the sure accompaniments of the still,
glowing noonday of the tropics? It is when the sun has attained its
greatest height, that such scenes should be viewed; then the dense,
splendid foliage of the mango hides the ground with its darkest
shade, whilst the upper branches are rendered, from the profusion
of light, of the most brilliant green. In the temperate zones the
case is different--the vegetation there is not so dark or so rich,
and hence the rays of the declining sun, tinged of a red, purple,
or bright yellow color, add most to the beauties of those climes.
"When quietly walking along the shady pathways, and admiring each
successive view, I wished to find language to express my ideas. Epithet
after epithet was found too weak to convey to those who have not
visited the intertropical regions, the sensation of delight which the
mind experiences. I have said that the plants in a hothouse fail to
communicate a just idea of the vegetation, yet I must recur to it. The
land is one great wild, untidy, luxuriant hothouse, made by Nature
for herself, but taken possession of by man, who has studded it with
gay houses and formal gardens. How great would be the desire in every
admirer of Nature to behold, if such were possible, the scenery of
another planet! yet to every person in Europe, it may be truly said,
that at the distance of only a few degrees from his native soil, the
glories of another world are opened to him. In my last walk I stopped
again and again to gaze on these beauties, and endeavored to fix in
my mind for ever, an impression which at the time I knew sooner or
later must fail. The form of the orange tree, the cocoa-nut, the palm,
the mango, the tree-fern, the banana, will remain clear and separate;
but the thousand beauties which unite these into one perfect scene
must fade away; yet they will leave, like a tale heard in childhood,
a picture full of indistinct, but most beautiful figures." [78]
While the flora of the Orinoco, near the apex of the delta, is so
varied and exuberant, but little is seen of its fauna, notwithstanding
all that has been said and written to the contrary. In a recent work,
for instance, written by one who pretends to have made the trip from
Trinidad, is a sentence that will equal any of the extravagances of
Jules Verne's Le Superbe Orénoque.
"The jaguar," says the author, "will stop drinking, or the tapir look
up from browsing on the grass, and the monkey pause in swinging from
tree to tree, as the boats hurry noisily by, while the drowsy alligator
or manatee floats lazily on, his head half out of the water, until
perhaps a conical bullet from a Winchester rifle or from a revolver,
which everyone carries, rouses him to a knowledge that it is not good
to trust too much to mankind."
It is quite safe to say that neither the author of the work quoted
nor any one else has ever seen a jaguar, or a tapir or a manatee
under the circumstances mentioned. They are all timid animals and
are never seen from the deck of noisy steamers.
Although we saw no quadrupeds like those just mentioned, there were
countless birds, large and small. Those that were most conspicuous
were ibises, flamingoes and herons of various species. So numerous at
times were the flamingoes that, to borrow an idea from Trowbridge,
the sunrise flame of their reflected forms actually crimsoned "the
glassy wave and glistening sands." Of the herons, the largest species
is named by the natives soldado--a soldier--so called both from
its size and the stately attitude it assumes, which, at a distance,
gives it the appearance of a sentry on duty.
A flock of these tall, white birds, seen feeding in an everglade in
Cuba was, during the second voyage of Columbus, taken for a party of
men clad in white tunics, and led the Admiral to believe that they
were inhabitants of Mangon, a province just south of Cathay. Indeed,
so striking is their resemblance to men posted as sentinels that,
according to Humboldt, "the inhabitants of Angostura, soon after the
foundation of their city, were one day alarmed by the sudden appearance
of soldados and garzas, on a mountain towards the south. They believed
they were menaced with an attack of Indios monteros, wild Indians,
called mountaineers; and the people were not perfectly tranquilized
till they saw the birds soaring in the air and continuing their
migration towards the mouths of the Orinoco." [79]
Our first stopping place was Barrancas, a small and squalid village of
mud, palm-thatched huts. It is situated in the centre of one of the
finest grazing regions of Venezuela and under a wise and progressive
government, would soon become a place of considerable importance.
In the time of the Franciscan Missions here, suppressed nearly a
century ago, the herds that roamed the beautiful undulating prairies
on both sides of the Orinoco counted no fewer than one hundred and
fifty thousand cattle, and with the markets that could easily be had
for beef and hides, this number could, under favorable conditions,
be greatly increased. As it is, however, it is known rather as a
favorite rendezvous for that numerous class of revolutionists for
whom the country is so noted, that have been born insolvent, but who,
by grandiloquent pronunciamientos, and through the coöperation of
hungry spoil-seekers like themselves, hope one day to improve their
financial condition.
Near Barrancas we were shown the spot where General Antonio Paredes
and his confiding followers were shot in cold blood, a few days before
our arrival, in pursuance of an order, we were told, that President
Castro had issued from his sick bed in Macuto. This speedy, albeit
unconstitutional, disposition of the leaders of what was heralded as a
great popular reform movement was designed to put a quietus on other
revolutionists who were making or preparing to make pronunciamientos
in various parts of the republic. It did not, however, seem to have
the desired effect, as during our sojourn in the country two other
revolutions cropped out when least expected. For a while one of these
gave the government very grave concern but was finally suppressed;
not, however, until the country had suffered by anticipation many of
the miseries of internecine strife.
Before our departure from Caracas, we tried in vain to get some
information not only about the dates of sailing of the Orinoco
steamers but also about their character. After leaving the capital,
some of our friends tried to dissuade us from our projected trip to
Ciudad Bolivar, assuring us that the only craft plying up and down the
river were filthy cattle boats unfit for a white man to enter. Imagine
our surprise, then, when we found that our vessel, far from being
the unclean, poorly-provisioned boat that had been pictured to us,
was in every way fairly comfortable, and with a cuisine and service
that were far from bad. In construction and general arrangement,
it was not unlike the smaller double-decked steamers on the Hudson
river or on our northern lakes. Our cabins were spacious, with broad
berths, and clean bedding and furniture. Indeed, we have often had
cabins in our large transatlantic steamers in which there was less
of comfort and convenience than were afforded by our cabin in this
unpretending boat on the Orinoco.
As to the passengers, they were quite a cosmopolitan crowd. Among
them were some Europeans and several Americans, but the greater
number were Venezuelans--most of them bound for Ciudad Bolivar. Of
the Americans there were two men in quest of fortune in the celebrated
Yuruari mining district in southern Guiana.
The upper deck of the boat was reserved for the first-class passengers,
while the lower one was occupied by those of the second-class, and
by such freight as was carried up and down the river. On returning
to the Port-of-Spain, the steamer usually carried about two hundred
head of cattle for the Trinidad market. When these were taken on
board at night, as sometimes happened, sleep was impossible. What
with the tramping and bellowing of the affrighted brutes below us
and the shouting of the cattlemen and crew, there was a veritable
pandemonium which continued the greater part of the night.
Frequently there are not enough cabins for the passengers. But this
makes very little difference to the Venezuelan. He simply swings his
chinchorro--hammock--between two stanchions of the vessel and is soon
calmly reposing in slumberland. Indeed, many of the inhabitants of the
tropics prefer a hammock to a bed, and do not apply for a stateroom
when traveling on the rivers of equatorial America.
The second-class passengers sleep in their hammocks if they happen to
have them; if not, they lie down anywhere they can find room and are
soon fast asleep. Many of them have no beds at home, except a mat,
a rawhide, or the lap of Mother Earth, and the absence of a bed or
hammock is no appreciable privation to them.
There is no more curious sight than is presented at night on a crowded
river steamer in the tropics. One sees scores of hammocks swung in
every conceivable place. All davits and stanchions, all uprights
and crosspieces are provided with hooks and rings, so that hammocks,
when necessary, may be attached to them. In saloons and passageways,
on forward-deck and after-deck, wherever there is any available space,
there is stretched on the floor, or snugly ensconced in his chinchorro,
some quietly sleeping or loudly snoring specimen of humanity. Sometimes
one will see several persons stowed away in a single hammock. It is
not an unusual thing to see two persons in the same chinchorro, and
one may now and then see a mother and three children serenely reposing
in one of these aerial cots. How they do it, it is difficult to say,
but the fact is that they do it, and there is apparently not a budge
in the hammock's occupants until they are awakened in the morning by
the call of the birds--Nature's alarm clocks in the tropics.
A place of more than passing interest between Barrancas and Ciudad
Bolivar is Los Castillos, formerly Guayana la Vieja, founded by
Antonio de Berrio in 1591. It was here, in 1618, that young Walter
Raleigh, the son of the Admiral, lost his life in an encounter with
the Spaniards who had possession of this stronghold. It was near here,
also, that Bolivar, at a critical hour during the War of Independence,
saved his life by hiding in a swamp near the village.
About ten leagues further up the river, at the mouth of the Caroni,
and opposite the island of Fajardo, Diego de Ordaz--the officer under
Cortes who got sulphur out of the crater of Popocatepetl--found in 1531
a settlement called Carao during his exploration of the Orinoco. This
was afterwards named Santo Tomé de Guayana, and was for a short time a
missionary centre--the first on the Orinoco. It was, however, destroyed
in 1579 by the Dutch under Jansen. There is little now at this point
to interest the traveler except the beautiful Salto--cataract--of the
Caroni river, so celebrated for its picturesque scenery, and the wealth
of orchideous plants with which the adjacent trees are clothed. Raleigh
in describing these falls says that so great was the mass of vapor due
to the fury and rebound of the waters that "we tooke it at the first
for a smoke that had risen ouer some great towne," and Padre Caulin, in
his description of it, says the roar of the cataract is so great that
it can be heard at a distance of several leagues. Both these accounts
are quite exaggerated. The falls are very beautiful and romantic,
but by no means so grand or so imposing as they have been depicted.
Near the confluence of the Caroni and the Orinoco is the straggling
little town of San Felix. At this point our mining party left us
for their long journey of one hundred and fifty miles on mule-back
to Callao. They gave us a cordial invitation to accompany them, but
we had other plans, and, although we should have enjoyed exploring
this famous mining district of southern Guiana, we felt constrained
to continue our course westwards.
For a number of years the Yuruari mining district promised to equal, if
not surpass, the most famous gold fields of Nevada and California. One
of the mines, the Callao, rivaled the great Comstock mines of Virginia
City, and for "a considerable period," we are assured, "original shares
of 1,000 pesos produced dividends of 72,000 pesos yearly." In 1895,
however, the main lode was lost, and since that time, owing to lack of
funds, little has been done in any of the mines in the district. The
owners of the Callao mine still hope to find the lost lode, and it was
to investigate the condition of this mine, and of certain others in
the neighborhood, that our American friends undertook their long trip
southwards. If the outlook justifies it, they purpose improving the
present wretched cart-road, which connects the mines with San Felix,
and putting on suitable traction engines for the transportation of
freight, which has hitherto been carried on the backs of burros and
in carts of the most primitive type.
During the halcyon days of the Callao mine, when all eyes were directed
towards this quarter of the world, a certain syndicate tried to secure
from the government a concession for building a railroad from the
Orinoco to the Yuruari gold fields. The then president of Venezuela
was quite willing to grant the concession, but insisted, it is said, on
having by anticipation a much larger share of the prospective profits
of the road than the company was willing to give. Had the railway
been constructed, there is no doubt that many other valuable mines
would have been developed, and that southeastern Guiana would soon
have become one of the most productive regions of the republic. The
road would have benefited not only the mining interests but would have
led to a rapid development of the grazing and agricultural industries,
which, in this part of Venezuela, could, under favorable conditions,
be second only to those of the llanos of the Apure, and of the fertile
plains of the states of Bermudez and Bolivar.
Aside from the interest that attaches to this part of South America,
on account of its many scenic attractions and its varied natural
resources of forest and field and mine, it will always possess an added
interest by reason of its connection with Raleigh's ill-fated search
for El Dorado. When his purse became depleted, and he had fallen from
the favor of Queen Elizabeth--who for a while was so "much taken with
his elocution" that she "took him for a kind of oracle"--he bethought
him of retrieving fortune and favor by the discovery and conquest of
a second Incaic empire, and, with this end in view, he projected his
famous voyage to
"Yet unspoil'd
Guiana, whose great city Geryon's sons
Call El Dorado."
It is beside my purpose to comment on the "cruell and blood-thirsty
Amazones," and the race of people who "haue their eyes in their
shoulders, and their mouths in the middle of their breasts," [80]
about whom Raleigh writes in his remarkable book, so often quoted,
The Discoverie of Gviana, and which caused Hume to brand the work
as being a tissue of "the grossest and most palpable lies." We are
here interested only in what he says about the finding of gold in the
region bordering the Caroni and in his fantastic tales regarding El
Dorado. [81]
Whether Raleigh himself really believed in the existence of El Dorado,
such as he has described it, or whether he wished to work on the
imaginations of his countrymen, who were as credulous and as great
lovers of the marvelous as were their contemporaries on the continent
of Europe, cannot be affirmed with certainty. It is probable that he
possessed a full share of the credulity of his age, and that, if he
embellished his accounts of what he saw or exaggerated the reports
which he received from the aborigines, he really gave credence to the
leading features of the extraordinary stories that were then current
regarding the fabulous riches of the great city of Manoa.1
And he was most likely in earnest when he declared that "whatsoeuer
Prince shall possess it"--Guiana--"that Prince shal be Lorde of more
gold, and of a more beautifull Empire, and of more Cities and people,
then eyther the King of Spayne, or the great Turke," and was probably
honest in the belief that he who should "conquerere the same," would
"performe more than euer was done in Mexico by Cortez, or in Peru
by Pacaro."
The New World was, for the people of the Old, still a land of mystery
and enchantment, and the great majority of the adventurers in the
newly discovered lands were quite ready to credit the wildest tales,
and follow the most elusive phantoms, provided they gave indications,
however slight, of the possibility of satisfying that auri sacra
fames which consumed the poor and rich alike.
The remarkable thing about Raleigh is that he actually found gold and
gold-bearing quartz in the land watered by the Caroni, and located the
capital of El Dorado near where the great Callao mine was discovered
nearly three centuries later. And not only did he discover gold-bearing
quartz, but he found a variety of gold quartz essentially the same
as that which occurs in the Yuruari districts. It is interesting to
speculate what effect the actual discovery by him of the Callao mine
would have had on his subsequent career and on England's schemes of
expansion in the Western Hemisphere. One thing is certain. He would
have recouped his lost fortunes, and his head, in all probability,
would never have fallen on the block in Old Palace Yard. [82]
The following is Raleigh's résumé of the riches and marvels of Guiana
and the Orinoco valley, and at the same time a sample of the stories
then current regarding the land of El Dorado--stories which those
to whom the writer appealed, found little difficulty in accepting as
unquestioned expressions of unvarnished truth:
"For the rest, which my selfe haue seene I will promise these
things that follow and knowe to be true. Those that are desirous to
discouer and to see many nations, may be satisfied within this riuer,
which bringeth forth so many armes and branches leading to seuerall
countries, and prouinces, aboue 2000 miles east and west, and 800
miles south and north: and of these, the most eyther rich in Gold, or
in other merchandizes. The common soldier shal here fight for gold,
and pay himselfe, in steede of pence, with plates of halfe a foote
brode, wheras he breaketh his bones in other warres for prouant and
penury. Those commanders and Chieftaines, that shoote at honour,
and abundance, shal find there more rich and bewtifull cities, more
temples adorned with golden Images, more sepulchers filled with
treasure, than either Cortez found in Mexico, or Pazarro in Peru,
and the shining glorie of this conquest will eclipse all those so
farre extended beames of the Spanish nation. There is no countrey
which yeeldeth more pleasure to the inhabitants, either for these
common delights of hunting, hawking, fishing, fowling, and the rest,
then Guiana doth. It hath so many plaines, cleare riuers, abundance of
Phesants, Partridges, Quailes, Rayles, Cranes, Herons, and all other
fowls: Deare of all sortes, Porkes, Hares, Lyons, Tygers, Leopards,
and diuers other sortes of beastes, eyther for chace, or foode." [83]
Although we were intensely interested in the fauna and flora of
the Orinoco, and never tired of the magnificent prospects, which,
like an ever-changing panorama, were constantly presented to our
view, we found time to observe the native population, especially
the Indians, who are seen in considerable numbers along the entire
course of the river. In the Delta and in its immediate neighborhood,
they are represented chiefly by the Waraus, Aruacs, and Caribs.
The Waraus have a slightly darker complexion than either the Aruacs or
Caribs. Owing to their lack of personal cleanliness, and the amount
of oil with which they besmear their bodies, their hue becomes so
dark, that, were it not for their straight hair, it would at times be
difficult to distinguish them from negroes. In consequence of their
careless habits regarding their persons and places of abode, and the
way in which they neglect their children, they are despised by the
neighboring tribes. Their rude huts, often no more than a little
palm thatch supported by a few uprights, afford them but little
protection from sun and rain. With these, however, they seem to be
quite satisfied.
The Aruacs found here belong to that great group of Indians that, at
the time of the arrival of the Spaniards in the New World, inhabited
all the large islands of the Antilles. According to ethnologists,
their original home was probably on the eastern slopes of the
Bolivian Cordilleras. Thence they migrated towards the north and
east and constituted for a time one of the most powerful races in
the Western Hemisphere.
They are also one of the oldest of the great South American
tribes. They were the first Indians with whom the Spaniards came
in contact and are to-day, as they were in the time of Columbus, a
friendly, good-natured, peace-loving people, in spite of all the harsh
treatment their forefathers received from their cruel conquerors. They
are fairer than either the Waraus or the Caribs, and their women
are reputed the most beautiful of all the native Guianians. [84]
Their hair is occasionally so long that it reaches the ground, and,
although they sometimes do it up and in the most tasteful manner,
they usually allow it to fall over their shoulders. They anoint it
daily with Carapa nut oil, and seem to realize as fully as do their
white sisters in the north, that "a woman's glory is in her hair." [85]
The Caribs here referred to belong to that dread race of whom Columbus
heard such blood-curdling stories from the peaceful inhabitants of
Cuba and Española. They are, too, among the youngest of the great
migratory races of South America, and their original abode seems to
have been in the upper basins of the Xingu and Tapajos, two of the
great affluents of the Amazon.
Descending these rivers, they took possession of the greater part of
the continent bordering the Atlantic from the mouth of the Amazon to
the Caribbean sea, which is named from them. Subsequently, in large
fleets of canoes, in making which they excelled, they pushed their
way up the Orinoco and its principal tributaries, spreading death
and destruction wherever they went. And not satisfied with their
conquests on land, they eventually extended their dominion over the
islands of the Lesser Antilles as far as St. Thomas. Had it not been
for the timely arrival of the Spaniards, there is no doubt that they
would have driven the peaceful Waraus out of the Greater Antilles,
as they had forced them from their other homes in the islands to the
southeast and on the mainland of South America.
They were the terror of all the tribes with whom they came in
contact. They enslaved the women, and celebrated their victories
by devouring the men. They were the cannibals who so strenuously
opposed the Spaniards on many a bloody field, and who, it is alleged,
celebrated their victory over the white invader by serving up, at their
savage banquets, the captives taken in ambush or in battle. Indeed,
the word cannibal is but a corruption of the word Carib. [86] For
many generations they preyed on the peaceful Indians of the missions
of the Orinoco basin and elsewhere, and time and again the zealous
missionary saw the work of years undone in a few moments by the sudden
onslaught of these dread and ruthless visitants.
Thanks to the tireless efforts of the Spanish Franciscans, the Caribs
who inhabit the eastern part of Venezuela were eventually civilized
and Christianized, and converted from wild nomads into peaceful
and useful citizens, having their own towns and villages. They were
chiefly engaged in the breeding of cattle and in agriculture.
A century ago there were in the territory bounded by the Caroni,
the Cuyuni and the Orinoco no fewer than thirty-eight missions, with
sixteen thousand civilized Indians. But by decrees promulgated by the
Republic of Colombia in the years 1819 and 1821 these missions were
suppressed and to-day one sees scarcely a vestige of their former
existence. The Indians are not only much less numerous than formerly,
but most of them have returned to the mode of life they led before
the advent of the missionary.
They are, as a rule, peaceful and harmless, but as they have been so
long neglected by the government, their social status is but little
above that of their savage ancestors. More is the pity. The suppression
of the missions here was followed by the same consequences as resulted
from the suppression of the missions in Paraguay and elsewhere--the
relapse of the Indians into savagery and the loss to the state of
thousands of useful and worthy citizens. It is difficult to see the
wisdom of thus eliminating from the body politic elements so prolific
of good and so essential to the public weal.
Père Labat, referring to the language of the Caribs, writes as
follows:--"The Caribs have three kinds of language. The first, the
most ordinary, and that which every one speaks, is the one affected
by the men.
"The second is so proper to the women, that, although the men
understand it, they would consider themselves dishonored if they spoke
it, or if they answered their women in case they had the temerity
to address them in this language. They--the women--know the language
of their husbands, and must make use of it when they speak to them,
but they never use it when they talk among themselves, nor do they
employ any language but the one peculiar to themselves, which is
entirely different from that of the men.
"There is a third language, which is known only by the men who have
been in war, and particularly by the old men. It is rather a jargon
than a language. They use it in important assemblies of which they
desire to keep the resolutions secret. The women and young men are
ignorant of it." [87]
This statement was for a long time discredited, and classed among those
fables regarding the New World that were unworthy of the attention of
serious men. Later on it was discovered that the victoriosa loquacitas
of the charming monk was based on fact. But the next thing was to
explain the fact. On investigation it was found that something similar
exists among other Indian tribes of South America, as, for instance,
among the Guaranis, the Chiquitos, the Omaguas and the Quichuas.
In explanation of this strange phenomenon, it was then suggested
"that women, from their separate way of life, frame particular terms
which men do not adopt." Cicero observes that old forms of language
are best preserved by women, because, by their position in society,
they are less exposed to those vicissitudes of life, changes of place
and occupation, which tend to corrupt the primitive purity of language
among men. [88]
This suggestion, ingenious though it be, was far from satisfactory to
philologists and ethnologists. The quest, therefore, for a solution of
the strange problem, was continued with renewed interest, and with the
result that the mystery was at length completely solved. As has been
stated, it was the custom of the Caribs in their wars with other Indian
tribes to massacre the men and reduce the women to servitude. In some
instances many of the women and not infrequently the majority of them
became the wives of their conquerors. But even after this enforced
alliance, the women retained their own language. The consequence
was that, in families thus constituted, there were two languages
spoken--that of the conqueror and that of the conquered.
While, however, the general accuracy of Père Labat's statements were
thus put beyond further doubt, it was discovered, by a comparative
study of the languages of the Caribs and those of the tribes which
they had subjugated, that it was not strictly true to assert that
the language of the women was entirely different from that of the
men--totalement different de celui des hommes--as the good Dominican
had affirmed. They were entirely different in the words of daily use
and of most frequent occurrence, but the difference extended in reality
only to the minor part of the vocabulary actually employed. But the
difference was quite sufficient to justify the interest it had so
long excited among men of science, and to stimulate the researches
which have only in recent years been crowned with success. [89]
The night before arriving at Ciudad Bolivar, while dreamily reclining
in a steamer chair, I was awakened from my musings by a vivacious
senorita, of pronounced Castilian type, rushing up to her father,
near by, and exclaiming in an excited manner, "Mira, padre, mira,
la Cruz del Sur!" Look, father, look--the Southern Cross! And
sure enough, there, in the constellation Centauri, was the "Croce
Maravigliosa,"--the marvelous cross--of the early navigators, the
"Crucero" of incomparable beauty and brightness, the celestial clock
of the early missionaries in the tropical lands of the New World. The
cloud-veiled skies of the preceding nights had prevented us from
getting a view of these "luci sante"--holy lights--but now we were
privileged to behold them in all their heavenly splendor. At once we
recalled that well-known passage of Dante, which the lovers of the
great Florentine have applied to this constellation:--
"To the right hand I turned, and fixed my mind,
On the other pole attentive, where I saw
Four stars ne'er seen before save by the ken
Of our first parents. Heaven of their rays
Seemed joyous. O, thou northern site! bereft
Indeed, and widened, since of these deprived!" [90]
We never suspected it at the time, but as subsequent events proved,
the señorita's Cruz del Sur was to be our timepiece for many subsequent
months. During long wanderings over mountain and plain and in many
changing climes, it was the Southern Cross that served as our guide,
and marked the hours of night, in lieu of Polaris and Ursa Major,
which had disappeared below the horizon.
Toward noon, the second day after leaving the Port-of-Spain, we got
our first view of Ciudad Bolivar, founded in 1764 by Joaquin Moreno de
Mendoza, and since that time the capital of Guiana, now the great State
of Bolivar. Situated upon an eminence, on the right bank of the river,
it presents a very imposing appearance and seems much larger than it is
in reality. The white stone walls of the houses, and the brownish-red
tiles of the roofs, together with the delicate green crowns of lofty
palms that dot every part of the city, enhance in a marked degree the
beauty of the picture as seen under the brilliant light of the noonday
sun. The cathedral, and the government buildings around the plaza in
the higher part of the town, loom up with splendid effect. Indeed,
it would be difficult to find a more beautiful picture of a city,
when seen at a distance, than is that of Ciudad Bolivar.
As one approaches this metropolis of the Orinoco basin, the details of
the city come gradually into view. Parallel with the river bank is the
principal business street--La Calle del Coco--which is at the same time
the most delightful promenade in the place. Here is the custom-house,
the American and other consulates, and a number of large mercantile
establishments, controlled chiefly by Germans, Americans and Corsicans.
From a broad waterway, from two to three miles in width, the river
here contracts to a narrow channel which, at low water, is not
more than a half mile in width. According to Codazzi, [91] the mean
depth of the river at this point is sixty feet. Towards the end of
the rainy season, however, the water rises from forty to fifty feet
above low-water mark. Sometimes it rises considerably higher. In
1891 the flood was so high that the stores and dwellings of the part
of the city fronting the river were inundated to a height of several
feet. Then the inhabitants were obliged to have recourse to canoes in
passing from house to house. Then, too, stray alligators were seen
in the streets and it was possible to catch enough fish for a meal
in the patio--court-yard--of one's residence.
The original name of the city was Santo Tomé de la Nueva Guayana--the
third place on the river to bear this name. The first, it will be
remembered, was situated at the confluence of the Caroni and the
Orinoco and was destroyed by the Dutch in 1579. The second, now known
as Los Castillos--formerly Guayana la Vieja--was founded by Antonio de
Berrio in 1591, and is famous in the history of this part of Venezuela
for its vigorous resistance to Sir Walter Raleigh, whom Spanish writers
designate as the "great pirate Gualtero Reali." As the inhabitants
found the first name of their city inconveniently long they called
it Angostura--the Narrows--from the contraction of the river at this
point. The name was so appropriate that it is a pity it could not have
been retained. In 1819, however, Congress gave it the name of Ciudad
Bolivar, in honor of Simon Bolivar, the Liberator of South America.
As our steamer neared the steep bank in front of the city our
attention was arrested by a large, dark, granitic mass--La Piedra
del Medio--looming up in the middle of the river. Like the celebrated
Nileometer at Cairo, this rock, which may appropriately be called an
Orinocometer, serves as a gauge of the annual rise of the flood. As
we passed it, we could see distinctly the height to which the waters
had risen the preceding year.
If ever the long-talked-of railroad from Caracas to Ciudad Bolivar
shall be constructed, this rock, almost midway between the latter
city and Soledad, a small town on the opposite side of the river,
will serve as an invaluable pier for the bridge that is planned to
span the Orinoco at this point. Until, however, the country shall have
a more stable government than it has now, and until foreign capital
shall have more confidence in the future of the republic than it has
at present, it is quite safe to say that there will be neither bridge
nor railroad, although both are very much needed to develop the vast
resources of this section of Venezuela.
In its location and surroundings, Ciudad Bolivar possesses all the
essential elements of a beautiful and prosperous metropolis. It
controls the trade of the immense Orinoco basin, and the amount
of business transacted here should, under favorable conditions,
be many times what it is at present. But, at the time of our visit,
everything was in a state of abandonment that was sad to behold. The
streets, parks and public buildings, which could easily be made the
most attractive features of the city, were in a neglected condition,
and the number of vacant houses in certain sections, some crumbling
into ruins, showed the inevitable effects of protracted misrule and
periodic turmoil.
When I asked one of the prominent merchants of the city the
reason for the deplorable state referred to, he replied:--"No
hay dinero. Hay tantas revoluciones." ("There is no money. There
are so many revolutions.") And when I sought a reason for the
business lethargy everywhere manifested, a similar reply was
forthcoming. "Somos pobres, estamos arruinados. Hay tantas guerras
y el gobierno es malísimo."--("We are poor, ruined. There have been
so many wars and the government is very bad.") Merchants, tradesmen,
day-laborers, professional men--all, except government employees,
who were interested in retaining their positions as long as possible,
had the same pitiful story to relate.
Oppressive taxes, exorbitant prices for many of the necessaries
of life, intolerable monopolies, controlled by leading government
officials or their favorites, had reduced the majority of the
population to a condition bordering on despair. No encouragement
was given to foreign capital for the exploitation and development
of the immense natural resources of the country. On the contrary,
foreigners were looked upon with suspicion, while Castro and his
henchmen were openly antagonistic to them. Nor was it only in Ciudad
Bolivar and in other parts of the Orinoco valley that this lamentable
condition of things obtained. We found the same business depression,
the same hopeless outlook in Caracas, Valencia, Puerto Cabello,
and other commercial centres of the republic. Small wonder, then,
was it that the discouraged, downtrodden people were longing and
praying for a change in the administration.
The long desired change came at last, and in a way that no one
could have foreseen. The dramatic downfall of Castro suddenly and
unexpectedly opened the way to an amelioration of conditions that had
become intolerable, while the accession of Gomez to power has inspired
all patriotic and peace-loving Venezuelans with the hope that their
long distracted country is about to enter upon a new era--an era
of social progress and business prosperity--an era of amity with
other nations accompanied by a spirit of comity which was so long
conspicuous by its absence.
Notwithstanding the comparatively large number of vessels that come to
this place, there is no wharf, and people here say that the great rise
and fall of the river make it impossible to construct one. Fortunately,
it is not a prime necessity, as the water, even in the dry season,
is so deep that the largest vessels can approach so near the bank that
both freight and passengers can be discharged by an ordinary gangplank.
Our steamer, like all the others there, was moored head and stern by
cables leading to the venerable Ceiba trees that lined la Calle del
Coco high above us. The inclination of the bank, where merchandise
is landed, amounts in places to almost 45°, and yet no machinery of
any kind is used for transferring even the heaviest kinds of freight
from the vessel to the top of the acclivity. All is carried on the
shoulders of men, usually mestizos and negroes.
We spent a week in and around Ciudad Bolivar, and, during this
time, we had ample opportunities to study the manners and customs
of its people. The population of the city is not more than twelve
or thirteen thousand--a small number for the entrepot of the immense
Orinoco basin. Under less untoward conditions it would be many times
as great. [92]
To this place are brought the products of the forests and plains of the
upper Orinoco and its numerous tributaries. Among the most important
articles of export are hides, rubber--especially the coarser variety
known as balata--cacao, coffee, and tobacco from Zamora, pelts of
the jaguar and other wild animals, tonka beans, copaiba and feathers.
The last item is amazing, when one considers what a slaughter of
the feathered tribe it implies. We met a Frenchman here who was just
packing for shipment to Paris several hundred thousand egrets, the
result of a three-years' hunt in the forests and plains of the Orinoco
basin. But he was not the only one engaged in this wholesale slaughter
of birds. There were many others, and their work of despoiling the
tropics of their most attractive ornaments extends to all the vast
regions on both sides of the equator.
The small egret--Ardea candidissima--which supplies the most valuable
plumes, and the large egret--Ardea garzetta--which produces a coarser
feather, are the principal victims. As only a few drooping plumes from
the backs of the birds are taken, one can readily see what a terrific
slaughter is required to meet the demands of the markets of the world.
The worst feature about the business is that the birds are killed
during the mating and breeding season. Already the result is manifest
in the rapidly diminishing numbers of egrets that frequent the
garceros--the name given to the places where they nest and rear
their young.
"The beauty of a few feathers on their backs," writes one who, if not a
misogynist, is evidently in sympathy with the aims and purposes of our
Audubon society, "will be the cause of their extinction. The love of
adornment common to most animals is the source of their troubles. The
graceful plumes which they doubtless admire in each other have
appealed to the vanity of the most destructive of all animals. They
are doomed, because the women of civilized countries continue to have
the same fondness for feathers and ornaments characteristic of savage
tribes." [93]
The houses of Ciudad Bolivar, built on a hill of dark, almost
bare hornblende-schist, are in marked contrast with those of the
Port-of-Spain. In Trinidad's capital each residence--usually frame--is
provided with numerous doors, and jalousied windows, and surrounded by
gardens, with a profusion of the most beautiful tropical flowers and
trees. Here, on the contrary, the houses, generally only one story
high, have but one door, with all the external windows crossed by
heavy iron bars, not unlike those of our jails. [94]
This, however, is not peculiar to Ciudad Bolivar, but obtains
throughout Latin America, as it obtains in all the parts of Spain
formerly occupied by the Moors. Yet these windows, which are in
themselves so forbidding, are in the cool of the evening the most
attractive parts of the house. Here bevies of bright, well-dressed
señoritas, who, during the heat of the day remain secluded in their
rooms or some shady corner of the patio, congregate to enjoy the fresh
air that is wafted to them on the wings of the trade-winds, to listen
to the daily gossip and to exchange confidences with those of their
companions who may have called to spend the evening. Here and there
one will observe some philandering caballero, dressed as faultlessly
as Beau Brummel, exchanging vows with some languishing Dulcinea behind
the bars. So absorbed are they in each other that they are totally
oblivious of all else in the world, and utterly unconscious of the
attention they attract from the passers-by. For the time being they
themselves are the world and for them everything else is nonexistent.
We were sitting one evening in the beautiful plaza of Ciudad Bolivar,
listening to the music of the military band which plays here several
times a week. The élite of the city were there. Beautiful, dark-eyed
señoritas, adorned with their graceful mantillas, were promenading with
their fathers and mothers, and gay young cavaliers were following at a
discreet distance, á la Española. The tropical trees and flowers, which
gave to the plaza the aspect of a botanical garden, were beautifully
illuminated, and, without any effort of the imagination, one could
easily imagine one's self in fairyland. Hard by, a young lady from
Trinidad, on whose finger was a sparkling solitaire, was recounting,
in a more audible tone than she imagined, the pleasures of her voyage
up the Orinoco. In the glow of her enthusiasm she declared to her
confidant, "I am going to come to the Orinoco during my honeymoon. Don
Esteban"--evidently her fiancé--"will just have to bring me here. I
cannot imagine a more delightful trip anywhere."
This young lady, who had traveled extensively, in this inadvertent
publication of her secret but expresses the impression that would
be reiterated, I fancy, by the majority of her sex under the same
circumstances. The Orinoco is, indeed, beautiful, and a sail on its
placid waters, if not "the most delightful excursion one could take,"
as Miss Trinidad declared, is certainly one of the most delightful.
The day before we were to return to the Port-of-Spain, while chatting
with a friend on the upper deck of our steamer--which we had made our
hotel, because the lodging houses of the city were so poor--we saw a
small vessel coming down stream under a full head of steam. On inquiry
we found it to be a boat from Orocué, a small town in Colombia, on
the river Meta. We immediately called upon the captain of the craft,
and, as a result of our interview, determined to accompany him on
his return trip to this distant point.
When we left Trinidad, we had no intention of going further up the
river than Ciudad Bolivar, but we had enjoyed everything so much,
that now that an occasion thus so unexpectedly presented itself,
we rejoiced that we should have an opportunity of seeing more of the
great Orinoco, and of sailing on the waters of its great tributary,
the historic Meta.
Dreams of the past began at once to flit before us as possible
realities in the near future. If we once got to Orocué, what was to
prevent us from going further up the river--as far as its waters
were navigable? Then by crossing the llanos of eastern Colombia,
and the Cordilleras of the Andes we would be in far-famed Bogotá,
the Athens of South America.
We had had, it is true, visions of this trip, but rather as something
greatly to be desired than as even a remote possibility. And now,
in a few moments--after a brief conversation with the captain of the
boat that had just moored alongside our own, the journey was decided
on, and nothing remained but to make the necessary preparations.
As, however, the steamer would not be ready to go to Orocué for about
two weeks, we concluded to return to the Port-of-Spain and come back
the following week. This would give us an opportunity of studying
more in detail several interesting features of the lower Orinoco
that we had only gotten a glimpse of during the upward trip, and
of seeing by daylight parts of the river that we had before passed
during the night. We would also be able to spend a few more days in
the beautiful island of Trinidad, and feast our eyes on its thousand
beauties which greet one at every turn.
It was, indeed, providential for us that we returned to Trinidad
as we did, for while there--was it chance or was it our usual good
fortune?--we found, what above all else we needed in this juncture--a
good, brave, enthusiastic companion for the long and arduous trip
before us. Our compagnon de voyage, who would fondly affect the ways
and dress of a dapper young caballero, and whom, therefore, we shall
call C.--caballero--was a professor of languages. He had traveled
extensively, was interested in the Spanish language and literature and
the peoples we were about to visit. He was, like ourselves, fond of
adventure, and was not averse to its being accompanied by an element
of danger. This only gave additional zest to what were else rather
tame and prosaic. Our plans were soon made, and, before the steamer
was ready to return to Ciudad Bolivar, we were fully equipped with
everything necessary for our long trip across the continent.