THE VALLEY OF THE MAGDALENA
"Salud, Salud, majestuoso rio!...
Al contemplar tu frente coronada
De los hijos mas viejos de la tierra,
Lleno solo de ti, siento mi alma
Arrastrada en la espuma de tus olas,
Que entre profundos remolinos braman,
De aquel gran ser que el infinito abraza." [242]
--Manuel M. Madiedo.
While in Guaduas we met a Scotch engineer, who was superintendent
of a gold mine in the mountains west of Honda. Desiring to know the
truth about the excessive temperature of this place, about which we
had heard so many reports, we asked him if it was really true that
the heat in Honda was as intense as represented.
"You will," he said, "find it the hottest place you have ever
visited. It is certainly the most torrid place I know, and I have
been something of a globe-trotter in my time. Hades, if I have
caught the meaning of the word, as used in the Revised Version, is
quite temperate in comparison with it. Business frequently calls me
to Bogotá, and, on my way thither, I must necessarily pass through
Honda, but I never stop there longer than is absolutely necessary,
and I always try to avoid being there in the daytime. If I must stop
there for a few hours, I time my journey so as to arrive there at
night, and make it a point to leave before morning. Hot? I think it
is the hottest and most suffocating spot on earth. It has always been
a mystery to me how people can live there at all. I know of nothing
to compare it with except one of the burning pits of Dante's Inferno."
Had we not learned by long experience how to discount such statements,
the prospect of spending some days in a town with such a reputation
for grilling the stranger within its gates, would have been anything
but inviting. But we had heard similar reports about the llanos
and the valley of the Orinoco, and had found, on arriving in these
regions, that the temperature said to prevail there had been greatly
exaggerated. The same we found to be true of Honda. During our
sojourn there, our thermometer never registered more than 86° F. in
the shade. Of course, around midday it was uncomfortable in the sun,
but I have been in many places in the United States where I suffered
more from the heat than I did in Honda.
The town is about seven hundred feet above sea level and counts nearly
four thousand inhabitants. It is separated into two parts by the river
Guali, which here enters the Magdalena. Being the centre of traffic
for Bogotá, the upper Magdalena, and the mining district round about
Mariquita, it is a place of considerable importance. As soon, however,
as the Colombian National Railway, now nearing completion, shall
have connected Girardot with Bogotá, Honda will lose the commercial
supremacy it has maintained for nearly three centuries. There will
then be little reason for a town in this place, and it will lapse
into a straggling village similar to many others along the river.
And the Muisca Trail, over which we had so delightful a ride, will
be no longer needed, and will soon disappear in the dense and rank
vegetation through which it passes. Then, too, will disappear those
long and picturesque mule-trains, that so often crowded us to the
roadside on our way from Bogotá, and which have been almost the sole
means employed for the transportation of freight and passengers since
the capital was founded by Quesada nearly four centuries ago. We shall
always congratulate ourselves that we were able to make the trip
on mule-back rather than by a railway train. We can thus feel that
we have, to a great extent, seen the country as it was in colonial
times--before its character was modified by the innovations of modern
progress and the introduction of modern inventions.
In 1805 Honda was visited by a terrific earthquake, from the effects
of which it has never recovered. Everywhere are evidences of the
frightful cataclysm. Some of the largest and most important structures
are still in ruins. Nor has any attempt ever been made to restore
certain quarters of the town to their prior condition.
After a few days' halt at Honda, we were ready to continue our
journey towards the Caribbean. The rapids of the Magdalena make
it impracticable for steamers to ascend the river as far as the
town. For this reason, it is necessary to go by rail to La Dorada,
eighteen miles northwards. But, although the distance is so short,
it takes two hours for the train to make the run. The road, however,
passes through a picturesque country and time passes pleasantly
and quickly. Before one realizes it, one is at La Dorada, where the
transfer is made to the steamer bound for Barranquilla.
There are several lines of steamboats plying between La Dorada and
Barranquilla and intermediate points. But all the boats, which are
stern-wheelers, are quite small. The largest of them will not carry
more than four hundred tons. Usually the tonnage is much less--not more
than one or two hundred tons. [243] Our boat, which was recommended as
the best and the most comfortable on the river, was one of the largest
and newest, but, if it was the best, it is difficult to conceive what
the others must have been.
A glance was sufficient to convince us that the craft on the
Magdalena are in every way inferior to those on the Orinoco and its
affluents. The Venezuelan boats are larger, and with incomparably
better equipment and appointments. They are clean, well kept, and the
service is good. Their cabins are commodious and well ventilated. They
are, besides, provided with all necessary furniture and the berths
are as comfortable as could be desired.
But how different is it on the Magdalena boats! In the cabins, in
place of berths with neat bedding, there is a bare cot, usually of
questionable cleanliness. Each passenger is supposed to supply his
own bedding. As to lavatories and bathrooms, those that we saw were
filthy beyond description. Our stewards were half-dressed, barefooted,
slovenly, unwashed negro boys, who seemed to have been picked up on
the streets at random, just before the boat left its moorings. The
cuisine and service were in keeping with everything else, and left very
much room for improvement. The natives, having nothing better, seemed
to be satisfied with the conditions that obtained. The foreigners,
however, and there were representatives of several nationalities
aboard, could never become reconciled to the lack of so many things
essential to comfortable traveling, and were always glad when their
river experiences were at an end.
For ourselves, who had been roughing it so long, the trip down the
river was not so trying as it was for many others. We were, besides,
better prepared for such a journey than the other passengers. We had
our camping outfits with us, together with clean bedding, which had
received the attention of the laundress before we left Bogotá. We
had, besides, good cumare hammocks, and mosquito nets, so that we had
nothing to apprehend from filth, vermin or insects. Thus equipped,
we really enjoyed our voyage on the Magdalena, but we were probably
the only ones who did.
After we had gotten fairly started down stream, and could contemplate
at our leisure the rich tropical vegetation that fringed both
banks, our minds reverted to the first trip made down this river
by Europeans. The travelers were the celebrated conquistadores,
of whom mention has already been made, viz., Quesada, Belalcazar
and Federmann. They embarked with a number of soldiers at Guataqui,
a short distance above Honda. But they had scarcely started on their
downward course, before they encountered the rapids at the mouth of
the Guali. They were then obliged to unload their two brigantines and
canoes and transport their contents to the lower part of the cataract,
whence, after reloading, they were able to proceed again on their
long journey to Cartagena.
It was while passing this point that Quesada learned from his Indian
boatmen of the existence of gold in the valley of the Guali. In
consequence of this information, the town of Marquita was founded
without delay, and has ever since been a mining centre of considerable
importance. It was in this place that Quesada died after his return
from Spain. From here his remains were transferred to the Cathedral
of Bogotá, where they still repose.
According to Padre Simon, Quesada and his companions were frequently,
during their journey down the river, attacked by Indians, "who
came out to salute them and speed their way with a shower of
poisoned arrows." "With the help of God," he continues, "joined to
eternal vigilance, their own valor and a liberal supply of powder
and firearms with which the soldiers of Belalcazar were provided,
they were able finally to arrive at Cartagena, and give the first
information regarding the great campaign in which Quesada and his
followers had achieved such signal success." [244]
The Magdalena, like many other water courses in South America, was at
first known as the Rio Grande--the great river. It was subsequently
given the name it now bears in honor of St. Mary Magdalene. [245]
At times it is comparatively narrow and deep. Then navigation is easy
and without danger. At other times,
"Shallow, disreputable, vast
It spreads across the western plains."
Then progress is difficult, and the boat may run into a sand bar
at any moment. And if the river should then be falling, it may be
impossible to get the craft free until the water rises. Only a short
time before our trip one of the steamers had been held in a sand bank
for forty days. As it was not near any place where provisions could
be obtained, the passengers suffered greatly from hunger, not to
speak of the suspense and enforced detention on an uncomfortable boat.
Owing to the shallowness of the river, the boat was, during the first
part of the voyage, always tied up for the night at the first tree
or stump that might be found on the bank at sunset. The following
morning we were supposed to resume our journey at daybreak, but,
as the firemen did not begin to get up steam before that time,
it was usually an hour after sunrise before we were under way. We
stopped at every village and warehouse along the river, sometimes
to deliver the mail, often consisting of only a single letter or
package, or to take on a passenger. Two or three times a day, also,
we halted to take on wood to supply the furnace with fuel, for here,
as on the Meta, coal is not used. Fortunately, we were never obliged,
as on the Meta, to delay until the wood could be cut. Large wood piles
are found every few miles all along the river. They usually belong to
a negro, who has a hut or shed near by, together with a small garden
and a few domestic animals which supply him and his family with food
in their sequestered home.
We stopped at several large warehouses, many of them constructed
of corrugated iron from the United States. This seems strange
in a land where timber is so abundant. But there are no sawmills
in the Magdalena valley. South of Barranquilla--where but little
lumber is produced--imported lumber would be more expensive and less
durable than iron. At these places the chief articles of merchandise
are coffee, cacao, hides and vegetable ivory. This last product,
also called ivory nuts, is the fruit of a species of palm known
as Phytelephas macrocarpa, [246] and constitutes, in this part of
Colombia, an important article of commerce. For many things it is
a good substitute for elephant ivory, which it rivals in whiteness,
beauty and solidity, and collecting it for shipment gives occupation
to quite a number of the poor inhabitants of the Magdalena valley.
We usually went ashore at the different landing places to see the
people and familiarize ourselves with their mode of life. It was
generally as simple and primitive as possible--almost as primitive,
in some instances, as we conceive it to have been in the Quaternary
period or in the days of the Troglodytes. Often their dwellings were
little more than palm-thatched sheds--barely sufficient to shield their
occupants from sun and rain. A tulpa, consisting of three stones,
served them in lieu of a stove, and on this they broiled the fish
caught in the river, or prepared their arepas--corn cakes--or their
sancocho, a kind of ragout, as popular in some parts of Colombia as
it is in Venezuela.
We were surprised to see in the houses and shops along the Magdalena
valley--what we had often observed in various parts of Colombia and
Venezuela--the large number of illustrated circulars of Spanish,
English and French proprietary medicines. The insides of certain
houses were sometimes quite plastered over with them. But what was
more surprising was the number of lithographs we saw of the German
Emperor. Sometimes he was represented alone, at others he was depicted
as surrounded by the members of his family. In several places we saw
pictures not only of the emperor and his family, but also those of his
father and grandfather and Bismarck. And the remarkable thing about it
was that, in some cases, there were no Germans living within hundreds
of miles of where we came across these pictures. Had some enthusiastic
Teuton tried to start a propaganda in favor of the Vaterland by
distributing broadcast these engravings of the imperial family? I
know not, but, judging solely from the number of their pictures we
came across in Venezuela and Colombia, one would be led to suppose
that the Hohenzollern rulers are the most popular of potentates,
at least in this part of South America.
While stopping to take on some rubber at a certain small village, we
had a remarkable illustration of the rapidity with which the bed of
the river is sometimes changed, even when the water is comparatively
low. We had scarcely reached the landing place when there was a
terrific crash, occasioned by the falling in of a large section of the
bank on which the village was built. Soon afterwards another section
gave way, and then a third and a fourth. The whole bank seemed to be
undermined by the river, and, although the warehouse was fully fifty
feet away from the water when we arrived, so much of the bank had been
carried away in less than half an hour, that not only the contents of
the building, but also the building itself had to be hurriedly removed
in order that it and the merchandise stored within might not be borne
away by the resistless current. As the structure was of light bamboo,
and put together with a view to such an emergency, the transfer
was not a difficult task. When we started to continue our course,
it looked as if the eroding action of the river would necessitate
the changing of the site of the entire village before nightfall.
Such changes in the course of the river are not uncommon. They are
going on all the time in some part or other of the valley. One may
frequently see immense masses of earth suddenly detached, which are a
serious menace to the champans [247]--large covered flat-boats--and
other small craft that happen to pass by at the time. Sometimes the
giants of the forest are thus wrested from their footholds, and may be
seen drifting down stream together with masses of vegetation attached
to them. At times, too, masses of earth, like floating islets, are
visible, and may travel a long distance down stream before their
course is arrested by an island or a sand bar.
Ordinarily the changes in the river bed are gradual and occasion
little danger to life or property. Sometimes, however, during the
rainy season, and when the flood is unusually high, widespread
devastation is the result. Whole villages are swept away by the
deluge; and towns, that were before important commercial centres,
are suddenly isolated and left far from the navigable part of the
river. Places that before were favorably situated are, after the flood,
found to be in the midst of pestiferous morasses. Such has been the
fate of many places along the waterways of Colombia, but more notably
in the great island of Mompos, near the confluence of the Cauca and
the Magdalena. Here several places that were at one time centres of
industrial and agricultural activity, have long since either ceased
to exist or lost entirely their pristine importance.
The town of Mompos is probably the most remarkable example of this
kind. Founded in 1539 by Alonso de Heredia, it is one of the oldest
towns in the republic, and was for generations the most important
commercial centre between Cartagena and Honda. But owing to a
displacement of the main channel of the river, and the filling in
of the branch of the river on which the town was built, it is now
practically deprived of its former means of communication with the
rest of the country, and is rapidly verging towards extinction.
The Magdalena, as a commercial highway, has been much neglected. As
a consequence, no one can calculate when leaving Honda, how long it
will take him to reach Barranquilla. It may require five or six days,
or it may demand twice that much time. All depends on the shifting
bed of the river, or the blocking of the channel by sand bars and
accumulations of floating timber. By reason of these obstructions and
the ever-varying depth of the main channel, navigation is usually
impossible at night, except below the island of Mompos, where the
volume of water is swelled by the tribute of the mighty Cauca.
If the Magdalena were under the supervision of a corps of competent
engineers, having at their disposal the necessary dredges and other
appliances for keeping the main channel in prime condition, a properly
constructed boat would easily make the trip from Honda to the mouth
of the river in two days, and traverse the same course up stream in
three days at most. It is really a pity to see such a splendid water
course so neglected. If cared for as it should be, it could easily be
rendered an artery for inland commerce of the first importance. As it
is, transportation, as now carried on, is always slow and uncertain,
and never free from danger and disaster.
As a serviceable means of communication with the outside world we
were constantly contrasting the Magdalena with the Meta. From our
observations, we should consider the Meta, from its junction with the
Orinoco to Cabuyaro or even to the mouth of the Humea, as a safer
waterway than the Magdalena. Only twice did our boat graze a sand
bank in the Meta, but it continued its course without a moment's
stoppage. In the Magdalena, however, we frequently ran into sand
bars, or shallow water, and, on several occasions, had difficulty
in extricating and floating our craft. Once we were delayed for some
time, and began to fear that, owing to the falling water, we should
be stranded for weeks, as other boats had been not long before.
When peace shall have been firmly established in Colombia, and its
finances shall have been placed on a satisfactory basis, the patriotic
and far-seeing statesmen of the republic, will, I am convinced, see
the necessity of carrying out the plan of the former Archbishop and
Viceroy of New Granada--Don Antonio Caballero y Gongora--and connecting
Bogotá with Europe by means of the Meta and the Orinoco. It will not be
a difficult feat of engineering to build a railroad from the capital
to a suitable point on the Meta, and the length of such a road need
not exceed one hundred and fifty miles at most. This will bring Bogatá
within eight or ten hours of the head waters of navigation, and develop
the most valuable and most productive grazing section of the country.
The highest point the road need reach in crossing the Eastern
Cordilleras will be less than that of several passes in Colorado,
where the Rocky Mountains are scaled by the iron-horse with a long
train of cargo behind him. The pass of Chipaque, by which we entered
the altiplanicies of Bogotá, is several thousand feet lower than
the heights crossed by the railways leading from the waters of the
Pacific to Lake Titicaca, and to Argentina by way of Cumbre Pass,
and is nearly a mile lower than the point where the Galera tunnel
pierces the Cordillera on the way from Lima to Oroya. [248]
What Colombia really needs is the betterment of both its great
waterways--the Meta for the eastern and the Magdalena for the western
part of the republic. Until they shall both have been put in such
condition as to be navigable during the entire year, it will be
impossible fully to develop the marvelous resources of this extensive
country. River traffic will always remain cheaper than traffic by rail,
and, on account of many physical difficulties, it is highly improbable
that certain valuable sections of territory will ever be tapped by
railroads. When, however, these two main arteries of commerce shall
have received the attention they deserve and shall have been put in
communication with the rich grazing, mining and agricultural regions
by the various lines of railway that are contemplated or in course of
construction, Colombia will at once take a position among the richest
and most flourishing republics of South America. Only those who have
traveled through it can fully realize its wonderful natural riches,
or form an adequate conception of its vast extent. Sufficient to state
that its area is more than ten times as great as the state of New York,
or as great as that of France, Germany and the British Isles combined.
As to the great Pan-American line which has been projected to connect
New York with Buenos Ayres, that is talked of in Colombia as well
as in the United States. But when one contemplates the enormous
engineering difficulties to be encountered in the construction of
the section extending from Costa Rica to the frontier of Ecuador,
one is compelled to regard the project as a much more arduous
undertaking than some of its enthusiastic promoters would have us
believe. Railway communication will soon be complete from Buenos
Ayres to Central Peru, and, judging by work now being accomplished
in Ecuador, steel rails will soon span the country from the northern
to the southern boundaries of this republic. But with all this work
completed, the most difficult part of the colossal enterprise will
still remain untouched. Even should the road eventually be completed,
as is possible, it is still doubtful whether long stretches of it
would ever pay even a nominal interest on the investment.
The part of the Magdalena valley between Honda and the island of
Mompos is but sparsely inhabited. Most of the inhabitants are Indians,
mestizos, or negroes, the descendants of former slaves. [249] On
account of the heat and malaria that always prevail in the lowlands,
but few white men are found here, and their sojourn, as a rule, is only
temporary. But near the confluence of the Cauca and the Magdalena, and
thence to the Caribbean, there are rich and extensive esteros--grazing
lands--covered with succulent Para and Guinea grasses, several feet
high. In these broad plains, there are no fewer than half a million
cattle, not to speak of large numbers of horses, mules and other
domestic animals. Some of the cattle we saw reminded us of the fat,
sleek animals we had seen on the llanos watered by the Rio Negro and
the Humea. Under more favorable conditions the number could greatly
be increased.
The scenery along the Magdalena is much like that along the Meta
and the Orinoco, except that along the western river one sees more
of the mountains, especially in the southern part. The vegetation is
similar in character and quite as varied and exuberant. On both sides
of the river trees and bushes are so massed together as to form an
impenetrable wall. Everywhere there is a veritable maze of creeping
plants, of bromelias, bignonias, passifloras. And everywhere, too,
are lianas--aptly named monkey-ladders--which bind tree to tree and
branch to branch. Usually they are single, like ropes--whence their
name bush ropes--but often they are twined together like strands in a
cable. Frequently they are seen descending from the topmost part of a
tree to the ground, where they forthwith strike root and present the
appearance of the stays and shrouds of a ship's main mast. And where
there is air and sunshine, these lianas, which often form bights
like ropes, are loaded with epiphytes of all kinds, and decorated
with the rarest and most beautiful orchids. Indeed, the regions on
both sides of the Magdalena have long been favorite resorts for the
orchid hunters in the employ of the florists and merchant princes
of the United States and Europe. From here these bizarre vegetable
forms are shipped by thousands. One enthusiastic English collector
tells us how he secured, as the result of two months' work about ten
thousand plants of the highly prized Odontoglossum. But to obtain
these orchids he was obliged to fell some four thousand trees.
"The most magnificent sight," he writes, "for even the most stoical
observer, is the immense clumps of Cattleya Mendelii, each new bulb
bearing four or five of its gorgeous rose-colored flowers, many of them
growing in the full sun, or with very little shade, and possessing a
glowing color which is very difficult to get in the stuffy hothouses
where the plants are cultivated. Some of these plants, considering
their size and the slowness of growth, must have taken many years to
develop, for I have taken plants from the trees with five hundred
bulbs, and as many as one hundred spikes of flowers, which, to a
lover of orchids, is a sight worth traveling from Europe to see." [250]
It is when contemplating the marvelous variety and luxuriance of
intertropical flora--of which one in our northern climes can have no
adequate conception--that one is tempted to exclaim with Wordsworth:--
"It is my faith, that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes." [251]
And if the extraordinary claims which Professors Wagner, France and
G. H. Darwin make for plants be true, viz., that they have minds
and are conscious of their existence, that they feel pain and have
memories, then, indeed, should we be disposed to regard the exuberant
and wondrously developed plants of the equatorial world as occupying
the highest plane in the evolutionary process of vegetable life.
Passing the embouchure of the Opon, on the right bank of the Magdalena,
evoked, in a special manner, memories of Quesada and his valiant
band. It was here they left the Magdalena during that memorable
expedition that made them the undisputed masters of the country
now known as Colombia. More than eight months had passed since
they had started from Santa Marta on their career of discovery and
conquest. The difficulties they had to encounter and the sufferings
they had to endure were extreme. Mosquitoes, wasps, ants and other
insects; reptiles and jaguars gave them no rest, day or night. Certain
kinds of worms, the old chroniclers tell us, buried themselves in the
flesh of the exhausted and half-famished men and caused them untold
agony. Indians everywhere laid ambush for them, and assailed them with
poisoned arrows from every point of vantage. Even the elements seemed
to conspire against them. There was a continual downpour of rain,
so that it was impossible to light a fire for any purpose. Their
arms were almost destroyed by rust, and they were left without a
single dry charge of powder. Their provisions became exhausted and
starvation stared them in the face. To preserve life they devoured
their sword scabbards and every article of leather they had with
them. There was incessant thunder, unchanging gloom, eternal horror,
and other features of the pit infernal. Their course was through dense
underbrush and pestiferous swamps and up precipitous acclivities,
whither they had to drag their weakened horses by long lianas that
served the purpose of ropes. [252]
Finally, after the most heroic efforts, they came to a place where
they found provisions--a veritable land of promise for the suffering
but intrepid Spaniards. They had left behind them the inhospitable
sierras of the Opon, and were on the verge of the fertile plateau
of Cundinamarca, that constituted the home of the Muiscas. Here
they found maize, potatoes, [253] yucas, beans, tomatoes and, as
Padre Simon phrases it, "a thousand other chucherias--titbits--of
the aborigines." Well could they, in the language of Castellanos,
exclaim, with thanksgiving:
"A good land! A good land! A land which puts an end to our suffering,
a land of gold, a land of plenty. A land for a home, a land of
benediction, bright and serene."
It was then that the enthusiastic soldiers, whose courage would often
have faltered, had it not been for the determination and perseverance
of their invincible leader, gathered around Quesada to congratulate
him on the successful issue of his great undertaking, and to assure
him of their undying loyalty in any future enterprise in which he
might require their services.
And well they might render the noble licentiate the meed of praise he
so well deserved, for had it not been for him, the expedition would
have been a failure, and they would undoubtedly have perished before
they could have returned to Santa Marta, as had so many of their
companions, who had turned back before the ascent of the Cordillera
was begun. To some of his officers who, in view of the unheard-of
difficulties they had to encounter, recommended that the expedition
be abandoned, he replied that he would regard as a personal enemy any
one who, in future, would make such a pusillanimous proposal and one
so foreign to Spanish valor.
All in all, he was one of the bravest and most humane of the
conquistadores, and successfully performed a task before which a less
valorous commander would have given up in despair. His achievements
obscure by their brilliancy and daring those of Amadis and Roldan and
are in no wise inferior to those of any of the conquistadores. They
may truthfully, in the words of Bacon, written anent a performance
of Sir Richard Grenville, be styled as "memorable beyond credit,
and to the height of some heroical fable."
Quesada has taken his place in Valhalla among the greatest of the
world's heroes, and his memory will endure as long as splendid deeds of
prowess shall stir the souls of men. Of him and his gallant companions
one can say what Peter Martyr wrote of their countrymen in general:--
"Wherefore, the Spanyardes in these owre dayes and theyr noble
enterpryses, doo not gyue place eyther to the factes of Saturnus,
or Hercules, or any other of the ancient princes of famous memorie,
which were canonized amonge the goddes cauled Heroes for theyr
searchinge of newe landes, and regions, and bringinge the same to
better culture and ciuilitie." [254]
Lower down the Magdalena, on the left bank of the river, we
approached the scene of the exploits of another of the distinguished
conquistadores--Pedro de Heredia, the founder of Cartagena. After he
had reduced to submission the Indians who had been victorious over
Ojeda, he started towards the Magdalena, where he collected such
immense treasures of gold that when it was divided, each soldier
received no less than 6,000 ducats. This was the equivalent of
$48,000 in gold at the present valuation of this metal, and was the
largest apportionment of spoil, at least, so far as private soldiers
were concerned, made during the conquest. [255] He afterwards made
a similar expedition to the territories drained by the San Jorge and
the Nechi, affluents of the Cauca, in search of the rich veins whence
the Indians extracted their gold. He did not find the objects of his
quest, but came across several rich cemeteries, in which the dead had
been interred with their jewels, and a sanctuary with idols adorned
with plates of gold. From these he secured treasures to the amount
of more than $3,000,000 of our money. [256]
Strange as it may seem, the method Heredia resorted to of securing
gold, the rifling of the huacas--burial places--of the aborigines,
has been continued until the present day. There are still men in
Colombia, notably in Antioquia--huaqueros, they are called--who gain
a livelihood by searching for huacas and extracting from them the
gold and emeralds they frequently contain.
The year before our trip there appeared in an English magazine,
the following paragraph in an article purporting to give a picture
of the Magdalena valley and its life:--
"Anchored in the forest at midnight, the traveler hears the deep
growl of the jaguar, the sharp squeal of the wild cat, the howl of
the howler monkey, the long moan of the sloth, and the last scream
of the wild pig, pierced by the claws of some patient but ferocious
animal ambushed during the past hour, with many other sounds of life,
terror and conflict that fall strangely on the European ear, and,
if he waits and watches until the dawn, he may see the alligator
dragging his ugly bulk out of the water, crowds of turtles trailing on
the sands, the deer and the tapir coming down to drink, thousands of
white cranes on the branches nearest to their prey, thousands of gray
ones already wading leg-deep, and many more thousands of other birds
clouding the dim horizon, all waiting for the light ere they begin
their work of life and slaughter.... With the alligators in shoals at
the bottom of the river, and the millions of birds above its surface,
one wonders how any fish are left, yet the river is always literally
teeming with fish, as though conscious of the demands it has to meet."
Although we were always on the alert, so as to miss nothing of
interest, especially anything that concerned the animal life of
the tropics, we must confess that in all our experience we never
heard growls, squeals, howls, moans, screams, or other sounds of
terror and conflict, either along the Magdalena or anywhere else in
South America. And we spent nearly a year in the country, and often
traveled weeks at a time in the wild virgin forest, far away from human
habitations of every kind. Nor did we ever perceive any of the animals
that certain tourists would lead one to believe can be seen in such
numbers everywhere, even from the deck of a passing steamer. Nowhere
along the Orinoco, the Meta, the Magdalena, or elsewhere, did we ever
catch even a glimpse of a jaguar or a puma, a manati or a sloth, a
wild cat or a wild pig. More than this, not once, during our entire
trip through Venezuela and Colombia, through forests and plains, did
we ever see a single monkey, except two or three that were kept as
pets by the natives. This may seem an incredible statement. I would
have believed such an experience as ours to be absolutely impossible,
especially in view of what writers and travelers in South America
have told us regarding the immense number of wild animals of all
kinds everywhere visible in equatorial wilds. But I am stating a fact
that I am quite unable to reconcile with the contrary experiences of
others who, according to their own admission, have seen but little,
compared with what we saw, of the lands through which we passed. I
have seen more large game on the plains of New Mexico and Wyoming,
from the window of a Pullman car, in a single trip to and from the
Pacific coast, than I ever saw in the wilds of South America during
nearly a twelvemonth.
Nor did we ever see along the Magdalena, or anywhere else, the
"thousands of white cranes on branches," nor the "thousands of gray
ones wading leg-deep," nor the "many more thousands clouding the
dim horizon," of which the writer of the above-mentioned article
professes to have been the fortunate spectator. We rarely saw more
than a few dozen cranes at a time--never a hundred, and I have reason
to believe we enjoyed very favorable opportunities, at least during
a portion of our long journey, for seeing what was to be seen. At no
time did we ever observe as many birds in the air at one time as I
have frequently seen in the United States. I feel safe in asserting
positively that the number of wild pigeons I have frequently noted
in a single flock in the United States, would more than equal that
of all the birds combined that we saw while in the tropics.
Mr. F. Lorraine Petre evidently had an experience somewhat similar to
ours. In his recent work on Colombia, he tells us frankly that one
sees little of animal life on the Magdalena, that "of the mammalia
one sees and hears little.... Of the jaguars, the pumas, the sloths,
the peccaries, the deer, the tapirs, and other animals, dangerous
or harmless, we saw or heard as little as we did of the bears which
inhabit the hills beyond. It is surprising that, tied up, as we often
were, right against the forest, we should not have heard the night
call of the carnivora, or the sharp bark of the frightened deer,
but truth compels us to admit that we did not, and, moreover, that
the cry of even the howling monkey did not salute us." [257]
The number of birds observed along the Magdalena was not greater
than I have frequently seen in the valleys of the Missouri or the
Columbia. Most of these were parrots and macaws. Always noisy and
restless, always flying and climbing about, except when eating fruit or
cracking nuts, one is at times tempted to describe them as feathered
relatives of the monkey. The parrots are sometimes seen in flocks,
and their piercing cries are at times almost deafening. They are a
sociable bird and are usually seen in considerable numbers. The macaws
are remarkable for always flying in pairs, and for their brilliant
colors. Their body is flaming scarlet, their wings are tinged with
various shades of red, yellow, green and blue, while their tail is
bright blue and scarlet. They, too, like parrots, are very vociferous,
and, although they may occasionally be found in large numbers, they
always fly two and two.
The large animals most frequently seen along the Magdalena, as along
other tropical rivers, are those horrid monsters, "ambiguous between
sea and land," the cayman and "the scaly crocodile." But even they
are not so numerous as certain travelers would have us believe. The
largest number we ever saw at one time was fifteen. They were sunning
themselves on a playa--sand bank--below the island of Mompos. On
the Orinoco and the Meta we never beheld more than eight at any one
time--unless we were to count a number of little ones, just hatched,
which Luisito, our colored boy, caught one day while we were taking
on wood on the lower Meta. [258]
The early Spaniards called all these saurians by the general name of
lagartos--lizards. The English afterwards spoke of a single animal as
a lagarto, whence the present name alligator. Modern writers speak
of them indiscriminately as alligators or crocodiles. As a matter
of fact, several species of both alligators and crocodiles are
found in the equatorial regions. But, notwithstanding all that has
hitherto been written about them, their distinction and definition,
their classification still remains a matter of difficulty. Some
specimens have been found whose classification is so perplexing that
naturalists are still undecided whether to regard them as crocodiles
or alligators. In this respect they are much like Shakespeare's two
lovers, "Two distincts, division none."
The name cayman is employed in Venezuela and Colombia to designate any
of these saurians. Following the classification adopted in the British
Museum the cayman is distinct from both alligator and crocodile. More
than this. According to the British system of classification, there
are no alligators at all in South America, while, in the waters of
Colombia and Venezuela, there are two species of crocodile and three
species of cayman.
Probably more fabulous accounts have obtained about crocodiles than
about any other animal. In spite of the old saying to the contrary,
they never shed tears. And notwithstanding the fact that the ancient
Egyptians gave the crocodile divine honors, because, being tongueless,
it was made in hieroglyphical writing, a symbol of the Divinity,
it is now known that the tongue of this erstwhile god is quite
large, except at the tip. Similarly, all the stories that have so
long been current about the impenetrability of the animal's hide,
are quite without foundation. How often have we not been told that
it is impossible to kill a crocodile, with even the best Winchester,
unless the ball enter the eye or strike under the soft, fleshy parts
of the front legs? Their plated skin is easily pierced by an ordinary
rifle or revolver, and a mortal wound ensues whenever a vital part
is penetrated.
Not less erroneous are the ideas that so widely prevail regarding the
ferocity of the crocodile and the cayman. On the contrary, they are,
in their native state, very timid animals, and rarely exhibit hostility
towards man, except when cornered. Then, like most other animals,
they will fight with great fierceness. They make for the water as
soon as they see one approach them, and it is often far from easy
to get near them. We often saw the natives enter rivers frequented
by crocodiles and caymans, something they surely would not have done
if the danger were as great as ordinarily imagined. In Venezuela the
Indian or mestizo has a much greater dread of the ray or carib fish
than of the cayman. [259]
Some attempts have been made, both on the Orinoco and the Magdalena,
to secure the hides of crocodiles and caymans for commercial purposes,
but the expense of preparing them for the market proved to be so
great that the work had to be abandoned. [260]
The early explorers of the New World had many stories to tell about
the cayman and the crocodile, and many of them have apparently
survived among the natives until the present day. But there were
many other animals that made even a greater impression on them. It
will suffice to reproduce Peter Martyr's quaint account of two of
these representatives of the American fauna. The first is the tapir,
of which he writes as follows:--
"But there is especially one beast engendered here, in which nature
hath endeuoured to shew her cunnyng. This beaste is as bygge as an oxe,
armed with a longe snoute lyke an elephant, and yet no elephant. Of
the colour of an oxe and yet noo oxe. With the houfe of a horse,
and yet noo horse. With eares also much lyke vnto an elephant, but
not soo open nor soo much hangying downe: yet much wyder then the
eares of any other beaste." [261]
The other animal that excited the wonder of Martyr and his
contemporaries was the sloth, of which he says:-- "Emonge these trees
is fownde that monstrous beaste with a snowte lyke a foxe, a tayle
lyke a marmasette, eares lyke a batte, handes lyke a man, and feete
lyke an ape, bearing her whelpes abowte with her in an owtwarde bellye
much lyke vnto a greate bagge or purse. The dead carkas of this beaste,
you sawe with me, and turned it ouer and ouer with yowre owne handes,
marueylynge at that newe belly and wonderful prouision of nature. They
say it is knownen by experience, that shee neuer letteth her whelpes
goo owte of that purse, except it be eyther to play, or to sucke,
vntyl suche tyme that they bee able to gette theyr lyuing by them
selues." [262]
The part of the valley below the confluence of the Cauca and the
Magdalena was quite different from that above. The country contained
more inhabitants, and the dense forests that had hitherto bordered
the river gave place to broad savannas, on which grazed thousands of
cattle, so buried in the Para and Guinea grasses, that frequently we
could discern only their horns. Along the river banks were the estates
of well-to-do haciendados--some of them foreigners--and the villages,
that before were extremely rare, became more numerous. The aspect of
the country was less wild than that through which we had just passed,
and betokened a certain measure of prosperity, at least so far as
the grazing interests were concerned.
We could now travel day and night, for the river was so deep that
sand bars were no longer to be apprehended. And then we had the most
delightful moonlight nights. The air was balmy and laden with an
exquisite fragrance,
"Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,"
a constant invitation to repose and dolce far niente. The surpassing
loveliness of the scene, the magic stillness of the vast solitude
through which we were so peacefully gliding, the broad expanse of
one of the world's great rivers, the weird silhouettes cast by the
passing palms on the moonlit waters--all these things contributed
towards rendering our last night on the river a fitting finale to
the others--all of which were in the highest degree enjoyable. Seated
on the forward deck of our steamer, we could exclaim in the words of
the choric song of Tennyson's Lotos-Eaters:--
"How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,
With half-shut eyes ever to seem
Falling asleep in a half-dream!
Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel."
The following morning--our last day on the Magdalena--found us at
Calamar. Here some of our fellow-passengers disembarked to take the
train to Cartagena, sixty-five miles to the westward. From Calamar
to Barranquilla, the chief northern terminus of river navigation,
is sixty-six miles. This distance we expected to make in a few hours,
but for reasons presently to be given, we were unexpectedly delayed
within sight of Barranquilla, the goal that marked the completion of
another important stage in our journey.
Our last day on the Magdalena was a bright balmy one in June. We spent
the entire time on the forward part of the upper deck, fanned by the
delightful breezes that were wafted from the Caribbean. The river here
has about the same width as has the Mississippi at New Orleans, but
the scenery is far more attractive. It flows through a broad, level,
grass-covered savanna, which extends beyond the limits of vision, and
which is dotted here and there with small villages and flourishing
haciendas. Some of the houses near the river banks have a most cozy
appearance. They are almost embowered in a mass of flowers of every
hue, and surrounded by lofty palms whose lovely emerald coronals were
each a picture of rarest beauty.
"These princes of the vegetable world" always had a peculiar
fascination for us, no matter where we saw them. And during our long
journey from the delta of the Orinoco they were never absent from view
even for a single hour. When one species disappeared it was replaced
by another, and thus they followed us from the Atlantic wave to the
lofty crest of Suma Paz. The ocean-loving cocoa gave place to the
moriche, and this was in turn succeeded by the corneto of the llanos
and the wax palm of the Sierras. [263]
It is quite impossible for the inhabitants of our northern climes
to have anything approaching an adequate conception of the grace
and beauty and surpassing loveliness of the omnipresent palms of
the equatorial world. Away from heat and sunshine, they are quite
devoid of the luxuriance and stateliness that characterize them in the
tropics. In Europe, for instance, there is but a single palm that is
indigenous--the Chamærops humilis. The date palm was introduced from
the East. In the tropics, however, about eleven hundred species of
palms are known, and there is reason to believe that, when this part
of the world shall have been thoroughly explored, many new species
shall be discovered.
The habits as well as the habitats of palms were a source of unfailing
interest to us. Some are solitary and are rarely found forming groups
with other trees of their species. Others, like the date palm, are
quite gregarious and often form extensive clumps. Others still are
said to be "social," because they occupy extensive tracts almost to
the entire exclusion of other kinds of trees. Various species of
Mauritia, Attalea, Cocoa and Copernicia are social palms, and the
palmares--palm groves--formed by them constitute the most attractive
features of tropical landscapes.
We once saw near the river's bank a grove of this kind composed of
palms of unusual height and beauty. It had been selected as the last
resting place of the denizens of a neighboring village, and was,
to our mind, the most beautiful cemetery in the world. Could we have
our choice, we should prefer, by far, to repose under one of those
noble frond-bearing shafts to being shelved away in the costliest
marble vault of Père Lachaise.
Certain palms affect the open savanna, others seek the solitudes of the
forest, while still others are most frequently found midway between
these two--that is, on the belt of land that separates forest from
plain. Some palms, like the cocoa, seem to require an atmosphere that
is slightly saline, and thrive best near the ocean's shore. Others
apparently attain their greatest development in marshes and lowlands,
while others again demand the arid plain or the lofty mountain plateau.
In spite of their noble appearance and their aspect of perennial youth,
palms, as a rule, are short-lived. None of them ever attain the age of
the venerable patriarchs of our northern forests. According to Martius,
the span of a palm's life never exceeds that of a few generations
of men. The areca catechu runs its course in forty or fifty years,
the cocoa attains an age of one hundred or one hundred and twenty
years at most, while the date palm, which probably lives the longest,
usually rounds out its existence within the period of two centuries.
Some palms, like the Metroxylon, for instance, never survive
fructification. It fruits but once, and then, as Martius so graphically
expresses it, "nobilis arbor mox riget, perit et cadit"--the noble
tree presently withers, perishes and falls. But, continues the same
writer, "there is pleasure and solace in the thought that palms
never die without yielding fruit, thereby insuring the continuance
of the species." And then, as is his wont when opportunity offers,
he takes occasion from this circumstance to moralize as follows:
"To labor, to flourish, to fructify is granted not only to the palm
but to man also." [264]
In the foregoing pages I have mentioned some of the countless uses
made of palms, especially by the inhabitants of the tropics. It would,
however, require a large volume to enumerate all the purposes for
which they are employed. It can, however, safely be asserted that
no family in the great vegetable kingdom more completely meets the
necessities of millions of people than does that of the noble and
ever-beautiful Palmaceæ.
Like Martius, we always found in the contemplation of the palm a source
of special joy and peace. To him the palm was what literature was to
Cicero, a consolation in trial and affliction, and the delight and
inspiration of maturer years. In the palm we always found something
to elevate the mind, something that fascinated us and stirred our
emotions in a manner that often surprised us. For us, as for myriads
of others who have lived and struggled and attained the goal of the
heart's desire, the palm was the emblem of victory, of a higher and
better life beyond the tomb, of a happy, glorious immortality.
As we gazed in silent delight at the broad expanse of the
green-carpeted savanna, adorned with the graceful, columnar shafts and
feathery fronds of the ever-beautiful, ever-majestic palm, we could
easily fancy ourselves in the valley of the Euphrates or in the plains
of Babylon, as described by Herodotus and Xenophon. And, without any
effort of the imagination, we could descry, in a palm-shaded village
in the vista before us, Jericho, as Moses saw it, when the Land of
Promise was a land of palms, as well as a land of milk and honey, and
when Judea was so prolific in palms that one of its representatives
was chosen as the symbol of the country. [265] We dreamed of Zenobia's
fair capital, Palmyra--the city of Palms--of the land of the Nile,
where Isis and Osiris carried palms as the symbol of their fecund
power. We recalled the enthusiastic words of the ancient poets--Hebrew
and Greek--in praise of the gracefulness and magnificence of the palm,
and the plaintive elegy of Abdul Rhaman, first calif of Cordoba,
who, exiled from Damascus, his home, thus addresses the date palm,
that reminds him of the land of his birth: "Thou, also, beautiful
palm, art here a stranger. The sweet zephyr of Algaraba descends and
caresses thy beauty. Thou growest in this fertile soil and raisest
thy crown to the skies. What bitter tears thou would'st shed, if,
like me, thou hadst feeling!" [266]
While thus musing on the glories of the past and contemplating the
splendors of the present, which were passing in rapid succession
before our enchanted vision, we instinctively repeated the words of
the reverent poet-naturalist, Martius, who, contemplating the marvels
of the tropical palm-world, expressed the depth of his emotion by
the two words, Sursum corda--hearts heavenward!
Just then our reveries were suddenly and unexpectedly interrupted.
We had, early in the day, been congratulating ourselves on making
our voyage down the river without delay and without accident. We
were now within sight of Barranquilla and expected to land in
less than an hour. We were in the full enjoyment of one of those
delightful day-dreams that we always loved to indulge in, whenever
Flora displayed before us, as she did then, her choicest treasures,
when suddenly, without premonition of any kind, there was a violent
lurch of the boat, a creaking and a crushing noise abaft, a quick
stoppage of the engine, all of which indicated that something unusual,
if not serious, had befallen our ill-fated craft. A hasty examination
showed that the steamer had collided with a sunken tree, and that
several of the float-boards of the stern-wheel had been loosened,
or partially wrenched from their places. After considerable delay
the boatmen were able so to repair the damage that we were able to
continue on our journey, although at a reduced speed.
Very shortly afterwards there was a second and a much severer
crash. We had encountered another hidden tree. This time several
of the float-boards were carried away from the wheel entirely, and
the wheel itself was so racked that repair, while on the river,
was quite impossible. Fortunately, as we were going down stream,
we were able to float to the entrance of the canal that leads to the
docks of Barranquilla. Here a crowd of stevedores from the town soon
congregated. These men, mostly negroes, agreed, after some parleying,
to haul the boat to the landing place. They, accordingly, took hold
of a long rope, which was thrown ashore, and soon the disabled steamer
was being conveyed to her moorings in the same fashion as a canal boat
is drawn along by mules in tandem. We reached the wharf the fifth day
[267] after leaving Honda, just as the sun was setting, and when the
customs officers were about to close their office for the night. They,
however, kindly allowed us to disembark and we were soon on our way
to a hotel.
"How fortunate," C. exclaimed, "that this accident did not occur
midway up the river!" Such a mishap would have entailed much suffering
and might have delayed our arrival at Barranquilla, for days, if not
for weeks. And considering our happy escape from the detentions and
disasters from which so many others had suffered, and the peculiar
episode that characterized our last hours on the Magdalena, we were
forcibly reminded of the words of Dante:--
"Let not the people be too swift to judge.
For I have seen
A bark, that all her way across the sea
Ran straight and speedy, perish at the last
E'en in the haven's mouth." [268]