TO TRINIDAD—BOCA DE MONOS—GULF OF PARIA—PORT OF
SPAIN—SAVANNA—BOTANIC GARDENS—A HINDOO VILLAGE—STAPLES—A CACAO
PLANTATION—THE BLUE BASIN—FALLS OF MARACAS—THE PITCH LAKE—START
FOR THE ORINOCO.
AS Tobago and Trinidad are little more than eighteen miles apart where
nearest, we were soon coasting down the latter island. The scenery was
bold and picturesque, and the richly clad mountains were of a deep green,
flushed in spots, with the crimson canopies of the “bois immortelle.”
Fertile valleys gently opened to the sea, which here dashed angrily
against the caverned limestone walls, and there rippled to the feet of
the cocoa-nut palms which encircled the bays.
On reaching the “Boca de Monos”—monkey’s mouth—the mountains of Cumaná
on the mainland of South America loomed up before us. Stretching far
out into the sea, these mountains resemble islands similar to those
which form the different entrances to the Gulf of Paria, and so near
do they appear that it is hard to believe that they are really part of
the mainland. As so often happens, whether travelling by sea, lake, or
river, the finest scenery is sure to present itself at dinner time. I
regret to say that, in our case, enthusiasm was damped by the thought
that the soup was getting cold, and that probably the “pepper-pot” would
be finished before we got through the “mouth.” The scene was striking,
as must be the case where wild woodland, reaching to the water, and bold
mountain cliffs combine with steeply rising islands, fringed with palms
and mangroves, and covered with a thick vegetation wherever a plant can
cling. As if the passage was not narrow enough, a rocky islet, tufted
with cactus and draped with euphorbias and cistus, stood in the way; but
we slipped past it, and soon sailed into the broad gulf. On we went, past
wooded islets crowned with white houses, to which the Trinidadians retire
in hot weather, and at last anchored off Port of Spain at a long distance
from shore.
The view from the water can hardly be called picturesque, the flat shores
stretching on either side of the town in a long line hardly above the
level of the sea. But the town itself is prettily situated in a profusion
of foliage trees and feathery palms, which half conceal the white houses
and graceful church towers. Higher up lies a green savanna, with the
handsome “Queen’s House” on its outskirts, and close behind rise the
forest hills of Montserrat.
At a short distance from the wharf, the main street is entered. A broad
shady avenue runs up its centre, terminating with the mosque-like Roman
Catholic Cathedral. Half way up, a break in the avenue is caused by
Marine Square, with a fountain in the middle, and two of its angles
occupied by boarding-houses. The nearest of these is known as Emma
Clark’s, and is supposed to have the best accommodation in the town.
Here, we accordingly entered, and were received by the hostess, a
Creole lady, of ultra Junoesque proportions, and of renowned verbosity.
Good-tempered beyond measure when not annoyed, but terrible in her wrath
when aroused. I shall never forget her sublime indignation and torrent
of words once, when one of her guests had the temerity to ask for an
extra pillow. He did not get it, nor did he even repeat the request.
Altogether, Miss Emma did not treat us so badly. Certainly, some people
did say that her food, though good, was very limited as to quantity,
that the wine and beer she supplied were execrable, that the solitary
bath-room might have been kept cleaner, and that the apartments might
have contained a little more furniture. But then somebody is always
sure to grumble about something, and those who were not satisfied had
the option of leaving—only there was nowhere else to go. What a benefit
it would be to travellers, and probably to the entire West Indies, if
the Government—Home or Colonial—were to erect suitable hotels in the
different islands, and lease them to competent persons who would render a
sojourn among them more attractive than at present!
The town of Port of Spain is not very interesting. Stores and shops are
good, and Brunswick Square is adorned with a handsome cathedral and a
curious old Government building. Beyond the latter are the new Court
Houses, of massive and striking design, and large and expensive enough
to satisfy the requirements of the entire West Indies. It is a handsome
town, and with that all has been said. Its chief features, irrespective
of Emma Clark, are buzzards[22] and smells. Of the birds there are an
immense number; they line the roofs of the houses, perch on the fountains
and wade in the basins, blink at you from the trees, and refuse to get
out of your way in the streets. Alive, the noisome creatures sweep close
to your face when you look from a verandah; and dead, they greet your
nostrils in your walk, as they generally choose the centre of a road as a
suitable place to expire, and where they fall, there they lie.
In smells, Port of Spain vies with St. Pierre. Our rooms were sometimes
unbearable from the odour of salt fish, raw onions, potatoes, and coffee,
which ascended from the provision stores underneath, and equalled in
intensity the fumes from the small courtyard in which a cow, goats, pigs,
a sheep, puppies, naked black children, and parrots wandered at liberty.
Often did we exclaim with Mrs. Partington, “How flagrant it is!” Perhaps
these odours account for the number of chemists’ and druggists’ shops
that exist in Port of Spain. But the outskirts of the town are fresh
and bright. Pretty houses and lovely gardens line the approaches to the
park-like savanna. The only blot on the fair scene, is an unsightly
building—originally erected for the Duke of Edinburgh—which stands in a
conspicuous position, unrelieved by a tree or flower.
On approaching Queen’s House, which is situated in the Botanical Gardens,
the eye rests on, what to me, was the most charming sight in or around
Port of Spain. Grand clumps of the most magnificent bamboos here line
the roadside. Splendid ceibas, tamarinds, and samans are dotted about
close by, but to my mind, could not compare with the bamboos, whose
feathery arches and drooping boughs seemed like a “forest fit to fringe
fairy land.” The gardens disappointed me, perhaps from over-expectation.
Unlike those of Martinique, nature has not here granted a picturesque
situation. Art has only partially succeeded in rendering the grounds
attractive. There are many beautiful varieties of palms, deep-green
nutmeg groves, towering erythrinas, ceibas, and various rare shrubs and
trees, but there is something wanting to make up an effective whole. The
gardens are of small extent and are deficient in any leading feature of
special interest. There are no fountains, no pieces of water, no falls,
no rockeries, and the only flower-garden proper is a small one under
the windows of Queen’s House. Great care and attention are bestowed on
the gardens, and in the nurseries I saw some rare orchids, luxuriant
ferns, and many species of begonias, caladiums, and morantas. I was also
shown some Liberian coffee trees, whose berries were far larger than the
common. Formerly, there was a small Zoological collection here, but that
is of the past.
The drive round the savanna in the cool evening is a very pleasant one.
Here a black game of cricket is going on, amid much laughter and noise;
there a white one is being conducted, in a very sedate and orderly
fashion. Near the ugly Prince’s building is a croquet lawn, and close to
the opposite Grand Stand an impromptu race has been organized. Moon-eyed
Chinese trot along, with a basket of vegetables slung at one end of a
long bamboo and a bundle of clean clothes at the other. Delicate-looking
cattle are being led to water by still more delicate-looking Indian
coolies, and scattered over the grass are brilliant patches of colour,
caused by the gay robes of Hindoo women, whose arms and ancles, heavily
hung with bangles, glitter brightly as they milk soft-eyed cows, to the
music of laughing babies riding astride their hips.
Coolie immigration from India has been very successful in Trinidad and
Demerara, and speaks well for the system of labour which has been adopted
in those places. And, certainly, the coolies have no cause for complaint.
From the time they leave India until they return there—that is if they
choose to return—every suitable provision is made for their comfort.
Unlike the Chinese, whose only object is to make money and get back to
the Celestial Empire as soon as possible, the Indian coolies become
attached to their new home, and in Trinidad a great number—nearly three
thousand—have obtained grants of land instead of “return” passages, and
have settled down as colonists. Many of them possess sugar estates, and
one owns several good race-horses.
Hindoo villages are seen in many parts of the island, and near Port of
Spain, on the road to St. James’s Barracks, is a coolie village, so
oriental in its character, even to its native priests, charmers, and
prayer-house, that, if an aeronaut suddenly descended there, he might
readily imagine himself near Calcutta.
From the moment a stranger sets foot in Trinidad, he recognises that he
is in a flourishing island; and the more he sees and hears of it, the
more convinced does he become of its prosperous future. In the large
and busy town, he can form some estimate of its resources, but, when
he visits the interior and more distant regions, the fertility of the
soil speaks for itself. To use one of Jerrold’s witticisms, the land
is so fertile “that, if you tickle it with a hoe, it smiles with a
flower.” Though sugar is the chief produce, there are other staples to
which Trinidad directs her attention in a greater degree every year. The
chief of these is cacao, which is a product continually increasing in
value, and which is admirably adapted to the soil. Apart from the ease
with which it is cultivated and prepared, a cacao plantation is a very
desirable one, on account of its beauty. It has none of the monotonous
stretches of a sugar plantation, as cacao has to be protected from the
sun.
In some picturesque valley, or on undulating slopes, with a forest
background, and probably with a glorious sea view from a neighbouring
hill, you see a dwarf forest whose trees are about the size of
apple-trees, and on whose stems and red-brown branches grow hundreds
of pods like great golden lemons. Through this forest, run rows of
“bois immortelles”—Madres del cacao—tall, elm-like trees, with bright
flame-coloured canopies which afford a complete shade. On an eminence
stands the white house of the planter, and near it a few rustic cottages
and provision grounds; there is no tall smoking chimney, no din of
machinery, no mingling of negro and molasses, all is cool and quiet, and
you feel that, out of the few agricultural pursuits in the tropics, that
of cacao-growing, must be the pleasantest.
Around Port of Spain the absence of bird life makes a sad void in
nature; one misses the humming-birds, which in Martinique dart from
every shrub, and even visit the balcony-flowers in the town. Even at
a distance inland, it is only occasionally that the yellow “sucriers”
are met with, or that the amusing, glossy brown “trembleurs” are seen
bowing and scraping to one another in their usual polite fashion, but
in some other islands these birds are very common. The “Wild Birds’
Protection Ordinance,” which was passed in 1875, has hardly had time to
bear fruit as yet, but before long the feathered tribe may once again
abound. Especially rare is that most beautiful of all humming-birds,
the “Tufted Coquette,”—Lophornis ornatus—and once the species was as
numerous as the “Ruby-crested,”[23] the “Savanna Sapphire,”[24] and the
“Snowy-throated Emeralds,”[25] which are still abundant in Trinidad. Some
lovely specimens of the above-named were offered me for sale, and I doubt
whether I could have refused them, even without the assurance that they
all came from the “Main.” I must have made a mistake in thinking that the
“Snowy-throated Emerald” was peculiar to Trinidad!
From Port of Spain there are many delightful excursions to be made. There
is the Blue Basin, at the head of the Diegomartin Valley, and above it
is the Signal Station, from whence the land and coast views are very
beautiful. Then there is the celebrated Maracas waterfall, the road
to which affords an opportunity of seeing the most picturesque plain,
forest, and river scenery in the island. Besides the mud volcanoes, there
is also that natural phenomenon, the Pitch Lake of La Brea. A weird,
uncanny, intensely hot locality is that in which this strange lagoon is
situated. The lake itself, which is nearly three miles in circumference,
is surrounded by wood and jungle, growing luxuriantly from the pitchy
soil. Out of the black sea rise little green oases covered with flowering
shrubs, and occasionally lines of grass streak the surface. In the
asphalte, which is hard in some places and soft and sticky in others, are
numerous cracks and channels, often filled with clear brown water. Here
and there a massive tree trunk or tapering pole protrudes through the
pitch, like the hull and masts of some wrecked vessel sinking gradually
out of sight.
Charles Kingsley has already fully described the sights and wonders of
Trinidad, and since “At Last” was written the face of the country has
little altered. Civilization of late has progressed, a railroad and coast
steamers now connect different parts of the island, plantations have
increased in number, and trade is augmenting annually. But Trinidad is
still in its infancy, as by far the greater part of the island is still
unreclaimed and unopened forest.
When Trinidad is traversed by proper roads, it is hardly too much to say
that her prosperity will out-rival that of Jamaica in her palmiest days.
On this subject a good authority has recently said:
“Unfortunately, the same conditions of soil, &c., which render Trinidad
a very productive country, make the construction of roads, which are
essential to the prosperity and advancement of a country, very difficult
and expensive, and the peculiar conditions of the colonial community
allow of little interest being manifested in the well-being of the
island, beyond the immediate concerns of the moment. Thus it is that our
highways, such as they are, are mostly very narrow, devoid of footwalks,
and for many weary miles without a single tree which might afford shelter
to man or beast, who are thus exposed to the fierce rays of a blazing
tropical sun, the direct effects of which are heightened by the scarcely
less pernicious ones of reflection and radiation from all the surfaces
around. The correction of these and other evils can hardly be expected,
unless there should arise a spirit of enlightened public feeling which at
the present time does not exhibit itself.”
Let us hope that the writer is too severe on the community of Trinidad,
and that the road-making difficulty will soon be overcome. I ought to add
that in the neighbourhood of the capital the roads are remarkably good,
but glaring.
From Trinidad I proceeded to Demerara, and there found, as I stated
in the preface, that the Government was about to send an expedition
to Roraima, and with great kindness allowed me to accompany it. As it
was not to start until the end of February, I determined to return to
Trinidad, and from thence ascend the Orinoco. In the next chapter I must
describe that trip.