THE “HEROE DE ABRIL”—APPROACHING THE ORINOCO—MOUTHS
OF THE ORINOCO—THE MACAREO CHANNEL—MACAWS—WATER
LABYRINTHS—GUARANOS—INDIAN CAMP—TROUPIALS—BARRANCAS—LITTLE
VENICE—LAS TABLAS—CARATAL GOLD MINES—VENEZUELA—THE CARONI—ROCKS
OF PORPHYRY—CIUDAD BOLIVAR—PIEDRA MEDIO—ANGOSTURA BITTERS—UPPER
ORINOCO—FEATHER HAMMOCKS.
Before a traveller can ascend the Orinoco, it is necessary—or said to
be necessary by the steam-ship company—to obtain a passport. It is, I
believe, quite unnecessary, but as the salary of Venezuelan officials
depends in a great measure on perquisites, it is an act of charity to
purchase your passport from the consul at Trinidad. This is the first of
the many blows which go far to destroy the romance of the great river. At
least we—my companion being a master from the college at Barbadoes—had
an idea that the Orinoco must be a romantic river, for had not Raleigh
cruised about it in search of golden palaces and of El Dorado!
We obtained our passports and tickets, and at the hour of sailing were
informed that our vessel—the “Heroe de Abril”—was in the hands of the
sheriff and could not leave. The following day, however, we received
notice to be on board at a certain hour, as the steamer was to be allowed
to depart on this occasion only. The owners chuckled over this, as,
owing to defective boilers, neither she nor any of the passengers were
expected to return at all. The “Heroe” proved to be an old Hudson River
tug-boat, with sufficiently comfortable cabins on its upper deck, whilst
its lower deck was open and crowded with second-class passengers who
slung their hammocks wherever they could find space. Nearly all on board
were bound for the gold mines of Caratal, and a very motley crowd it was.
Regarding the food and service, I will merely say that both were of
the worst possible description. Those who had made the trip before had
brought their own provisions, and were kind enough to share them with the
novices. Without this aid, it is doubtful whether some of the passengers
would have arrived at their journey’s end.
It was late at night when we left Trinidad, so that early the following
morning we found that we had crossed the Gulf of Paria, passed through
the “Serpent’s Mouth,” and were approaching the gruel-like water of the
Orinoco. On either side, but many miles apart, stretched two long, low
lines of trees, which extended from the equally low coast line in front.
To all appearance it was a deep ocean bay, but the colour of the water
and the fact that there was no longer any heaving of the lead, told us
that we had crossed the bar and had entered the Macareo channel of the
Orinoco. Of the numerous other mouths which form the enormous delta of
this river, but two are used by vessels, and of these two the “Boca
de Navios” has fifteen or sixteen feet of water on the bar, while the
“Pedernales” has barely six feet.
On nearing the mainland, we saw numerous islands covered with bush and
shrubs, and on one, which looked like a floating mass of weeds that
might be swept away by the waves caused by our paddle-wheels, an Indian
fisherman had established himself. Two sloping sticks covered with leaves
formed his shelter, which was half concealed from the prying eyes of
fish and birds by a wide-meshed net. A little bark canoe showed that, in
case of inundation, means of escape were at hand. Gradually the channel
mouth narrowed, and the dense mangrove thickets which line the banks
became more and more conspicuous. It is chiefly to these ever-extending
mangroves that the great delta of the Orinoco owes its development. The
twisted and matted roots stem the tide, retain the soil, and gradually
raise the surface. Year by year the mangrove increases its dominions,
and, judging from its present wide extent, it seems that ere long the
smaller delta mouths will be choked.
All we saw was a low but vast expanse of bright green foliage. At one
spot the mangroves appeared to be mingled with large bushes of hybiscus,
covered with enormous crimson blossoms. Suddenly the blossoms took wing,
and we recognized a flock of scarlet ibises. At length, we were fairly in
the river channel, with a width across of less than a quarter of a mile.
Various shrubs were now mixed with the mangroves, and at some distance
from the banks tall clumps of trees, with masses of creepers, fringed the
outlying lakes and open swamps. From these arose clouds of wild-fowl,
which, after a look at the steamer, returned to their feeding-grounds,
or in endless strings took long flights to more distant solitudes. There
was no scarcity of birds here; there were geese, ducks of various sorts,
bitterns, spoonbills, crested pheasants, herons, egrets, water-turkeys,
and many specimens of the huge tantalus.
After a time the vegetation assumed a forest aspect, and we entered a
palm region. Here we were greeted by the harsh cries of the blue and
yellow macaws, which in numberless pairs flew overhead, and in flocks
rose screaming from lofty trees. The scenery was very tropical, and we
began to think that perhaps a trip up the Orinoco was not the mistake
that it was said to be by a gentleman on board, who had made the voyage
before. Palms predominated, but there were also splendid trees, from
whose branches the hanging creepers formed a perfect wall. Here and there
these green curtains lifted, and disclosed an aquatic maze threading
its way deep into the wild forest. The monotonous green was varied
with white-plumed ingas, crimson poivreas, and yellow bauhinias, which
overhung the arums, the thick-veined caladiums, and the bamboo-like
grasses growing on the banks. White egrets stalked along, tortoises
flopped into the water from the branches, water-turkeys dived and always
came up just ahead of us, and solemn cranes with one eye on the stream
and the other on a fish, did not stir from their one-legged position as
we puffed past them.
Only on the beautiful little Ocklawaha River in Florida, have I seen
such lovely vistas as here penetrate the recesses of the border forests;
each one, in fact, was a tropical Ocklawaha. Once, on turning a bend in
the channel, we came suddenly upon a canoe whose occupants had not time
to disappear in the side labyrinths, as they had done previously. It
was evidently a family party of Guaraños or Kirishana Indians. The poor
creatures looked terribly frightened, and the trembling women turned
their faces towards the forest. Such modesty was hardly to be wondered
at, seeing that the only clothing of any description that one of them had
on was a baby, which she hastily caught up and wore as an impromptu apron.
It was with no small interest that we gazed at these few members of an
almost extinct tribe, whose home is—or used to be—for the greater part
of the year in the tree tops. For this Delta, which is always wet, is
for several months inundated. The swampy soil is then many feet under
water, and, therefore, high up in the trees, the Indians build their
houses. If it was on account of its freedom that they selected such an
unpropitious spot for habitation, they chose well and were certainly
safe from intrusion, as none but an Indian could thread in his canoe
the water-paths of the dismal forest. But probably their choice was
determined by the extraordinary abundance of a certain palm called the
“Mauritia” or “Ite.”[26] This has been well named _arbol de la vida_, for
it supplies the Indians with food, drink, clothing, habitation, canoes,
and hunting and fishing implements. Food is made from the scaly fruit,
which resembles pine cones hanging in clusters, and also from the soft
pithy substance contained in the trunk; the two are treated like cassava
and mixed into a cake of the consistency of sago and called “yaruma.”
From the juice of the flower-spathes toddy is made, and from the sheaths
at their base sandals and girdles are manufactured. Hammocks, nets, and
lines are woven from the fibres, canoes are fashioned out of the trunks,
and bows and arrows from the leaf-stems.
Besides these necessaries of life, some luxuries are also supplied, as
from the pith of the large arm of the leaf, split longitudinally, a sail
is made for canoes, and by raising the fibres of the arm and placing a
bridge under them, a rude kind of musical instrument is formed. To make
their domiciles, four suitable palm trees are selected, notches are cut,
and beams, stretched from trunk to trunk, are lashed together with fibre.
A layer of mud, which hardens and is capable of bearing a fire, is then
spread over the flooring, a roof of trees is added, and the dwelling is
complete.
Whether these Indians still take to the trees in the wet season, or
whether they find more comfortable lodgings on the ground, I know not.
Higher up the river we passed one or two small Indian settlements, where
the huts, pitched on elevated ground, consisted merely of a thatched
roof supported by poles, but whether the inhabitants were Guaraños or
not we could not say. They were better dressed than our old friends, as
each individual was provided with fully six inches of cotton girdle. But
their attire did not prove that they were not Guaraños, as it may be
that they only put on their Sunday best on the approach of the steamer.
Nature has admirably assisted these beings in their hiding propensities,
as the reddish brown colour of their skins assimilates with that of the
bush stems and tree trunks, among which they conceal themselves. In one
place where we had seen a canoe enter, we saw a camp with hammocks slung
and fire burning, but not a trace of the occupants, although they were
probably looking at us from out of the bushes a very short distance away.
They must have been close, as the canoe was there and empty.
It is not surprising that these timid savages consider everyone who does
not belong to their own tribe as their natural enemy. At a “wooding”
station where we had stopped, a canoe hovered about for some time
but would not approach. At last, just as we were starting, it came
alongside, and we found that it contained several cages of black and
yellow troupials. The owners would not come on board, and could not be
induced to hand up their birds for inspection until they had received
payment, and then they paddled hurriedly away. On inquiry, I heard that
the ship’s company (Venezuelans) made a good deal of money by the sale of
these beautiful birds in Trinidad and other places, and it had been the
practice to obtain them from the Indians and delay payment until it was
too late. Thus the unfortunate natives lost their birds and their money.
Besides the sight of an occasional Indian, we had no other excitement.
Once in the night the steamer came to a halt owing to a thick fog, and
at another time a loud crash preceded the stoppage of the engine; loud
cries of “Has the boiler burst?” came from different parts, in various
languages, but we had only run ashore, and soon steamed off again.
On the morning of the third day after leaving Trinidad, we arrived at
Barrancas, where the mouths of the Orinoco separate. We did not anchor,
but sent off the mails in a small boat to the little town which stands
on the left bank of the main river, and then proceeded on our way. Here
the scenery changed completely. The forest had disappeared, there were no
more palms, no bright creepers, even the mangroves were absent. Macaws,
parrots, troupials, all were left behind, and we looked over a river some
miles in width, with sandy banks and low, dry, unprepossessing hills in
the distance. It was a barren, desolate scene, and even a great, lean
heron sitting on a withered branch, with his long neck sunk between his
shoulders, seemed to think that life with such surroundings was not worth
fishing for. We were certainly in Venezuela, but “Little Venice,” with
its water lanes and streets, lay behind us.
After several hours of slow steaming we arrived at Las Tablas, which
is the nearest port to the mines of Caratal. It was a dreary-looking
place, consisting of a few houses and one large tree. No one was allowed
to disembark as there is no Custom House, consequently passengers for
the mines have to proceed on to Ciudad Bolivar and wait there some
days, until the steamer returns to Las Tablas. Thus, for want of a
Custom House, passengers, as well as goods, have to travel nearly two
hundred miles out of their way. The mines of Caratal are taking a very
conspicuous position among the gold mines of the world, and already there
are over 4,000 British subjects—mostly natives of the West Indies—at work
there.
Strange to say, we have no representative at Bolivar. Some years
ago our Consul was dismissed by the President in the most arbitrary
manner, and no notice was taken of the insult, neither was the office
refilled. The need of a representative is very great in a country
where the authorities are in the habit of raising troops to suppress
perpetual insurrections, and where they seize on anyone without regard
to nationality. I have heard it hinted that, were the boundaries of
Venezuela and British Guiana properly assigned, it would be found that
the valuable mines of Caratal belong to the latter. This, however, is
by no means the opinion of Venezuelans, and as these boundaries have
been of late under much discussion, I have appended the translation of
some official reports which have lately been published on the subject in
Carácas. The Venezuelan idea of the correct boundary line—that of the
Essequibo—is so different from our own, that a perusal of the papers may
be interesting.
Close to Las Tablas the Caroni joins the Orinoco, and a curious effect
is produced by the differently coloured waters running together for a
long distance without mingling. This was the farthest point reached by
Raleigh in his search for El Dorado in 1595, when, finding that his men
were discouraged and nothing was to be gained by remaining, he returned
to England. From Las Tablas upwards, the scenery was almost identical
with that from Barrancas. Here and there on the banks stood a cottage and
plantation, beyond stretched wide plains edged by green slopes and woods,
which imparted a brighter aspect. Soundings were continually taken, and
in many places there was barely sufficient depth of water to carry us
over. From the waste of waters rose numerous islets of porphyry as smooth
as glass, and which, being covered with a crust of oxide of manganese,
sparkled in the sun and formed remarkable objects in the scene.
Sand-banks were frequent, and on one a brig bound for New York lay
stranded, and had been there two weeks, owing to the captain’s refusal to
pay a steam-tug from Ciudad Bolivar the enormous sum demanded for towing
her off. As she was in the same position when we returned, it is probable
she remained there until the rising of the river in the wet season.
Animal life was reduced to a few cranes and some enormous alligators,
which basked on the sand in utter indifference to the noisy anathemas
heaped on them by the black crew, who yelled again whenever they caught
sight of the scaly bodies.
On the day after leaving Las Tablas, we anchored off Ciudad Bolivar,
the capital of Guayana, which is the largest state in the Republic of
Venezuela. The town was built in 1764, by Mendoza, who named it Santo
Tomas de la Nueva Guayana, which was afterwards changed to “Angostura,”
and then to its present one, Ciudad Bolivar. Angostura—the Narrows—was a
very appropriate name, as here the Orinoco, whose breadth above and below
averages about two miles and a half, contracts to less than half a mile.
In the middle of the river stands a famous rock, called “La Piedra del
Medio,” which serves as a metre to gauge the rise and fall of the flood,
which at its highest rises no less than sixty feet above its summer
level. As our visit was during the dry season we had to land in a boat,
struggle over a sandy beach, and then clamber up a high bank, whereas in
the wet season you step from the vessel on to the Alameda.
From the river the town looks picturesque, as it is situated on a conical
hill, with the houses rising in tiers and crowned by the cathedral. The
streets are narrow and steep, with the exception of the principal one,
which skirts the river, and which is partly shaded by a double row of
fine spreading trees called “mamon.” The most prominent building is the
market-place, which stands on a rocky eminence overhanging the river.
After a strict inspection of our luggage at the Custom House, we went
to the only hotel in the town which the two Germans who keep it call
“the Club.” Here we found clean rooms without furniture of any kind, but
the proprietor promised to give us canvas cots, and, if possible, two
chairs. We were glad to sit down to breakfast after our long fast on
board the “Heroe,” but alas! the food was almost as bad as that on the
steamer, and, as we were informed that it was impossible to cook any dish
without garlic, we had to live chiefly on bread during our stay. Some
claret that we ordered was so bad that we sent for another and much more
expensive brand; finding it equally bad we complained to the servant, who
laughingly informed us that it all came out of the same cask.
A more uninteresting town than Ciudad Bolivar it is impossible to
imagine. In half-an-hour you can see the whole of it, including the
cathedral, a bronze statue of “the Liberator”—Bolivar—and a very tall
pillar with a small bust of Guzman Blanco—the late President—on the top
of it. The cemetery contains the monument of the first Dr. Siegert, of
“Angostura Bitters” celebrity, and, when you have seen that and the two
above-mentioned statues, you have seen the “lions” of Ciudad Bolivar.
Apropos of “Angostura Bitters,” the manufactory is no longer carried on
here owing to its exorbitant taxation by the Government, but has been
removed to Trinidad.
Near the cemetery are the barracks, and these are buildings worthy of
their occupants. We were told that the soldiers collected here were not
good specimens of the Venezuelan Army, and we hoped not. In Carácas
I afterwards saw some troops that were well equipped and presented a
soldier-like appearance. But here half-starved, ill-clad, of a wretched
physique, in height averaging about five feet, and with miserable arms
and accoutrements, the troops that we beheld presented a sorry spectacle.
Their pay is hardly worth mentioning, but they are fortunate when they
receive it. This circumstance reminded me of a distribution of pay that
once occurred in a certain town in the United States.
A number of Pinte Indians had been brought in to take part in a 4th of
July procession, and after the parade each man received a dollar. It had
been customary to hand over the entire amount to their chief—Captain
Bob—for distribution, but the fact had become known that coin did not
readily leave his grasp. The captain observed this new method of paying
with more complacency than was anticipated. He was out-generaled, but
not beaten. Being a great poker player he took his men to one of his
favourite haunts, and before sunset had cleared his entire army out of
the last cent.
From the pitiful condition of the troops when we saw them, it was
difficult to imagine what the state of the private soldiers must have
been in 1822, when hundreds of officers were seen begging from house to
house in the streets of Carácas. Even as late as 1862, the army was in
want of the necessaries of life.
It is not from a lack of generals that the troops are uncared for and
ill-disciplined, for the supply is unlimited. Two boatmen, who once
rowed us over from Ciudad Bolivar to the opposite shore to visit a
cattle ranch, were both generals. The butcher who supplied the hotel
was a general, and, if his military tactics were as good as those he
exhibited in his steady resolve not to furnish good meat, he ought to
have been a success. But in Venezuela it is not necessary either to be,
or to have been a soldier, to become a general. The title is distributed
indiscriminately, and sent about like a bouquet of flowers or a box
of cigars, with the compliments of so and so. A late aspirant for the
Presidency intimated that he would abolish this distinction, by making
everybody a general. Needless to say he lost his election. In more recent
times, did not the son of Prince Bismarck lose his nomination to the
Reichstag by a premature declaration of his policy?
At Carácas, one day, I was looking over a book called _Cervantes y la
Crítica_, by Urdaneta. In it was a list of subscribers to the volume,
and out of four hundred names I counted two hundred and seventy-eight
generals, and all the rest were doctors. Well might the Irishman exclaim
in Venezuela, as he did upon his arrival in the United States, “What a
divil of a battle has been fought near here, where all the privates were
kilt!”
Finding so little to see or do in Ciudad Bolivar, we were anxious to
ascend the Upper Orinoco, but heard to our dismay that the small steamer
“Nutrias” no longer went up the river. We therefore had to pass a week in
the town until the “Heroe” returned to Trinidad. Formerly, the trade with
the Upper Orinoco was very considerable, and four steamers used to ply on
the river, bringing down coffee, indigo, hides, cotton, &c. Revolutions
have destroyed that, and now almost the only trade is with the mines of
Caratal. Now and then large Indian canoes from the Rio Negro descend the
river, bringing birds, hammocks, and curiosities, which they exchange for
necessaries, and then return. Some of their feather and grass hammocks
that we saw were marvels of skill, and must have been highly remunerative
to the merchants, who demanded from one hundred to one hundred and fifty
dollars apiece, having probably obtained them for ten or twelve dollars
worth of goods.
It was excessively hot during our stay, but fortunately a dry heat, and
there were no mosquitoes, although a lagoon on one side of the town gave
promise of an abundant supply. In the wet season the heat is almost
unbearable. As our hotel was close to the river—in fact, just outside the
door was the hull of a vessel which had been left there high and dry when
the water fell—we generally had a good breeze, and the verandah was the
coolest place in the town. Few of the other houses possessed verandahs,
as in Ciudad Bolivar the roof is the favourite family resort in the
evening. Some of the roofs are prettily laid out with flowers and shrubs,
and there the ladies sit and talk, receive visitors, promenade, and enjoy
any breath of air that may relieve the stifling heat.
Ciudad Bolivar used to be a very hospitable town, but that was in the
good old days when Señor Dalle Costa was President of Guayana, and there
seemed a fair chance of good government. Then there was a good deal of
amusement; travellers, English officers from Trinidad, and others were
gladly welcomed and entertained, puma and jaguar hunts were organized,
and a trip up the Orinoco was a great pleasure. Now trade is depressed,
the town is woefully dull, and I doubt whether any traveller would visit
Ciudad Bolivar for pleasure a second time. Whether the community—which
numbers 7,000 or 8,000 souls—is an intellectual one I do not know, but
I do know that I was unable to obtain a book in any language or of any
description—except grammars—at any store or shop in the town. After
a long search in stores that contained a little of everything, from
pomatum to ship’s cables, I was told that I might find some books at
the chemist’s. His stock consisted of a few grammars, very useful in
their way, but hardly entertaining enough to wile away the hot hours. It
must be remembered that this was in the capital of the largest State in
Venezuela, a republic whose area is larger than that of France, Spain,
and Portugal taken together.
Trinidad is very little better off for books than Ciudad Bolivar, as
the only bookseller there has very few works except an old collection
of volumes of Tauchnitz—an edition, by the way, which I think is
“particularly requested not to be introduced into English colonies.” A
collector of coins might visit Ciudad Bolivar with advantage, as a more
miscellaneous currency could not be found. Not only do you receive in
change coins from every country in the world, but also chips of silver
and blocks of copper that would be utterly valueless anywhere else. The
scenery around the town was flat and tame, but it acquired a charm from
the great river and the wonderful transparency of the atmosphere.
From the Calvary behind the town, easy of access, but fruitful in
rattlesnakes, the eye embraced a vast extent of country. For the most
part it is covered with thick _chaparro_, with here and there an
undulating line which marks the course of a rivulet. Dotted about are
what look like specks of pasture, but which, when approached, prove to
be wide savannas, which afford grazing for countless cattle. Dark masses
of trees show where virgin forests lie, and on the verge of the horizon
the hills rise, looking pink and purple in the brilliant sunlight. The
environs are dry and uncultivated. A few Indian huts and cottages with
plantain patches are all that are to be seen.
Every evening we used to go to the old fort near the market and watch
the sunset, and the last we saw surpassed in colouring any that I have
ever witnessed. We looked up the river towards the west, and were fairly
dazzled by the rich lights in sky and water. An arch of dead gold
spanned a dip in the distant purple hills; below it was a crimson disc,
and above a clear blue expanse. Radiating from this arc were bars of
distinct shades, which shone for a few seconds and melted into a sheet
of yellow and rose. The light was continuous from the sky far down the
river, where it touched with pink the great cross on the black rock “del
Medio.” Turning from the rainbow-tinted water to the north-east we looked
down the river, and, though a rose flush still tinged the horizon, the
broad flood flashed like burnished steel as the rays of a full moon fell
directly upon it. After the glare of the sunset, the change was as sudden
as from noon to midnight. But gradually the eye became accustomed to the
chastened silvery light as it touched the dark green foliage and brought
into clear relief the houses and cottages on the bank, and, when once
more we turned towards the west, it was there where the seeming darkness
rested. Only for a moment though, and then we discerned a beautiful
olive-green horizon, which gradually faded in the clear silver moonlight.
For sharp, decided colouring, we had seen nothing like it, and in spite
of our anxiety to leave Ciudad Bolivar we regretted that we should not
witness one more sunset there.
Before we left our rocky standpoint, a loud exclamation from some bathers
below us drew our attention to a black object floating down the stream.
It proved to be an alligator, who would, doubtless, have made short work
of anyone who ventured beyond the shallow pools that bordered the river.
When the river is high, it is not an unfrequent occurrence to see one of
these monsters in the very street. Waterton says: “One Sunday evening
some years ago, as I was walking with Don Felipe de Yriarte, Governor
of Angostura, on the banks of the Orinoco: ‘Stop here a moment or two,
Don Carlos,’ said he to me, ‘while I recount a sad accident. One fine
evening last year the people of Angostura were sauntering up and down
in the Alameda. I was within twenty yards of this place, when I saw a
large cayman rush out of the river, seize a man and carry him down before
anybody had it in his power to assist him. The screams of the poor
fellow were terrible as the cayman was running off with him. He plunged
into the river with his prey; we instantly lost sight of him, and never
saw or heard of him more.’”
Humboldt also saw an alligator seize an Indian by the leg, while pushing
his boat ashore, in the lagoon behind the town. He was dragged into
deep water, and his cries collected a crowd, who saw him search for his
knife. Not finding it, he seized the reptile by the head and pressed his
fingers into his eyes. But the creature held on and disappeared with the
unfortunate Indian.
Our descent of the Orinoco was as uneventful as our ascent. The only
change was a substitution of cattle for our former second-class
passengers. Freight, human and mercantile, was discharged at Las Tablas;
we were stopped by frogs and impeded by shallows, but the boiler did not
burst, thanks to the untiring watchfulness of the Scotch engineer, and we
arrived safely at Trinidad. Soon afterwards I proceeded to Demerara.