VIEW OF LA GUAIRA—PROJECTS IN VENEZUELA—LANDING—INDIAN PATH
TO CARACAS—BRILLIANT BEETLES—VIEW FROM CERRO DE AVILA—DESCENT
TO CITY—CLIMATE—AN EARTHQUAKE ALARM—SAD ASPECT OF THE
CITY—MYSTERIOUS POWER OF THE MOON—PERIHELION AND PESTILENCE.
Viewed from the open roadstead where vessels anchor, La Guaira is
picturesque. Almost from the very edge of the water the land begins to
rise, so that the houses, with the exception of those that line the
curved shore, are perched on the various spurs and knolls in a gradually
ascending scale. The depth of the little town is only a few hundred
yards, and straight up behind it rises the rocky wall of the Cerro de
Avila, which terminates in the peaks of Naiguatá and La Silla. The height
of the former is 8,800 feet above the level of the sea. On the right,
the cliffs which shut in the town end in an abrupt white promontory,
enclosing a low stretch of cultivated ground dotted with palm groves and
strips of forest; and on the left the coast range extends away, casting
down long spurs and spits of palm-covered land which shoot out far into
the sea. On all sides there is a blending of green hills, rugged and
barren precipices, cactus-clad rocks, fertile plains, and white houses.
To the right of the town may be traced the carriage road to Carácas,
which after endless zig-zags disappears round a mountain corner. Of the
mule or Indian path to the same place nothing can be seen, except the
general direction indicated by a steep ravine which cuts into the face
of the Silla immediately behind the town. Near this ravine, at a height
of about fifteen hundred feet, a fort holds a commanding position, and a
battery on the shore completes the defence—such as it is—of La Guaira.
Landing here is effected with considerable difficulty, owing to the
tremendous swell, against which there is no protection.
Many projects have been formed to convert this roadstead into a port,
but like all other good intentions in Venezuela, they remain projects.
For some years a small breakwater has been in course of construction,
but the sea demolishes it as fast as it is made. Lighters are used for
the conveyance of passengers from the vessels, and from one of these we
were jerked on to the jetty dripping like river-gods, as the wave which
had carried us on its crest to the landing was followed by another which
broke over the boat. A capsize in these waters would probably be fatal,
owing to the number of sharks which here lie in wait for victims. Not
long ago a young negro was bathing near the jetty and was attacked by a
shark, which snapped off his right hand. He did not lose his presence of
mind, but by beating the water with his left arm hoped to frighten away
the monster. But he was again attacked, and before the boat which had put
off from shore to his assistance reached him, his left hand had been cut
off. The shark was harpooned and captured, and on opening the stomach of
the animal, there were the two little black hands. The boy recovered,
and now earns a living by showing his hands, which he has preserved
in spirits, to compassionate strangers. If the sea-sharks are bad, the
land-sharks are equally so, and it requires an hour’s hard bargaining to
have your luggage carried from the Custom House to the hotel—a distance
of a hundred yards—even for the exorbitant sum laid down in the official
tariff.
The Hotel Delfino is in keeping with the wretched town, and rather
than sleep there I determined to start at once to Carácas. Having made
arrangements that my heavy luggage should arrive there early next morning
by coach, I hired a mule for three pesos—dollars—and set off for the
capital by the famed Indian path. The distance from La Guaira to Carácas
by the new coach-road is over twenty miles, and as the crow flies about
nine, but then the great Silla has to be crossed. At the end of a narrow
ill-paved street we reached the ravine, down in whose depths several
swarthy washerwomen were dabbling in about two inches of water, which was
all that remained of the usual mountain torrent. This we followed for a
short distance, and then turned off to the right, up an excessively steep
and stony path.
From the fort, the view over the town and the neighbouring village of
Maquetia towards Cape Blanco was charming, and it was a relief to have
left behind the insufferably hot streets. I do not think my steed was
accustomed to extend his walks farther than this fort, as henceforth
my time was fully occupied in persuading him to move. Before starting
I had remarked to his owner that he hardly seemed up to my weight, but
the reply was that, in spite of his appearance, he had many good points
and his indomitable spirit atoned for all imperfections. His points
certainly were numerous, but unfortunately they were all physical, as a
more angular creature I had never seen—in fact he was all points, and I
soon discovered that his indomitable spirit was unquestionable. After
repeated efforts to make the saddle stay in its proper place, I at last
fastened the girths so tightly that I was sure nothing could move it.
In this endeavour I had been aided by the animal, who very kindly, as I
thought, drew himself into the smallest possible compass. Hardly was I
again seated when he commenced to swell, and in a second the girths were
in shreds and the saddle and its occupant slid to the ground. In Guiana,
tapirs are said to rid themselves of boa-constrictors in the same manner.
With the assistance of cord and boot-laces I managed to patch up the
broken tackle, but my future progress was necessarily very slow.
The path was ever winding up and up, and pretty scenes were continually
opening. Here was a bold rock sparsely covered with prickly pears or
magueys, and there in a deep ravine, through which a mountain torrent ran
in many leaps and falls, the light green plantain fields were ruffled
by the breeze into waves of frosted silver. Plantations of coffee and
bananas fringed the path, and at the hill corners, where the ground
fell steeply to the valley below, were perched the owners’ houses, with
their clean white walled drying grounds, which looked like little forts.
Over the large gateway of one of these, which was particularly neat and
flourishing, was the inscription. “Rio Grande,” Señʳ. Pacheco, 1877. The
proprietor, or perhaps the superintendent, was sunning himself on the
doorstep, whilst his old wife improved the opportunity by a searching
examination of his head.
From the back of his rancho there was a delightful view looking
towards the sea. On all sides the forest was gradually giving place to
cultivation, and even the steepest of the rocky angles were in many
places blackened by the destroying fire. Occasionally, where the woods
were thick brilliant cotingas flew in and out, and amongst the coffee
trees glossy green jacamars darted about like giant humming-birds. There
were only a few bright butterflies, but a great variety of gorgeous
beetles. Some of the latter were of great size, and most of wonderfully
metallic hue. Others were of satiny green with black spots, silvery
white with red lines, black with crimson bands, brown with yellow bands;
there were blues, greens and velvety browns, all touched with rich
bronze, and as different in shape as in colour. Here was one clouded
like a goat-sucker, there another in maroon velvet ornamented with black
hieroglyphics, some with antennæ three inches in length, others with only
a horn.[112]
Afterwards in Carácas I had an opportunity of inspecting a private
collection of Coleoptera, and I was astonished at the amazing variety
of species belonging to Venezuela, and their extraordinary shapes and
strange proportions:
“Their shape would make them, had they bulk and size,
More hideous foes than fancy can devise,
With helmet heads and dragon scales adorned,
The mighty myriads, now securely scorned,
Would mock the majesty of man’s high birth,
Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth.”
The only four-legged animals that we saw were small donkeys, so laden
that the legs and ears were the only parts visible, and their great bulk
made it a difficult matter to avoid collision.
At last we reached the top of the ridge of Avila, on one side of which
were ravines and cultivated slopes and hill spurs trending away to
the blue sea, and on the other rounded hill-spurs that half concealed
the city of Carácas, which was situated in the valley below. The
south-western limit of the valley was bounded by the strangest range of
hills ever seen; hundreds of sharp skeleton ribs formed the base, and
these were of all shades of brown, green, yellow, and red. Above them
rose the grey and arid slopes, cut into endless clefts and chasms, and
over their summit range after range of mountain stretched away to the
horizon. Soon we left the Indian path, and descended by the old military
road, half-paved, steep, and winding towards the city. The descent
seemed almost as long as the ascent, and I began to wonder how so low
an elevation—for Carácas is less than 3,000 feet above the level of the
sea—could possess a climate which has been designated that of “perpetual
spring.”
When we entered the city limits it was night, as instead of the usual
four hours, our journey had occupied nearly eight. Trusting to my
mule to find its way to its stable in the hotel, for none of the few
people who were still abroad could give me any direction, we at last
arrived opposite a spacious building, the Legislative Palace, which was
surrounded with sleeping soldiers. There they lay in companies and
detachments across the roads, on the side walks, and under the porticoes.
Could a revolution have suddenly broken out? Strange that they should not
have known anything about it at La Guaira! A sentry opposed my progress
by pointing his musket at me, but the mule was in a hurry for the first
time, and could not stop. Soon after it walked through an open gateway
on the opposite side of the Palace, and I found myself in the courtyard
of the hotel. There I heard that there was no revolution at present, but
the military and most of the inhabitants slept out of doors, for fear
of another earthquake similar to that which a few days previously had
destroyed the neighbouring town of Cúa.
For a Spanish American city the Hôtel Saint Amand had fair accommodation
and good living. The former was limited, as the best rooms were
occupied by the English Minister, but to partake of the latter all the
non-resident inhabitants of the town and the members of the Legislature
used to assemble. Still there was plenty of room for improvement in the
establishment, and the new hotel which is about to be built will probably
supersede the old one.
From the accounts I had heard of Carácas, I had expected to find a
bracing atmosphere after the heat of Guiana, but I was doomed to be
disappointed. From the time I arrived until I left, neither the days
nor the nights were enjoyable. No breeze tempered the heat, the air was
dull and heavy, the sun was as hot as at La Guaira—which is said to be
one of the hottest places in the world—and the general feeling was one
of depression. Of course, I was told, it was an exceptional season,
that the heat was unusual, and that the oldest inhabitant—that unfailing
encyclopedia of dates and events—could not remember such weather. Where
can one go in the present day without finding exceptional weather, and
changes that are always astonishing to the oldest inhabitant?
After leaving Bermuda—and, indeed, whilst we were there—we had met
with nothing but exceptional seasons. At St. Thomas it was said to be
exceptionally cool with the thermometer at 89.° At Martinique such rain
had never been known. At Trinidad it was extraordinarily dry. In Demerara
there was an unheard of drought, and here in Carácas weather-prophets
foretold dire phenomena from the unusual state of the atmosphere and its
unwonted sultriness.
Since the destruction of Cúa—of which I shall speak in another
chapter—the alarm had increased in Carácas; nor, after two severe shocks
on the 13th, was it at all diminished by a printed warning issued on the
15th of April by Señor Briceño, a scientific gentleman of the city, who
had made the study of earthquakes one of his principal pursuits. In it
he wrote to this effect: “Be watchful! humanity compels me to place the
inhabitants of Carácas on their guard, for I believe there are causes
for fear, and the situation is alarming.” He then showed how in former
earthquakes the shocks corresponded with the different phases of the
moon, and affirmed that “it was much to be feared that at full moon
on Wednesday the 17th of the month (April), at 1° 29´ 0´´ at night, a
tremendous shock would be experienced.” It was in vain that men of great
scientific attainments refuted the arguments of Señor Briceño, in vain
that they asserted that all the combined intellect of the world could
not foretell earthquakes, and that regarding such phenomena nothing could
be affirmed and nothing denied, a panic had seized the people of Carácas,
which increased as the prophesied time approached. To have turned a
river with a book, or have stayed an avalanche with a wise saying, would
have been as easy as to have stemmed the tide of the general alarm by
scientific discussion.
It was Holy Week, but for fear of a catastrophe the religious ceremonies
did not take place, and the churches were closed. The weather was damp
and changeable. A painful silence reigned in the deserted streets,
and scarcely a house gave signs of being inhabited. An immense number
of people had left the city and gone into the country, taking their
household effects with them. Carriages and conveyances of all sorts
demanded exorbitant prices for transportation, and received them. The
great square—La Plaza Bolivar—was like an encampment. From its trees
hundreds of hammocks were suspended, its avenues and gardens were covered
with picturesque tents, its benches and seats were turned into couches,
and every available spot was occupied with camp bedsteads, canvas
stretchers, or sofas. To avoid a similar fate to that which befell a
regiment of 800 soldiers who perished in the great earthquake of 1812,
when Carácas was destroyed, all the military had left their barracks and
slept in the open air. The other plazas, and even the Calvario, presented
a similar appearance to that of the principal square.
To add to the sad scene which the city presented, the neighbouring
heights and woods were on fire, and the heavy smoke thickened the dense
atmospheric vapours. The day previous to the expected fatality passed
slowly and mournfully away. As night advanced, anxiety increased. It
was intensely still, the only sounds were those of coughing and crying
children, and the moans of frightened women. One o’clock sounded from
the cathedral, and then the quarter. Heads appeared at tent doors, pale
faces grew paler, watches were examined, there was an extraordinary air
of expectancy, and people only listened. The clock struck the half hour.
Everyone breathed again, a confused murmur arose simultaneously, the
name of Briceño was received with jeers and laughter, some women fainted
and others fell into hysterics now that the tension was removed, and the
panic was over. None, except the experienced, can appreciate the intense
dread inspired by earthquakes; some may say they are too accustomed to
them to care for them, but it is not those who live in South America,
where the terrible shocks level houses, villages, and towns in a few
seconds.
In 1812, there was a roar as of cannon firing, then a silence; this
was followed by a tremulous motion, which increased until the ground
seemed to roll in great waves, and in a moment the city of Carácas was
in ruins and 12,000 people perished. Of late years there have been an
extraordinary number of tidal waves, devastating storms, and earthquakes
in Peru, Chili, and Ecuador; the direction of the convulsions has been
more and more northerly, and since the destruction of Cúcuta in 1874
the north of South America has been widely shaken. The wise men of the
south have paid much attention to the causes of these convulsions of
nature, and numerous theories have been indulged in. By some they have
been attributed to luni-solar attraction, by others to the transits of
Venus and Mercury, to comets, and to different electric influences. Quite
lately, a sensation has been created in Europe by the prediction that
we are rapidly approaching one of the most pestilential periods of the
earth’s history. And why? Because in 1880, or soon after, the perihelia
of the four great planets—Jupiter, Uranus, Saturn, and Neptune—will be
coincident. The theory is that, when one or more of the largest planets
is nearest the sun, the temperature and condition of our atmosphere
are so disturbed as to cause injurious vicissitudes, terrible rains,
and prolonged droughts &c., resulting in the destruction of crops and
pestilence among human beings and domestic animals. Soon, for the first
time in 2,000 years, four planets are to be against us, and we are warned
that every living thing will be put to a severe and trying ordeal.
Various prophets have arisen who have foretold the advent of great
convulsions within certain dates, but I think the Caraqueñan astronomer
alone has been bold enough to predict the destruction of a city by an
earthquake, at a given hour and minute, taking for his data the changes
of the moon. It is strange that, for so long a period, a mysterious
power should have been attributed to the cold, peaceful moon, or its
phases. Superstition has assigned to it great influence over health,
over the weather, over the tides, over the ascent of sap in trees, over
vegetation, &c., and we all know how dangerous it is said to be to
sleep with the moon’s rays falling on the face. Eminent men of science
have declared that these ideas have no foundation whatever, and that
neither theoretically nor practically have they ever been proved true
in the smallest particle. Yet on account of their antiquity and the
firm hold they have established on public belief, it is probable they
will exist for a much longer time yet. Regarding the periods at which
earthquakes occur, Humboldt has said that, if it were possible to notice
the daily state of the earth’s superficies, one would soon be convinced
that the earth was always being shaken at some point or other. For the
inhabitants of Venezuela, it is an alarming fact that the intervals of
time between the great earthquakes are growing less and less. In 1766, a
great earthquake occurred at Carácas, and in 1812, Carácas was totally
destroyed, as were Cumaná in 1853, Tocuyo in 1868, Cúenta in 1874, and
Cúa in 1878.