THE MAGNATES OF SAN JUAN—CAPTAIN SAMUEL SHEPHERD—ROYAL GRANTS—VEXATIOUS
DELAYS—IMPOSING DEPARTURE—ENTRANCE OF THE RIVER SAN JUAN—“PEELING”
OF THE MARINEROS—CHARACTER OF THE STREAM—THE JUANILLO—AN IMMEMORIAL
STOPPING-PLACE—BONGOS, AND THEIR EQUIPMENTS AND STORES—MEALS—ESPRIT
DE CORPS AMONG THE BOATMEN—THE “ORACION”—-QUEER CAPRICES—MEDIO—-OUR
ACCOMMODATIONS—A SPECIMEN NIGHT ON THE RIVER—MORNING SCENES AND
IMPRESSIONS—BONGO LIFE—THE COLORADO MOUTH—CHANGE OF SCENERY—THE
IGUANA—A SOLITARY ESTABLISHMENT—TROPICAL EASE—THE RIO
SERAPIQUI—FIGHT BETWEEN THE NICARAGUANS AND THE ENGLISH—“A FAMOUS
VICTORY”—THE RIO SAN FRANCISCO—REMOLINO GRANDE—PICTURESQUE RIVER
VIEWS—THE HILLS AND PASS OF SAN CARLOS—THUNDER STORMS—THE MACHUCA
RAPIDS—MELCHORA INDIANS—RAPIDS OF MICO AND LOS VALOS—RAPIDS OF THE
CASTILLO—ISLAND OF BARTOLA—CAPTURE BY LORD NELSON—THE “CASTILLO
VIEJO,” OR OLD CASTLE OF SAN JUAN—“A DIOS CALIFORNIA!”—ASCEND TO THE
RUINS—STRONG WORKS—CAPTURE OF THE FORT BY THE ENGLISH IN
1780—FAILURE OF THE EXPEDITION AGAINST NICARAGUA; A SCRAP OF
HISTORY—PASSAGE OF THE RAPIDS—DIFFERENT ASPECT OF THE RIVER—A BLACK
EAGLE—NINETY MILES IN SIX DAYS—THE FORT OF SAN CARLOS—GREAT LAKE OF
NICARAGUA—LAND AT SAN CARLOS—THE COMMANDANTE—HEARTY WELCOME—NOVEL
SCENES—ANCIENT DEFENCES—VIEW FROM THE FORT—THE RIO FRIO—THE GUATOSOS
INDIANS—A PARADISE FOR ALLIGATORS, AND SOME HAPPY INSTITUTIONS OF
THEIRS.
Most small communities have in their midst one or two resident
notabilities, who are regarded something in the light of oracles, and to
whom general deference is acceded. San Juan is not an exception; and
Captain Samuel Shepherd is at once, _per se_, a personage so
characteristic and so associated and identified with the place, that no
description of San Juan would be complete in which he failed to be a
prominent feature. His residence is the most pretentious edifice in San
Juan; it is, in fact, the architectural wonder of the place, inasmuch as
it is not only a framed building, but has a shingled roof and glazed
windows. It was built by Captain Shepherd, in his more prosperous days,
when he was the principal trader on the coast from Boca del Toro to
Yucatan, and before age had crippled his energies, and reverses
dissipated his fortune. He is now old and nearly blind, but hale,
cheerful, intelligent, and communicative, and capable of giving more
information relative to the coast than any man living. He seldom leaves
his hammock, which is swung in the principal room of his house, and in
which he receives all his visitors. We called upon him, on the second
day after our arrival, and were received with every demonstration of
respect. The captain was never more eloquent, and although he had always
been classed as an Englishman, yet he said he was born in the United
States, and meant to claim its protection as a citizen. He had been
appointed “Governor of the Port,” or some such nominal and trumpery
office, by the British Consul, by way of conciliation, but he was not to
be taken in so easily; and as for the orders which had been promulgated
in his name, concerning the pigs and chickens, he protested it was
altogether the consul’s doings; he had shut up neither the one nor the
other, and regarded these animals quite as good citizens as the rest;
the consul might shoot any of them, (pigs or citizens,) if he dared. And
as for the pretended English protectorate, and the authority assumed
under it, the one was a fraud and the other an imposition; for whatever
title the Mosquito Indians ever possessed, had been formally transferred
and secured to him. And the captain here produced, from a very closely
locked and substantial case, a variety of parchment grants and
conveyances, bearing the “his ＋ mark” of “Robert Charles Frederick,”
father of the little Sambo boy now wearing the Mosquitian purple, in
which it was duly set forth and attested that “upon the 24th of January,
1839, in consideration of the true and laudable services rendered to us
by Samuel Shepherd, etc., we, Robert Charles Frederick, King of the
Mosquito nation, of our special grace, and of our certain knowledge and
free motion, have given and granted, and by these presents, sealed with
our seal, do give and grant unto the said Samuel Shepherd, etc., all
that tract of land lying between Blewfields River on the north, and San
Juan River on the south,” etc., etc., in the most approved form, and
with royal prolixity, all of which is duly witnessed, together with the
peaceable transfer and possession of the territory in question, approved
by General Slam, Admiral Rodney, Lord Nelson, and other equally
distinguished personages,[3] comprising the august council of the
breechless but imperial “Robert Charles Frederick.” Several other
similar and equally formal documents were produced, in which the various
Mosquito potentates had transferred to Mr. Shepherd and his associates
about two-thirds of their pretended kingdom. When, in 1841, the English
government sent its agents here to secure the country as a dependency on
the British Empire, their first act was to procure the revocation of
these grants, by the young Sambo, “George William Clarence,” which was
accordingly done; the act of revocation setting forth, in a most
unfilial way, that “his late majesty was not in his right mind when he
made them,” that is, _was drunk_! But Captain Shepherd protests that the
revocation was procured through the influence of Jamaica rum, that his
titles are in no degree impaired by it, and that the “his ＋ mark” of one
savage is as good as that of another. He regards the British occupation,
therefore, as a direct invasion of his rights and sovereignty, and
insists that if the port does not belong to Nicaragua, it certainly does
to him; a sequitur which we at once admitted, much to the captain’s
satisfaction, and to his admiration of American justice, discrimination,
and judgment.
-----
Footnote 3:
Like most savages, the Mosquito Indians are exceedingly vain, not less
of names than apparel. It is a common thing to see a black fellow,
without hat, shirt, or breeches, strutting through the little Indian
towns on the coast, in a buttonless military jacket, purchased from a
Jew’s cast-off clothing shop in Kingston, and given to him by some
Jamaica trader in exchange for turtle shells. In nine cases out of ten
the wearer proclaims his name to be Lord Wellington, General Wolfe, or
Lord Nelson, or some other equally distinguished name, which he has
heard the traders mention. The lowest rank thus assumed is that of
General.
-----
Once off from his hobby, the old sailor was more interesting, if less
amusing, and talked of matters in general in a manner highly original.
His account of the relations which existed between the mixed brood of
Indians and Negroes on the coasts, and the Jamaica traders, was given
with a directness somewhat startling to persons not yet emancipated from
the conventional rigors of the United States, but which constituted the
best evidence of its truth. To say that these relations were exceedingly
free and easy, is hardly explicit enough, as will be admitted when it is
known that the visit of the traders was looked forward to as a kind of
festival, when all ages and sexes abandoned themselves to general
drunkenness and indiscriminate licentiousness. Every old trader had a
number of children at every landing-place or settlement on the coast;
and on the occasion of each visit, he impiously baptized all those which
he conceived might be his own. This indiscriminate intercourse, it can
readily be imagined, has resulted in a complete demoralization of the
natives, and has been attended by physical consequences quite as
deplorable as those which have followed the intercourse of Europeans
with some of the Pacific Islands. These relations were established by
the pirates, when they thronged the Spanish main, from Jamaica as a
centre, and they are now referred to, by the British government, as an
evidence of ancient alliance, and in support of an assumed protectorate!
It was not without a feeling of sympathy for the almost sightless old
captain, that we left him swinging in his hammock, where he is doubtless
yet to be found, clinging hopefully to his parchment titles.
We remained six days at San Juan, at the end of which time, having
witnessed a promiscuous affair called a fandango, not at all
spiritualized by the West Indian variations on the none-too-delicate
original, and exhausted the limited stock of amusements which the place
affords, besides having become completely wearied with the low,
monotonous scenery, and not a little disgusted because of the absence of
those tropical luxuries of which we had formed so high anticipations, we
were anxious for a change. But few boats arrived from the interior, in
consequence of an attempted revolution, and these brought accounts of
the state of affairs, which we afterwards found were much exaggerated,
but which made us especially anxious to proceed on our journey. When,
therefore, our baggage and stores had been fished up from the hold of
the Frances, and piled in dire confusion in the middle of our
partitionless house, no time was lost in preparing for our departure.
Through the assistance of my colored friend, we had engaged one of the
largest bongos then in port for our exclusive accommodation, paying
dearly for the stipulation that no freight beyond our own should be
taken,—an unnecessary precaution, by the way, of which our colored
friend neglected to inform us, for the troubles in the interior
prevented the merchants from shipping goods in that direction, and had
it not been for our opportune arrival, the boat must have gone empty.
This bongo bore the name of “La Granadina,” and looked not wholly
uncomfortable as she lay at her moorings, just off the shore. She had a
crew of ten stalwart oarsmen, and was particularly commended on account
of her _patron_, Pedro, one of the patriarchs of the river, who, amongst
his other accomplishments, spoke a little English, of which, for a
wonder, he was not at all vain. As soon as the arrangement was
completed, our marineros made court to us most assiduously, fairly
hustling each other for the honor (worth a _medio_) of carrying the
members of our party backwards and forth from “La Grenadina.” One of the
number, a slight but well-proportioned Mestizo, was a subject for the
Washingtonians, and won the soubriquet of “Medio,” from his frequent
applications for sixpence. On these occasions he would gravely take off
his hat, and throwing himself in a theatrical attitude, bring his closed
left hand with Forrestian force on his naked breast, exclaiming, “_Soy
un hombre bueno!_” I am a good man! It was worth the money to witness
the relapse from dignity to servility when the coin touched his palm.
Medio little thought how strict a parallel he afforded to men in other
countries, and loftier spheres of action. Medio’s price was sixpence,
although he had served as sergeant in the army, and distinguished
himself among the “veteranos.”
[Illustration: OUR BONGO—“LA GRANADINA.”]
The day of our departure had been fixed for the 12th, at four in the
morning, and Pedro had promised faithfully to have all things in
readiness. With the anticipation of an early start, we bade all our
friends good-bye over night, and retired early, declining any provision
for breakfast on shore, lest we might cause delays in the morning.
Morning came, but not a sailor was to be seen near the “La Granadina,”
except the one who had kept watch over night; the rest, he said, would
be there “_muy pronto_” very soon; whereupon he dodged beneath the
_chopa_, and composed himself for another nap. We waited an hour on the
shore; meantime the sun came up, door after door was unbarred, and the
people came streaming down to the water to perform their morning
ablutions, evidently greatly puzzled to account for our presence there.
Their salutations seemed to conceal a vast deal of irony, and I fear
were not returned with the utmost amiability. At eight o’clock, after
firmly resolving to hold Pedro to a strict accountability for his
delinquency, we returned in high indignation to our old quarters, and
despatched orders for breakfast. To our infinite surprise, Monsieur S.
had already prepared it. He received us with a smile, and when the meal
was finished, coolly asked our preferences for dinner! This was rather
too severe an enforcement of our first lesson in native delays, and led
to an explanation, in the course of which Monsieur told us that he had
long since found out the absurdity of attempting to advise Americans in
such matters; and ended with the assurance that if we got off by the
middle of the afternoon we might regard ourselves as particularly
fortunate. We nevertheless returned to the shore, and found part of the
crew had assembled, and were collecting wood and arranging their kettles
preparatory to making breakfast. Never was anything performed more
deliberately; and the meal itself was disposed of with equal
deliberation. It was nearly eleven when the kettles were again placed in
the boat, and quite twelve when Pedro made his appearance. Fortunately
for his sable skin, our impatience had taken the chronic form of dogged
endurance, and we sat amongst boxes, trunks, and guns, silent and grim,
but cherishing the determination to make ourselves even with the
vagabonds before we got through with them. Monsieur S. proved to be
right; and it was late in the afternoon before the last straggler was
got in, and the signal was given for starting. We severally mounted on
the naked shoulders of the men, and were deposited on the _pineta_, a
novel mode of embarkation with which we afterwards became familiar. The
sailors took their places, and Pedro, with a great conch shell in one
hand, gravely stationed himself at the tiller. The sweeps were raised,
and every eye was fixed on the Patron, who glanced over the crew, as
much as to ask “all ready?” and then, raising the shell to his lips,
gave a long, unearthly blast. The sweeps fell simultaneously into the
water, the men uttered a _hoo-pah_, the crowd on the beach shouted, the
women waved their rebozos, while Ben unfurled the American flag at the
bow. La Granadina seemed to fly through the water, and our friend, the
Consul General, protruded his head from his hospitable garret, and waved
his adieus as we swept by. The crew of the little Francis also hurrahed
from her shrouds, and altogether, as Pedro, dropping his conch, proudly
observed, it was a demonstration worthy of the occasion. He evidently
thought it would tell well in the United States!
We were too glad to get off, to care much for anything else; nor did we
experience many regrets when we took our last look at the long, low line
of huts, and found ourselves shut in by the green banks of the river.
Fairly in the stream, and out of sight of the town, the oars were drawn
aboard, and every marinero stripped himself of his scanty clothing,
which was carefully wrapped up, and deposited in a protected place, nor
put on again until we reached the head of the river. This somewhat
startling ceremony over, each man lighted a segar and resumed his oar;
but the strokes were now leisurely made, and the severe realities of the
voyage commenced. For some miles the banks of the river, as also the
numerous islands which studded it, were low, covered with canes, and
with a species of tall grass called _gamalote_. In places the stream was
compressed between the islands, with a rapid current; while elsewhere it
spread out in broad, glassy reaches, of great apparent depth, but
shallow everywhere except in the channel; which, as the bed of the river
is sand, is narrow and tortuous, and constantly shifting. A few miles
above the harbor, we came to where the Juanillo, “Little John,” rejoins
the river, from which it diverges some twenty-five miles above the
mouth. After winding through the low grounds back of San Juan, spreading
out into lagunas, and at one place into a considerable lake, it returns
to the main stream, purple with vegetable infusions. The Indians
sometimes penetrate this channel in canoes, for the purpose of shooting
the wild fowl which people its marshy, pestilent borders, and of killing
the manitus, which here finds a congenial solitude.
During the rainy season the whole marshy region through which the
Juanillo flows is covered with water, as is also nearly the entire delta
of the river, which, in the ordinary stages, is nowhere elevated more
than a few feet above the river. It was now the commencement of the
rains in the interior; the stream was rising, and, as our freight was
comparatively light, we were enabled to proceed without much difficulty.
We nevertheless sometimes ran aground, on which occasions our men leaped
overboard, and putting their shoulders under the boat, lifted it off.
The bongos are sometimes obliged, both in ascending and descending, to
take out part of their freight, and depositing the remainder beyond the
shallower sections of the river, return again for it. This, however,
occurs only during the dry season, when the river has probably not more
than half the volume which it possesses during the period of the rains.
In the exhilaration of our departure we had quite forgotten the
disappointment of the morning, and had abandoned ourselves to the
enjoyment of the novelty alike of our circumstances and the scenery. But
our day’s annoyances were not complete. After paddling for perhaps five
miles, we came to where the banks had more firmness, and were a trifle
higher than below, and where the canes and long grass gave way to a rank
growth of palms; their broad leaves forming a roof impenetrable to the
sun. Here, at a place where the undergrowth had been removed, and the
trees rose like gothic columns, with evergreen arches, covering cool,
dark vistas, our boat was quietly thrust in shore, and we were
astonished with preparations for another meal. We remonstrated, but it
was of no use; all the bongos had stopped here from time immemorial, and
Pedro told us, in broken English, that the _demonio_ could not get the
sailors by. And Pedro himself sat deliberately down on the _pineta_, and
turning up his toes, began a grand hunt for _niguas_. Some of the men
followed the example of the Patron, others lifted out the kettles, and
still others built a fire.
Every bongo, on leaving the interior, takes on board a large number of
plantains, not yet fully ripe, and which are therefore called _verdes_.
These are detached from the stalk, “corded up” in the bow of the boat,
and constitute the principal reliance of the men. A few, that are nearly
or quite ripe, called _maduras_, are also taken on board for immediate
use. Besides these, there is a box of jerked beef, or what the Americans
ironically call _yard beef_,—i. e. beef cut in long strips and dried in
the sun. Some bottles of _manteca_ (lard), or a quantity of kidney fat
and a bag of rice are added, and then the substantial supplies for the
voyage are complete. The cookery is very simple. Stakes are driven in
the ground to support the kettle, in which is first put a portion of
fat, next a layer of _platanos verdes_ from which the skin has been
stripped, then a layer of beef cut in small pieces, a calabash of rice,
some salt, and so on until the kettle is filled. Water is poured over
all, and the whole is thoroughly boiled. While this is going on, the men
amuse themselves with roasting bits of meat on the ends of pointed
sticks. Nothing can be wilder or more picturesque than a dozen naked,
swarthy figures crouched around the fire, in the deep shadows of the
forest, protecting their faces from the heat with their hands, and
keeping up the while a most vociferous discussion, generally about the
merits of this or that bongo, or upon some other subject of equal
interest to themselves. When the mess in the kettle is cooked, each one
fills his calabash, and with his fingers or a cocoa-nut spoon disposes
of it at his leisure. As the “yard beef” has always a most suspicious
odor, I could bring myself to taste the contents of the kettle but once.
I must do the marineros the justice to say that it was not an unsavory
dish. It is always arranged to have half a kettle full of the compound
over, to which the men help themselves at their pleasure.
Besides these common stores, every sailor has a private stock,
consisting, generally, of a bag of _tiste_, (parched corn, ground with
cacao and sugar,) which is mixed with water, making a nourishing and
most delicious beverage. He has also a few cakes of _chancaca_, or, as
he calls it, _dulce_, i. e., unrefined sugar, which he eats in its raw
state. A few stalks of sugar-cane are almost always to be found stowed
away amongst the freight, upon which the men entertain themselves after
the anchor is cast for the night. In fact, when they are not sleeping or
at the oars, they are eating or smoking, and are as loquacious as a
flock of parrots. A stranger would suppose they were constantly on the
verge of a general quarrel. Yet, like the _arrieros_ of Mexico, these
men are, with few exceptions, good-tempered, honest, and trustworthy,
and have an _esprit de corps_ amongst them which is carefully kept up.
They are governed by certain conventional rules, which none dare
violate; and their quarrels are generally referred to the decision of
the older and more influential individuals of their own number.
It was nearly sunset when the meal was finished; the boat was pushed out
in the stream, and we were once more on our way. We had now come to that
part of the river where the long, broad reaches commence, and were
moving slowly and almost noiselessly along in the shadow of the trees,
on the tops of which the sunlight was shining, when suddenly, as if by a
simultaneous impulse, the sweeps were raised, and each sailor reverently
took off his hat,—the hour of the _oracion_ had come. The bowman
commenced the evening chaunt, the chorus of which was taken up by the
entire crew, with a precision, in respect to cadence and time, which
could only result from long practice. There was certainly something
impressive in the apparent devotion of these rude men, apart from the
effect of the melody itself, caught up as it was by the echoes, and
prolonged in the forest solitudes. Yet the impression was destroyed by
one of those freaks in which the natives of this country seem to
delight, and which constantly outrage the traveller’s sense of
propriety. No sooner was the chaunt concluded, than all hands gave a
shout, and bending to the sweeps, pulled like madmen for a few minutes,
and then as suddenly stopped again, and broke out in a paroxysm of
laughter.
We afterwards frequently witnessed the same proceeding, but could never
discover the reason for it, probably because there was no reason in the
case. We came, in the end, to look upon it as a simple ebullition of
animal feeling. The fit of laughter over, the men pulled steadily for a
couple of hours, keeping time to a kind of round which was certainly not
without a degree of melody, but which was chiefly acceptable because it
required a full and rapid swing of the sweeps, and was therefore
favorable to speed. We always applauded it, and when impatient of our
slow progress, exercised our ingenuity to introduce it as frequently as
possible without creating suspicion of the object. Our friend “Medio,”
however, sharper than the rest, detected us; but he was adroit enough to
turn his wit to account, by exacting extra allowances of our _ardiente_
as the reward of his silence.
It was long after dark when we came to anchor in the midst of the
stream, at a point above the _gamalote_ islands, which are always
densely populated with mosquitos. For this reason the bongos never stop
over night near them, if it can be avoided. The sailors have also a
fancy, whether well-founded or otherwise I am unprepared to say, that
noise will attract these annoying visitors. The sweeps are therefore
pulled on board, and the anchor run out as silently as possible, and all
conversation thereafter is carried on in a suppressed voice.
One night on the river is much like all others, and our first may be
taken as an “average” example of our nocturnal experiences. The trunks
of the party had been packed beneath the _chopa_, with principal
reference to a level surface. Upon these were spread ponchos, blankets,
and whatever might contribute to relieve the unyielding sub-stratum,
while the carpet bags, and gutta-percha pouches were reserved for
pillows. A stout cord was fastened close under the roof, over which were
hung a change of linen, and a few necessary articles of dress. Here too
were slung, in easy reach, and with special regard to convenience in
case of necessity, our guns, pistols, and bowie knives, with the
requisite ammunition. A few books and materials for drawing were
bestowed on a shelf beneath the _pineta_, where also Ben had established
the commissariat department,—one which, above all others, is not to be
neglected in ascending the San Juan. It was barely possible to sit erect
beneath the _chopa_; and excepting the narrow space between it and the
first bench, there was no room to stand, unless we encroached upon the
Patron’s _pineta_,—which, it may be mentioned, we were not scrupulous in
doing. Here, notwithstanding the heat of the sun, I passed most of the
day, to the thorough embrowning of every exposed part of the person. The
thatched _chopa_, a paradise for insects, was covered with raw hides,
and two immense ones were fixed at either end. When it rained, these
were let down, converting the interior into a kind of oven, intolerably
close and hot. After one or two trials, we preferred to take the risk of
getting wet to that of being suffocated by the heat, and would not allow
them to be lowered. In fact, after repeated wettings, their stench
became unendurable, and we had them removed entirely, much to the
astonishment of Pedro, who really seemed to relish the smell of
putrescent hides! In the first class bongos, which have board roofs,
with close joints, this annoyance is obviated. In these the traveller
also finds a refuge on the top of the _chopa_, from the discomforts of
the interior.
We sat up late, watching the men, who gathered in a group near the bow
of the boat, each with a cigar in his mouth, a handkerchief bound round
his head, and a blanket thrown over his shoulders. There they sat for
hours, keeping up conversation in a low tone, and with every appearance
of great earnestness. Finally, however, they broke off one by one, and
stretched themselves each on his own hard bench. Ben, too, who had been
with Fremont across the continent, had travelled all over Mexico, and
was consequently a philosopher after his way, took to the only vacant
bench, while Pedro coiled himself in a heap on the _pineta_. The night
was threatening, no stars were visible, and we could only discern the
dark water sweeping past us, by the light of the “fire-fly lamps.” An
alligator occasionally plunged heavily in the stream, but excepting the
water rippling under the bow, all else was silent.
It was past midnight when the drops of an approaching shower warned us
to seek the shelter of the _chopa_. We found our quarters sufficiently
narrow, and the trunks, spite of ponchos and blankets, portentously
hard. Yet, thanks to former experiences, I was soon asleep, and
slumbered soundly until morning. A few straggling mosquitos, however,
had disturbed my companions, who were up long before me, unrefreshed and
complaining. Although it was hardly sunrise, we had been moving for two
or three hours, and were past the Tauro mouth of the San Juan, and
approaching the point of divergence of the Colorado. And although the
banks were little if any higher than before, yet the feathery palms, of
which I have spoken, were interspersed with other varieties of trees,
some of which were of large size, and draped all over with vines, that
hung in rich festoons over the water. Birds of varied plumage glanced in
and out of the forest, and cranes and other water-fowl paced soberly
along the sand bars, or flew lazily up the stream as we approached.
Occasionally a pair of green macaws,—the macaw is never seen except in
couples,—fluttered slowly over our heads, almost deafening us with their
discordant notes. The air was cool and fresh, reminding me of a morning
in June at home, and I experienced a degree of exhilaration in
performing my morning ablutions which completely put to flight all my
previously conceived notions of tropical lassitude. Mists lurked here
and there in the bends of the river, and in shadowy nooks, but they
gradually dispersed, and at eight o’clock, when the boat was moored
under the shadow of a gigantic tree, the sun shone brilliantly upon a
scene as luxuriant as the imagination can portray. Ben boiled his coffee
at the sailors’ fire, and we made our first breakfast on the river with
a degree of satisfaction which, even at this distance of time, it is
pleasant to recall.
At ten o’clock we were once more in motion, and shortly after came to
the Colorado. At the point of junction, fourteen miles above the port,
there is a broad reach, and the river at once assumes a more majestic
character. As I have already said, the Colorado carries off fully
two-thirds of the water of the river, so that no adequate idea of its
size and beauty can be formed until the traveller has reached the main
body of the stream. Here the banks become higher; the low islands
disappear; and the river is walled in by a dense forest. To avoid the
strength of the current, the boat was kept close along the shore, and
the long vines, loaded with gay and fragrant flowers, trailed over the
_chopa_ as it passed beneath them. Brilliantly-colored birds sparkled in
the cool, green coverts, and, for the first time, we saw the ugly
iguanas looking curiously down upon us from the projecting limbs of the
trees. They fully answered to Ben’s description of very ugly snakes,
which Nature, after forming the head and tail, had neglected, until it
was too late, to roll into shape, giving them afterwards four legs, by
way of compensation for her oversight. They abound in Central America,
and are to be met with in almost every locality, but are particularly
abundant on the San Juan, where they attain to great size. They are of a
variety of colors, and the different species (of which there appear to
be several,) are distinguished by other peculiarities. Hundreds of small
size and bright-green color might be seen clinging to every little
branch, or sunning themselves on every old trunk which projected into
the stream. When disturbed, they would dash for the shore with great
swiftness, literally walking the water. We shot many in our passage, but
recovered few, as they are very tenacious of life, and often cling to
the trees after they are killed. They are esteemed delicious food, and
are eagerly sought by the marineros. I could never bring myself to taste
them, although the flesh, after being cooked, looked sufficiently
delicate and inviting. I do not know how close an anatomical affinity
they sustain to the alligator, but their jaws and teeth are much the
same, in miniature, and like the alligator they take to the water if
closely pressed, when there is no hole or tree in which to find refuge.
Their general ugliness is unnecessarily heightened by a kind of crest or
integument which runs along the back, from the root of the neck to the
tail, and which is elevated when the animal is frightened or enraged. I
never overcame my aversion to these reptiles, although I afterwards
brought myself to tolerate a colony of them, which had taken up their
quarters in the adobe walls of my court-yard in Leon.
During the day we passed an island near the place of divergence of the
Juanillo, upon which an adventurous Nicaraguan from the interior had
established a plantain-walk. His house was nothing more than a shed, and
under it was strung a couple of hammocks, in which the master and his
spouse swung slowly to and fro, complete impersonations of idleness and
ease. A couple of naked children were rolling in the sand of the shore,
upon which was drawn up a graceful canoe, the whole constituting a
picture of primitive simplicity, to be found nowhere except under the
tropics. Our men shouted, and were answered by a couple of
wolfish-looking dogs, while the children scampered for the hut in
apparent alarm, but neither father nor mother took the trouble to rise.
Why should they?
That night we came to anchor a few miles below the mouth of the
Serapiqui, and next morning passed the spot where the Nicaraguan boatmen
had made their stand against the English, after the capture of San Juan.
The position was well chosen, at the head of a long reach, where the
river takes a sudden bend, and where the hills, for the first time, come
down to the water. Here they had cleared off the trees, and with their
trunks had constructed a hasty breastwork, fronting the river. This rude
fortification was manned by about one hundred and twenty men, some armed
with old fowling-pieces, but others having no weapons except their
machetes. They had also one or two rusty pieces of artillery, which none
of them knew how to use, and with these preparations they awaited the
ascent of the English. The latter, made up of three hundred picked men,
from the vessels-of-war “Alarm” and “Vixen,” in launches carrying guns
at their bows, reached this place on the 12th of February, 1848. There
could, of course, be but one result. The Nicaraguans were dislodged,
with the loss of some fifteen or twenty killed, and about the same
number wounded. With an equal force and equipments, the issue might have
been different. The English commander reported his loss at two killed
and fourteen wounded, but the Nicaraguans protest that it was four or
five times that number, and the men were anxious to convince us of the
fact by opening the grave where the English had buried their dead. We
did not, however, take interest enough in the matter to stop, and were
consequently obliged to keep our doubts, if we entertained any, to
ourselves. Certain it is, that the British commander did not include in
his statement the loss of Mr. Walker, “British Consul and General Agent
on the Mosquito shore,” who, with a boon companion, was reported
“accidentally drowned.” Walker was the most effective agent in getting
up the attack on San Juan, and in organizing the British pretensions,
being always at hand to manufacture “historical evidence,” and his death
almost consoled the Nicaraguans for their defeat. Captain Loch was, I
believe, promoted for his gallantry, in what the Admiralty termed “the
brilliant action of Serapiqui.” The whole affair was a wanton act of
aggression, and worthy only of pirates. No wonder the sailors hissed
“death to the English” through their closed teeth, as we swept past the
scene of their humiliation.
The Serapiqui is a large stream, taking its rise at the base of the
great volcano of Cartago, in Costa Rica. It is navigable by bongos for
the distance of thirty miles, and is one of the avenues through which
the inhabited part of Costa Rica is reached from the coast. Flowing
wholly to the eastward of the mountains, where the rains fall during the
entire year, the volume of water in this river is very constant. It is
probably the largest tributary of the San Juan. There is a small spot of
ground partially cleared at its mouth, where some families had
established themselves previous to the English troubles. Upon the
seizure of San Juan, they abandoned their plantations and moved into the
interior; and so rapid is the progress of vegetation and the course of
decay, that their rude dwellings have entirely disappeared, and no trace
of former occupation is left, except a few plantain trees struggling
above the rank grass and undergrowth which have since sprung up.
We passed the mouth of the Rio San Francisco during the afternoon, and
spent our third night above “Remolino Grande,” where rock first appears
in the bank of the river. This name is given to a whirlpool caused by
the abrupt turning of the stream, which is here somewhat confined by its
unyielding banks. Up to this time we had accomplished only about thirty
miles of our voyage, and the easiest portion, for the current above is
stronger, and we were now approaching the rapids, where progress against
the stream is slow and difficult.
[Illustration: VIEW OF THE SAN JUAN; THE HILLS OF SAN CARLOS.]
The next day we came to where the banks of the river were higher than we
had yet seen, and where the scenery became, if possible, more beautiful
than before. I never wearied in gazing upon the dense masses of foliage
that literally embowered the river, and which, in the slanting light,
produced those magical effects of shadow on water, which the painter
delights to represent. We this day caught occasional glimpses of the
high hills at the junction of the San Carlos with the San Juan, where
the latter breaks through the barrier which shuts in the great basin of
Nicaragua on the east. The afternoon was rainy, and heavy thunder-storms
swept over as we approached the highlands. The marineros, nevertheless,
seemed to relish the change, and pulled at the oars with renewed vigor.
Just before sunset, however, the rains stopped, and as the atmosphere
cleared, we found that we were at the mouth of the San Carlos, a broad
and long stream, which, like the Serapiqui, takes its rise at the base
of the volcano of Cartago, in Costa Rica. This stream, Pedro informed
us, brings down immense quantities of volcanic sand, ashes, and
decomposed scoriaceous materials, which it deposits at various points,
forming what appear to be smooth sand-bars. The material, however, is so
soft and yielding, that whoever ventures upon it, sinks at once to his
middle. Near the mouth of this stream is one of the largest and most
beautiful islands to be found in the river; and, as we approached, two
manitees, feeding amongst the grass on its shores, plunged their
unwieldy bulks heavily in the water. Above the island is the pass in the
hills to which I have alluded, and which reminded me of the entrance of
the highlands of the Hudson from the north. The mountains, upon the
left, come boldly down to the water, and their tops were wrapped in
clouds, lending to them the grandeur which in some degree always
pertains to the vague and unknown. Here the river is much compressed,
and the current deep and strong, requiring the utmost exertions of the
men to carry the boat against it. With darkness came the rain again, and
thunder-storm after thunder-storm rolled heavily along the heights of
San Carlos. At times the mountain summits were literally wrapped in
fire, and they seemed trembling to their very bases under the
reverberating peals of thunder. None but those who have witnessed a
tropical storm can fully appreciate Byron’s magnificent description, or
understand the terrible majesty of this elemental warfare. I slept but
little that night, and shall never forget the excitement, novel and
pleasurable, which I experienced under these new and singular
circumstances. Towards morning I fell asleep, and was only awakened by
Ben’s call to breakfast,—broiled ham, fried plantains, bread, and
chocolate.
From the mouth of the San Carlos to the first rapids, those of Machuca,
the river seemed to increase in beauty. The banks were higher and
firmer, and hills appeared, at intervals, in the background. The country
here is evidently one well adapted for cultivation, and must ultimately
become populated. At present a few Melchora Indians roam through its
forests, deriving their support from the river and its tributaries. They
are generally very shy of the boats, and retire upon their approach. One
or two families, however, have overcome their fears, and from their
communication with the boatmen, have picked up sufficient Spanish to
enable them to carry on a broken conversation. Two of these Indians, an
old man and a boy, came to us in their canoe, and offered some dried
pieces of a large fish, which abounds in the rivers, called _Savalo_, in
exchange for bread, plantains, or any other articles which the sailors
might have to spare. Both were naked, and the old man was wrinkled and
drooping, his gray hair matted on his head and shoulders, while the boy
was lithe, bright, and sleek as a young panther. They looked curiously
at our party, and frequently exclaimed, _blancos, blancos_, whites,
whites! I gave them some fish-hooks, in return for which they insisted
on my receiving a portion of their dried fish. Pedro endeavored to make
them understand that we were from “El Norte,”—but they knew nothing of
El Norte, and only shook their heads. They stand in great dread of
firearms, as they have been wantonly shot at by passengers ascending or
descending the river. And when they glanced under the _chopa_, and
caught sight of our armament, they pushed off hastily into the stream;
the boy standing in the bow, and striking with his paddle alternately on
one side and the other, while the old man guided the boat. I did not
succeed in procuring any words of the vocabulary of these Indians, but
they are undoubtedly of Carib stock.
The rapids of Machuca, which derive their name from Capt. Diego Machuca,
who explored this river in 1529, are the first and most formidable on
the river. The bed of the stream, for nearly a mile, is full of rocks
and stones, between which the water rushes with great force. The boats,
in ascending, are kept close in the right shore, and are poled up,
slowly and with great difficulty. In descending they are often kept near
the middle of the stream, down which they come, glancing between the
rocks with the rapidity of an arrow. In descending, in June, 1850, my
bongo, which obeyed the rudder very imperfectly, struck with immense
force, and got jammed between the rocks, with its broadside to the
current, where we remained for thirty hours, until literally dragged out
by the united crews of six boats, after half a day of incessant labor.
The boat was of great strength, or it must inevitably have gone to
pieces. Such accidents are not of frequent occurrence, as the marineros
are extremely expert in the management of their bongos. We were four
hours in passing the Machuca. From thence to the Rapides del Mico and
los Valos, the current is strong, but the channel is free. These rapids
are short, and less difficult to overcome than those of Machuca. It is
nevertheless a slow and laborious task to make their ascent; and until
they are improved by art, they must always be great obstacles to the
navigation of the river. At present the steamer “Orus,” sent out by the
“American Atlantic and Pacific Ship Canal Company,” lies a wreck on the
rocks of Machuca.
[Illustration: “CASTILLO VIEJO,” OR OLD FORT OF SAN JUAN.—1849.]
On the morning of the 17th of June we made the Rapides del Castillo,
commanded by the ancient fort of San Juan, now called the Castillo
Viejo, “Old Castle.” We had looked forward to our arrival here with
great interest, not less on account of the historical associations
connected with the place, than because, from hence to the lake, the
passage is quick and comparatively easy. The morning was wet and gloomy,
and altogether the most forbidding of any we had yet encountered, hardly
excepting that on which we had made the coast, in the execrable little
Francis. I nevertheless put on my water-proof poncho, and took my seat
by the side of Pedro, on the _pineta_.
A league below the fort we passed the island of Bartola, on which,
beneath the dense verdure, we could discover traces of the ancient
advance works of the fortress. It was here the English buried their men
who were killed, or died of disease during the memorable but fruitless
expedition against Nicaragua, in 1780, under the command of Colonel
Polson, and Captain, afterwards Lord, Nelson. This island was carried by
Nelson, who here distinguished himself for the first time.
Passing the island, we came to a broad and beautiful reach in the river,
at the head of which, upon a commanding eminence, rise the walls of the
Castillo. The hill resembles that of Chapultepec, near Mexico; is
equally bold, and has been scarped to the steepness and regularity of
the pyramids. The sides are now covered with bushes, and matted over
with vines, but the walls still frown gloomily above the mass of
verdure. At the foot, and nearly on the level of the water, is what is
called the “_Platforma_,” where were the ancient water-batteries. It is
now occupied by a few thatched houses,—the quarters of a small garrison
kept here by the Nicaraguan government, as an evidence of occupancy, and
to assist boats in passing the rapids of the Castle, which, although
narrow, are very powerful, and better deserving the name of falls than
rapids. Here the boats have to be “tracked up” by sheer force; and it is
usual for all passengers to land, and to lighten the boat in every way
possible. It is often necessary to take out a considerable part of the
freight, or to wait for the arrival of another boat, so as to join
forces in making the ascent.
Arrived in the eddy below the “Platforma,” M. and myself bestrid the
shoulders of our men, and were deposited on shore. We started at once
for the castle, by a path which the garrison, under express orders from
the government, kept clear of bushes. I glanced into one of the huts as
I passed, but saw nothing beyond a very pretty yellow girl, swinging
slowly to and fro in a hammock, with one naked leg hanging indolently
over the side. She threw aside her long black curls, but, without
changing her position, exclaimed, “Adios, California!” A party of
outward-bound Californians had spent a number of days here, a few weeks
previously, and had evidently been on familiar terms with the señora.
The ascent to the castle was very steep and slippery from the rain,
which had fallen uninterruptedly all the morning. A wide and deep fosse
ran around the brow of the hill, with perpendicular escarpments, which
we crossed on a narrow causeway, evidently of comparatively recent
construction. If the work seemed imposing from the river, how much more
impressive was it when we looked down from its walls into two tiers of
chambers sunk in the rock, and in which tall trees were growing, their
topmost branches scarcely reaching to the level on which we stood. We
descended by a bomb-proof stairway to the bottom, into what had been the
magazine, and into the rocky chambers where the ancient garrison had
been quartered, more than ever impressed with the daring and energy of
those iron men who had subverted the empires of Montezuma and the Incas;
and who, within fifty years after the Discovery, had traversed every
part of the continent, from California to La Plata. We went into the
chapel; there was the niche in which had stood the cross, and an effigy
of “Nuestra Madre de Mercedes,” “Our Mother of Mercy,” and beneath it
was the font for holding the holy water. By a passage, protected from
shot, we ascended to what is called the tower,—a solid mass of masonry,
rising some sixty feet above the lower works, with a parapet embrasured
for twelve guns, and now almost as solid and substantial as if built but
yesterday. In this climate, where the great corrodent, frost, never
reaches, the durability of good masonry is almost incredible. The floor
of the tower, with the exception of the centre, which had been broken,
probably under the impression that treasure might be concealed there,
was as smooth and firm as ever. Upon the western side of the work was
the main entrance, the massive buttresses which supported the
drawbridge, and a glacis, subsiding to a terrace, which had been the
parade ground, garden, and cemetery of the garrison. All around the work
on this side was an arched way, and immediately facing the draw, and
firmly imbedded in the masonry of the tower, a block of stone, bearing a
long inscription, but too much defaced to be perfectly made out. Its
purport, however, is, that the castle was _reconstructed_, under royal
orders, by the Governor Intendant of Nicaragua and Costa Rica, for the
defence of the river, in 1747. How long previously works had existed
there is now unknown,—probably from the middle of the sixteenth century.
Great but ineffective efforts had evidently been made to dislodge or
remove this stone, which bears too potential evidence against the
pretensions of one “J. Bull,” to be regarded with favor by any in his
interest.
On the north-western bastion of the fort and looking both up and down
the river, stands a sentinel’s box of stone, and close beside it, firmly
fixed in the walls, the stump of the ancient flag-staff. Within the box
were yet to be seen the grooves which the muskets of the sentinels had
worn in the stone. We thrust our heads through the windows, but saw
nothing except Pedro and his men, some to their shoulders in the water,
pushing up “La Granadina,” and others tugging at the rope attached to
her bows.
[Illustration: SENTINEL’S BOX AT THE CASTILLO VIEJO.]
This fort was captured by the English on the 29th of April, 1780. The
plan of the expedition was formed by Gen. Sir John Dalling,[4] and had
for its object to get possession of Lake Nicaragua, and the cities of
Leon and Granada, and thus to cut off communication between the northern
and southern Spanish possessions in America. The land forces were
commanded by Colonel Polson, under whose orders Captain Nelson, then in
command of the ship “Hinchinbrook,” acted. The Spanish garrison
consisted of two hundred and twenty-eight men, under the command of Juan
de Ayssa. Notwithstanding the overwhelmingly superior force of the
English, the siege was a protracted one. The castle was finally brought
to terms by the English obtaining possession of a hill commanding it in
the rear. By the terms of capitulation, “in consideration of the gallant
defence of the fort,” the garrison was permitted to march out with
colors flying, drums beating, with lighted matches, muskets and
sidearms, and to be furnished with vessels and provisions to convey them
to any port of Spain in America which might be agreed upon.[5] This
triumph was dearly purchased, and was productive of no good results. The
entire expedition was a failure, and is passed over very lightly in the
English annals. Of the two hundred men comprising the crew of Nelson’s
vessel, but ten survived the expedition, and he himself narrowly escaped
death. In January, 1781, the English abandoned the castle, and withdrew
to Jamaica. Collingwood apologises for the failure of the expedition, on
the ground that “it was formed without a sufficient knowledge of the
country, and presented difficulties not to be surmounted by human skill
and perseverance. It was dangerous to proceed on the river, from the
rapidity of the current, and the numerous falls over rocks which
intercepted the navigation; the climate, too, was deadly, and no
constitution could resist its effects.”[6]
-----
Footnote 4:
Clark and McArthur’s Life of Nelson, vol. p. 32.
Footnote 5:
Beatson’s “Naval and Military Memoirs of Great Britain,” vol. v. p.
97, and vol. vi. p. 230.
Footnote 6:
Memoirs, 5th ed., vol. i., p. 10.
-----
Some conception of the difficulty of ascending the rapids of the
Castillo may be formed from the fact, that it required the utmost
exertion of our men, for nearly three hours, to get “La Granadina,” with
no freight, past them. The boat once up, the crew made breakfast; and
after glancing over the list of the Californian party, who had not
neglected to inscribe their names conspicuously on the walls of the
fort, we descended, thoroughly drenched with the rain. I had the
toothache, and M—— the rheumatism, for a week, “by way of improvement”
on our visit to the Castillo. The commandant of the garrison, having
found out who were his visitors, was there to receive us; and from him
we learned that we were expected in the interior, and that instructions
had gone out from the government to all its officers to treat us with
every possible respect, and to afford every facility to our progress. He
had accordingly come to put himself “at our disposition.” Being hungry,
the colloquy took place, on the part of the representative of El Norte,
in the intervals which could be spared from Ben’s broiled ham and
coffee. For an appetite, and a corresponding contempt for etiquette, I
recommend a three hours’ visit to the Castillo Viejo, before breakfast.
A few miles above the Rapides del Castillo, are the Rapides del Toro,
which, however, are not strong, and are easily passed. Beyond these the
river becomes of very nearly uniform width, and flows with a deep,
regular current. This part of the stream is, in fact, a kind of estuary,
or extension of Lake Nicaragua. The banks are low, and the feathery palm
again appears lining the shores. The whole country on both shores, for a
long distance back, is swampy, and in parts covered with water in the
rainy season. Quite a number of sluggish streams, nevertheless, flow
through it, whose names indicate the character of their banks and the
surrounding country. There is the Rio Palo del Arco, “Arched with
Trees;” the Rio Poco Sol, “Little Sun;” Rio Roblito, Mosquito, etc.
It was on the morning of the sixth day after our departure from San
Juan, that the boat was pushed in to the low bank for breakfast, at a
point but five miles below the Fort of San Carlos, situated at the head
of the river, on the lake. Myriads of water-fowl lined the shores, and
never so much as moved from the trees above us while we breakfasted.
Among them Ben discovered a majestic black eagle, which he shot. The
bird fell near us, but as we approached him, he threw himself on his
back, with open beak, fierce eye, and threatening talons, defiant to the
last. I would have given more than one hard dollar to have undone the
wanton act, and sent the proud bird unharmed once more, free to his
native mountains.
Although the novelty of our ascent, (ninety miles in six days, think of
that, ye voyagers on the Hudson or our western rivers!) had in some
degree compensated for its tediousness, and we had “put in” the time
rather agreeably than otherwise, yet it was with unqualified
satisfaction that we learned that we had nearly passed the river. We
were impatient to look upon the great lake, of which the world had heard
so much but knew so little, and thought our progress, over the
intervening five miles, unaccountably slow. At eleven o’clock, however,
upon passing a large island, the river opened in a broad reach, and we
saw before us the waters of the lake. A commanding eminence, cleared of
trees, and surmounted by a few houses and a flag-staff, rose where the
lake terminated and the river commenced. The men seemed hardly less
pleased than ourselves; but after pulling with great energy for a few
minutes, suddenly stopped, and simultaneously plunged overboard. We had
become accustomed to all sorts of fantastic freaks, and contented
ourselves with looking on without asking questions. After paddling about
for a while, they clambered aboard, and then commenced a grand hunt for
the clothes which had been so summarily laid aside when we left San
Juan. These were dragged to light from all conceivable out-of-the-way
nooks, and directly the whole crew was dressed in clean attire, which
made us quite ashamed of our soiled garments. The economy, not to say
the convenience, of going naked, for the purpose of keeping one’s
clothes clean, was never more manifest. Pedro insisted on having the
flag unfurled from the _pineta_, and before we had got within a mile
from the fort, produced his conch-shell, and blew an awful blast upon
it. A few figures appeared on the hill near the flag-staff, and directly
the blue and white flag of Nicaragua, with an oval in the centre,
containing three volcanoes and the rising sun, was run to its top. The
roll of a drum, and the glancing of polished arms in the sun, showed us
that we were recognized, and made us more than ever ashamed of our
shabby exteriors. But what was to be done? Our trunks were wedged
immovably beneath us, and if once dragged out, to our future eminent
discomfort, where and how could we make our toilet? Besides we had no
time for operations, the men were pulling with all their force, and we
were rapidly nearing the fort. M——, with one foot wrapped in a napkin,
(a nigua had unluckily escaped detection at San Juan,) proposed that we
should throw our gutta percha ponchos over our garments, and decline
going on shore, as the only feasible means of keeping up appearances.
This was hardly agreed upon and done, before “La Granadina” dashed round
the point, and up to the landing of San Carlos. The commandante and his
subordinates, in full uniform, the officers of the Aduana or
Custom-House, and a large deputation of the people, were all on the
beach to receive us, which they did with a storm of vivas, and before we
had well recovered from our surprise, a canoe was placed alongside, and
the first Alcalde desired us to land. We were, of course, extremely
obliged, but preferred to remain on board, as we should proceed at once.
Pedro spoiled this by saying that he must ship his masts here, and that
his men must eat, and we knew this double performance was good for five
or six hours. So, trusting to the impenetrable ponchos, we got into the
canoe, and were guided to the shore. We did not feel particularly
imposing while receiving the congratulations of our new friends, and at
once accepted the proposal of the commandante to go to his house, which
was airily situated at the top of the hill, and within what had been
part of the ancient defences. Here about twenty-five men, composing the
garrison, were drawn up, who presented arms as we passed.
The commandante’s house, like all the rest, was composed of a
substantial frame-work of timber; the sides were made of canes netted
together, the roof was thatched, and the floor the natural earth,
excepting that of one room, which was paved with brick tiles. A number
of pigeons were billing and cooing in a snug place under the eaves; an
exceedingly quiet hen sat brooding beneath a table in one corner of the
principal room, and through an opening in a cloth partition, we caught
sight of a pretty bed, with snow-white curtains, with a gaudy palm
mattress spread in front, on which a full-sized, voluptuously-shaped
young woman was playfully tossing a naked infant, some six months old,
which crowed in very glee, while a young, clumsy little dog leaped
around the child, and barked asthmatically from sheer sympathy. The cool
wind rustled amidst the palm thatch, while the sunlight stole in
checkered mazes between the woven canes. Altogether the scene, combining
so much of simplicity and novelty, impressed me more than any I had ever
witnessed. I forgot, for the moment, that I was keeping my host
standing, and that the servant was holding the hammock, which invariably
swings in every dwelling, open for my reception. I apologized, while the
little garrison, bringing their arms to shoulder with a clang, defiled
before the door, the officer saluting us in a most formal manner. Our
host was anxious to have us remove our ponchos, and seemed puzzled at
our pertinacity in keeping them on. By-and-by, however, they became
insupportably hot, and, as the best way of getting out of them and a
scrape together, I frankly told the whole story of our dilemma, and
dragged off the abominations. I fear “El Norte” did not cut a very
imposing figure, under the close scrutiny to which he was subjected.
The commandante insisted on our dining, and we had no indisposition to
do him the favor,—particularly as we had ocular demonstration, in the
flitches of dried meat, the luscious-looking plantains, and other
edibles, which hung from the rafters, (not less than in the person of
our rotund host, whose uniform was strained to the utmost limit in the
buttoning,) that his larder was well supplied, and the wants of the
inner man properly cared for. Preparatory to taking a walk through the
little village, which the commandante told us was “muy pobre,” very
poor, we all took a drop of brandy, to his toast complimentary to us,
and “to the President of the United States,” “El Esclarecido General
Taylor.”
I have said that the house of the commandante stood within the ancient
outworks of the strong fort of San Carlos. The rocky summit of the point
had been smoothed, and the slopes scarped, so as to render ascent
difficult, if not impracticable. A battery, which raked the river for a
mile, once existed here; but the few rusty guns which remain are more
formidable in appearance than in fact. The fort itself, which formerly
communicated with this battery by a covered way, stands some distance
back, on the highest point of land in the vicinity. It was very strong,
but is now in complete decay, and covered with large trees and bushes,
so as to be entirely hidden from view. Within it we observed many very
heavy pieces of ordnance, some of which were cast in Manilla, and trees
were growing up through heaps of rusty cannon-balls. The position
completely commands the entrance to the lake, and from the nature of the
surrounding country must have been nearly impregnable.
The present town of San Carlos consists only of some twenty cane or
board houses, occupied chiefly by the officers of the customs, and the
soldiers with their families. Since the seizure of San Juan, the customs
on goods entering the State, via that port, have been collected here.
This circumstance, together with the fact that all the boats passing
through the river stop here to unship or resume their masts, and renew
their supplies, makes it a place of some importance. It is delightfully
situated, and from the corridor of the commandant’s house, one of the
finest views in the world is presented to the traveller. The broad lake
spreads like a mirror in front, its opposite shores marked by the
regular volcanic peaks of Orosi, Madeira, and Ometepec, capped with
clouds, which rise dim and blue in the distance. Nearer lie the
fairy-looking islands of La Boqueta, golden under the tropical sun,
while in the foreground the emerald shores stretch their wide arms on
either side, a fit setting for so gorgeous a picture. Immediately
opposite the town, flowing into the lake, within a few rods of where the
San Juan flows out, is the Rio Frio, Cold River, whence the water for
consumption in the village is brought. The sources of this river have
never been explored, but they are supposed to be somewhere in the
mountains of Costa Rica.
A tribe of Indians, called the _Guatusos_, who hold no communication
with the whites, inhabit its banks, and resist all attempts at
exploration. The late commandante of the fort, Don Trinidad Salazar,
endeavored to ascend the stream a few months previously to our arrival;
but on the sixth day he was interrupted by a large body of Indians, and
after a sharp contest, in which he was severely wounded, was compelled
to retreat. He subsequently gave me a glowing account of the beauty of
the stream, and the fertility and luxuriance of its shores. It has a
depth of two fathoms of water, for a distance of forty miles above its
mouth, and from his account, it could probably be navigated by steamers
for twice that distance. The fact that a stream of this size, and the
wide extent of country around it, are wholly unknown, would seem to show
how much remains to be discovered in Central America, and how broad a
field it holds out for enterprise and adventure.
Between the mouth of the Rio Frio and the source of the San Juan, is a
broad sand-bar, which seems to be a grand sunning-ground for alligators.
Hundreds congregate here during the dry season, when the bar is exposed,
and they appear to have an exceedingly good time of it. We could
distinctly see their ugly, black carcasses from the commandante’s
corridor; and our host showed us a basket of their teeth, which he had
picked up on the bar, and which were more pleasant to contemplate in
that condition, than when adorning the jaws of the living reptile.
A French officer, in the Nicaraguan service, (who was foolish enough to
take part against the government in an attempted revolution shortly
after, and got shot for his pains,) gave us some facts relative to
alligators, of which we were previously ignorant. Those most
satisfactory were that they occasionally have terrible fights among
themselves, in which many get killed, and that the males destroy all the
eggs of the females they can find, besides, Saturn-like, eating up all
the young ones they can catch. We only regretted that they were not more
successful in their amiable attentions to their own progeny.
[Illustration: THE IGUANA.]