SAN CARLOS—DINNER AT THE COMMANDANTE’S—INTRODUCTION TO “TORTILLAS Y
FRIJOLES”—A SIESTA—NEWS OF THE ATTEMPTED REVOLUTION—ANTICIPATING
EVENTS, AND WHAT HAPPENED TO THE COMMANDANTE AFTER WE
LEFT—DEPARTURE UNDER A MILITARY SALVO—VIEW OF SAN CARLOS FROM THE
LAKE—LAKE NAVIGATION—CARD PLAYING—GORGEOUS SUNSET—A MIDNIGHT
STORM—SAN MIGUELITO, AND THE “BATH OF THE NAIDES”—PRIMITIVE
SIMPLICITY—A DAY ON THE LAKE—“EL PEDERNAL”—A BATH WITH
ALLIGATORS—AN “EMPACHO”—A TRIAL AT MEDICINE, AND GREAT
SUCCESS—SECOND NIGHT ON THE LAKE—THE VOLCANOES OF MOMOBACHO,
OMETEPEC, AND MADEIRA—VOLCANIC SCENERY—THE COAST OF CHONTALES—THE
CREW ON POLITICS—“TIMBUCOS” AND “CALANDRACAS,” OR A GLANCE AT
PARTY DIVISIONS—ARRIVAL AT “LOS CORALES”—SOME ACCOUNT OF
THEM—ALARMING NEWS—A COUNCIL OF WAR—FAITH IN THE UNITED STATES
FLAG—THE ISLAND OF CUBI—MORE NEWS, AND A RETURN OF THE
“EMPACHO”—DISTANT VIEW OF GRANADA—MAKING A TOILETTE—BEES—ARRIVAL
AT THE RUINED FORT OF GRANADA—HOW THEY LAND THERE—SENSATION
AMONGST THE SPECTATORS—ENTRANCE TO THE CITY—THE ABANDONED CONVENT
OF SAN FRANCISCO—THE HOUSES OF THE INHABITANTS—FIRST
IMPRESSIONS—SOLDIERS AND BARRICADES—THRONGED STREETS—SEÑOR DON
FREDERICO DERBYSHIRE—“OUR HOST”—A WELCOME—OFFICIAL COURTESIES—OUR
QUARTERS—FIRST NIGHT IN GRANADA.
Two hours sufficed to exhaust the lions of San Carlos, including the
arsenal, which was a cane hut, with a quantity of powder in kegs, piled
in the middle and covered with hides; two pieces of artillery, and a
hundred stand of arms, over all of which a single sentinel kept watch,
and the public warehouse or _bodega_, which was nothing more than a
great shed, with convenient hammocks for its idle guardians,—we saw all
these before two o’clock, at which hour dinner was served in the
commandante’s house. The table-cloth was unimpeachably white, and the
service altogether neat and ample. It was clearly the intention of our
host to do his best; even the pigeons seemed impressed with the idea
that something extraordinary was going on, and the hen in the corner was
nervous with excitement in view of the display. All the juvenile
population of the place, if possible still more airily dressed than the
urchins at San Juan, crowded round the doors, (they had followed us, at
a distance, during our peregrinations), and regarded the whole affair
with evident admiration. A number of their seniors, comprising the more
respectable part of the inhabitants, arrayed for the occasion, in
snow-white shirts and pantaloons, each with white buckskin shoes, and a
red sash, now made their appearance, and were collectively and
individually introduced, to the renewal of our mortification on the
score of dress.
We sat down at the table, which was placed so as to give me the seat of
honor in the hammock, while the commandante and his lieutenant, took,
respectively, the head and foot. They declined to eat, devoting
themselves wholly to supplying their guests. This, we afterwards
learned, was Nicaraguan etiquette, when special distinction was intended
to be conveyed. We were now, for the first time, introduced to the
eternal _tortilla_ and the omnipresent _frijoles_, to say nothing of the
endless variety of _dulces_ (sweetmeats), for which all Spanish America
is famous. We commenced with beef, culminated over chicken, and finished
with oranges, bananas, coffee, and cigars; with a pleasant stomachic
conviction that good dinners were not incompatible with cane-huts,
brooding hens in the corners, and amative pigeons under the eaves! We
were anxious to see the señorita, of whom we had had a glimpse on our
arrival, and whose low, laughing voice we occasionally heard through the
cloth partition; but this was a delicate point, which we were cautious
in touching upon, since M—— had found out that the commandante was a
bachelor. Ah, commandante! I may have been mistaken, but I feel very
sure it was a large black eye which I caught merry glances of through a
small rent in that cloth partition!
A siesta was strongly commended to us after dinner, and hammocks were
strung for the whole party. It was indispensable, our host told us, in
this climate, and he wondered how it could be omitted in El Norte. Life,
in his opinion, without a siesta after dinner, must soon become a
wearisome affair,—and he quoted some verses from a native poet which
were conclusive on the subject; so we yielded, and lay down; the people
left, the doors were closed, and all was silent—even the pigeons were
still. Two hours passed in a dreamy, pleasurable way, with just enough
of consciousness to enjoy the mingled sensation of novelty and ease,
when Ben came to apprise us that the boat was ready, and the crew on
board. Our host pressed us to stay until the next morning, but the wind
and weather were fair; and, although the temptation was strong, we
adhered to our first intentions, and were deaf to argument. Before
leaving, I inquired about the revolution of which we had heard so much
at San Juan, but got no very satisfactory information. There had been an
“escaramúza,” a scrimmage, at Granada, and a lawless, reckless fellow,
under proscription for murder, named Somoza, had collected together a
party of adherents, and sacked the city of Rivas or Nicaragua. The
commandante was certain that peace and order were by this time restored;
but if they were not, our arrival would certainly produce quiet. The
commandante hardly thought that the same robber chief, of whom he spoke
so lightly, would pay him a visit within a fortnight, and carry him off
a prisoner! But so it proved to be; and although our commandante
effected his escape, at imminent peril, through a wilderness, unarmed
and alone, yet he was suspected of cowardice, imprisoned, and
court-martialed. He came out safely, however, a shade less rotund
perhaps, “a wiser if not a better man;” and before I left the country I
had the satisfaction of seeing him reinstated at the fort, fat, happy,
and hospitable as ever. The dark-eyed señorita was there too.
At five o’clock we embarked, for the first time, on Lake Nicaragua. The
people all came to bid us good-bye; and one old man insisted upon a
parting embrace. Like the prophet of old, he said he was now ready to
die, for he knew that his country was safe beneath the guardianship of
the Republic of the North. We pushed off under a torrent of _vivas_, and
a _feu de joie_ was fired by the little garrison, which Ben efficiently
returned with his double-barrelled gun, while Pedro blew another
nerve-cracking blast on his conch—that awful conch! The view of San
Carlos, from the lake, was picturesque in the extreme, and the
accompanying sketch of it will be sufficiently curious twenty years
hence, when it shall have become, as it inevitably will, a large and
important town. Already a steamer plies regularly between San Carlos and
Granada; and the alligators, disturbed in their slumbers on the
sand-bar, by its plashing wheels and noisy engine, are meditating a
grand migration into the country of the Guatosos.
The faintest of all zephyrs was dying away on the lake when we started,
yet we had not gone half a mile before the oars were drawn aboard, and a
huge triangular sail spread from the newly-rigged mast. The breeze was
hardly strong enough to fill it; and the boat dawdled, rather than
moved, through the water. We expostulated with Pedro; but it was
useless; the marineros never did row while there was the least apology
for a wind abroad, and the “demonio” himself couldn’t make them. So
Pedro lit his cigar, while the men produced a pack of cards, and
commenced a game, novel enough to us, in which it was the privilege of
the winner to pinch, beat, and otherwise maltreat the loser, who was
obliged to submit without resistance, until the spectators pronounced
“bastante,” enough. One fellow, who was a little rebellious, was
incontinently thrust overboard, to the great damage of a gaudy bandana
handkerchief which he wore about his head, and to the manifest
delectation of the crew, who jibed him unmercifully as a “ladron,” and
“picaro,” “a rascal” and “a loafer.”
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[Illustration: SAN CARLOS—OUTLET OF LAKE NICARAGUA.—1849.]
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The sun went down that night directly behind the purple peak of Orosi.
The body of the volcano appeared to be a nucleus, whence fan-like rays
radiated up to the very zenith, while the yellow light streamed past the
mountain upon thelake, in a dazzling flood, in which the islands of
Solentenami and La Boqueta seemed to float as in liquid gold. As the sun
sank lower, the hues of the heavens changed to crimson, bringing out the
palm-trees on the islands in high relief against the sky; then to
purple, and finally to the cool gray of evening, through which the stars
shone down with a strange and almost unnatural lustre. The transition
was rapid, for here the lingering twilight of northern latitudes is
unknown. Our boatmen were not insensible to the almost unearthly beauty
of the scene; and when it all was passed, they began the evening chaunt,
“Ave Maria purisima,” etc.
the echoes of which were repeated from the shores, until they died away
in murmurs in the distance.
The night was wonderfully still. We could distinctly hear the tinkling
of guitars at the fort, at least three miles distant, interrupted by
bursts of gay laughter, until a late hour. Before I slunk under the
_chopa_, however, clouds began to gather in the north-east, lighted up
momentarily by flashes of lightning, while fitful gusts of wind, veering
in every quarter, betokened the approach of a thunder-storm. I
nevertheless went to sleep while listening to the distant mutterings of
thunder and the dismal howlings of the “mono colorado,” or howling
monkey. A little past midnight, however, we were all roused in a summary
manner by a dash of water full in our faces, followed the next instant
by the lurching of the boat, which tumbled passengers, arms, books, and
whatever was movable, all in a heap together. I disengaged myself in a
moment, and scrambled out upon the pineta, where Pedro, clinging to the
tiller, was calling frantically to the men, who in a confused, shouting
mass were clustered around the swaying mast, vainly endeavoring to take
in the sail. We were before the wind, which was blowing a hurricane, and
going with immense velocity, the hissing waters rising under our stern,
almost to the level of the pineta. Broad sheets of blinding lightning
fell around us, followed by deafening peals of thunder, drowning for a
moment the roar of the tempest. I had hardly time to comprehend the
peril of our situation, with the sail entangled in the ropes, and
swaying from side to side, when a flash of lightning revealed to me
Ben’s stalwart form amongst the frightened marineros. I saw his short
Roman sword glance for an instant above their heads,—he had cut the
ropes. The sail fell, but was at once dragged aboard, while the relieved
boat scudded steadily before the storm, which soon exhausted itself,
leaving us drenched and uncomfortable, tossing roughly amongst the
waves. The men took to the oars without an order, and in evident relief
pulled back towards the course from which we had been driven. All that
night, thunderstorms, like invading columns, swept over the lake around
us, but we fell in the course of none of them. They all seemed to linger
against the high volcanoes on the opposite shores of the lake, as if
they would level in their wrath the daring rocks which opposed their
progress.
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[Illustration: THE NIGHT STORM.]
[Illustration: SAN MIGUELITO.]
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The men slept no more that night, but pulled steadily and silently at
the oars. Towards morning I crept again under the _chopa_, and slumbered
until roused by the bellowing of cattle, and by the sun shining
brilliantly in my face. It was after nine o’clock; we had passed the
islands of La Boqueta, which lay within view, fresh and inviting,
exposing under an archway of trees one or two picturesque huts, with
canoes drawn up in front of them. We were within a snug little bay, in
front of a broad sandy beach, on which the men were kindling fires
preparatory to breakfast, while a herd of sleek-looking cattle wandered
along the shore, here stooping to drink, and there engaging in mimic
fights. Beneath the trees wound back a broad, well-beaten pathway, and
beyond we could see the golden tops of palm-trees, the thatched roofs of
houses, and hear the crowing of cocks, and the merry sound of infant
voices. We were in the “Bahita de San Miguel,” the little bay of San
Miguel, distant about twenty miles from San Carlos, on the northern
shore of the lake. The storm of the preceding night seemed almost like a
dream; could it be possible that a few hours had wrought such a change?
But the tattered sails, and the saturated blankets beneath the _chopa_,
bore testimony to the reality of the storm. In fact, Pedro was yet full
of wrath at what he called the stupidity of his men—they were “tontos”
all, fools and brutes. I had been as indignant as himself, but was too
glad to get out of the scrape safely, to nurse my wrath; so I poured out
for Pedro a gill of brandy in his calabash, which he drank to our good
health, and smacking his lips, straightway recovered his temper.
Directly, a little troop of girls, with purple skirts and white guipils,
their long black hair dangling loosely to their waists, and balancing
red water-jars on their heads, came laughing down the pathway for water.
They appeared to be old friends of our crew, who hailed them gayly with
“à Dios, mi alma!” “buena mañana, mi corazon!” “adieu my soul!” “good
morning, my heart!” to which they replied with “como estan, mis
negritos?” “how are you, my darkeys?” and other railleries, very much,
to our thinking, of the Bowery order. They passed along the shore a
little distance, to a clump of bushes, and the next instant we saw them
plashing like mermaids in the water; while some of our crew, who were
throwing a net “for a fry,” as Pedro said, tried to frighten them by
shouting “lagartos, lagartos!” “alligators, alligators!” and affecting
to make great efforts to escape to the shore. But the girls were not to
be “sold” so easily, and only laughed the louder, and splashed water in
the faces of the jesters as they ran by. Upon discovering us, instead,
as the reader might suppose, of making for the shore in confusion, they
paddled boldly up to the boat, their long hair trailing like a veil on
the surface of the water. They looked laughingly up in our faces for a
moment, exclaiming, “California,” then ducked under, and were away. It
seemed to us, while they stood drying their wet locks on the beach, that
no sculptor could desire fairer models for his studio; nor the painter a
more effective group for “the Bath of the Naides.” We were there in an
auspicious period; those days of primitive simplicity are passing away,
if, indeed, they are not already past.
After drying ourselves in the sun, we took our guns and went on shore.
We followed the inviting path to which I have referred, for a short
distance, when we reached a brisk little brook which came murmuring
among the stones with a familiar New England accent, here rippling over
the bright sand, and there widening into broad, transparent pools. In
one of them a whole bevy of little naked children were tumbling about,
who took to their heels, like young ducks, upon our approach. Here we
met Ben, coming down from the rancherias with two foaming calabashes of
fresh milk, one of which was drained on the spot, the other reserved for
our coffee. I shot a few strange water-birds and a parrot amongst the
bushes, and strayed back to the shore just in time for broiled fish,
crisp and hot from the fire.
Every step into this strange country had been full of novelty; and
although our interest never flagged for an instant, yet we thought San
Miguelito more interesting than any place we had encountered, and at
first entertained some vague notions of stopping there for the day. But
when the freshness of the morning had passed, which it did before we had
finished breakfast, when the cattle had all gone off in the woods, and
no more amphibious girls came down for water, we were not only ready but
anxious to depart, which we did a little before noon. I shall never
forget our breakfast at San Miguelito.
The day was still and sultry: Nature seemed wearied of the elemental war
of the preceding night, and anxious for repose; the branches on the palm
trees on the shore appeared to droop languidly; while the men, under
plea of previous extra labor, paddled along at what Ben piously
denominated “a poor, dying rate.” The north-east trades sweep entirely
across the continent in Nicaragua, and this wind, for boats bound from
San Carlos to Granada, is therefore exceedingly favorable. They keep
close under the northern shore, following its bendings, until they get
nearly opposite Granada, and then stretch boldly across the lake. This
is done because, with their imperfect sailing gear, venturing into the
mid-lake would almost infallibly end in being blown over to the leeward
shore, whence they could only be relieved by long and toilsome rowing
against a cross sea—for on that shore the waves roll with almost the
strength and majesty of those of the ocean. The later-built boats have
something of a keel, and are schooner-rigged. These make the passage
from the fort more directly. But our sails were, I suppose, a
perpetuation of those used by the Indians before the Discovery, and
quite indescribable. Pedro said they were “no good,” except before the
wind, and there they would make the boat fly, to use his own words,
“like devil.” The vision of the night recurred to me, and I yielded a
full assent to the remark.
We spent nearly the whole day in vain trials to catch the ghosts of
breezes, which came drowsily over the water, in our sails. I presume
they were raised a score of times during the afternoon, but they only
fluttered for a moment, and then dropped around the masts. This went on
until the men felt hungry, and then we put in again at “El Pedernal,”
the landing-place for the cattle estate of Don Frederico Derbyshire, a
merchant residing in Granada, the owner of “La Granadina,” and to whom
we bore letters of introduction from his correspondents in the United
States. The place is not inappropriately named “The Flint.” It is the
very reverse of San Miguel; there is no smooth sandy beach, but instead,
the whole shore is piled with rugged black basaltic or trachytic rocks,
blistered with heat, among which grow some stunted trees. A narrow path
winds amongst the rocks to a little cove, in which our boat was run. A
man was despatched to the estate, which is situated a mile or two
inland, to know of the mayor-domo if any of the products of the farm
were to be sent to the city. Meanwhile the men went deliberately through
the usual tedious process of dinner-making, and we got over the side for
a bath. Notwithstanding the rocky shore, the bottom is a soft black mud,
in which we sank to the knees. This was neither expected nor pleasant,
and when I discovered an alligator slowly rise to the surface not two
rods distant, I clambered aboard with more expedition than grace, and
gave the monster the contents of my gun, in return for the courtesy of
his appearance.
It was nearly sunset, dinner had been finished, and the kettles had been
towed on board again, when we heard voices, and suddenly turning round
the point of rocks there came three horsemen, each carrying, in net-work
sacks, four large square cheeses, of the weight of two arrobas (fifty
pounds) each. The horses were ridden up to the side of the boat, and the
cheeses carefully placed in the centre. This finished, a breeze having
meantime sprung up, we hoisted sail, and glided away from “El Pedernal,”
not at all dissatisfied to leave its rocks and alligators to their own
pleasant company.
One of my companions, who had been growing silent and pale for several
hours, now gave signs of an approaching crisis of some sort. Pedro
pronounced him laboring under an “empacho,” and recommended brandy—that
was his universal specific for everything, from a sprained ankle to the
toothache. But the patient protested against the medicine, as an
abomination which made him only the worse to think of. I thought it a
capital opportunity to bring out the medicine-chest, which had been
packed with an extensive regard to all sorts of contingencies at
“Rushton and Clark’s,” and Ben began a grand rummage for it, to the
utter distraction of everything in the boat. Meantime, as became a
learned practitioner, I propounded the question usually asked by anxious
mammas of complaining children, “what have you eaten?” It turned out
that, besides half a calabash of fresh milk, fried fish, three eggs, a
slice of ham, and bread and coffee _ad libitum_, the patient had “put
in” the afternoon with raw plantains, and “_dulce_”—sugar! I
comprehended that “empacho” meant something like surfeit, and to
disguise the dose, mixed a little tartar emetic with magnesia, which
wrought a wonderful cure—much to my elevation in the eyes of the crew,
who set me down at once as a great _medico_. I had immediate
applications on behalf of ailing wives, scalded babies, and feverish
boys, for all of which I prescribed, after deliberate consultation of
the “Pocket Physician.” While this was going on night fell, and I lost
the sunset,—a circumstance for which, as he is thereby spared the
description, the reader is no doubt properly thankful.
As the evening progressed, the breeze continued to freshen, and about
midnight, Pedro, calculating that we were sufficiently to the windward,
laid the course of the boat direct for Granada. I went to bed early, and
owing to the disturbance of the previous night, slept soundly. When I
woke, we were in mid lake, and might have been in mid sea, for all the
difference discoverable in the appearance of the waves and water. The
wind was strong, cool, and damp, and the men had their handkerchiefs
bound round their heads, and their blankets wrapped over their
shoulders. My ailing companion looked sentimental, and professed not to
have wholly recovered from the “empacho,” but as I felt qualmish myself,
I pronounced it sea-sickness, which, as every traveller knows, never
entitles the sufferer to sympathy.
We were at least thirty miles from land, yet the shores appeared
wonderfully distinct and near. We now, for the first time, felt the
majesty of the giant volcanoes of Ometepec and Madeira, which had
hitherto seemed so dim and distant. There they rose clear and bold
against the sky, regular as works of art, the moving clouds casting
their sides in shadow, and clasping their summits as they passed, then
sweeping away to the distant islands of the great Pacific. Between us
and the shore was the high, uninhabited island of Zapatero, its outline
changing every moment with our position, while directly in front,
distinguished by the towering edges of its vast and ragged crater, rose
the extinct volcano of Momobacho, at the foot of which stands the
ancient city of Granada. High above the forests of the shore, are some
conical hills, of light green, bordering on yellow, which seemed to be
cleared, and which puzzled us exceedingly. We became familiar with them
afterwards, and I presume they are common in all volcanic regions. They
are the cones of scoriæ, sand, and ashes, which are heaped up during
eruptions. On these, trees rarely take root, but in their place a
species of long, coarse grass weaves a net-work of verdure over their
smooth sides. This grass is of a lively green during the rainy season,
but becomes yellow in the dry, when the hills are burned over, after
which they change to deep sable. Thus forever varying, they constitute
remarkable and characteristic features in a Nicaraguan landscape. Upon
the northern shore of the lake we saw only the broken volcanic mountains
of Chontales, patched with trees, here black with lava, and there red
and white with scoriæ and sand. It should be observed that it is only
that part of Chontales bordering the upper portion of the lake, which
presents this burned and broken aspect. Elsewhere the shores are
comparatively low and undulating, with extensive savannas, which furnish
abundant pasturage. The whole district is well adapted for grazing
purposes.
While we were occupied with the novel and beautiful scenery of the lake,
our men, collected around the foot of the mast, were engaged in a low
but earnest discussion, which we soon discovered related to politics,
and especially to the attempted revolution of which we had heard so
much. They made frequent use of the terms “Timbucos” and “Calandracas,”
which were about as significant to us as “Coons” and “Locofocos”
probably were to strangers on our own shores, during certain
presidential elections. We had abstained from asking questions about
politics, not from want of interest, but from motives of policy; but
took occasion to hear all that might be said upon the subject. We had
thus contrived to get some imperfect notions of the partisan divisions
of the country; the bases of which, though very trivial to the impartial
traveller, were probably quite as important in fact as those which we
had seen sustained with so much vehemence and virulence at home. It was
easy to discover that our crew were unanimously “Timbucos,” or of the
government party, while the “Calandracas” were the disaffected portion
of the people. They, however, appeared to have but a sectional
importance, and were far from numerous, except in the southern
departments of the Republic. The robber-chief, Somoza, had turned this
partisan feeling to some account by professing to be its champion, and
having collected a few hundred reckless and ignorant men around him,
made a sudden and successful attack on Rivas, or Nicaragua, which was
defended by a small garrison of only forty soldiers. In the attack he
burned a number of houses, and committed some cruel murders, besides
pillaging and robbing on every hand. According to the accounts which had
reached us, however, the entire city had been burned, and the
inhabitants slaughtered indiscriminately and without mercy. These
stories, as well as those relating to the number of his forces, proved,
in the end, to be gross exaggerations,—as the reader will discover in
due course.
It appeared, from what was said, that there had been a vague rumor at
San Carlos, to the effect that Somoza, at the head of three thousand
men, had set out some days previously for an attack on the city of
Granada; and the probabilities of its truth, and the course to be
pursued in the event he should have reached there, were now, as we
approached the city, subjects of increasing interest with our men. The
circumstance that we had, on the day preceding, seen a number of boats,
making what appeared to be a forced trip in the direction of San Carlos,
but too far distant to be hailed, was dwelt upon as exceedingly
significant. In short, it was evident enough that the feeling of excited
suspense amongst the men was every moment increasing. Pedro was silent,
and answered our questions evasively, but listened earnestly to all that
was said. He seemed to be oppressed by a sense of responsibility of some
kind; but whether on account of himself, his boat, or his distinguished
passengers, we could not make out.
By the veering of the wind, or the “falling off” of our keel-less boat,
instead of making the northern islands of the group called the
“Corales,” rising, hundreds in number, at the foot of the volcano of
Momobacho, we found ourselves, at about two o’clock in the afternoon, at
the almost extreme southern part of the archipelago. The approach to
these islands was exceedingly beautiful; but when we were amongst them,
out of the rough waves into the smooth water, they were really
enchanting. They are of volcanic origin, elevated in the form of cones,
to the height of from twenty to one hundred feet. The sides are steep,
and composed of immense volcanic rocks, black and blistered by fire; but
their summits are covered with verdure, and long vines hang trailing
over the stones, blushing with strange flowers, almost to the edge of
the water. Some of them, upon which there is a sufficient accumulation
of soil, are inhabited by Indians; and their thatched huts, shaded by
tall palms, with a dense background of plantains, are the most
picturesque objects that can be imagined.
Within these islands the sail was dropped, and the oars resumed.
Everybody was now anxious to hear the news, but the huts on the islands
seemed to be deserted; at least no one appeared, although the men
shouted to the inmates at top of their voices. Very soon a canoe,
containing a boy and a woman, shot across our course, from between two
little islands, just in advance. For a moment they showed evidences of
alarm, and a disposition to retreat; but recognising Pedro, they came
alongside, under a shower of confused and eager questions, which
completely confounded us, and prevented anything like an understanding
of what was said. We conjectured that the news was of an exciting kind,
from the earnest faces and violent gestures of the crew. By-and-by the
canoe pushed off, but it was full a quarter of an hour before the men
took up the oars, during which time there was a warm discussion as to
whether the boat should proceed at once to Granada, or remain concealed
amongst the islands until the issue of affairs at the city could be
ascertained. The opinion, however, seemed to be pretty decided, that we
should go ahead, at whatever hazard. This decision was based, as we
afterwards discovered, on the faith reposed in “la bandera del Norte
America,” the flag of the United States; which they all believed neither
man nor devil dared disregard. It appeared that the woman and boy of the
canoe had told an alarming story of the approach of Somoza, the flight
of the inhabitants, and the probable capture of the city. But Pedro,
more cautious than the rest, was of the opinion that their tale had but
little better foundation than their fears; and expressed great faith in
the ability of the little garrison of “veteranos,” stationed in the
city, to prevent its being carried by Somoza. His faith was somewhat
shaken, however, on learning, a few minutes thereafter, from an Indian,
lurking on one of the islands, that there had been a great firing in the
city the previous night and this morning; and that all the boats had
left the landing and made for the opposite shore of the lake.
There is pleasure in all kinds of excitement, which is rather enhanced
than diminished by the presence of danger. And so far from being alarmed
by these accounts, I was only the more anxious to get to Granada. I had
been told that Somoza, notwithstanding his crimes, cruelty, and contempt
for the laws, had much of the cavalier in his composition; gay, gallant,
generous, and withal the finest looking and most dashing fellow in all
Nicaragua. No man rode such fine horses, or could rival him in wielding
the lance. Indeed, the commandante at San Carlos had intimated that he
owed it to the place which he held in the good graces of the señoritas
of the country, that he had so long baffled justice and defied pursuit.
Altogether I had pictured him something like the gentlemanly cut-throat
of the Apennines and Sierra Moreno, or the amiable bandits of the
Peninsula, and almost considered myself fortunate in the prospect of an
adventure, at my very first step in the country.
Two hours of steady rowing amongst the fairy “Corales” brought us to the
little island of Cubi, when a broad bay, with a white beach, and an old
castle on the shore, opened before us; while beyond a belt of woods, on
higher ground, rose the towers of Granada. We could distinguish little
of the town except the red, tiled roofs of the houses; and though from
this distance it was far from imposing, yet we had so long looked
forward to our arrival here, that had dome been piled on dome, and
palace risen above palace, in long perspective, we could not have
experienced greater satisfaction than we now did in gazing, for the
first time, upon this ancient city. At the island, we found several
huts, and a number of boats drawn into little nooks between the rocks,
while beneath the trees were clusters of women and children, and here
and there groups of men, absorbed in playing some noisy game of cards.
With a vivid recollection of the indifferent figure we had cut at the
fort, we had arranged with Pedro to stop here, in order to replace our
stained and tattered garments; an operation which we soon discovered
must be performed in face of the assembled population of Cubi, unless we
preferred to encounter the fleas which we fancied must infest the dirty,
dog-stocked huts on the shore. We chose the former alternative; but had
hardly commenced the disruption of trunks and boxes, and the overhauling
of carpet bags, before we heard a cannon in the direction of the city,
followed very soon by what appeared to be a rolling discharge of
musketry; and looking in that direction, we could see a volume of smoke
rising from the centre of the town. Our invalid had a violent recurrence
of his “empacho,” refused tartar emetic, anticipated a fever, and was
altogether too ill to leave the island. So he was led up to one of the
huts, and deposited in a hammock. Meantime the fusilade ended with one
or two more discharges of cannon, while a white cloud rose slowly over
the city. Our first impression was that Somoza had arrived, and that a
fight was already in progress. The people of the island were also
somewhat startled, and for a time watched the town with evident anxiety;
but in the end quietly resumed their amusements. Pedro also seemed to be
relieved; and after listening for a while, finally exclaimed that all
was right: the day, he said, was a _fiesta_, and what we had supposed a
discharge of firearms, was only the explosion of “_bombas_” or
rockets,—“in point of fact,” fireworks. I cannot say that I was
particularly gratified with the information, after having prepared
myself for a siege at least, if not an assault.
Myriads of bees, attracted by the sweets in the boat, swarmed around us
while making our toilet. Their first onset fairly drove us out on the
rocks, but Pedro quieted us with the assurance that they were stingless,
when we returned and completed our arrangements. It was late in the
afternoon, the wind blowing fair, when we again put up sail, and steered
for the landing of Granada. As we approached, we discovered hundreds of
people on the shore and in the water, some in groups, and others in gay
trappings dashing about on horseback,—a picture of activity and life. On
the gray walls of the old castle we also discerned soldiers, their
muskets glancing in the sun; and, anchored a little distance from the
shore, was an odd-looking craft, in two pieces, resembling some awkward
canal-boat, which we afterwards discovered had been built to receive the
engine and boiler which we had seen in San Juan. In this rude, unwieldy
affair, with infinite trouble, and after three weeks of toil, a party of
some seventy-five outward-bound Californians had ascended the river and
passed the lake to this place,—the pioneers on this line of transit.
In an hour after leaving Cubi, we cast anchor under the walls of the old
castle. Our flag attracted immediate attention, and the people crowded
upon the walls of the fort to look at us. Some called to Pedro, with a
multitude of gesticulations; but the noise of the surf was so great that
we could not make out what was said. The question which presented itself
most strongly to us was, how are we going to land? for a surf like that
of the ocean broke on the shore. We had a practical answer, however,
very shortly. The cable was let out, so as to bring us as far in shore
as was safe, and then three or four sailors leaped overboard, their
heads and shoulders just appearing above the water, and invited us to
get on! Get on what—where—how? Pedro explained that we were to put our
feet on the shoulders, and seat ourselves on the head of one, and hold
on with our hands to the hair of another, just in advance. After a
number of awkward attempts, which excited great merriment, and at the
expense of wetted feet, we finally got into position, and were duly
deposited on shore, amidst a swarm of boys and women. Some of the former
pressed forward, exclaiming “California,” or “goode by,” and then
disappeared laughing amongst their companions. It was very evident that
our countrymen had created a great sensation in their progress. Probably
no equal number of strangers had passed through the country for a
century.
Pedro slipped off his clothes, and holding them above his head, also
came on shore, in ecstatic spirits to find the town standing and all
safe. He dressed with great expedition, and with much dignity put
himself in advance, to escort us to the town. Not at all sorry to get
out of the crowd of gazers, we followed along a broad, well-beaten road,
with elevated foot-paths on each side, in the direction of the city. The
ascent seemed to be by terraces; the faces of which were paved with
stone, and guarded by masonry, to protect them from the wasting action
of the rains. Palms, plantains, orange and other tropical trees lined
the road on either hand, shut in by a hedge composed of a species of
cactus, bearing brilliant red flowers. We met troops of laughing girls,
of every shade of complexion, from pure white to ebon black, fancifully
attired, with water-jars on their heads, on their way to the lake. They
were as straight as arrows, and seemed to have an infinite fund of
animal spirits. Most of them passed us with a side glance, half of
curiosity and half of mischief, while others more bold, turning full
round, exclaimed gayly, “Adios, caballeros!” to which, we responded,
“Adios, mi alma!” much to their apparent entertainment.
It was full a third of a mile to a steep terrace, ascending which we
found ourselves amongst the neat cane huts composing the suburbs of the
city, and in which reside the poorer portion of the population. Most of
these, like those at San Carlos and San Juan, were built of canes and
thatched with palm leaves or grass, while others were plastered with
mud, and whitewashed. A clump of fruit-trees overshadowed each, and
within the doors we could discover women spinning cotton with a little
foot-wheel, or engaged in grinding corn for tortillas. On almost every
house were one or two parrots screaming at each other, or at some
awkward looking macaw, which waddled clumsily along the crown of the
roof. Around all, dogs, chickens, and children mingled in perfect
equality.
Beyond these huts commenced the city proper. The buildings were of
adobes, on cut stone foundations, and roofed with tiles. The windows
were all balconied, and protected on the outside by ornamental iron
gratings, and within by painted shutters. They were, with scarcely an
exception, of one high story. The principal entrances were by arched and
often elaborately ornamented gateways, within which swung massive doors,
themselves containing smaller ones, all opening into the courtyards.
Besides these, there were, in some instances, other entrances, opening
directly into the grand sala of the house. The eaves of all the houses
project several feet beyond the walls, serving the double purpose of
protecting the latter from the rains, and sheltering the foot passenger
from the sun and the elements. The side or foot-walks were all raised
one or two feet above the street, and flagged, but barely wide enough to
admit persons meeting each other to pass. Towards the centre of the town
some of the streets are paved, like those of our own cities, with this
difference, that instead of a convex, they present a concave surface, so
that the gutter is in the centre of the street.
As we progressed, we met a number of well-dressed people, of both sexes,
who, seeing that we were strangers, bowed respectfully to us as we
passed. Evidences of comfort, not to say elegance, now began to appear,
and through an occasional open door we caught glimpses of sofas and easy
chairs, and beds which a Sybarite might envy. Occasionally there were
niches in the walls of the houses, in which were placed crosses, covered
with faded flowers; in some instances the crosses were simply fastened
to the walls, or planted at the corners of the streets. Advancing
further, we found ourselves in the shadow of a large and massive stone
building, with terraces, domes, and towers, half Moresque, and
altogether an architectural incongruity. It appeared to be very ancient,
and I stopped Pedro, who strode ahead with the gait of a conquering
hero, to inquire what building it might be. He said it was the ancient
and now abandoned convent of San Francisco, and showed us the gratings
through which its former inmates had intercourse with the world, and
pointed out the wooden cross in front, made of cedar from Lebanon. I do
not know how long Pedro would have run on, had I not cut his story
short, by saying I would hear the rest to-morrow. Just then a party of
soldiers defiled across the street in front of us. They were
bare-footed, and wore white pantaloons and jackets, with funny little,
black caps, banded with metal, and having little, round, red cockades
stuck saucily in front. A dashing young officer rode at their head, who
lifted his hat gracefully to us. It was a scouting party just coming in.
We followed them with our eyes down the street, and saw that sentinels
were stationed at the corners, but two squares distant, and that the
streets near the plaza were barricaded with adobes and timbers, with a
single embrasure in the centre, through which a cannon looked grimly
towards us. We now observed that soldiers were stationed on the walls of
the convent, and in the towers of the parochial church, which had just
come in view. It was evident that the government and military were on
the alert, and prepared for any emergency. We found the streets more
animated, and the houses better built, as we approached the centre of
the town; women were moving hither and thither with trays, vegetables,
bottles, and a hundred other commodities on their heads, and babies on
their hips, and men with slouched hats, and breeches turned up to their
knees, bare-footed, or wearing sandals, and carrying a large machete in
their hands, were driving meek-looking horses, bearing loads, through
the streets before them, or else with a long, iron-pointed pole,
pricking on little compact oxen, fastened by the horns to long, heavy,
awkward carts, with solid wheels cut from the mahogany tree. Amongst
these flitted now and then a priest, with his black robe, preposterous
bell-crowned, fur hat, and gaudy umbrella. There were quiet señoritas,
also, moving slowly along, with a grace and dignity of motion seldom or
never seen in our cities; and gay fellows on fiery little horses, who
dashed at a break-neck pace through the streets. It was a novel scene,
and we had hardly taken in its more striking features, when Pedro
stopped before a large arched gateway, or _portada_, as it is called
here, and told us this was the “Casa del Señor Don Frederico.” He
unlatched the small door within the larger, and entering, we found
ourselves in a broad corridor, completely surrounding a court, in which
were growing a number of orange, marañon, and other fruit trees,
fragrant bushes, and clumps of flowers. On one side was the store,
filled with bales and boxes, and in front of it were huge scales for
weighing commodities; while the sala, dining, and private rooms occupied
the remaining two sides of the court. In one corner of the corridor were
two or three movable desks, where Don Frederico’s children were engaged
in their afternoon lessons with their tutor, a pale, intellectual
looking young man; and just beyond, reclining in a hammock, was the
portly form of Don Frederico himself. Pedro approached him, hat in hand,
and with profound reverence, announced us. Our host immediately rose,
and in due course I delivered my letters, which were honored in a spirit
of the most enlarged and liberal hospitality. A part of a spacious and
commodious house immediately opposite, which was occupied by the
children of Don Frederico and their governess, was at once ordered to be
prepared for our accommodation, while a couple of carts were despatched
to the shore for our luggage. Our reception was so warm and cordial,
that I felt at once perfectly at home, and was delighted with the
neatness and comfort of everything around us. Don Frederico was born in
Jamaica, but had resided for thirty years in the country, where he had
married, become a citizen, and accumulated a large fortune. Entertaining
the respect and confidence of all parties, he had passed safely through
all the troubles to which the country had been subjected. He seemed very
little alarmed at the threatened attack on the city, and felt confident
that the insurgents would ultimately be put down. Still, unless
reinforcements speedily arrived from the government, he anticipated that
trouble might ensue, and perhaps an assault be attempted, because Somoza
was as daring as he was unscrupulous. But even then it was only
necessary to barricade the doors, and every house became a fortress. He
had gone through several revolutions, securely locked in, eating and
sleeping as usual. When the affair was over, he opened the portada
again, and things went on as before.
As we had eaten scarcely anything during the day, our host gave us a cup
of chocolate, pending the preparation of dinner. While thus engaged, we
were surprised by the appearance of an officer bearing a note from the
commandante of the Plaza, congratulating us upon our safe arrival, and
very considerately proposing that some time should be named, when we
were recovered from our fatigues, to enable him to pay his respects in
person. He also placed a guard at our disposition, which I of course
declined. Hardly had this messenger been despatched, before another,
from the Prefect of the Department, made his appearance. The next day at
noon was named for receptions, and meantime we instructed the _portero_
or gatekeeper to report us to all visitors as engaged.
The evening passed delightfully with our host. It was a great relief to
stretch one’s legs once more beneath a table spread like our own at
home; a pleasure not slightly enhanced by the presence of entirely new
and curious dishes, upon the merits of which we successively passed
summary, and generally favorable, judgments. A gentle shower meanwhile
pattered upon the tiled roofs, cooling and purifying the air; and we
experienced, for the first time, the pleasures attending life in a
well-appointed residence beneath the tropics. After the bell struck
eight, we heard every five minutes the word “_Alerte!_” caught up in
succession by the guards, in evidence that they were all awake, and
keeping a bright lookout. Occasionally the “_Quien vive?_” or challenge
of the sentinel stationed at the corner of the street below us, was
given with an emphasis which fell startlingly upon our unaccustomed
ears. Our host was used to it. We were really in the midst of war and
“its alarums,” and felt all the better for it. We retired early to our
new quarters, which consisted of a large sala, in which were a piano,
mahogany tables and chairs, with sleeping apartments attached. Here we
found that Ben, with an eye to all our wants, had arranged everything
necessary to our comfort. Forty nights in close, narrow berths, in
hammocks, and on the tops of boxes and trunks, had qualified us to enjoy
the delightfully cool and scrupulously neat _camas_ which that evening
invited us to slumber. I bestowed myself in one without ceremony, and in
less time than I am writing it, went to sleep, to dream of Somoza,
storms on the lake, and a thousand incongruous matters. Nor did I wake
until Ben, utterly renovated, and looking wonderfully genteel, came to
announce that breakfast was ready. It was some seconds before I could
comprehend clearly where I was; but once awake, I found myself
thoroughly refreshed, and ready for any turn of events,—breakfast or
revolutions.
[Illustration: THE PLANTAIN TREE.]
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[Illustration: ANCIENT VASE.—FRONT AND SIDE VIEWS.]
[Illustration: NICARAGUA MEAT MARKET.]
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