A SORTIE FROM LEON—QUESALGUAQUE—EL ESTERO DE DONA PAULA—THE “MONTE DE
SAN JUAN”—SUMMARY WAY OF DISPOSING OF “LADRONES”—“EL TIGRE,” JAGUAR,
OR OUNCE; ITS HABITS; HOW HUNTED—THE “LEON,” OR PUMA—THE
“COYOTE”—POSULTEGA—A SPECIMEN PADRE—SOBRINAS—CHICHIGALPA—POISED
THUNDER-STORM—THE ORACION—HACIENDA OF SAN ANTONIO—CHINANDEGA—A
CHALLENGE—EL VIEJO—FAMILIAR FIXTURES—AN ENTERPRISING CITIZEN AND HIS
TRAGIC FATE—A DECAYING TOWN—MULES _vs._ HORSES—VISIT TO THE
HACIENDAS—AN INDIGO ESTATE, AND A MAYOR-DOMO—FINE VIEW—THE SUGAR
ESTATE OF SAN GERONIMO—BACHELOR QUARTERS AND HACIENDA LIFE—A FRUIT
GARDEN—THE BREAD FRUIT—SUGAR-MILLS, AND THE MANUFACTURE OF
AGUARDIENTE—A SINFUL SIESTA—VISIT FROM THE MUNICIPALITY—“UNA
CANCION”—CHINANDEGA BY DAYLIGHT—REALEJO—PORT AND HARBOR—THE PROGRESS
OF ENTERPRISE—THE PROJECTED NEW TOWN OF CORINTH—RETURN TO LEON.
Early after our arrival in Leon, amongst many others of like character,
we had received an invitation from the wealthy and influential family of
Venerio, to spend a week at their establishment in Viejo Chinandega;
which, as it was coupled with a promise to give us an initiation into
the mysteries of hacienda life, we had at once accepted. Up to this
time, however (Sept. 3, 1849), I had been unable to leave the capital.
But now my official negotiations were happily terminated, and pending
the action of the Legislative Chambers, which were called to meet on the
22d of the same month, I had an opportunity of seeing something more of
the magnificent plain, in the centre of which we were residing.
I have already said that, for obvious reasons, most of the travelling in
Central America is done in the morning or evening. It was four o’clock
in the afternoon, therefore, when we started for El Viejo, twelve
leagues, or thirty-six miles distant. This, with us, would be considered
quite a day’s journey in itself, but here it is what is called an
evening “paseo,” or ride. Our course led through Subtiaba, crossing the
stream which flows past that pueblo at a place where art had cut down
the steep banks, and nature woven an evergreen roof above—one of those
dark, cool nooks in which the water birds love to gather, and where the
Indian girls come to bathe—beyond which spread out the luxuriant maize
fields, traversed by hedge rows like the lines on a chess board. The
road, bordered with trees, to protect the traveller from the sun, wound
amongst these fields for five or six miles, when it entered the forest
again, and soon came to a deep ravine, with abrupt banks, seventy or
eighty feet high, at the bottom of which flows a large clear stream,
called, at this point, Quesalguaque. It rises near the volcano of
Telica, and for some distance from its source it bears the name of Rio
Telica. It flows into the harbor of Realejo, and for a number of leagues
from its mouth, is a tide-water stream, and called “El Estero de Doña
Paula.”
This is the largest stream on the plain of Leon, and is probably that to
which some map-makers have given the name of Rio Tosta. The cart-road
descends the ravine circuitously, and ascends in like manner; traversing
nearly a mile in passing from one bank to the other. The mule-road,
however, is direct, but the descent and ascent are both abrupt and
difficult. I hardly thought either possible, and was really amazed to
find my horse attempt them without so much as the touch of the spur, and
quite as a matter of course. Emerging from the ravine, we came to some
cleared fields, (one of which was planted with pine-apples, now nearly
ripe, and looking wonderfully tempting in the sun), in the midst of
which was a small collection of huts, called the Pueblecita de
Quesalguaque. We stopped for a moment to fill our pockets with delicious
_nisperos_ from a tree overhanging the road, its treasures free to all
who chose “to come and eat,” and then diverging from the camino real,
struck into the narrow mule-path which leads through the Monte de San
Juan. This portion of the road has a bad reputation throughout the whole
country; and during the late troubles had been the scene of several
tragic occurrences. The robbers or ladrones who infested it, however,
had been hunted by volunteers from Leon and Chinendaga, and shot down
like wild beasts; a summary, but most effectual way of preventing
further depredations. At one point we passed a number of newly-erected
crosses, marking the place where murder had been done. But all was still
and peaceful now, and we saw nothing to startle us except a _Tigre_,
which leaped across the path a few paces in advance, disappearing
instantaneously in the forest.
What is here called the Tigre or Tiger, is the true _Jaguar_, or
_Ounce_; and the animal which is called the _Lion_ is the maneless
Mexican Lion, or Puma. Ounces are abundant throughout the entire
country, and often commit serious depredations upon the cattle of the
haciendas. They are of a tawny color, the body beautifully variegated
with irregular oblong black spots, breast and belly whitish. They grow
to the length of four or five feet, are powerfully built, with massive
jaws, and possess a strength and activity superior to any of the feline
race of equal size. They unhesitatingly attack all animals, of whatever
proportions, which are not fully capable of defending themselves; and in
riding through the woods I have several times seen fall grown heifers,
which they had not only killed, but dragged to considerable
distances,—in one instance not less than a hundred yards.
The Tigre, however, sometimes meets his match in a sturdy bull or
spirited cow, and is compelled to retreat. The vaqueros of the
haciendas, who are fluent on the subject of tigers, and often able to
show ghastly scars in confirmation of their stories of adventures,
relate instances in which the tiger has been killed outright in his
encounters with the _toros_. A bull of venerable aspect, but exceedingly
mild demeanor, was pointed out to me in Honduras, which was the hero of
many battles, successful in all, and in three instances killing his
adversary. I quite respected this protector of his herd, and thought he
should at least receive the title of the “Great Defender.” The herdsmen
concur in saying that the tiger is generally too cunning to attack the
cattle, except singly, when separated from each other, as they all make
common cause against him when he ventures amongst the herd. The ounce
seldom attacks man, unless pressed by hunger, or by the hunters. This is
a fortunate circumstance; for otherwise travelling in Central America,
where, in the secluded parts of the country, hardly a day passes without
seeing one or two of them, would be attended with the greatest danger.
In some localities, however, the ounce is represented to be more
ferocious than in others, and so bold as to slip into the villages in
broad daylight, in search of his prey. There are many men distinguished
for success in hunting this animal, who arrogate to themselves the title
of _tigreros_. They use no arms, except a long and stout spear or lance,
and their machetes. Their first object, with the aid of dogs, is to
drive the tiger into a tree, or bring him to bay. When this is done, the
tigrero wraps his poncho around his left arm, and approaches the fierce
and excited animal, with his lance so fixed as to be able to receive him
on its point when he shall make his spring. This requires great coolness
and firmness, for everything depends upon the hunter planting his spear
full in the animal’s breast. If this be not done, a terrible fight
ensues, from which the strongest and bravest man is fortunate if he
escapes with life. The genuine tigrero scorns to use firearms,—“no tiene
valor, nada,” they are of no use, none! Some of these men number their
victories by scores, and are considered invincible.
The _tigre negro_, or black ounce, is erroneously regarded by the
natives as a distinct species; and, perhaps from his more forbidding
appearance, is supposed to be stronger and fiercer. They are undoubtedly
a little larger in size than the other variety. In Nicaragua they are
rarely seen, but are quite abundant, it is said, in the mountainous
districts of Honduras.
The Lion, or Puma, notwithstanding his name, has fewer of the
traditional magnanimous traits of the lion proper than the tigre. He is
altogether a sneaking fellow, and attacks cattle only when he finds them
wounded, entangled in thickets, or embarrassed in swamps, where he has
everything to his own advantage. He flies from man, but will prowl
stealthily after him in the evening, like the wolf. He is consequently
approached with difficulty, and rarely killed. His color is a pale,
brownish red, inclining to black on the back, but light under the belly.
In shape he is slenderer than the ounce, his legs and tail longer, and
his claws and head slighter. “A full grown tiger,” said an old hunter to
me, “is a match for half a dozen of the cowards.” The weary traveller,
sleeping in the forest, has more to dread from the puma than any other
wild animal. Besides the ounce and the puma, there are several varieties
of tiger, or mountain cats, which commit depredations on the fowls and
smaller domestic animals of the ranchos, but from whom man has nothing
to fear.
The “coyote,” wild dog, or as he is sometimes called, wolf, is common in
some parts of Central America. I never saw any of them, but they are
said to differ as widely from the true wolf as from the common dog. Some
have conjectured that they are descended from the bloodhounds which were
used by the early Spaniards in hunting down the natives. But all
attempts to reclaim them, although carried on during two or three
generations, have failed. Like wolves, they generally hunt in packs,
making no noise beyond a low howl, and follow their prey with a
perseverance which is almost always successful in the end. It is said
that, although individually arrant cowards, they will collectively
attack the tiger himself, drive him into a tree, and besiege him for
many days, until exhausted, in attempting to escape, he falls a victim
to the number of his assailants. The natives have a singular notion,
however, that the coyotes never beleaguer the tigre unless he has
committed some outrage on the fraternity, robbed them of their prey, or
made a meal of some straggler.
To return from this digression. Two leagues beyond Quesalguaque, the
intervening country level and magnificently wooded, and the road broad
and smooth, is the Pueblo of Posultega, an unpretending town of some
five or six hundred inhabitants, and distinguished for nothing except an
ancient church, more remarkable for its dilapidation than its
architecture. The cura, who had called on me in Leon a few days before,
was swinging in his hammock, between a couple of orange trees in front
of his house; he leaped up as we approached, stopped me in the open
street, and gave me an embrace “as was an embrace,” and from my elevated
position on my horse, quite too near the belt to be comfortable. He
insisted on our stopping for the rest of the afternoon and for the night
at his poor house, (every house in Central America is called “_mi pobre
casa_” by its owner), which I declined doing with a prodigious
affectation of regret, that became real a moment after, when I
discovered the padre’s _sobrina_ or niece, a fair, full-breasted girl,
peeping slyly out between the bars of the window. Of course it is not
reputable for padres to have females in their establishments, except
near relatives,—aunts for housekeepers, and nieces for—companions! The
aunts, I observed, were always old, but the nieces almost invariably
young and pretty, as nieces are bound to be.
The country, from Posultega to Chichigalpa, a considerable town, two
leagues further on, preserves its flat surface, the monotony but
slightly relieved by the occasional narrow and shallow channels which
carry off the superabundant water of the rainy season. Chichigalpa,
formerly a very large Indian town, still numbers from three to five
thousand inhabitants; it is regularly laid out, and has a neat and
attractive appearance. It was just sunset when we entered its streets. A
heavy thunder-storm was piling up its black volumes behind the volcanoes
in the east, and the calm and silence which precede the tempest rested
upon the plain; the winds were still, and the leaves hung motionless on
the trees. The adult inhabitants seemed to sympathize with the scene,
and sat silently in the open doorways; but the children were as playful
and noisy as ever, their voices rendered doubly distinct, and almost
unnatural in the pervading quiet. Suddenly the bell of the oracion
struck; the careless voices of the children were instantaneously hushed,
and we mechanically stopped our horses, and uncovered our heads. A low
murmur of prayer floated forth on the undulating waves of sound which
seemed to subside in circles around us;—again the bell struck, again,
and then, when the pulses had almost ceased to beat, that the straining
ear might catch the expiring vibrations, rolled in the muffled sound of
the distant thunder. It came down from the mountains with the majesty of
an ocean poured along their trembling sides!
The oracion, which never fails to impress the most careless traveller
with a feeling of reverential awe, was but one element in this grand
combination of the solemn and the sublime.
We rode through Chichigalpa without stopping, and pressed rapidly
forward, with the design of reaching the estate of San Antonio,
belonging to the family of my companion, before the storm should
overtake us. Darkness, however, closed speedily around our path, and in
ten minutes we were unable to discover our position, except as it was
revealed to us by the lightning, which occasionally poured in lurid,
blinding sheets, from the summits of the volcanoes, where the storm
seemed to pause as if to concentrate its gloomy squadrons, before moving
down upon the silent plain, and forth upon the dark Pacific. Fortunately
the road was wide, and permitted us to ride rapidly, without any great
danger from the projecting branches. We reached San Antonio, eight miles
from Chichigalpa, in an hour.
The resident on the estate was an uncle of my companion, an amiable and
gentlemanly person, who apologized for not coming to the door to receive
us. His apology was a valid one. He had led the hunt after the ladrones
who had infested the road to Leon, and had received a ball in his hip,
in the final encounter with them. We were at once offered a cup of
chocolate, which we accepted, in deference not less to our own tastes
than to a sensible practice of the country, which is always to take
whatever is tendered to you. Thus a caballero is offered a cigar; he at
once accepts it with a bow, or “mil gracias,” a thousand thanks, and if
he does not care to smoke, puts it in his pocket. This will occur during
the same sitting as often as the cigars are passed. With chocolate the
case is a little different; it is not easily put in one’s pocket, and is
therefore otherwise disposed of. The house at San Antonio, I observed as
soon as I entered it, was superior to any of the hacienda residences
which had yet fallen under my notice. It was not only well constructed,
but conveniently arranged, and painted in the interior. It had been
built by a Mr. Bridge, an Englishman, who had established here one of
the finest sugar plantations in the country. In common with most of the
English residents, he had married a woman of the country, and what with
trade, his hacienda, and an English vessel-of-war, always conveniently
at hand to enforce any claim which he and his English brethren might
find it profitable to set up against the government, had contrived to
amass a considerable fortune. Upon his death, however, the estate had
been sold to its present proprietors, and although it had fallen
somewhat out of repair, it still showed what might be accomplished in
this favored land, with a very moderate share of enterprise and
industry.
The wind had sprung up, and carried the impending storm off to the
southward; so, after waiting half an hour at San Antonio, we again
mounted and pursued our course. By the dim, reviving light, I could make
out that we were now in an open and highly cultivated country, sprinkled
over with houses. Half an hour more brought us to the suburbs of
Chinandega, probably the most flourishing town in the State, and the
only one, I believe, which has increased in population since the
independence. The commerce of Realejo is conducted through it; here
nearly all the merchants reside; and the inhabitants, some fifteen or
sixteen thousand in number, are conceded to be the most industrious and
thriving of any in the Republic.
It was too dark to distinguish anything beyond long, broad avenues,
bordered with gardens, each one having a hut in the centre. The streets
really seemed endless, and we passed square on square, for full a mile
and a half, before we reached the paved streets surrounding the plazas,
where the adobe and tile-roofed houses are built, and where the wealth
and trade is concentrated. The people were still sitting at their doors
and windows, in luxurious enjoyment of the cool breeze which the passing
storm had evoked somewhere beyond the mountains. We would have ridden
directly through the plaza, but were stopped by the sudden ring of a
musket on the pavement, and a fierce order to halt and give the
countersign. We did so, and then supposed we might go on. But the
sentinel demanded that we should advance singly, and called to the
officer of the guard. Finding that we should probably be detained for an
indefinite period, I whispered to my companion to fall back, and avoid
the plaza by making a circuit around it. He did so, muttering something
about the stupid military, which might have cost him dear had it been
overheard. A long detour brought us to the other side of the town, which
is bounded by a considerable stream, flowing through a deep hollow. The
path to the water was broad, and artificially graded, so,
notwithstanding the darkness, we passed without difficulty. We were now
in the plain road to El Viejo, and a brisk ride through the intermediate
fields and the silent suburbs, brought us to a large house, fronting on
the plaza. We stopped before a high and imposing portal, the massive
gates of which parted in answer to the well known voice of my companion.
In another instant we were beneath the trees in the courtyard, in the
full blaze of hospitable lights, streaming through the open doors of the
grand sala, where our friends were awaiting our arrival.
Upon entering the house, I was surprised to find myself surrounded by
nearly all the well-known furniture of a parlor in New York. Here were
sofas and rocking-chairs, and mirrors and clocks, of familiar fashion,
holding something more than their own against hammocks and hide-bottomed
_sillas_. A portrait of Washington and a fac-simile of the Declaration
of Independence were suspended against the walls, and a bust of
Shakspeare filled a vacant place on a little shelf in a distant corner.
A clear blue eye, a rosy cheek, and the pleasant sound of our native
tongue were alone needed to complete an illusion, in which the full
form, the classic profile, pale complexion, large and liquid eyes, the
stately grace, and low but cordial welcome of the mistress of the
mansion, did not permit me to indulge.
I have said that the family whose hospitable courtesies I was now
enjoying, was one of the wealthiest, and socially one of the most
influential in the country. Yet its history for the past fifteen or
twenty years is unfortunately too truthful an illustration of what the
condition of the country has been during that disastrous period. Don
Gregorio Venerio, the late head of the family, was one of the few men
which Central America has afforded, possessing enterprise, a liberal and
enlightened spirit, and that sound philosophy which consists in a
practical disposition to make the best of existing circumstances.
Overcoming most of the narrow prejudices which had grown up under the
rigorous colonial system of Spain, and which fettered the mass of the
people for a long time after the independence, he introduced
improvements in agriculture, new machinery in the manufacture of sugar,
and the preparation of cotton and indigo for foreign markets, and with a
true patriotism and public spirit sought to direct the general attention
to useful occupations and the development of the natural resources of
the country, as the best means of insuring civil order and stability in
government. His labors were, for a time, eminently successful, and he
gave an impulse to industry and trade in the section of the state in
which he resided, which has since doubled its wealth and influence. But
envious and evil disposed persons were not wanting to misrepresent his
motives, and to awaken distrust of the objects which he aimed to
accomplish. The hostility of the ignorant masses was excited against him
and his family; his machinery, it was said, would depreciate wages, and
his products destroy the market for the productions of smaller
proprietors. The ultimate result may be anticipated. The robber
chieftain, Somoza, whose violent end I have already recounted, at the
head of a band of assassins and robbers, entered his house at night,
dragged him from his bed, and butchered him in cold blood, in the
presence of his entire family, in the very room where I was now seated.
Yet, up to the time of my arrival, the murderer had escaped apprehension
and defied justice.
El Viejo Chinandega, Old Chinandega, or as it is briefly called El
Viejo, is one of the most ancient towns in Nicaragua. It is beautifully
situated upon a stream which flows through its centre, and contains
between five and six thousand inhabitants. Formerly it was the principal
town, next to Leon, in this department, and was the seat of the trade
carried on through the port of Realejo. But the new town is located more
favorably for commerce, and as that has increased in importance, El
Viejo has declined, During the supremacy of the bucaneers in the South
Sea, El Viejo was several times attacked, and once or twice burned. It
has a large church, of high antiquity, situated upon an artificial
terrace in the midst of a plaza. A fantastic wall runs along the edge of
the terrace, and above each flight of steps, by which it is ascended,
are lofty arches of fine proportions, which lend a very singular effect
to the whole structure. Architecturally, El Viejo affords no other
object of interest.
After breakfast, on the morning following our arrival, we started on a
visit to the haciendas, or plantations, belonging to the family. I had a
strong prejudice against mules, but my host quietly insisted that I
should ride his _macho_, a sleek-looking, clean-limbed animal, upon
which my saddle had already been placed. I complied without, at the
moment, fully comprehending the reason of the request. But no sooner had
we struck into the main road, than I found that, in respect of speed and
of ease to the rider, no horse was comparable to the splendid animal
upon which I was mounted. Without an apparent effort, and quite as a
matter of course, he distanced all the horses of the party, and at what
appeared to be his ordinary pace, kept them at a sharp gallop. “That
macho,” said my host, “cost me three hundred dollars; and I have ridden
him sixty miles in six consecutive hours!” When I add that ordinary
mules here cost only about twenty dollars, and that this one was valued
at three hundred and fifty, the difference between them is brought to
some standard of calculation. The pace is artificial; and when what is
called “a good education” is joined to good proportions, soundness of
limb, and high spirit, (for they differ widely in this respect,) mules
are esteemed infinitely higher than horses. Their endurance is
incredible, and they have the ability to take care of themselves where a
horse would starve.
At the distance of a league from the town, we turned into a beautiful
shaded lane, or avenue, running through the broad estates which we had
come to visit. The fields, with the exception of one or two which were
planted with maize, were overgrown with weeds. I inquired the cause, and
was told that these were indigo grounds, the cultivation of which had
been suspended from the impossibility of securing permanent laborers;
for the processes in manufacturing the indigo are so delicate, that any
deficiency in attention ruins the entire crop. When affairs became fully
settled, it was intended to resume the cultivation of this valuable
product; but until then, the ground, dams, vats, and machinery were
valueless property. In the centre of this portion of the estate, on an
eminence near an artificial pond covered with water plants, and
constructed for supplying the indigo works, was the house of the
superintendent,—a large two-story edifice, with a double corridor on
every side, and surrounded by a little forest of magnificent trees,
relieved by towering palms and the green columns of the cactus. The
mayor-domo, a venerable old man with his head bound in a variegated
handkerchief, white shirt and breeches, and red shoes, himself one of
the fixtures of the estate, received each of us with a hearty embrace,
and then led us up a flight of broad stone steps, to the upper corridor.
Here were the old man’s daughters, three pretty, blushing girls, who
were introduced individually as Paula, Manuelita, and Concepcion. “Their
mother is a saint,” said he, as he gazed on them with an expression of
pride; “but happier times are coming for our poor country, and they will
live to see them, I am sure!” and he tottered off, to procure “algo
fresco.”
From the corridor we enjoyed a magnificent view of field and forest,
stretching away in billows of verdure to the base of the volcano of El
Viejo, lifting its purple summit to mid-heaven, beyond and over all. I
ventured to imagine the intervening plain in the hands of an
enterprising and vigorous people, dotted over with villages, and loaded
down with the richest products of all-bountiful Nature, and queried if
this generation might not witness the change. Let the babbler about
impossibilities, in this first decade of the last half of the nineteenth
century, turn his eyes to the shores of the Bay of San Francisco, be
silent, and mark the reality!
From the indigo estate, bearing the name of some favorite saint, which I
have forgotten, we rode a mile or two further, to the sugar plantation
of San Geronimo. The ground which it occupies is perfectly level, and by
means of ditches, designed particularly for purposes of irrigation, is
laid out in squares, or manzanas. The cane on some of these squares had
been newly planted, and on others lately cut, while upon others it was
now in perfection, and ready for use. The mills are here kept running
steadily the year round, and by the time the cutters have gone through
all the fields, those which were first cleared are ready for the knife a
second time. Under favorable circumstances, three crops can be taken
yearly; and the ground does not require to be replanted oftener than
once in ten or fourteen years.
A two-story house, newer and better built than that which I have already
described, stood upon one side of the cane-fields, on the banks of a
stream, and in the vicinity of the mills. It was approached by a broad
avenue, kept scrupulously clean, and its white walls and red roof stood
out against a dense background of trees, now in the perfection of their
foliage, and loaded with fruit. The lower story was occupied by the
mayor-domo and his family, and the upper by a bachelor brother of our
host, whom we found in his shirt sleeves, swinging in a hammock
suspended in the corridor on the shaded side of the building, and
engaged in reading a translation of Sue’s Mysteries of Paris! He rose
hastily, uttered some indistinct apologies, and led us into the body of
the building, where in an instant we were surrounded by a playful troop
of blooded dogs, which our friend, who was a good deal of a Nimrod, had
expressly imported from England and the United States. In one corner of
the room stood an elegant rifle, with a brace of pistols, a sword, and a
variety of bits and spurs grouped, around it. In another corner was a
guitar and a saddle, and on the table, in that delightful confusion seen
only in bachelor establishments, a flute, some music, and books, and an
infinity of cigars. An engraved portrait of Lola Montez was the only
decoration on the walls, unless the skin of a monstrous tigre, stretched
at one end of the apartment, might be called a decoration.
From the corridor, the eye traversed broad fields of cane, framed in by
a dense forest, the view opening only towards the east, where the
perspective of fields terminated, in the distance, with the tiled roof
of the house belonging to the indigo estate, but half seen amidst the
surrounding trees. A creaking cart came up the broad avenue towards us,
loaded with stalks of the _caña_, which were piled in heaps in front of
the mills situated in the valley of the stream, and partially concealed
by the vapors rising lazily from the boiling kettles in which the juice
was evaporated. The mozos engaged in the various processes moved about
with a slow and careless air, in perfect harmony with the general quiet
of the scenery, and in unison with the monotonous clatter of the mill,
which seemed to be half asleep, and just about to stop altogether. I sat
down in a vacant hammock, and for the first time fully comprehended the
charms of hacienda life,—that aimless, dreamy existence, undisturbed by
ambition or envy, and separated from the struggle of conflicting
interests. Our bachelor friend vegetated here month after month, without
a wish ungratified, making the most of the present, and careless of the
future. Occasionally, he said, his slumbering energies would be roused
for a moment, but lacking legitimate objects to occupy them, soon
subsided again, and the stream of life flowed on as before. A turn with
his dogs in the morning, a stroll of supervision through the mills,
chocolate, a book, the hammock, and the siesta,—these, with now and then
a ride to the village, or on extraordinary occasions a rapid descent of
a single day on Leon, made up the sum of life.
Connected with this estate was a “huerta de las fruitas,” a fruit
garden, upon which the late Don Gregorio had expended a great deal of
money and care. It covered several acres of ground,—a wilderness of
oranges and lemons, white and yellow pine apples, melons, mamays,
marañons, jocotes, limes, citrons, guavas, tamarinds,—in short all the
innumerable varieties of tropical fruits and flowers, traversed by broad
walks, here a vista terminating in a bower, and there ending with a
glimpse of the deep pools of the neighboring stream; the whole
surrounded by an evergreen hedge of cactuses, in full bloom, and loading
the air with fragrance. Here was the odorous sweet lemon, and in the
centre of the garden a group of bread-fruit trees, remarkable for their
broad, deep green leaves, amongst which might be discerned the nuts,
looking for all the world like the heads of young darkies. These trees
had been introduced by Don Gregorio from the Sandwich Islands, and
flourished quite as luxuriantly as in their native soil. But the fruit
did not “take” with the Nicaraguenses, who preferred the tortilla and
the plantain; the tree is therefore propagated solely from motives of
curiosity.
From the garden we went to the mills. The machinery in use had all been
imported from England and the United States, via Cape Horn. There was
first the crushing or grinding mill, from which a copper conductor
carried the juice through a strainer into a vat, communicating by means
of tubes with the coppers or cauldrons. From these, when the reduction
and clarification were sufficiently far advanced, the liquid was drawn
off into other coppers, whence the scum was constantly removed, and
thrown into a large trough, to be used in the distillation of
_aguardiente_. When reduced to a certain strength or thickness, the
sugar was transferred to the coolers and strainers, where the graining
took place, and the molasses was separated. A large portion of the sugar
is not subjected to this process, but while in its crude state, is laded
into moulds of a certain size, forming what is called _chancaca_, sold
for ordinary consumption amongst the poorer classes, at a _quartillo_
(three cents) the cake, equivalent to about one cent and a half the
pound. The finer qualities of sugar produced on this estate are nearly
as white and hard as the refined sugars of commerce. Connected with
these works is a complete apparatus for distilling _aguardiente_,
capable of an indefinite production of that article of consumption. But
this is a government _estanco_, or monopoly, and it cannot be
manufactured on private account. The fact that the late Don Gregorio had
obtained the contract for supplying the government, was one of the
causes of hostility to him amongst the smaller proprietors, whose rude
but costly modes of distillation were entirely supplanted by the
introduction of his improved machinery. This hostility had not yet died
out, and the family meditated throwing up the contract, and
discontinuing the manufacture altogether, as the easiest mode of
relieving themselves from the popular odium which it excited. We can
hardly understand how such prejudices should exist, but it is
nevertheless a fact that, at the first, every improvement in the useful
arts, all social progress, and every advance in government, philosophy,
and religion, have the world over been met and opposed in precisely the
same spirit, and from precisely the same motives.
Upon our return to the house, we found a table spread with the rarest
collection of tropical fruits and luxuries which I had yet seen, and
which might have excited the envy of a king. We had “frescas” compounded
from the marañon, the orange, and the juice of the cocoanut, slightly
dashed with aguardiente, the coolest and most refreshing imaginable; and
melons—such melons! And when we came to lie down in our respective
hammocks, beneath the shaded corridor, for the afternoon siesta, it was
unanimously voted that, with our present limited information on the
subject of Paradise, we should be quite willing to accept perpetual
youth and hacienda life “_down_,” rather than incur the risk of
attaining the former! “Opinions may differ about the propriety of
confessing it,” said W., “but really,” and he took a long and lazy pull
at his cigar, “I think this is quite good enough for a miserable sinner
like myself!”
The smoke wreathed slowly up from each hammock, the mill clattered
drowsily, and we slept until the cool evening wind, gathering strength
as the sun declined, began to rustle amongst the orange trees which grew
beside the corridor, and the creaking carts, which had stood idle during
the heat of the day, again began to move in the direction of the cane
fields. A hacienda dinner, and a cheery ride townward, in the twilight,
completed the day; and we went to bed that night, with a most
satisfactory conception of hacienda life.
I had flattered myself that my visit to El Viejo was unknown beyond the
family with which we were stopping; I had, in fact, stipulated with our
host, that our incognito should be rigidly preserved. He was, therefore,
a good deal embarrassed, and I was not a little annoyed, when he
announced the next morning at breakfast, that the municipality of the
town had been there, before I was up, to say that they should do
themselves the honor to pay their respects to “El Ministro” in form, at
the early hour of ten o’clock. There was now no alternative but to
submit to the arrangement, and make the best of what we would gladly
have prevented. Punctual to the moment, when the clock struck the
appointed hour, a band of musicos, preceded by half a dozen fellows
firing bombas, emerged from the cabildo, on the opposite side of the
square, in the direction of our house. They were followed by the
municipal and spiritual fathers of the town, the former with their red
sashes and gold-headed canes, and the latter in their black robes and
broad-brimmed hats, after whom came a mingled mass of men, women, and
children. The musicos played with an energy befitting the occasion, and
the men with the bombas managed to keep up an incessant discharge. The
musicos, the municipality, and the priests, with a very select few of
the prominent citizens, alone entered the sala. The populace had to
content themselves with gazing in turns through the open windows and
doors. Amongst the ecclesiastics was the Dean REMIJO SALAZAR, one of the
most imposing men in appearance, and most accomplished in manner and in
education, of any in the country, and withal an orator and a
philanthropist, and the venerable Padre JOSE MARIA GUERRERO,
distinguished throughout the State for his exemplary piety, and noted as
a musician and a composer of music. I experienced a real satisfaction in
taking these men by the hand, and my subsequent acquaintance with them
only served to deepen my respect and esteem. After the exchange of
salutations, and a very neat welcome from the first alcalde, we were
told that the musicos were prepared with a “Cancion,” composed expressly
for this occasion, which they begged permission to sing. The permission,
accompanied with a glass of ardiente by way of clearing their respective
whistles, was graciously accorded. It was but seven stanzas in length,
but each stanza was seven times repeated, with a constantly increasing
nasal intonation, until the sweat rolled down the faces of singers and
players,—for each musico both sang and played. The infliction was
severe, and would have been unendurable, had it not been for the amusing
contortions of features, and strong muscular exercises of the
performers, which far surpassed the most extravagant pantomime ever
brought on the stage. A copy of the “Cancion” was handed to me at the
conclusion of the performance, of which the title and a couple of
stanzas will suffice to satisfy any curiosity which the reader may
entertain in respect to it. I could not learn who was the author; for,
with the modesty of true genius, he carefully concealed his name.
“CANCION.
“CON QUE LA MUNICIPALIDAD DE LA VILLA DEL VIEJO, EN UNION DE LOS
SEÑORES PRESBITERIOS DON REMIJIO SALAZAR, DEAN DE LA SANTA YGLECIA
CATHEDRAL, Y DR. DON JOSE MARIA GUERRERO, Y LICENCIADO D. EVARISTO
ROCHA, FELICITARON AL SEÑOR MINISTRO PLENOPOTENCARIO DE LOS ESTADOS
UNIDOS DEL NORTE, EN SU LEGADA A ESTA VILLA, EL 5 A SETIEMBRE, DE
1849.
“Digno hijo de Washington,
Seais bien venido,
Illustre bien hechor
De nuestro Istmo,
No hay recompensa
Que eguale al beneficio,
De Vuestra Empresa!
“Fue la America libre,
Hoy in su Centro,
Con Vos. se regocije
Hasta el estremo,
Es un deber
Pues que por Vos. adquiere
Un nuevo ser.
“Dichoso aquel momento
Bello, y deseado,
En que Vuestra Excelencia
Fue proclamado,
Para operar
La obra grande que el mundo
Debe admirar.”
[Illustration: VIEW OF CHINANDEGA FROM THE WEST.]
We remained but two days at El Viejo, and on the morning of the third
started on our return to Leon. Chinandega, by daylight, more than
confirmed the favorable opinion which I had formed of it from
descriptions and starlight glimpses. It covers a very large space of
ground, and is regularly laid out in “cuadras” or squares, which are
again subdivided into what can best be described as gardens, each one
embowering a dwelling of some kind, generally built of canes and
thatched, but often of adobes and neatly roofed with tiles. The central,
or what may be called the business part of the town in the vicinity of
the grand plaza, is compact, and as well built as any part of Leon or
Granada. Yet it is scarcely twenty years since there was but a single
tile-roofed house in the town. Altogether, Chinandega has an air of
thrift and enterprise which I have seen nowhere else in Central America;
and as the trade now springing up on the Pacific coast increases, its
importance will continue to augment. The country around it is flat, yet
the soil is dry, and although the heat during the day is considerable,
yet here, as in El Viejo, the evenings and nights are cool and pleasant.
This is perhaps due to its position in respect both to the sea and the
great volcano of El Viejo, which stands guard at this extremity of the
plain of Leon.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: PORT OF REALEJO.]
[Illustration: CHURCH AND PLAZA, CHINANDEGA.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Realejo is about two leagues distant from Chinandega. It is a small
town, situated upon a tide-water stream, full five miles from the harbor
proper, and can only be reached by the ordinary bongos or lighters, at
high water. The position is low, and is reputed unhealthy. The customs’
establishment is located there, but the merchants who conduct their
trade through the port have their stores in Chinandega and Leon. It is
said that the town was originally built nearer the harbor, and that the
present site was afterwards adopted in consequence of the frequent
attacks of the pirates, who, as I have already observed, infested this
coast. The population of Realejo is about twelve hundred, who find
employment in loading and unloading vessels, and supplying them with
fruits and provisions. Recently the place has derived a great impulse
from the Californian trade; docks and warehouses have been built, depôts
for coal established, and several of the American steamers now touch
there regularly for supplies; the station, in this respect, being
favorably situated intermediately between Panama and Acapulco. It seems
likely, however, that the old town will be abandoned and a new one built
up, immediately on the harbor, opposite the anchorage, where there is a
fine position, adapted to all the wants of commerce. A road has, in
fact, lately been opened to the mouth of the Estero Doña Paula, by a
company of native merchants, and the site of the new town has already
been laid out under direction of the government. It is to bear the
classical name of “Corinth,” and will not be distant more than eighteen
or twenty miles from Leon, to which place it is supposed it will sustain
the same relation that Realejo has hitherto done to Chinandega. The
official paper, the “Correo del Istmo,” of the 30th of January last,
advertises four hundred and twenty of the lots in “Corinth,” varying
from 1000 to 1500 square yards, and the minimum prices at which they are
to be sold, i. e. from $25 to $37. There seems to be little doubt that
this enterprise will prove successful, and that the Port of Realejo will
become second in importance to no other on the entire Pacific coast from
Panama northward.[21]
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Footnote 21:
Sir Edward Belcher, R. N., who surveyed this harbor in 1838, says:
“The island of Cardon, at the mouth of the harbor of Realejo, is
situated in 12° 28´ N., and 87° 12´ W. It has two entrances, both of
which are safe, under proper precautions, in all weathers. Good and
safe anchorage extends for several miles. The rise and fall of the
tide is eleven feet, full and change 3h. 6m. Docks or slips,
therefore, may easily be constructed, and timber is readily to be
procured of any dimensions; wood, water, and immediate necessaries are
plentiful and cheap.—“_Voyage round the World_,” vol. ii. p. 307.
“I may confidently say,” observes Dunlap, “that Realejo is as good a
port as any in the known world. I have seen Portsmouth, Rio Janeiro,
Port Jackson, Talhujano, Callao and Guayaquil, and to all of these I
consider it decidedly superior. It is a salt water creek, into which
several small streams of water empty themselves. The entrance is
protected by an island about two miles long, which leaves at each end
a channel where ships can enter the harbor, but extending opposite the
main land, forming the port in such a manner as to protect it entirely
from any wind that can possibly blow, and also breaking the swell
which enters the outer bay of Conchagua from the ocean. The north
entrance is about a quarter of a mile wide, and that at the south of
the island rather wider—both being entirely free from rocks or hidden
dangers, and having in no part less than five fathoms depth of water.
At one of these openings vessels can at all times enter with a leading
wind, from whatever quarter it may blow. The inside consists of a
noble basin of water, nowhere less than four fathoms deep, with a
bottom of mud, where two hundred ships of the line might lie at all
times in most perfect security. Merchant vessels generally lie about a
mile from the entrance, in the branch of the creek which runs up to
Realejo, where there are about five fathoms of water over a mud
bottom. Opposite this port there is a fine level beach, possessing
deep water close to the edge, which would form an admirable site for a
town, and where, at very little expense, a wharf might be constructed,
capable of accommodating almost any number of vessels.”—_Central
America_, p. 26.
-----
The opening of the port of San Juan del Sur, or San Juan de Concordia,
for purposes of transit across the Continent via Lake Nicaragua and the
Rio San Juan, it has been supposed will seriously affect the importance
of Realejo. The port of San Juan del Sur, however, can never meet the
requirements of a considerable commerce. As a point of embarkation and
disembarkation for steamers, it is unobjectionable; but it is small, and
it is almost impossible for sail vessels to approach this part of the
Nicaraguan coast. The north-east trade winds, which blow the entire
year, here sweep across the whole continent, and for a considerable
distance, and almost constantly, off the shore; where, meeting with
other currents, they form those peculiar, revolving, contradictory winds
known as Papagayos, which give their name to the Gulf within which this
port is situated. Realejo, from this circumstance, and that of position
in respect to the back country, must therefore remain the chief port of
Nicaragua. It is undoubtedly the best for harbor purposes.