A TOUR TO THE ISTHMUS:
Filled in from the Pencillings of an English Artist.
BY A YANKEE DAUBER.
Painting is welcome;—
The painting is almost the natural man;
For since dishonor traffics with man's nature,
He is but outside. These pencilled figures are
Even such as they give out.
Timon of Athens.
III.
Chagres—The Castle—Mine Host—No English and no Spanish for two—Mule Riding—A Fit-out for Panama—Up in the World—The Stone Ladder—A Yarn.
It is now some weeks since I opened my note book, and I confess the cause to be pure idleness alone. However, my pencil meanwhile has not lain dormant, as my portfolio will convince you. After all, cui bono? Why should a fellow be expected to write a journal on shipboard? The record of one day upon a voyage is the record of all others. This day we see “a booby,” (an animal not rare, you will say, on shore) the next, perhaps, a turtle, and on the next we may be amused with a short skirmish between a whale and a sword-fish, or a more deadly one between contending shoals of hostile sharks: then we see “Cape Fly-away,” and after that we see——nothing!
Our voyage to Chagres, instead of five days, was extended to fifteen. The pilots live on board, and make a point of lying out for a wind or a tide, until they have laid in sustenance enough to last them while another ship shall demand their services, and then convoy their patient victims into port. But we got in at last, and were thankful.
The scenery here is surpassingly lovely, rich beyond any description of which my pen or pencil is capable. I found great delight in being once more on land, after my tedious passage—for I profess, without a blush, to be a determined land-lubber, you are aware—and began to look about me with as much greenness as a country boy on his first visit to the Metropolis. With the exception of the old Gothic castles of my own country, that at Chagres is the finest I have ever seen. It occupies a great space of ground, and is remarkable for its strong and massive walls, reaching to a great height, and commanding the whole town as well as the river and coast. The prospect from this castle's walls is full of the richest and most varied beauty.
Finding that our vessel was likely to be detained for some days at Chagres, I determined to cross the Isthmus, and visit Panama. Owing to the want of industry, or rather to the most consummate laziness, which is a characteristic of the natives, I was three whole days endeavoring to engage any one to carry me up the river. The consequence was that, the river, in the mean time, having risen prodigiously, I was four days and a half, including of course the four nights, on a route of about forty or fifty miles! During this time I went on shore at night, sleeping on the ground with a billet of wood for my pillow, and disturbed in my slumbers by droves of pigs, which as they rooted up the soil around me, paid no sort of attention to my convenience. Occasionally a horse would browse down to my couch, and reach his long neck over me as I lay, to nibble a cornhusk or a yam on the other side of my pillow—and as to the cows, they were perpetually snuffing at me. I say nothing, though I felt much, of the musquitoes!
With what delight did I behold the landing place, which, after my rough journey, was pointed out to me by my conductor. They who are accustomed to travel in Europe and America, can have no idea of it. Here I hastened to present my letters to Signor P——, a gentleman who was to be my host while I staid. Our conversation was rather limited, as you may readily conceive, when I mention that he could not speak a word of my language, nor I a syllable of his, which was Castillaña—(they never say ‘Spanish’ there.) But the language of actions is often more eloquent than that of words—at least so thought I, when my host ordered a comfortable repast to be placed before me, consisting of fricasseed fowl, and Vermicelli soup, with a magnum of generous claret. This was certainly a delightful exchange for my five days fast upon half boiled rice and plaintains, as were my soft pillow and quiet apartment a great improvement upon my nocturnal accommodations while on the route.
Early the next morning I found myself mounted on the back, or to be more exact, I should say something like a half mile above the back, of an animal which I had at first some difficulty in naming. In all my life, (albeit something of an equestrian, as you know,) I was never so put to it to take an advantage of my knowledge of horsemanship. Conceive me placed high above a tall raw-boned mule's back, (the saddle one of the old Saracenic or Moorish pattern, fastened by a multiplicity of strands, made of hair rope, to a ring tied to the saddle by a single loop of leather,) and at the mercy of this single string to guide not one of the gentlest of beasts, reminding the reader of Peter Pindar of the ass, “with retrograding rump and wriggling tail,” jumping alternately to each side of the street, and occasionally turning round and kicking sidewise, like a cat in search of her tail, or a dog vainly attempting to rid himself of the addendum of a tin-kettle! What a merry figure I must have cut!
My mule was a picture in himself. I have already called him raw-boned,—and you may deduce his coup d'œil from this attribute. Add, however, the details of the beast, and you shall acknowledge that he was sui generis. His ears stuck straight out to the front, sure sign of wicked intentions, and the nose was curled into a thousand ill-natured wrinkles. The horse-cloth was made like a hearth-rug, heavy, matted, and thick, and on the top of that was placed a straw pad about four inches thick, to prevent the pressure of the saddle from hurting him. Surmounting this mountainous ridge was the saddle itself, and such a one! It was the real demipique of the middle ages, and was doubtless two hundred years old itself. The leather was originally a bright tan-color, but was now grown black and glossy by age and wear, and as hard as if made of iron. So hard was it that I turned the edge of my knife, in endeavoring to cut a strap which gave way during my ride. On this pyramidal pinnacle, which I have described stone by stone, as it were, behold me seated. The reins are handed me by the groom, who undertakes the whole guidance and direction of the process of mounting, as any departure from his regulations in this respect would result in the total overthrow of the whole mass upon which the rider is doomed to sit. Being mounted, I discovered that the stirrups were thrown over the saddle, and the strap connecting them tied in a knot, beside which was another, formed by the tying of the girth in a similar manner; this last being improved by the strap of the crupper brought through a hole behind in the saddle and made fast to the pommel. All these knots (reminding me of Obadiah's in “Tristram Shandy,”) stood up in front and rear, and as there was no pad above as there was below, to prevent the manifold injuries that were like to result to the rider upon such an establishment, you may judge of the consequences of riding a hard trotting mule, thus caparisoned, for twenty seven miles. I shall carry the scars I got, to my grave, if I survive to the age of Methusalem. The bridle was a rope of hair, as was the halter beneath, and the bit—oh ye gods! what a bit! It weighed at the very least ten pounds avoirdupois, and hung down full twelve inches below the jaws of the mule. Lo, there was I, in a coarse straw hat, and a queer cotton travelling toggery, with a pair of spurs, such as John of Gaunt might have used, being made of brass, with a shank six inches long, tied by a strap which first went round the foot, and then three or four times round the leg, each spike in the rowel being an inch and a half long, the whole forming a tout ensemble, worthy of the pencil of George Cruikshank or Horace Vernet. As neither of them are at hand, take the accompanying sketch, rudely done to the life by my own pencil.
You will see by the foregoing description, the sort of animal and equipments with which Signor P—— favored me. I assure you it is not in the least caricatured, either as the figure or accompaniments are concerned. The pencilling will give you an idea of the sort of road upon which I travelled from Cruzes, the residence of my host, to Panama. About halfway on, I stood upon a hill overlooking two oceans at once. I saw on the one side the bay of Panama, and the Caribbean sea on the other. As I proceeded, I came to a spot, where, for several yards, the ascent is up a kind of stone ladder. It is in a narrow pass, where, between two banks of twelve to eighteen feet in height, there is a continued face of black rock, worn so smooth by a constant run of water, as to afford the mules only the small holes made in the crevices by their predecessors, as the means of ascent. As they dragged themselves up in this manner by these rude steps, I could not but admire the sure footedness of the animals. While on the open ground, they are full of tricks, and are constantly trying to displace their rider, but so soon as they find themselves in a difficult pass like that I have described, they seem to say to themselves—“Come, come, no fooling now—let's be steady,” and in a moment they are the steadiest and soberest of animals.
This pass is called the Governor's Fall, from this circumstance. A governor of the territory, in the times of the early Spaniards, was ascending it, on his way to Panama, when his mule, less sure footed than my own, fell backward with him, and killed him instantly. The anecdote startled me a little, as may be easily imagined, related to me as it was on the very spot, and under circumstances precisely similar to those under which it occurred. However, vanity came to my aid, and prompted me to endeavor to perform what the governor had so fatally failed in accomplishing, and my attempt was successful.
IV.
Panama—A Scotsman—Architecture—A Gold Story—Tobago—A Beauty—The Sketcher in Love—The way to live on Pine Apples—Snakes—A Perilous Bath.
I arrived at Panama in eight hours, an astonishingly short time considering the roads, and as there are no boarding or lodging houses in the town, I made my way at once to the grand square, where I had a letter of introduction to a braw Scot, Mr. McK——, who received me like a brother Briton. His hospitality displayed itself in some novel ways. As my luggage was still on the road, I was stripped and bathed in brandy, to counteract the effects of a severe wetting I had received on my journey, and equipped cap à pie from the wardrobe of mine host. He was very tall, and his linen trowsers hung around me “as a purser's shirt upon a handspike,” to use a nautical simile of more expressiveness than elegance. I was indebted to my new friend even for the loan of a hat, mine having been substituted at Cruzes for a negro hat to ride in. This last article of my travelling equipments seemed to scandalize the good Panamians not a little.
It was a treat to me, living as I had been for six years in a new country, to find myself once more among such stately ruins and antique edifices, as the churches, monasteries, colleges and nunneries, which, erected upon the first introduction of christianity into Southern America, are still standing either in part, or entire. My portfolio will show you with what warmth and enthusiasm I greeted them. The ruins of the monastery of St. Francesco, and the college of the Jesuits, are as beautiful specimens of architecture as can be imagined. They were built with all that taste of design and gorgeousness of finish, which the founders of them derived from the Moors of Grenada. I spent much time in wandering among their massive columns and fallen entablatures, their heavy lofty walls and sculptured ruins.
The wealth of the town is not great at present, although I heard many Panamians speak of the abundance which existed ten or fifteen years ago, when sacks of gold were wont to lie like any other heavy merchandize, all night in the principal street, with no one near to watch them. No one thought of stealing, for no one wanted aught. It was, in truth, “the golden age.” I, of course, as you will do, probably, received this legend with some few reserved doubts of its authenticity. As a pendant to it, I was also informed of a curious custom that at the same time prevailed in the Isthmus. In the dance, if a gentleman wished to make himself acceptable to a lady, he would take his hand full of small golden coin, and throw it among the circle of spectators, (every one is admitted to the dances,) so that it became a matter of fashionable boast among the fair ones, “I have had so many pieces thrown for me,” etc. etc. But things are not now “as they used to was,” and a Panamian is now apt to consider the possession of a real regular immutilated doubloon a god-send: the currency being in what they call cut money—that is, the large coin cut or divided into bitts of the denomination of dollars, reals, &c. &c.
While at Panama I made a trip to some of the Pacific Islands in the neighborhood: the principal one I visited was Tobago, one of the most curious and striking spots I have ever seen. The island is about eight miles in length, and four or five in breadth, rising into a high hill in the centre, thickly wooded, and yet there is not a tree upon the island, that does not bear a fruit. I was there during a church festival, and there was uninterrupted dancing the whole week. Some of the women are very beautiful, and among them there was one to whom I had nearly lost my heart during the short time I was at Tobago, so transcendant was her beauty. I do not call it loveliness—it was passion, (and so my fit was soon over.) She had no face—do you know what I mean? it was all feature. Excuse a dauber's smacking of “the shop.” And then what a model was she for the sculptor! A fine though not a high forehead, upon which the jetty hair was most simply yet tastefully parted; eyes large and dark as the hair; but with such a fire in them! Her nose was beautifully chiselled, and her disparted lips disclosed teeth more white than pearl. Her form, so youthful was she, was not developed, and figure, as such, she had none. But what passion was in that soul! She crossed my path in the dance, at church, on the island's beach, and every where it was the same—she was all soul. I saw her angry, and I thought I would not rouse her for the world; and then, reveried I, what must she be, if in love! The thought threw me into a brown study, out of which I awoke, and I soon began to feel completely in love—but it was with the pine apples of Tobago! Never ate I such delicious fruit before as this, the abundant product of the island I have described. For my own part I quite forgot my Katinka, and gave myself up to the fascinations of a cheaper and more easily accessible luxury. I used to consume, upon an average, eight pine apples per diem, without fear of cholera, dispepsia, or any of the train of “ills that flesh is heir to.” There was a place they called “The Bishop's Bath,” formed in a rock by the constant running of a stream of pure water, and sufficiently deep for a bath. Here several of us were wont to meet every day and refresh ourselves with the delicious coolness of the water—our host always despatching a servant with a hamper of pines, as an accompaniment of our bath. Upon our return a profusion of fruits awaited us: melons, pines, cocoas, mangoes, &c &c. These we would eat from the table, or as we lay upon our beds. All this was too luxurious for me, and I began to feel sure that if I were to give myself up unyieldingly to the fascinations around me, while at this island of Pomona, I should never be fit for any thing else again as long as I lived.
I enjoyed my rambles about the island very much at first, but soon began to learn the old lesson of the thorn under the rose, the bitter mingled with the sweet, the drop of poison in the cooling cup, &c. Throughout New Grenada, there are thousands of snakes, the bite of almost all of which is fatal. That of the black snake, the species so common and so innocent in the United States, is as poisonous here as the rattlesnake is there. So I soon began to confine myself to the coast, and gave up rambling. I remember one occasion, upon which I got a deuse of a fright. I had been bathing, and had left the water but about five minutes, when a gentleman, who was undressing to go into the same bath, perceived and pointed out to me a small snake swimming about in it, very much at his ease. We took the reptile out and killed it on the margin of the basin. It was a small red snake, marked with black rings, and its bite is instant death. It is a common opinion that island snakes are harmless. It may be so—but I had rather take the theory for granted without a practical illustration of it in my own person.
We returned to Panama in time to witness the bull fights, which last three or four days, in August, the anniversary of the revolution which resulted in the independence of New Grenada. I must sharpen my pencil, and nib my pen afresh to tell you of my amusement during those three or four days.
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