A Tour Through South America

by A. S. Forrest

A COLOMBIAN MOTHER.

The mania for revolution which has infected the inhabitants of South America has found in Colombia very amenable material to work upon. For years during the last century stable government was a thing unknown; rival factions were always springing at each other’s throats, drenching the country in blood, decimating its population, crippling its prosperity, and embarrassing its finances. Where so many other states have indulged in revolutions, it is dangerous to use the superlative degree; but it is fairly safe to say that Colombia has been facile princeps in the insensate and sanguinary game. Since the establishment of the constitution in 1886, however, events have tended a little towards tranquillity and security; but it would be much too sanguine to dream that the rival parties, the Clericals and the Liberals, have become sufficiently reconciled to play the game in a constitutional manner, although their volcanic passions are for the moment lying dormant. Now that the United States have such important interests in the adjacent Isthmus of Panama, the firebrands of Colombia have to be on their better behaviour, for the “big stick” is a menace which they are bound to recognise. The efforts of the Government to render the country less liable to disturbances are praiseworthy, but the material they have to handle is not very promising, and development is slow. Railways are very gradually connecting up places in the interior. The army is badly equipped, and lack of funds prevents many of its most urgent needs from being satisfied. The navy cannot be said to exist, although the necessity for coast defence agitates the mind of the Government.

A slight improvement is, however, manifest in the latest budgets of the country, but the task of making “both ends meet” is a difficult one. If the republic in many of its features cannot compare for sheer interest with its neighbours, it has yet a commanding claim to the attention of antiquarians, for it possesses the city of Cartagena, which was the most ancient and strongest of the Spanish power in South America. The renown of the city’s prototype in Spain, itself inheriting the name of the still more ancient and famous colony, Carthage, was transplanted to the New World, and for two centuries it enjoyed the esteem of the whole maritime world. Its sun-bleached walls still endure, stern relics of the power of Spain. Belonging entirely to the past, it has escaped unharmed the vandal hand of progress. Surrounded on all sides with walls, it gave shelter to the great “plate” ships and their convoys which anchored within its land-locked waters. There are three harbours, which together extend for some nine miles from north to south, and have a surface of nearly forty thousand acres. The situation was well chosen, for although the waters of the Caribbean form the western boundary of the city, great rocks protect it from the approach of ships; and of the two entrances to the harbour, the Boca Grande and Boca Chica, only the latter is of sufficient depth to allow the passage of vessels of any size. The middle harbour is protected by two forts, and the narrow entrance to the shallow waters of the inner harbour was an additional protection to the city which lies within. To the east of the city, standing upon a formidable hill, is the fort of San Lazar, whilst on another hill about a mile away stands an ancient convent. Although the city stands upon flat ground, it has a magnificent panorama of undulating hills spread before it. Innumerable islets, bays, and capes fill the great harbour, and as the steamer makes its way across the smooth waters it passes many of the loveliest bits of tropical scenery to be found anywhere. Cartagena formerly possessed untold wealth; rich and powerful merchants prospered within its protecting walls. Its fame was world-wide, and attracted the unwelcome attentions of the pirates, adventurers, and privateers of the sixteenth century. Sir Francis Drake captured the city by one of the most daring assaults recorded in the annals of piracy, and the very defences thrown up by the garrison proved helpful to his purpose. As the Spaniards retreated from the hard-pressing invaders, they fell upon the poisoned stakes they had driven into the ground, and their bodies made a soft foothold for the English. The Cartagenians, dismayed and demoralised, fled in all directions, and the city fell into the hands of Drake, who profited by the adventure to the tune of one hundred thousand ducats, which added to the store of gold and glory he had already acquired upon the Spanish Main. The wealth of Cartagena had an irresistible attraction to all kinds of enemies which even its strong fortifications could not dispel. Ten years after it was founded by Heredia it was captured by the French. In 1586 Drake, fresh from humbling the Spanish pride at Vigo and San Domingo, here repeated his successes. Again, at the end of the seventeenth century the French took the city and obtained over a million of money. The power of the mother country was rapidly declining during the following century. Her home and foreign policy had so aroused the bitter antagonism of England that peace between the two countries was impossible. The war of “Jenkins’s ear” arose ostensibly over the treatment meted out to smugglers by the Spanish coastguards. The story told by Jenkins of his having his ear cut off fanned the smouldering indignation of the English people into a flame, and Walpole was reluctantly compelled by the popular clamour to declare war. In October, 1739, the operations were entrusted to Admiral Vernon, a fiery old sailor who gloried in his motto, “No peace with Spain.” Old Grog, as he was familiarly called by his contemporaries, was a gallant enough seaman, although a little given to bragging and blustering. He pledged himself to take Porto Bello; and when he accomplished this feat with the small loss of seven men, medals were struck in honour of him and his victory.

Popular enthusiasm hailed him as a hero, and the public hero was returned to Parliament by a large majority. In the following year, with a larger squadron under his command, he set sail for Cartagena, confident in his power to take the city. He met with a stubborn resistance, however, and although he succeeded in capturing Fort San Fernando that guards the Boca Chica, his further advances were repulsed. General Wentworth, who accompanied the fleet in charge of the land forces, had serious differences with “Old Grog,” and these were not calculated to help matters. A company of soldiers were landed to take Fort San Lazar, but they were obliged to retreat, leaving two hundred dead and having over four hundred wounded. To add to the discomfiture of the English, yellow fever broke out and wrought great havoc, and the last attempt to capture the city proving unavailing, the fleet gave up the enterprise, retired from the harbour, and made their way to Jamaica, glad to escape the warmth of their reception and the enervating heat of the bay.

Cartagena is one of the most picturesque, if one of the most insalubrious cities, in South America. It is Spanish throughout, and contains few modern buildings of any importance. The atmosphere of bygone centuries hangs over it; time and the elements have imparted a richness to its walls that constitutes its only charm. It is like an old painting by a master hand, mellow and sedate. In the joints and cracks of its discoloured walls, creepers, weeds, and mosses find root-hold and nourishment. The buttresses, bastions, battlements, and sentry towers that strengthen and equip the ramparts, all give evidence of the important part the city was designed to play in the colonial system of Spain. The entrance to the city from the little harbour is through a gateway of three arches of imposing proportions. The larger central archway is for mules, horses, and vehicular

A COLOMBIAN VILLAGE.

traffic, the two smaller ones for pedestrians. The Plaza de los Coches, the square to which the gateway gives immediate entrance, is surrounded by an arched colonnade that gives a deep shade to the pavement, shops, and stores. A stream of dark, swarthy, and yellow humanity flows through the open space. The bright dresses of the negresses blazing in the sunlight stand out vividly from the dark shadows of the arches and doorways. The white dust of the streets dazzles the eye, and the gloom of the narrow streets that lead in all directions is intensified by the sharp contrast. The streets are fairly well paved, but very unclean and evil smelling. Quaint balconies overhang the pavements, and through the lattices dark, sleepy eyes gaze languidly at the passers-by. The heat is almost unendurable during the summer months, and the inhabitants are to be excused if they lack energy and indulge themselves freely in the use of hammocks and easy rocking-chairs. The fine white dust that covers the streets in the dry season becomes a kind of mud-like mortar when the torrential rains descend, and the tatterdemalion shoeblacks reap their harvests. Most of the houses in the narrow streets are of two stories, and are painted with vivid primary colours so dear to Spanish eyes. When fresh applied these colours are blinding in their intensity, particularly when the sunlight falls upon them, but when faded and weather-stained they become really beautiful. The red of the pantiles on the roofs, the vivid greens and blues of balconies and doors, give a sparkle to this otherwise grey city. The windows of the lower floors are grilled with the usual iron or wooden bars, and the interiors are but poorly furnished, with one or two chairs and tables. Through open doors, green patios are seen filled with plants and palms, which cover much of the accumulated dirt, rubbish, and garbage. It is amidst these surroundings that families sit and take their siestas or oily smelling repasts. The rooms are dirty and the kitchens full of smoke or odours, so that with the freely circulating air the patio is the most desirable part of the house. A French writer of the last century who visited the city said of the town, that it contained “skilful jewellers, good carpenters, excellent shoemakers, tolerable tailors, indifferent joiners, black rather than white smiths, masons destitute of ideas of proportion, bad painters, but impassioned musicians.” If this was true of the inhabitants of one hundred years ago, it might with considerable aptness be applied to their descendants to-day. The arts and crafts are in a poor way, but they still love music. The population of the whole of Colombia has a lot of black blood running through its veins; and as is the case elsewhere where the same mixture exists, it is rare to find much culture or refinement. The women of Cartagena, the half-breeds, mulattoes, and octoroons, are tall and lithe, often very handsome, resembling the types of Martinique more than those of the English islands of the Caribbean. The whites so called and coloured people mix freely with one another, and no defined colour-line seems to exist. In Cartagena the old order is loath to give place to the new, although in many cases new uses have been found for old buildings. Erstwhile forts are now common dwellings; stately buildings have been turned into shops and warehouses, churches and chapels into stables. The cathedral, an imposing building with a magnificent altar-piece and many curious relics of the past, stands out conspicuously from the other buildings in the town. In its dark vaults are great piles of human skulls and bones, the crumbling remains of victims of the Inquisition, which exercised its terrible power in the early days of the city. These mouldering bones have little respect shown them by the verger of the church, who turns them over with his foot to pick out specimens to show to visitors, and anyone who cares can possess a souvenir. There is a cemetery on a flat, sandy site, a little way out of the city, surrounded by white walls. The enclosed space