The slaves are principally fed upon the meat of the oysters, which they prepare in a particular way, passing a string through a great number of oysters in the manner of threading beads or decorations, and then hanging the festoons thus made up to dry. They likewise live upon manatee and the flesh of wild cattle, the ranchiera being amply provided with hunters, whose business it is to supply such stores. The slaves work from sunrise to sunset, with about three hours intermission when the heat is the fiercest. They are a poor, dogged, sullen-looking sort of people, with long straight black hair and big cheek-bones. It is miserable to see them at their work, crouching under the whips of the overseers, not daring to whisper to each other nor to cease for a moment, but, bending down their heads over the board, and, when they find a pearl, calling out in a low whining tone to the overseer, who presently relieves them of it. I have often, having found occasion to be sometimes on shore during the day, sat upon a little sandy hillock, sheltered from the sun by a sort of umbrella made of plaited grass, many of which the Spaniards use, and gazed upon the scene. To seaward was the surf thundering white upon the bar, and almost on the horizon the pearl barks, like black specks, guarded by the big ship, as a little hamlet is by a castle. On one side the river came shining down, amid a waste of sand-banks and knolls, spreading out and slackening in its speed, as it began to feel the near influence of the sea. On its banks vast flocks of birds disported. The flamingos stood in red rows, drawn up like soldiers. Great cranes waded in the shallow water, like men on stilts. Ducks of many sorts flew by in long lines or in the shape of wedges, with a brave old drake to lead the fleet; while small water birds, which dive, floated upon the brownish river, sometimes tipping down to the bottom with a saucy jerk of their spruce little tails, and then coming up with a flutter and a quackle. By the margin, fixed to posts and stakes, lay a fleet of canoes, and the flat-bottomed boats which carried the oysters ashore; and here and there, lurking among the sand-hills with his gun, you might descry a Spanish sportsman, creeping along the shore to get a good shot at widgeon or teal. Upon the landward side there stretched out in the hot sun a wavy, sand-heaped shore, feathered here and there with a palm, bending in the sea-breeze. The village, which was two or three straggling streets of huts, built of wood and wattled branches, with some roofs scattered here and there of tarred canvas, which sailors call tarpaulin, supported upon stakes, boats’ masts, oars, and what not, lay, as it were, roasting brown in the fierce glare of the sun. A few black and stark-naked children played in the sand before the doors, and a Spaniard or two, with their white linen jackets, and broad straw hats, and red sashes tied round their middles, and everlasting pipes of tobacco in their hands, would be sitting in the shade, outside the long low hut which was the posada of the place, drinking draughts of wine from gourds or cups made of cocoa-shells mounted with silver, and playing cards or dice for shining dollars. At one end of the village was a rude sort of fort, built of unhewn stone, piled up and supported by a framework of stakes; it had no cannon, but was loopholed for musketry, and was set all round with sentry-boxes, in which Spanish soldiers dozed away the greater part of the day and night. Above the ramparts or palisades, which were not more than twelve feet high, and planted upon the roof of an inner house, rose a flag-staff bearing the broad red and yellow banner of Spain. In this fort, or stockade, lived the governor of the fishery, the chief superintendent, and the captain of the convoy, when he was ashore. All the pearls which were found were conveyed thither twice a-day, and overseers were continually passing and repassing from the great gate down to the opening tables, which stood in divers ranks all round the central pit into which the oysters were flung. From among those tables, half covered by their thin roofs of grass and hurdles, and lined by the dusky rows of working slaves, continually came the sharp crack of the whip, followed by a loud howl from some poor wretch detected whispering to his neighbour, or pausing a moment in his toil. Now and then an Indian would run hurriedly away from the tables towards the village, that man having found and delivered up a pearl above a certain weight, which entitled him to a holiday until the next morning; while, again, perhaps a poor brown devil would be walked off between a couple of the soldiers who attended at the tables, and taken to the fort, there to be flogged to an inch of his life for some offence given to the overseer of the board.
Such, then, is a true picture of the pearl ranchiera, on the banks of the Bio de la Hacha. Meanwhile, days, and weeks, and at last months, slipped away, and I found myself no nearer my design of getting on board an English ship than when I left Carthagena. I went off every day in the pearl bark, and many an anxious look I cast to windward for a sail. One or two I saw, but at a great distance, and they did not seem inclined to come nearer. Indeed, the frigate being put upon its mettle by the recent attack, the governor of the fishery having, as I heard, rated the captain soundly for not keeping a better look out—the frigate, I say, was very vigilant, generally keeping to windward of the fleet; and when we remained all night at our anchors, burning blue lights and other fireworks constantly, and having all her heavy boats, with their crews armed to the teeth, rowing guard through and around the squadron, from sundown to sunrise, like most vigilant watchmen. Thus I did not think it probable that any privateer, excepting, indeed, a ship of great size, would dare to attack a fleet so guarded. So I considered myself almost as much a prisoner as when in the house of the Señora Moranté at Carthagena, and with as little prospect of speedy release. I panted for the sound of my countrymen’s voices again, and often and often did I start from my sleep, dreaming I heard Stout Jem’s hearty talk, or Nicky Hamstring’s cheery laugh. Thus I got downhearted and mopish enough, and often thought of purchasing from Captain Garbo, for I was not—thanks to my friends at Carthagena—penniless, the canoe belonging to the bark, and taking my chance in her to run down before the trades to the Samballas. Indeed, the unpleasantness of my situation increased day by day. Although I spoke Spanish reasonably well, and put great restraint upon my speech, so as never to drop a hint or a word which might betray my secret, I saw that I was suspected, and two or three times I thought it best to retreat as rapidly as I could from the lowering brows and fishing questions which the crews of the other barks, and sometimes the soldiers on shore, received me with. At length, one evening, when, much against my own will, I had accompanied Captain Garbo to the posada, so many hints were dropped about ‘spies,’ and ‘sailing under false colours,’ and so many interrogatories were put to me, touching the Spanish ships in which I had sailed, and the ports from which they set forth, that I made up my mind to take the very first opportunity of leaving my present comrades. Captain Garbo, who being a good deal heated by wine, must needs defend me with great warmth, and tell many lies in his zeal, each lie being, as is generally the case, quite inconsistent with the other, made the matter worse instead of better; and half-a-dozen times, just as the talk was turning upon something else, he would start up, and flourishing a knife in his pot-valiancy, would threaten that any man who said I was not a good comrade and a good fellow, should brook the stab. Now, among the company was one man to whom I took a special dislike, because he encouraged Garbo with all his might to defend me, at the same time dropping hints that I stood in need of the utmost eloquence which my protector could exert, and all the time slily laughing in his sleeve at both of us. This man was a squat, broad-shouldered little fellow, with a greasy, threadbare doublet, and a cunning-looking weasen face, lighted up by two bright winking eyes. He never seemed to me to sit a moment in the same position, but was always shifting about and fidgeting, and speaking here and there, to almost every one at once. This man, whom the rest called Señor Peralta, was, they told me, a merchant who came hither every year at the pearl season to purchase pearls of the chief officer of the fishery. He had a large half-decked piragua of his own, and was accounted by the Spaniards as a very adventurous and clever fellow; and being liberal with his money, and always ready to treat the commoner sort of men, as well as to sing merry songs, and crack merry jokes over his liquor, this Señor Peralta was quite a great personage in the ranchiera. The evening of which I am talking, I often observed his eyes fixed with an intent look upon me, and once or twice, as I judged, he made a sign with his hands, but what he meant I could not for the life of me divine. Next day, some accident—what it was I forget—prevented Captain Garbo taking his bark out to the bank, and so having nothing to do, I went wandering, low-hearted enough, among the sand-banks and knolls of grass down by the sea. At length, seeing a comfortable shade formed by some thick bushes, which kept off the sun, but let the sea-breeze whistle through, I sat me down, and began to think upon my project of obtaining a canoe, and chancing the run to the Samballas. While I was thus musing, I suddenly started to hear a voice near me singing softly; and I started again, and a thrill of pleasure went through my veins, when I recognised the words of the song for English. Almost afraid that I was dreaming, and fearing to awake, I listened while the musician, who appeared to lie concealed among the bushes behind me, sang with a clear, lusty voice these verses, which I remembered to have heard in the playhouses in London:—
‘Sir Drake, whom well the world’s end knew,
Which thou did compass round,
And whom both poles of heaven once saw,
Which north and south do bound.
‘The starres alone would make thee knowne
If men were silent here;
The sun himselfe cannot forget
His fellow-travellere!’