“We are now in the State of Zulia,” said Professor Strong, “and not over ninety miles from the eastern boundary of Colombia. This State contains about 100,000 inhabitants, of which 30,000 live in this city. A good deal of the trade you see here comes over the mountains from Colombia on mule back. Several railroads are contemplated, and when they are built Maracaibo will be one of the most important points for shipping in the northern part of South America.”
The party stopped for two days at Maracaibo, visiting several towns in the vicinity, which, however, were of small importance. On the second day Frank proposed that they hire one of the native boats for a short sail on the lake.
“Just so we can tell the folks at home that we sailed on Lake Maracaibo,” he said.
“Hurrah, just the thing!” cried Sam. “I’d like that first rate.”
The others were equally enthusiastic, and soon a boat was procured, something similar to a sloop, but with the sail running directly to the masthead. A native was in charge who could speak a little English, and he agreed to take them down the lake for a distance of a dozen miles and bring them back early in the evening.
With a basket filled with good things procured at their hotel, the party embarked at one of the long, low piers, and soon the mainsail was set and they were speeding away over the clear waters of the lake at a rate of seven knots an hour. The craft was a staunch built affair and minded her helm to perfection.
“I see you know how to handle her,” said Mark, to the boatman, who rejoiced in the name of Salvador.
“Si, señor,” was the answer. “I been a boatman since a little baby so big,” and Salvador smiled broadly.
“What do you do with the boat, fish?”
“Fish when weather good, señor. When weather no good carry cocoa and t’ings, or go to sleep.”