Up the Orinoco and down the Magdalena

by J. A. Zahm

How different was old Benzoni’s experience in these same waters and during the same season of the year! “In consequence of contrary winds,” he tells us, “we remained there seventy-two days, and in all this time we did not see four hours of sunshine. Almost constantly and especially at night, there was so much heavy rain, and thunder and lightning, that it seemed as if both heaven and earth would be destroyed.”[3]

The experience of Columbus was even more terrifying. In a letter to Ferdinand and Isabella, giving an account of his fourth voyage, the great navigator informs them that, so great was the force of wind and current, he was able to advance only seventy leagues in sixty days. During this time, there was no “cessation of the tempest, which was one continuation of rain, thunder and lightning; indeed, it seemed as if it were the end of the world.... Eighty-eight days did this fearful tempest continue, during which I was at sea, and saw neither sun nor stars.”[4] The name Cape Gracias á Dios—Thanks be to God—which he gave to the easternmost point of Nicaragua and Honduras, still remains to attest his gratitude for his miraculous escape from what for many long weeks seemed certain destruction.

It was our good fortune, during all our cruising in the Caribbean, to enjoy the most delightful weather, but we never appreciated it so much as we did during our voyage from Cartagena to Puerto Limon, and more especially during the first night after our departure from the Colombian coast. We were then sailing in waters that had been rendered famous by the achievements of some of the most remarkable men named in the annals of early American discovery and conquest, where every green island and silent bay, every barren rock and sandy key, has its legend, and where, at every turn, one breathes an atmosphere of romance and wonderland.

At one time we were following in the wake of the illustrious Admiral of the Ocean; at another we were in the track of Amerigo Vespucci and Juan de la Cosa, that brave Biscayan pilot who was regarded by his companions as an oracle of the sea. Rodrigo de Bastidas, Alonso de Ojeda and Diego de Nicuesa passed this way, as did Vasco Nuñez de Balboa, the discoverer of the Great South Sea, who, his countrymen declared, never knew when he was beaten, and who, according to Fiske, was “by far the most attractive figure among the Spanish adventurers of that time.”[5] The Pizarros and Almagro sailed these waters, before embarking at Panama on that marvelous expedition which resulted in the conquest of Peru. And so did Orellana, the discoverer of the Amazon, and Belalcazar, the noted conquistador and rival of Quesada and Federmann. And then, too, there was Gonzalez Davila, the explorer of Nicaragua, and Hernando Cortes, the conqueror of Mexico.

And last, but the best and noblest of them all, was the gentle and indefatigable Las Casas, the protector of the aborigines and the Apostle of the Indies, whose memory is still held in benediction in all Latin America. His voluminous writings, making more than ten thousand pages octavo, much of which is devoted to the defense of the Indians, constitute a monument which will endure as long as men shall love truth and justice. But his greatest monument—one that is absolutely unique in the history of civilization—is his former diocese of Chiapa, which is just northwest of the land towards which we are sailing. When he went to take possession of it, it was occupied by savage warriors who had successfully resisted all attempts made by the Spaniards to subdue them. It was considered tantamount to certain death to enter their jealously-guarded territory. But Las Casas, armed only with the image of the Crucified and the gospel of peace, soon had these wild children of the forest prostrate at his feet, begging him to remain with them as their father and friend. So successful was his work among them that the land which, before his arrival, had been known as La Provincia de Guerra—The Province of War—was thereafter called La Provincia de Vera Paz—The Province of True Peace—a name it bears to the present day. And more remarkable still, this particular part of Guatemala is said to have a denser Indian population, in proportion to its area, than any other part of Latin America. Truly, this is a monument worthy of the name, and one that would have appealed most strongly to the loving heart of the courageous protector of the Indians.[6]

But discoverers and explorers, conquistadores and apostles, were not the only men who have rendered this part of the world forever memorable. There were others, but many of them were of a vastly different type. I refer to the pirates and Buccaneers, who so long spread terror in these parts and ultimately destroyed the commercial supremacy of Spain in the New World, and contributed so materially to the final extinction of her sovereign power. Many of them have written their names large on the scroll of history and often in characters of blood. Many of them were pirates of the worst type, who flew at every flag they saw, who recognized no right but might, and whose sole object was indiscriminate robbery on both sea and land. These outlaws, however, have no interest for us now.

Besides these unscrupulous and sanguinary pirates, there was another class of men whom their friends and countrymen insist on grouping in a class by themselves. The majority of these were Englishmen, of whom the most distinguished representatives, along the Spanish Main, were Raleigh, Hawkins and Drake. When these men did not act under secret commissions from their government, they relied on its tacit connivance in all the depredations for which they are so notorious. In the light of international law, as we now understand it, they were as much pirates as those who attacked the ships of all nations, and as such they have always been regarded by Spanish writers. All three of the men just mentioned made their raids on Spanish possessions while England was at peace with Spain. Thus the two nations were at peace when Drake sacked Panama in 1586, as they were at peace when Raleigh attacked Trinidad in 1595. These sea rovers lived up to the old forecastle phrase, “No peace beyond the line”[7] and recognized, at least in the Spanish territory in the New World, no law of nations except that

“They should take who have the power,

And they should keep who can.”

“The case,” as old Fuller quaintly puts it in his Holy and Profane State, “was clear in sea-divinity; and few are such infidels as not to believe doctrines which make for their own profit.”