This young lady, who had traveled extensively, in this inadvertent publication of her secret but expresses the impression that would be reiterated, I fancy, by the majority of her sex under the same circumstances. The Orinoco is, indeed, beautiful, and a sail on its placid waters, if not “the most delightful excursion one could take,” as Miss Trinidad declared, is certainly one of the most delightful.
The day before we were to return to the Port-of-Spain, while chatting with a friend on the upper deck of our steamer—which we had made our hotel, because the lodging houses of the city were so poor—we saw a small vessel coming down stream under a full head of steam. On inquiry we found it to be a boat from Orocué, a small town in Colombia, on the river Meta. We immediately called upon the captain of the craft, and, as a result of our interview, determined to accompany him on his return trip to this distant point.
When we left Trinidad, we had no intention of going further up the river than Ciudad Bolivar, but we had enjoyed everything so much, that now that an occasion thus so unexpectedly presented itself, we rejoiced that we should have an opportunity of seeing more of the great Orinoco, and of sailing on the waters of its great tributary, the historic Meta.
Dreams of the past began at once to flit before us as possible realities in the near future. If we once got to Orocué, what was to prevent us from going further up the river—as far as its waters were navigable? Then by crossing the llanos of eastern Colombia, and the Cordilleras of the Andes we would be in far-famed Bogotá, the Athens of South America.
We had had, it is true, visions of this trip, but rather as something greatly to be desired than as even a remote possibility. And now, in a few moments—after a brief conversation with the captain of the boat that had just moored alongside our own, the journey was decided on, and nothing remained but to make the necessary preparations.
As, however, the steamer would not be ready to go to Orocué for about two weeks, we concluded to return to the Port-of-Spain and come back the following week. This would give us an opportunity of studying more in detail several interesting features of the lower Orinoco that we had only gotten a glimpse of during the upward trip, and of seeing by daylight parts of the river that we had before passed during the night. We would also be able to spend a few more days in the beautiful island of Trinidad, and feast our eyes on its thousand beauties which greet one at every turn.
It was, indeed, providential for us that we returned to Trinidad as we did, for while there—was it chance or was it our usual good fortune?—we found, what above all else we needed in this juncture—a good, brave, enthusiastic companion for the long and arduous trip before us. Our compagnon de voyage, who would fondly affect the ways and dress of a dapper young caballero, and whom, therefore, we shall call C.—caballero—was a professor of languages. He had traveled extensively, was interested in the Spanish language and literature and the peoples we were about to visit. He was, like ourselves, fond of adventure, and was not averse to its being accompanied by an element of danger. This only gave additional zest to what were else rather tame and prosaic. Our plans were soon made, and, before the steamer was ready to return to Ciudad Bolivar, we were fully equipped with everything necessary for our long trip across the continent.