Roraima and British Guiana, With a Glance at Bermuda, the West Indies, and the Spanish Main

by J. W. Boddam-Whetham

Besides the sight of an occasional Indian, we had no other excitement. Once in the night the steamer came to a halt owing to a thick fog, and at another time a loud crash preceded the stoppage of the engine; loud cries of “Has the boiler burst?” came from different parts, in various languages, but we had only run ashore, and soon steamed off again.

On the morning of the third day after leaving Trinidad, we arrived at Barrancas, where the mouths of the Orinoco separate. We did not anchor, but sent off the mails in a small boat to the little town which stands on the left bank of the main river, and then proceeded on our way. Here the scenery changed completely. The forest had disappeared, there were no more palms, no bright creepers, even the mangroves were absent. Macaws, parrots, troupials, all were left behind, and we looked over a river some miles in width, with sandy banks and low, dry, unprepossessing hills in the distance. It was a barren, desolate scene, and even a great, lean heron sitting on a withered branch, with his long neck sunk between his shoulders, seemed to think that life with such surroundings was not worth fishing for. We were certainly in Venezuela, but “Little Venice,” with its water lanes and streets, lay behind us.

After several hours of slow steaming we arrived at Las Tablas, which is the nearest port to the mines of Caratal. It was a dreary-looking place, consisting of a few houses and one large tree. No one was allowed to disembark as there is no Custom House, consequently passengers for the mines have to proceed on to Ciudad Bolivar and wait there some days, until the steamer returns to Las Tablas. Thus, for want of a Custom House, passengers, as well as goods, have to travel nearly two hundred miles out of their way. The mines of Caratal are taking a very conspicuous position among the gold mines of the world, and already there are over 4,000 British subjects—mostly natives of the West Indies—at work there.

Strange to say, we have no representative at Bolivar. Some years ago our Consul was dismissed by the President in the most arbitrary manner, and no notice was taken of the insult, neither was the office refilled. The need of a representative is very great in a country where the authorities are in the habit of raising troops to suppress perpetual insurrections, and where they seize on anyone without regard to nationality. I have heard it hinted that, were the boundaries of Venezuela and British Guiana properly assigned, it would be found that the valuable mines of Caratal belong to the latter. This, however, is by no means the opinion of Venezuelans, and as these boundaries have been of late under much discussion, I have appended the translation of some official reports which have lately been published on the subject in Carácas. The Venezuelan idea of the correct boundary line—that of the Essequibo—is so different from our own, that a perusal of the papers may be interesting.

Close to Las Tablas the Caroni joins the Orinoco, and a curious effect is produced by the differently coloured waters running together for a long distance without mingling. This was the farthest point reached by Raleigh in his search for El Dorado in 1595, when, finding that his men were discouraged and nothing was to be gained by remaining, he returned to England. From Las Tablas upwards, the scenery was almost identical with that from Barrancas. Here and there on the banks stood a cottage and plantation, beyond stretched wide plains edged by green slopes and woods, which imparted a brighter aspect. Soundings were continually taken, and in many places there was barely sufficient depth of water to carry us over. From the waste of waters rose numerous islets of porphyry as smooth as glass, and which, being covered with a crust of oxide of manganese, sparkled in the sun and formed remarkable objects in the scene. Sand-banks were frequent, and on one a brig bound for New York lay stranded, and had been there two weeks, owing to the captain’s refusal to pay a steam-tug from Ciudad Bolivar the enormous sum demanded for towing her off. As she was in the same position when we returned, it is probable she remained there until the rising of the river in the wet season.

Animal life was reduced to a few cranes and some enormous alligators, which basked on the sand in utter indifference to the noisy anathemas heaped on them by the black crew, who yelled again whenever they caught sight of the scaly bodies.

On the day after leaving Las Tablas, we anchored off Ciudad Bolivar, the capital of Guayana, which is the largest state in the Republic of Venezuela. The town was built in 1764, by Mendoza, who named it Santo Tomas de la Nueva Guayana, which was afterwards changed to “Angostura,” and then to its present one, Ciudad Bolivar. Angostura—the Narrows—was a very appropriate name, as here the Orinoco, whose breadth above and below averages about two miles and a half, contracts to less than half a mile. In the middle of the river stands a famous rock, called “La Piedra del Medio,” which serves as a metre to gauge the rise and fall of the flood, which at its highest rises no less than sixty feet above its summer level. As our visit was during the dry season we had to land in a boat, struggle over a sandy beach, and then clamber up a high bank, whereas in the wet season you step from the vessel on to the Alameda.

From the river the town looks picturesque, as it is situated on a conical hill, with the houses rising in tiers and crowned by the cathedral. The streets are narrow and steep, with the exception of the principal one, which skirts the river, and which is partly shaded by a double row of fine spreading trees called “mamon.” The most prominent building is the market-place, which stands on a rocky eminence overhanging the river.

After a strict inspection of our luggage at the Custom House, we went to the only hotel in the town which the two Germans who keep it call “the Club.” Here we found clean rooms without furniture of any kind, but the proprietor promised to give us canvas cots, and, if possible, two chairs. We were glad to sit down to breakfast after our long fast on board the “Heroe,” but alas! the food was almost as bad as that on the steamer, and, as we were informed that it was impossible to cook any dish without garlic, we had to live chiefly on bread during our stay. Some claret that we ordered was so bad that we sent for another and much more expensive brand; finding it equally bad we complained to the servant, who laughingly informed us that it all came out of the same cask.

A more uninteresting town than Ciudad Bolivar it is impossible to imagine. In half-an-hour you can see the whole of it, including the cathedral, a bronze statue of “the Liberator”—Bolivar—and a very tall pillar with a small bust of Guzman Blanco—the late President—on the top of it. The cemetery contains the monument of the first Dr. Siegert, of “Angostura Bitters” celebrity, and, when you have seen that and the two above-mentioned statues, you have seen the “lions” of Ciudad Bolivar. Apropos of “Angostura Bitters,” the manufactory is no longer carried on here owing to its exorbitant taxation by the Government, but has been removed to Trinidad.