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

by J. W. Boddam-Whetham

At Georgetown, we heard that the drought had continued until very recently, and had caused much suffering among the poorer classes. The public tanks had run dry, and water brought from a long distance was sold in the streets by the bucket. But now the long looked for rain had come, much to the satisfaction of everybody—even of the planters—and as an old black lady said, “It was indeed a cause of great ‘tank’-fulness.” With the rains had also come the annual visitation of “hard-backs,” great beetle-like insects, that flocked in myriads to the gas-light, and literally enveloped tables and chairs in a coat of living mail.

We arrived just in time for the races, and for the two days they lasted the town presented an unwonted scene of excitement. The road to the d’Urban race-course was alive with a laughing, pushing crowd of various nationalities, in holiday garb. Vehicles of all descriptions, heavily weighted, plodded to the course, or empty rattled back at full speed, eager for another load. The days were hot but the distance short, and the broad road lined with pretty gardens and cottages, half hidden in green shrubbery, formed a pleasant and animated drive. Some of the buildings, too, were worthy of notice, especially the handsome Roman Catholic Cathedral, the Orphan Asylum, and the Almshouses. A gateway and avenue of palms marked the entrance to a wide-spreading grass-land, round which the course ran. A dividing road led up to the circular grand-stand, which was not a very picturesque building, as its architecture was something between that of an umbrella and a band stand; but it was cool and suitable to the occasion. The surroundings differed but little from those of most race-courses; tents, booths, sheds, and structures of more or less pretension, varying from the well carpentered stand, admission to which was four “bits”—a bit in Guiana is fourpence—to the slender structure composed of a few boards and a roof of leaves, where the entrance fee was theoretically a “bit” but practically nothing.

Of the races themselves there is not much to be said. As nearly every event—as was expected—was won not only by the same stable, but also by the same horse, the meeting could hardly be termed an exciting one. To stimulate competition and to avoid disappointment, a certain gallant major entered his carriage horses, but as I do not think they ever got round the track, their entries were not altogether a success. Still the intention was laudable, and if others had been equally public-spirited, the racing would have been far from tame. The winning horses were undeniably good, and were the love of sport as widely diffused as cane, the Georgetown race-meetings would compare favourably with those of any colony. At present the inhabitants object to an annual presentation of cups, plates, stakes, and purses to one stable, but as long as the races are kept up, it must continue until enterprise claims a division.

To the coloured population the races were a source of unmixed enjoyment. From the rude Barbadian to the peaceable Mongol, all were bent on a day’s diversion. When the inevitable dog ran down the track, they howled and screamed with delight, and when the horse of the mounted policeman ran away with its rider, joined in the race, and came in a good third, the enthusiasm was unbounded. After each race the crowd was permitted to rush into the space hitherto kept clear in front of the judge’s stand. Then as many as could approach swarmed round the box, eagerly demanding a piece of paper with the name of the winner written on it. The numbers posted up were nothing to them, they had probably seen a wide difference between the first and second horses, but nothing could satisfy them except a written statement; a “bit” depended on the result, and oral testimony was valueless. Such laughter and shrieking would follow! Those who had lost would try to defer payment until the next race was over, and those who had won would loudly demand their money. Angry gesticulations would succeed to wordy warfare, and just as a free fight seemed inevitable, the band would strike up and the whole crowd, without exception, would commence to dance. Then, until the course was again cleared, nothing would be visible but a mass of parti-coloured heads bobbing up and down.

With the exception of the brilliant head-dresses, white predominated too much in dress for much effect, but here and there might be seen Indian coolies in cardinal red or mazarine blue, and others who had not been afraid to risk the union of green, orange, pink and purple. But from above, one saw only the bright turbans and twisted handkerchiefs keeping time to the music, and it was very amusing to witness the transformation when, during a passing shower, the animated poppies were replaced by a dense mass of dancing umbrellas. No drunkennness nor any unpleasant incident marred the enjoyment of the meeting, and not until the roses of the setting sun had all faded, did the merry crowd wend its way back to the duties of every-day life.

Very soon after the race meeting I took leave of kind and hospitable Georgetown, and proceeded to Trinidad on my way to Carácas. A few days after our arrival in Port of Spain, I heard that the French mail-steamer “Cacique” was about to sail for La Guaira, and so instead of waiting for the monthly English mail-boat, I secured my ticket by the former and hastened on board at the appointed hour.

As the “Cacique” lay at anchor about two miles from the wharf, and besides a heavy surf running, the rain poured in torrents, the little open boat that conveyed two or three of the passengers—myself included—was almost swamped, and we were thoroughly soaked before reaching the steamer. After the well-appointed vessels of the Royal Mail, with their disciplined crews, admirable attendance, and officers who spare no pains to make their passengers as comfortable as possible, it was with some dismay that we saw the little tub in which we were to continue our voyage. A closer inspection was not more cheering as the cabin accommodation was wretched, and the tiny upper deck unpleasantly crowded. I must add that this was not one of the regular French Mail-steamers, but only an inter-colonial vessel running between Martinique, Trinidad, and La Guaira.

Our fellow-passengers were nearly all Venezuelans; the ladies were extremely pretty and graceful, but a little over-dressed for a sea-voyage, and not being good sailors they soon presented a very dishevelled appearance. The men, as usual dreadfully vociferous, in their shouting, stamping, and gesticulations reminded me of my late friends the Arecuna Indians. They mean nothing, it is merely their mode of emphasizing their expressions, and though they shake their fists in each other’s faces, and contradict one another flatly, no insult is intended or received as such. They all wore long black coats, tall hats and high-heeled boots, a dress which they thought quite appropriate to the deck of a ship. Fortunately, except for the invalids, there was no necessity to go below, as all the meals—and very good they were—were served on deck, which also answered for sleeping quarters. In the matter of ice, there was not much on board, and no one was allowed any except the captain. I once drew his attention to that fact, but he only shrugged his shoulders.

It was dark when we left the Gulf of Paria and sailed through the Dragon’s Mouth, and then turned west towards the mountains of Cumaná. Next morning we found ourselves at some distance from shore, but moving parallel with the Venezuelan coast, which looked high, grey and arid. After passing Caribe there were a few signs of habitation; stretches of white sandy beach were backed by groves of palms, and in the bright green wooded ravines, which intersected the cactus-covered hills, a hacienda peeped out here and there.

Our first halt was at Carupano, which is said to be a rapidly progressing town. There is certainly room for improvement. In the centre of the bay rises a high rock covered with different species of cereus, and on it stands a lighthouse. On the beach is the custom-house, and a collection of low yellow mud huts surrounded by brown rocks and bare hills. The town itself is situated farther back, and a river flowing through the neighbouring palm groves gives a fresher aspect to that part of the withered scene. Like most ports on this coast, it is excessively hot and unhealthy.