Viewed from the open roadstead where vessels anchor, La Guaira is picturesque. Almost from the very edge of the water the land begins to rise, so that the houses, with the exception of those that line the curved shore, are perched on the various spurs and knolls in a gradually ascending scale. The depth of the little town is only a few hundred yards, and straight up behind it rises the rocky wall of the Cerro de Avila, which terminates in the peaks of Naiguatá and La Silla. The height of the former is 8,800 feet above the level of the sea. On the right, the cliffs which shut in the town end in an abrupt white promontory, enclosing a low stretch of cultivated ground dotted with palm groves and strips of forest; and on the left the coast range extends away, casting down long spurs and spits of palm-covered land which shoot out far into the sea. On all sides there is a blending of green hills, rugged and barren precipices, cactus-clad rocks, fertile plains, and white houses.
To the right of the town may be traced the carriage road to Carácas, which after endless zig-zags disappears round a mountain corner. Of the mule or Indian path to the same place nothing can be seen, except the general direction indicated by a steep ravine which cuts into the face of the Silla immediately behind the town. Near this ravine, at a height of about fifteen hundred feet, a fort holds a commanding position, and a battery on the shore completes the defence—such as it is—of La Guaira. Landing here is effected with considerable difficulty, owing to the tremendous swell, against which there is no protection.
Many projects have been formed to convert this roadstead into a port, but like all other good intentions in Venezuela, they remain projects. For some years a small breakwater has been in course of construction, but the sea demolishes it as fast as it is made. Lighters are used for the conveyance of passengers from the vessels, and from one of these we were jerked on to the jetty dripping like river-gods, as the wave which had carried us on its crest to the landing was followed by another which broke over the boat. A capsize in these waters would probably be fatal, owing to the number of sharks which here lie in wait for victims. Not long ago a young negro was bathing near the jetty and was attacked by a shark, which snapped off his right hand. He did not lose his presence of mind, but by beating the water with his left arm hoped to frighten away the monster. But he was again attacked, and before the boat which had put off from shore to his assistance reached him, his left hand had been cut off. The shark was harpooned and captured, and on opening the stomach of the animal, there were the two little black hands. The boy recovered, and now earns a living by showing his hands, which he has preserved in spirits, to compassionate strangers. If the sea-sharks are bad, the land-sharks are equally so, and it requires an hour’s hard bargaining to have your luggage carried from the Custom House to the hotel—a distance of a hundred yards—even for the exorbitant sum laid down in the official tariff.
The Hotel Delfino is in keeping with the wretched town, and rather than sleep there I determined to start at once to Carácas. Having made arrangements that my heavy luggage should arrive there early next morning by coach, I hired a mule for three pesos—dollars—and set off for the capital by the famed Indian path. The distance from La Guaira to Carácas by the new coach-road is over twenty miles, and as the crow flies about nine, but then the great Silla has to be crossed. At the end of a narrow ill-paved street we reached the ravine, down in whose depths several swarthy washerwomen were dabbling in about two inches of water, which was all that remained of the usual mountain torrent. This we followed for a short distance, and then turned off to the right, up an excessively steep and stony path.
From the fort, the view over the town and the neighbouring village of Maquetia towards Cape Blanco was charming, and it was a relief to have left behind the insufferably hot streets. I do not think my steed was accustomed to extend his walks farther than this fort, as henceforth my time was fully occupied in persuading him to move. Before starting I had remarked to his owner that he hardly seemed up to my weight, but the reply was that, in spite of his appearance, he had many good points and his indomitable spirit atoned for all imperfections. His points certainly were numerous, but unfortunately they were all physical, as a more angular creature I had never seen—in fact he was all points, and I soon discovered that his indomitable spirit was unquestionable. After repeated efforts to make the saddle stay in its proper place, I at last fastened the girths so tightly that I was sure nothing could move it. In this endeavour I had been aided by the animal, who very kindly, as I thought, drew himself into the smallest possible compass. Hardly was I again seated when he commenced to swell, and in a second the girths were in shreds and the saddle and its occupant slid to the ground. In Guiana, tapirs are said to rid themselves of boa-constrictors in the same manner. With the assistance of cord and boot-laces I managed to patch up the broken tackle, but my future progress was necessarily very slow.
The path was ever winding up and up, and pretty scenes were continually opening. Here was a bold rock sparsely covered with prickly pears or magueys, and there in a deep ravine, through which a mountain torrent ran in many leaps and falls, the light green plantain fields were ruffled by the breeze into waves of frosted silver. Plantations of coffee and bananas fringed the path, and at the hill corners, where the ground fell steeply to the valley below, were perched the owners’ houses, with their clean white walled drying grounds, which looked like little forts. Over the large gateway of one of these, which was particularly neat and flourishing, was the inscription. “Rio Grande,” Señʳ. Pacheco, 1877. The proprietor, or perhaps the superintendent, was sunning himself on the doorstep, whilst his old wife improved the opportunity by a searching examination of his head.
From the back of his rancho there was a delightful view looking towards the sea. On all sides the forest was gradually giving place to cultivation, and even the steepest of the rocky angles were in many places blackened by the destroying fire. Occasionally, where the woods were thick brilliant cotingas flew in and out, and amongst the coffee trees glossy green jacamars darted about like giant humming-birds. There were only a few bright butterflies, but a great variety of gorgeous beetles. Some of the latter were of great size, and most of wonderfully metallic hue. Others were of satiny green with black spots, silvery white with red lines, black with crimson bands, brown with yellow bands; there were blues, greens and velvety browns, all touched with rich bronze, and as different in shape as in colour. Here was one clouded like a goat-sucker, there another in maroon velvet ornamented with black hieroglyphics, some with antennæ three inches in length, others with only a horn.[112]
Afterwards in Carácas I had an opportunity of inspecting a private collection of Coleoptera, and I was astonished at the amazing variety of species belonging to Venezuela, and their extraordinary shapes and strange proportions:
“Their shape would make them, had they bulk and size,
More hideous foes than fancy can devise,