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

by J. W. Boddam-Whetham

After leaving Bermuda—and, indeed, whilst we were there—we had met with nothing but exceptional seasons. At St. Thomas it was said to be exceptionally cool with the thermometer at 89.° At Martinique such rain had never been known. At Trinidad it was extraordinarily dry. In Demerara there was an unheard of drought, and here in Carácas weather-prophets foretold dire phenomena from the unusual state of the atmosphere and its unwonted sultriness.

Since the destruction of Cúa—of which I shall speak in another chapter—the alarm had increased in Carácas; nor, after two severe shocks on the 13th, was it at all diminished by a printed warning issued on the 15th of April by Señor Briceño, a scientific gentleman of the city, who had made the study of earthquakes one of his principal pursuits. In it he wrote to this effect: “Be watchful! humanity compels me to place the inhabitants of Carácas on their guard, for I believe there are causes for fear, and the situation is alarming.” He then showed how in former earthquakes the shocks corresponded with the different phases of the moon, and affirmed that “it was much to be feared that at full moon on Wednesday the 17th of the month (April), at 1° 29´ 0´´ at night, a tremendous shock would be experienced.” It was in vain that men of great scientific attainments refuted the arguments of Señor Briceño, in vain that they asserted that all the combined intellect of the world could not foretell earthquakes, and that regarding such phenomena nothing could be affirmed and nothing denied, a panic had seized the people of Carácas, which increased as the prophesied time approached. To have turned a river with a book, or have stayed an avalanche with a wise saying, would have been as easy as to have stemmed the tide of the general alarm by scientific discussion.

It was Holy Week, but for fear of a catastrophe the religious ceremonies did not take place, and the churches were closed. The weather was damp and changeable. A painful silence reigned in the deserted streets, and scarcely a house gave signs of being inhabited. An immense number of people had left the city and gone into the country, taking their household effects with them. Carriages and conveyances of all sorts demanded exorbitant prices for transportation, and received them. The great square—La Plaza Bolivar—was like an encampment. From its trees hundreds of hammocks were suspended, its avenues and gardens were covered with picturesque tents, its benches and seats were turned into couches, and every available spot was occupied with camp bedsteads, canvas stretchers, or sofas. To avoid a similar fate to that which befell a regiment of 800 soldiers who perished in the great earthquake of 1812, when Carácas was destroyed, all the military had left their barracks and slept in the open air. The other plazas, and even the Calvario, presented a similar appearance to that of the principal square.

To add to the sad scene which the city presented, the neighbouring heights and woods were on fire, and the heavy smoke thickened the dense atmospheric vapours. The day previous to the expected fatality passed slowly and mournfully away. As night advanced, anxiety increased. It was intensely still, the only sounds were those of coughing and crying children, and the moans of frightened women. One o’clock sounded from the cathedral, and then the quarter. Heads appeared at tent doors, pale faces grew paler, watches were examined, there was an extraordinary air of expectancy, and people only listened. The clock struck the half hour. Everyone breathed again, a confused murmur arose simultaneously, the name of Briceño was received with jeers and laughter, some women fainted and others fell into hysterics now that the tension was removed, and the panic was over. None, except the experienced, can appreciate the intense dread inspired by earthquakes; some may say they are too accustomed to them to care for them, but it is not those who live in South America, where the terrible shocks level houses, villages, and towns in a few seconds.

In 1812, there was a roar as of cannon firing, then a silence; this was followed by a tremulous motion, which increased until the ground seemed to roll in great waves, and in a moment the city of Carácas was in ruins and 12,000 people perished. Of late years there have been an extraordinary number of tidal waves, devastating storms, and earthquakes in Peru, Chili, and Ecuador; the direction of the convulsions has been more and more northerly, and since the destruction of Cúcuta in 1874 the north of South America has been widely shaken. The wise men of the south have paid much attention to the causes of these convulsions of nature, and numerous theories have been indulged in. By some they have been attributed to luni-solar attraction, by others to the transits of Venus and Mercury, to comets, and to different electric influences. Quite lately, a sensation has been created in Europe by the prediction that we are rapidly approaching one of the most pestilential periods of the earth’s history. And why? Because in 1880, or soon after, the perihelia of the four great planets—Jupiter, Uranus, Saturn, and Neptune—will be coincident. The theory is that, when one or more of the largest planets is nearest the sun, the temperature and condition of our atmosphere are so disturbed as to cause injurious vicissitudes, terrible rains, and prolonged droughts &c., resulting in the destruction of crops and pestilence among human beings and domestic animals. Soon, for the first time in 2,000 years, four planets are to be against us, and we are warned that every living thing will be put to a severe and trying ordeal.

Various prophets have arisen who have foretold the advent of great convulsions within certain dates, but I think the Caraqueñan astronomer alone has been bold enough to predict the destruction of a city by an earthquake, at a given hour and minute, taking for his data the changes of the moon. It is strange that, for so long a period, a mysterious power should have been attributed to the cold, peaceful moon, or its phases. Superstition has assigned to it great influence over health, over the weather, over the tides, over the ascent of sap in trees, over vegetation, &c., and we all know how dangerous it is said to be to sleep with the moon’s rays falling on the face. Eminent men of science have declared that these ideas have no foundation whatever, and that neither theoretically nor practically have they ever been proved true in the smallest particle. Yet on account of their antiquity and the firm hold they have established on public belief, it is probable they will exist for a much longer time yet. Regarding the periods at which earthquakes occur, Humboldt has said that, if it were possible to notice the daily state of the earth’s superficies, one would soon be convinced that the earth was always being shaken at some point or other. For the inhabitants of Venezuela, it is an alarming fact that the intervals of time between the great earthquakes are growing less and less. In 1766, a great earthquake occurred at Carácas, and in 1812, Carácas was totally destroyed, as were Cumaná in 1853, Tocuyo in 1868, Cúenta in 1874, and Cúa in 1878.

CHAPTER XXVI.

EL PASEO—HISTORICAL RENOWN—RESERVOIRS—VIEW OF CARACAS—RIVERS OF PARADISE—COMPARED WITH MEXICO—PLAZA DE BOLIVAR—STATUE OF THE LIBERATOR—ENTRY INTO CARACAS—FUNERAL CORTEGE—A NATION’S GRATITUDE.

For a view of Carácas and its neighbourhood, no better point can be chosen than the summit of the “Calvario,” or, as it is now called, the “Paseo-Guzman Blanco.” The hill lies to the west of the city, and has been changed from a barren waste into a very pretty garden, with winding carriage-drive and walks. It has an historical renown, as it was here that the old Indian rulers of the country made their last fight against the Spanish invaders, and from its summit, where now stands the statue of the late President, the Cacique Paramaconi defied to single combat the leader of the Spanish host.