Twenty years around the world

by John Guy Vassar

L.

Caracas, Republic of Venezuela, South America,

January 15, 1849.

The English steamer not arriving at St. Thomas before the time appointed for the mail schooner, I found myself, as the only passenger, entire possessor of the ladies’ cabin, excepting an abundant supply of cockroaches and ants, which infest vessels long navigating these seas; but one gets accustomed to these annoyances, however frightful they may appear at first. Our schooner of ninety tons, London built, had the length of hold fitted up in a ladies’ and gentlemen’s cabin and dining saloon. She carried four nine-pounders, with first, second, and third officers, who mount the naval cap with gold band, and altogether was a miniature ship of war.

We had a strong trade-wind with a heavy rolling sea at times, which, with the unusual pitching of such a small vessel, produced upon me more effect than crossing the Atlantic. The second officer and carpenter were quite sea-sick. We made the distance, however, of four hundred and eighty miles in the short space of sixty-two hours, and I was landed on the beach of La Guayra at eight P.M. with a heavy surf rolling in, the sailors rowing with all their strength, and it really looked frightful, as the harbor of La Guayra is an open roadstead, and much exposed.

“The chain of mountains,” says Humboldt, “that separates the port from the high valley of Caracas descends almost directly into the sea, and the houses of the town are backed by a wall of steep rocks, with but a few hundred yards between the wall and the ocean.” There are two principal streets which run parallel along between the wall and the sea. The population is about eight thousand. It was destroyed by an earthquake in 1819, and the ruins are still existing in many parts of the town, inclosed by front walls where lots are not occupied. There is no vegetation in the town, and with the exception of Cape Blanco and the cocoa-nut trees of Marqueta in the distance, no view meets the eye except the sea, the horizon, and the heavens. It is one of the hottest places on the globe, the air being stifling during the day, and frequently at night, as the sea breeze is less felt. Along a deep ravine or mountain torrent outside of the town, the change of air is delightful, and here may be seen groups of females and children in the morning, bathing in the cool and invigorating waters which descend from the mountains.

This curious old city of Caracas, lying on ground sloping to the valley, surrounded on all sides by a bold and lofty mountain, with its valleys abounding in sugar and coffee plantations, was partially destroyed by the great earthquake of 1819, of which many temples and buildings in ruins still tell the sad story. It is three thousand four hundred feet above the level of the sea. There are two roads, the old and new; the first is only for mules and donkeys, and is much shorter than the other, say twelve miles in length; the new road is twenty-one miles, and is winding and circuitous. At present there are no carriages running, and the only way of getting here is on horse or mule-back.

In order to reach the place you ascend about six thousand feet, and then descend to the city. I procured a mule at the hotel at La Guayra, having sent my luggage by a mule-team in the morning, and at three P.M., to avoid the excessive heat of mid-day, I started all alone, being disappointed in a companion. My ride was lonely, but the sights were majestic, the road winding zigzag, the bold and lofty mountains towering above with the most gorgeous and luxuriant growth of tropical trees, with immense fields of cactus interspersed, thirty feet in height; the precipice below, with a depth of from five hundred to one thousand feet, was awfully grand.

Towards sunset I found that my mule was unable to carry me, and I concluded I could not get to the city that evening. I stopped at a rude cabin built of cane and mud, and inquiring for a Posada, or tavern, ascertained that there was one a league further, at which I arrived with the intention of resting until morning. I found I could get no bed, but could get a horse; I was told the road was safe, yet I felt that I was incurring risk in the distracted state of the country, and, as I had heard of the robbery of a Frenchman by three negroes, I felt uneasy; I pushed on, however, and arrived in the city at about nine o’clock at night.

This city has a population of some forty thousand, composed of the native population, with full one-half or two-thirds of the half-breeds, Indian, and black. The houses are of stone, one and two stories high, covered with tile, with grated windows and no glass, as in most Spanish countries in warm climates. There are no remarkable public monuments; in the cathedral, in one of the side altars, are the mortal remains of General Simeon Bolivar, the liberator of his country. The state house and reception rooms of the president are not unworthy of this young republic; the senate chamber and house of representatives is one of the confiscated Spanish convents, where the unfortunate massacre of several members took place last year by the military, in consequence of the threat of impeachment of the existing president, Monagas. The ex-president, General Paez, had a strong party, with means to oppose the measures of the new executive, which led to the armament of vessels of war and troops on both sides, as you have seen by the public journals, and consequently exhausted the treasury, distracted commerce, and almost ruined the country.