The growth of vegetation in tropical lands is a revelation of what rich soil aided by a hot sun and an abundance of water can do. There are localities in the world where is found the rich soil, but either warmth or water is wanting and they are comparatively barren. In this region where the soil is frequently eight to fourteen feet in depth, where the fall of water is from eighty to one hundred and twenty inches annually, and where the sun furnishes perpetual summer heat, nature reveals herself in her grandest moods, and the stranger coming here for the first time cries out in astonishment at her prodigality.
The first feeling of one on entering a tropical forest is that of helplessness, confusion, awe, and all but terror. Without a compass or a blazed path a man would be almost lost in a few minutes if he should venture into such a tangled growth by himself. The exuberance of vegetation is fairly astounding and the English language is utterly inadequate to express the variety and luxuriance of the vegetable world. It is equally as impossible to describe the colours for there are so many tints of green. The costliest amusements of our gayest cities can never equal the gratuitous diversions which nature provides for her favoured guests. Thus it is that one feels when traversing the tropical forests of Guatemala. Eastern Guatemala, that part bordering on the Gulf of Mexico, is an American Java, a botanical garden spot where climate and the black soil vie with that eastern isle. And no land can compare with it in the number and variety of its birds and flying insects, for it is a veritable natural museum of living birds and butterflies.
Every growth on these shores is straining upwards in perpendicular lines, and in fierce competition, towards the light above so necessary to its healthfulness. These upward shoots are of every possible thickness and almost every conceivable hue. The leaves are, for the most part, on the twigs. The number and variety of trees is almost infinite as compared with our northern woods. There are more varieties of palms alone, than all the arboreal species of the New England woods. Among these are the cohune palms with great clusters of hard, oily nuts; another kind with fearful spines but edible nuts; and even climbing, vine-like palms that will reach a length of several hundred feet. Bamboos are present everywhere with their graceful stems, and tall reeds with blossoms in striking contrast with the dark-green leaves of the trees.
Great mahogany trees rise straight and with uniform trunks in the forest like the great oaks in our own woods, only higher. Immense ceiba trees sometimes fifteen feet in diameter stand up like veritable monsters of the forests and occasionally throw out great buttresses, as it were, for additional strength. When these trees are cut a platform is built reaching above these buttresses and the cutters stand on this. Even the poor little villages are ennobled somewhat by the noble palms and ceiba trees which they contain. Decaying trees and branches are seldom seen, for the elements quickly destroy or the migratory ants devour them. If a dead trunk or log is found it is so covered with growths of parasites such as orchids, mosses, ferns and flowering plants, that the dead wood can scarcely be seen. One tree drops its nuts, about the size of a hen’s egg, into the water where they germinate and float about until they anchor themselves on a bank or shoal. The absence of sod is very noticeable, for the foliage is so dense that grass will not grow. Rosewood, ironwood, logwood, sapodilla, cedar, cacao and fig trees—all are found within these forests, and the mangrove on the coast lands, or the banks of streams.
AN INDIAN WITH HIS MACHETE.
There are no solitary tree trunks, such as we are accustomed to, in the lowlands. All are covered with vines and parasitic growths. Some of the trees have enough orchids and other plants growing upon them to stock a hot-house; others have so many vines stretching down from their branches to the ground that you would think some kind of a trap had been built. One vine may twine around another and another, until a great cable is formed several inches across and furbelowed all down the middle into regular knots. There is sometimes such a labyrinth of this wire rigging that it keeps an Indian with his machete busy, for he must cut vines right and left every few feet. It must have been in such a forest that the story of Jack and the Beanstalk originated, for these vines bring it vividly to mind. One parasitic vine—the matapolo—starts as a slender vine, but gradually expands until it looks like a huge serpent; and if several cling to the tree they will kill it, but by that time they will support the dead trunk. The sarsaparilla, that health-giving plant, is one of these dependent vines, indigenous to these forests, and is a very common growth here. It belongs to the Smilax family and climbs to a great height. Only the long tough roots are used in medicinal preparations. These are cut off by the hunters and the stems planted in the ground, when the roots will be replaced in a short time by the alchemist, nature. The vanilla is a parasitic orchid and also flourishes in these damp, oozy forests.
When no vines are visible at the bottom, dangling vines may be seen sixty or eighty feet up in the green cloud above, growing out of what looks like a gigantic nest of parasitic growths, and frequently with arms as large as a fair-sized sapling. You can only tell what it is by felling the tree, and even then the trunk may refuse to fall, for it is so linked and intertwined with adjoining trees by the many vines. When thirsty the natives cut a rough looking vine, first above and then below, and from out of this section pour out a pint or more of pure cold water. This is the ascending rain water hurrying aloft to be transformed into sap, leaf, flower and fruit.
A TROPICAL JUNGLE.