Guatemala

by William Tufts Brigham

There was nothing whatever to attract the most curious traveller in San Felipe, and we sailed and paddled on with frequent calms and showers. We were completely in the hands of our boatmen, whose knowledge of the lago proved to be very limited; but as ours was even less, we suffered them to coast the northern shore, when, as we afterwards learned, the law directed our course southward to Izabal, the port of entry, where we should have obtained a permit to proceed on our voyage inland. Our map indicated the course we selected as the shorter to the mouth of the Rio Polochic; but the map was, as usual, wrong.

There was not much to see, as the mist and rain hid the mountains and hung low on the shores, driving us frequently under our rubber roof. Whenever the mist lifted we caught glimpses of the far southern shore, with the grand wall of the Sierra de las Minas catching the fleecy clouds on every black pinnacle; and the clearing sky attracted us still closer to the northern shore, where we could see a low wooded country backed by a high range of mountains, with here and there an opening through which some stream reached the lake. At two o’clock we landed at Sauce, on a beach of black sand, evidently volcanic, scattered with fragments of chalcedony and agatized wood,—a formation which puzzled me exceedingly, as all this region is supposed to be non-volcanic. We had no time to follow the beach to ascertain the extent of black sand, but it reached far beyond the few comfortable huts on the shore,—as far, indeed, as we could go into the jungle inland. In it grew luxuriantly limes, bananas, mangoes, and other cultivated plants not recognized. Goyavas grew to a large size, but all the fruit was ruined by worms.

Making Tortillas.

Here first we saw the whole process of tortilla-making. The maiz was hulled in lime-water, washed in the lake, and ground laboriously on a stone metatle into a consistent paste, which is then skilfully patted into cakes from four to six inches in diameter, round and thick as an ordinary griddle-cake. These are then baked on an iron plate or comal, but not browned, and should be eaten hot, and then the tortilla tastes like parched corn. The metatles in Guatemala were all of very simple pattern and unornamented, not so well wrought as those in Mexico and farther southward, but serving their purpose equally well. A woman who cannot make good tortillas is in Guatemala not deemed fit to assume the duties of housekeeping; and yet there are few articles of food requiring more labor in preparation than this unleavened bread. Except the Hawaiian poi (paste of the Colocasium esculentum or Kalo), I can recall no article of diet that demands more physical labor. The inhabitants of the tropics in both these cases lay aside their proverbial indolence and earn their bread by the sweat of their brows. For our men we procured meat in long strips put on skewers and crisped over the fire, while for ourselves we bought bananas, limes, and tortillas. After this we continued our voyage until dark, when we anchored near shore and enjoyed a very quiet night. At early dawn we were again under way. The showers continued, and far away on the Santa Cruz range the rains were heavy, boding ill for our ascent of the river. The lake water, usually quite potable, was now full of a small green alga, and the cast skins of ephemera were so thick on the surface that for miles we could with difficulty get a dipper of clear water.

Twice our Caribs thought they had found the mouth of the Polochic; and at last, at high noon, we discovered it, where we least expected, on a marshy promontory or delta. Masses of coarse floating grass were attached to the banks on each side, almost blocking the way; and the rapid current, which we estimated at five miles an hour, made these grass plots wave as if the breezes were playing over their tops. Pelicans were abundant and tame; so were the iguanas. The air was still, and the thermometer marked eighty-five degrees, while the water was much cooler,—nine degrees. All the creeks in the lowland flowed from the river, so high was the flood, and we found no comfortable landing-place.

At night we anchored in the stream, and the mosquitoes were very troublesome; unlike those on the Chocon, these were black, and had very long and sharp lancets. At three in the morning we could bear them no longer; Orion was in the zenith, and we struck our toldo, the men slowly rowing on until six, when we anchored for coffee. As we were eating, a cayuco, covered with a neat awning of leaves, came rapidly by us on the way down; its occupants assured us that there were many vueltas (bends) and a great current (mucho corriente) before we should be able to reach Pansos.

Ten miles a day was the utmost limit of our propelling power, and in crossing the bends to escape the current we hardly held our own, so strong were the flood-waters. Our creeping pace gave us ample time to see, but no time to stop for, the many curious things on either bank. Close on the shore were red abutilons, and over them crept the long-tubed white convolvulus (Ipomœa bona-nox) and the brilliant yellow allamanda; high up on the wild fig-trees were black, long-tailed monkeys, common and tame, their wonderfully human faces peering down at the intruders, the mothers clasping their hairy little babies to their breasts with one arm, and with the other scratching their heads in a puzzled manner. One of our Caribs shot a little fellow before I could prevent him, and the creature clung, even in death, by his tail. As I had shot an iguana through the head with my revolver in the morning, I was called upon to cut with my bullet the provoking tail, that the Caribs might have a caribal feast. Regard for my reputation as a marksman, and the memory of a taste of roast monkey in India, forbade the attempt, and the poor monkey, like the Tyburn thief, “is hanging there still.” There was foam on the water, but we heard no water-fall,—and indeed the flat nature of the country made falls, cascades, or even rapids, impossible.

We passed another night when the torrents of rain had no effect on the myriads of mosquitoes and black-flies. Still all the brooks ran inland, although, as we afterwards learned, in the dry season these banks are so high above the water that they are hard to climb. All day long we saw monkeys along the banks, though high above us, and the following night we heard the howlers; but in compensation for that evil had no mosquitoes. By Saturday (Nov. 3, 1883) we hoped to be well on our road from Pansos to Coban, but, except the cayuco, we saw no signs of men or the work of men’s hands; on that morning, however, we came to a little finca on the river bank, where a good sized stream from the river flowed into the yard and through the house. The poultry had taken refuge on the roof, and the Indian proprietors waded through the flood. Luckily the oven, or fire-place, was raised on sticks several feet above the water, so that the señora could make us some tortillas,—eight for a real. Eggs were the same price. Slight as the forage was, it was very acceptable, as our food was nearly gone, and we were already dependent on the Caribs for their cassava-bread. The river, these persons said, was falling, so we pushed on with new courage.

A fine spider-lily (Crinum) grew on the bank where we moored our canoa. We noticed that whenever we made fast to the cane-brake, the black-flies bothered us far more than when we had trees overhead; was it not because the cane did not afford roosts or concealment for the fly-catching birds and reptiles? The blossoms of the cane were very beautiful, indeed as attractive as those we had noticed on the Chocon. Mahogany-trees were seen here and there, and we were told that there was much of this fine wood on the Rio Zarco, just at hand. I also saw a goyava-tree, some eighteen inches in diameter and eighty feet high. In the afternoon we passed willows (Sauce), and about five o’clock were startled by an unusual noise behind us, when a huge three-storied structure came sweeping up the stream, as if in pursuit; it was the steamer “City of Belize,” a flat-bottomed stern-wheeler. As the current was very strong and the channel narrow, we hastened to make fast to a large fig-tree overhanging the stream. Before, however, our arrangements were made, the steamer was upon us, and her surge, added to the current, tore us from our mooring and swept us under the tree. Our masts caught in a branch, and we were turned on our beam-ends. For an instant our situation was critical. Our weather-rail was six inches under water, and we were clinging to the other side as the water came pouring in; then the mainmast slipped, and we righted, all hands bailing out eagerly, while Frank held by some branches and prevented a repetition of the disaster. If the canoa had upset, our journey would probably have ended there, as our photographic supplies would have been ruined, and there would have been little chance for us in that deep, rapid river, with no banks, and no trees that offered food, even if they gave us shelter from the alligators; and these too would have shown themselves as soon as the disturbance caused by the steamer had abated. Our Carib captain was as frightened as we were, and with the little English he knew, exclaimed as we anchored for the night: “D—d good boat; wouldn’t sell her for h—ll!” The persons on the “City of Belize” must have seen us filling, but they did not stop to see if we drowned.