On the pier-head there was a cool sea-breeze, and we spent much of our time there while waiting for the return train. A pier was built here in 1868; but a storm of unusual severity soon after destroyed it, and the present structure was built in a more substantial manner. The piles are of cast iron and hollow, fitted with auger-points, by which they are screwed down into the sand. The end of the wharf is covered by a shed, where are provided three steam hoisting-engines. As San José is, like most of the ports on the Pacific coast, merely an open roadstead, vessels do not care to wait long there, and stout lighters are provided to bring cargo between ship and pier. Even with lighters of some twenty-five tons, the task is not always easy, and many a passenger gets a wetting in jumping from the small boat to the iron cage used in rough weather to hoist the human freight to the pier-top. Since the completion of the railroad, in 1880, the tracks have been laid along the pier,—thus facilitating the handling of freight, much of which is lumber coming from the Oregon coast, and sugar, coffee, and hides going to San Francisco. To-day two ships were at anchor, and a steamer was expected.
As we sat in the cool shade on the end of the pier, looking dreamily over the Pacific, I felt that the journey across the continent, as we had made it, was far pleasanter than when, in 1869, I had used the railroad,—then but a week old. We decided unanimously that the difference between the two oceans was not a matter of fancy merely. I had seen the middle Atlantic smooth as a mill-pond, and had been miserably seasick on the raging Pacific; so without going deeper into this question, our thoughts wandered from one thing to another, mine going back to the days when Istapa, the old port at our left hand, was more than a swamp, and when the Spanish shipyards there were humming with the busy workmen who had learned their craft on the Rio Tinto at Palos or on the sandy shores of Cadiz. Why had the place become so changed? My eye wandered up and down the coast for an answer to a suggestion that came to me. But only a rather steep beach was there,—no cliff, not even a detached rock, to solve the problem of whether the coast was at the same level as in the seventeenth century; for this was the way I was trying to answer my own question. A rise of eight feet would explain everything about that deserted harbor; but there was nothing except the steep slope of the beach to indicate any change of level. Had I been able to see any rocks within the limit of two miles, I should have left the cool pier and trudged through the hot black sand to ask them. Frank’s more practical mind was working in another direction; and he took up the conversation with a question whether a railroad to the Atlantic would change this port as well as the rest of the republic. Then we discussed the several schemes proposed for infusing a commercial spirit into this charmingly uncommercial country; and although we had not yet seen the route selected for the Northern Railroad, we had been over the track of several of the other paper railroads, and on our map—that inseparable companion—we sketched the roads. Here is the map we made, with several additions of a later date,—a map which shows fairly enough what can, and in time probably will, be done to open the country. First we discussed a road from Livingston to Coban, to open the coffee region; and as we were fresh from the very route, we tackled the problem unhesitatingly. The road, we decided, should run up the coast towards Cocali, turn through the forest six miles to Chocon, crossing the Chocon River on a single span, then over the smaller Rio Cienega and along the north shore of the Lago de Izabal, then a little to the northward of the Rio Polochic, bridging the Cahabon near the limestone ledges east of Pansos, thence through Teleman, and by nearly the cart-road route to Coban. Perhaps a hundred and twenty-five or thirty miles, in all, of single track, would result in quadrupling the coffee export of Guatemala. It would then be profitable to raise more of the delicious oranges of Teleman,—oranges such as Florida can never raise; the mahogany of the Cienega and Chocon could be marketed; and all Alta Verapaz be a plantation of coffee and fruits. More than this, the road would pay from the first through train. Before us on the west coast was the sugar and cacao region,—that land that produces the royal chocolate which outside barbarians never get, but which might be raised very extensively from Soconusco eastward if a railroad should be built over the level lands from Escuintla to Retalhuleu and Ocós. A road from Guatemala City through Salamà to Coban would not only open the rich sugar estate of San Geronimo, but connect the capital with the Mexican system, which will probably go to Coban eventually. At Belize the English are trying to build a road inland to Peten to open the logwood and mahogany forests; and they need a road along the coast to open the settlements that now have no outlet save by water. A hundred and forty miles, at the outside, would connect Belize with Livingston. The roads in Honduras will extend between Trujillo and Puerto Barrios, there connecting with the Northern Railroad of Guatemala. Not one of these projected lines presents any very difficult engineering problems. The financial question is the only obstacle; and with the exception of the first two,—both coast roads, and of simple construction,—they would not pay for a few years; that is, until the plantations that would spring up along their way came into bearing,—that, however, in this climate, would not be long, even for india-rubber.
We had not finished our discussion of the railways when it was time for almuerzo; and we went to the hotel, where, besides a good meal and the largest plantains (thirteen inches long) I ever saw, there were a number of captive animals,—the most attractive being a bright little monkey who was very eager to open my watch.
Bread-fruit (Artocarpus incisa).
CHAPTER VI.
GUATEMALA CITY.
The run back to Escuintla took two hours and a half, and our comida was welcome at five o’clock. In the evening we strolled to the church,—an ancient building,—and found all the inside in confusion; the altar was hidden from profane eyes by a cotton curtain, while preparations were being made for the fiesta of December 8,—the Immaculate Conception. One of the attendants showed us with great pride a huge doll, representing the Virgin Mary, standing on a blue globe studded with silver stars. Beneath her feet was a culebra grande; and on twisting his tail the serpent’s tongue was thrust out,—to the intense delight of the Indian devotees. The priest—if such were his dignity—wished us to examine the lace robes of the “Queen of Heaven,” and to note particularly the decorations. As we returned to the hotel we heard a marimba, and soon met a religious procession, consisting mostly of women. In a small plaza we saw, covering a figure of the Virgin, a booth decorated with flowers and fruits,—especially long strings of manzanillas.[23] Before this image men and women (of respectable rank, we were assured) were dancing, disguised in horrible masks representing devils and animals.