SIMON BOLIVAR, "EL LIBERTADOR 
 
 FROM A PAINTING BY FRANCIS M. DREXEI- 
 
THE PATH OF THE 
 CONQUISTADORES 
 
 TRINIDAD AND VENEZUELAN 
 GUIANA 
 
 BY 
 
 LINDON BATES, JR 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE RUSSIAN ROAD TO CHINA," ETC. 
 
 WITH TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS AND A MAP 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 1912 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 I. THE CONQUISTADORES .... I 
 
 II. TRINIDAD . . . . 50 
 
 III. THE SERPENT'S MOUTH . . -97 
 
 IV. UP THE ORINOCO .... 135, 
 V. THE CITY OF BOLIVAR .... i8& 
 
 VI. ON THE LLANOS . ' . . . 223, 
 
 VII. THE "DELTA" . . . . .275, 
 
 INDEX , ..... 303 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 SIMON BOLIVAR, "EL LIBERTADOR" . Frontispiece 
 
 From a painting by Francis M. Drexel. By permission of Mrs. John 
 Duncan Emmet. 
 
 FACING PAGB 
 
 RALEIGH'S ATTACK ON PORT-OF-SPAIN . .18 
 
 From an old engraving. 
 
 CELEBRATION OF THE HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY 
 OF VENEZUELA'S INDEPENDENCE AT CIUDAD 
 BOLIVAR . . . . . -34 
 
 250603 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 THE DRAGON'S MOUTH AND MADAME TETTERON'S 
 
 TOOTH . . . . . .52 
 
 VILLA NEAR PORT-OF-SPAIN . 70 
 
 TRINIDAD NEGROES . . . . -74 
 
 THE SWEETMEAT SELLER . . . -76 
 
 INDIGENOUS CRICKET . . . . .80 
 
 QUEEN'S PARK . . . . . 80 
 
 A STREET IN SAN FERNANDO . . .84 
 
 A MUD VOLCANO IN THE OIL REGION . 90 
 
 THE ASPHALT LAKE . . . . .92 
 
 CLIFFS NEAR CEDROS POINT .... 124 
 THE SERPENT'S FANGS .... 130 
 
 ALONG THE ORINOCO . . . . .144 
 
 ABORIGINAL GUARANO INDIANS . . . 148 
 
 THE LAUNDRY WOMEN OF BARRANCAS . . 158 
 
 MONKEY STEAKS ..... 168 
 
 STREET SCENE IN SAN FELIX . . .176 
 
 CALLE DE ORINOCO, CIUDAD BOLIVAR . . 190 
 
 A BELLE OF BOLIVAR . . 206 
 
List of Illustrations 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 THE CATHEDRAL, CIUDAD BOLIVAR . . .214 
 
 U BUEN MULA" . . . 226 
 
 PRIMITIVE TRANSPORTATION . . . 236 
 
 "THE DELTA" ... . 292 
 
 MAP . . . At end 
 
 vii 
 
THE PATH 
 OF THE CONQUISTADORES 
 
 I 
 
 THE CONQUISTADORES 
 
 O IX battered caravels were slowly near- 
 ing the coast of South America. 
 Their planking, warped and parched by 
 weeks of sailing beneath the torrid sun, 
 showed gaping seams. Long strings of 
 weeds trailed from their sides. They were 
 in momentary danger of sinking from their 
 leaks. None had more than one cask of 
 water. 
 
 v On the narrow poop-deck of the largest 
 vessel stood a tall, gaunt, lonely figure. 
 His long white hair hung lankly down. 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 His eyes were bloodshot from endless 
 watching. His painful movements wit- 
 nessed the rackings of gout. His harsh 
 features betrayed the anxiety which his 
 iron resolution would hide from his men. 
 
 It was the last day of July, 1489. 
 Weeks of sailing, of hardship, of waiting, 
 of hope deferred, had told on commander 
 and crew. The latter were in a state of 
 mutinous panic. Hungrily the Admiral 
 peered ahead over the tropic sea. 
 
 Suddenly a sailor at the masthead cried 
 aloud, " Land ! land ! " The crew crowded 
 to the rail. Dimly, in the distance, on the 
 port quarter, appeared the summits of 
 three mountains. 
 
 " Change the course ; put in ! " ordered 
 the Admiral. 
 
 The caravels swung slowly around and 
 headed inshore. As the fleet drew nearer 
 it was seen that the three peaks were 
 united upon one base. 
 
 " A miracle ! " exclaimed one of the 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 sailors. " To-day is Trinity Sunday, and 
 yonder is the Trinity." 
 
 " Trinidad we shall call this land," said 
 the Admiral. 
 
 By evening the vessels were close to 
 shore. The men on the decks of the 
 caravels could see huts nestled among 
 the palms and people moving on the beach. 
 
 "It is fresh and green as the gardens 
 of Valencia in the month of March," 
 exclaimed one of the men joyfully. 
 
 Skirting the shore of the Island of 
 Trinidad, the vessels reached the entrance 
 to the Gulf of Paria. Across the strait 
 could be dimly descried the mainland 
 of South America. 
 
 " Out with the anchors," called the 
 commander. "This current is making a 
 roaring noise like the sound of breakers 
 against the rocks." 
 
 The ships hove to and anchored off 
 the Point of Arenal. The perilous pas- 
 sage between the island and the continent, 
 
 3 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 "The Serpent's Mouth," lay ahead. The 
 tired sailors ate their scanty meal of 
 mouldy biscuit and then, wearied out, 
 slept. Columbus watched on. 
 
 " In the dead of night," he later wrote to 
 Ferdinand of Spain, "while I was on deck 
 I heard an awful roaring that came from 
 the south towards the ship. I stopped 
 to observe what it might be, and I saw 
 the sea rolling from west to east like a 
 mountain as high as the ship. To this 
 day I have a vivid recollection of the 
 dread I then felt lest the ship might 
 founder under the force of that tremen- 
 dous sea. But it passed by, and on the 
 following day it pleased the Lord to 
 give us a favourable wind, and I passed 
 inward through that Strait, and soon 
 came to still water. In fact, some water 
 which was drawn up from the sea 
 proved to be fresh." 
 
 Over waves darkened with silt brought 
 down by the mighty Orinoco from the 
 4 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 distant Andes, the Admiral sailed into 
 the Gulf of Paria. He landed on the 
 western coast of Trinidad and renewed 
 his stock of fresh water. Then through the 
 northern passage, the Dragon's Mouth, he 
 sailed to the Island of Margarita. Indians 
 were fishing here. The Admiral sent 
 some of his sailors to get food for the 
 ships. To their surprise and delight the 
 men found that the natives were diving 
 for oysters which contained pearls. The 
 Indian women who came out in coriaras 
 to the ship were festooned with gems. 
 Sailors were sent on shore. One of 
 them exchanged an earthenware plate for 
 four strings of pearls. The cacique of the 
 island gave the visitors heaping handfuls. 
 
 11 Men, we have reached the richest 
 country in the world," exclaimed the 
 Discoverer. 
 
 So came the first of the Conquistadores, 
 and the fatality that followed them one 
 and all found in him its earliest victim. 
 
 5 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Even while Columbus was opening to 
 Spain the untold wealth of the New 
 World, intriguers at Court were tearing 
 at his favour with the King. He was 
 accused of secreting the bulk of the 
 treasure due to the Sovereign, of trying 
 to keep for himself the Pearl Island, of 
 plotting to destroy all other Spaniards. 
 Ferdinand sent a judge, secretly an 
 enemy, to investigate. Columbus saw the 
 documents which might have evidenced 
 his good faith confiscated, the treasure 
 ready for transportation to Spain seized. 
 In crowning indignity, he and his brother 
 were put into irons and sent home. 
 The vessel's captain would have released 
 the Admiral's bonds on the way. Proudly 
 Columbus refused to have the irons 
 removed save by the royal order. When 
 the vessel reached Cadiz, Ferdinand 
 made what reparation he could. But 
 ever after the Discoverer kept the fetters 
 in his chamber, and directed that at 
 6 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 his death they should be buried with 
 him. 
 
 In the wake of Columbus came year 
 by year a swarm of adventurers seek- 
 ing the fabled wealth of the Indies. 
 In their turn they found gold ornaments, 
 pearls, and emeralds in possession of 
 the Indians. Alonzo de Ojeda reached 
 the Bay of Maracaibo and named the 
 land Venezuela, because the huts of the 
 natives, built on piles, reminded him of 
 the Queen of the Adriatic. Places on 
 the Island of Trinidad, in Margarita, and 
 the mainland of South America were 
 precariously occupied by Spaniards, who 
 first trafficked with, then oppressed, then 
 enslaved the natives. 
 
 None have more graphically described 
 the conditions of this period of ruthless 
 conquest than the Dominican Friar, 
 Bartholomew de Las Casas, writing forty 
 years after the discovery. 
 
 " In the yeere 1526, the King our 
 
 7 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Soveraigne, being induced by Sinister 
 informations and perswasions damageable 
 to the State, as the Spaniards have 
 alwaies pained themselves to concele from 
 his Majestie the damages and dishonours 
 which God and the Soules of men, and 
 his State doth receive in the Indies, 
 granted a great Realme, greater than all 
 Spaine, Venezuela, with the government 
 and entire jurisdiction, unto certain 
 Dutch Merchants, the Welzers of 
 Augsburg. 
 
 " These same entering the country with 
 three hundred men, they found the people 
 very amiable, and meeke as Lambes, as 
 they are all in those parts of the Indies 
 until the Spaniards doe outrage them. 
 These have leyd desolate a most fertile 
 land full of people. They have slayne and 
 wholly discomfited great and divers 
 nations, so farre forth as to abolish the 
 languages wont to be spoken. They have 
 slayne, destroyed, and sent to hell by 
 8 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 divers and strange manners of cruelties 
 and ungodlinesses more I suppose than 
 four or five millions of souls. 
 
 " On the He of Trinitie, which joyneth 
 with the firme land of the Coast of Paria 
 and where the people are the best disposed 
 and most inclined to vertue, in their kind, 
 of all the Indians, there went a Captaine 
 Rover in the yeere 1510 accompanied with 
 sixty or seventie other pettie Theeves. 
 The Indians received them as their 
 oune bowels and babes. The Spaniards 
 builded a great house of timber and 
 pers waded the Indians to enter. Then 
 laying hands on their swords they began 
 to threaten the Indians, naked as they 
 were, to kill them if theye did stirre, 
 and then bound them. And those which 
 fled, they hewed them in pieces. There 
 were an hundred and forescore persons of 
 them which they had bound. They got 
 them to the He of St. John, where they 
 sold the one moitie, and thence to the 
 
 9 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 He of Hispaniola, where they sold the 
 other moitie. 
 
 "As I reprehended the captain for this 
 notable treason he made an answer: 
 
 " ' Sir, quiet yourself for that matter. 
 So have they commanded me to do and 
 given me instruction. But I never found 
 father nor mother save in this He of 
 Trinitie in respect of the friendly courtesy 
 the Indians showed me/ 
 
 "They have singled out at times from 
 all this coast, which was very well 
 peopled, above two millions of souls. It 
 is a tried case that, of Indians so robbed, 
 they cast the third part into the sea. For 
 they prepare but a very small deal of 
 sustenance and water. Wherefore they 
 die for hunger and thirst, and then there 
 is none other remedie but to cast them 
 over the Boord into the sea. And verily a 
 man among them did tell me, that from 
 the He of Lucayos unto the He of 
 Hispaniola there trended a ship all 
 10 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 alongst, without that it had either 
 compasse or Mariner's Card, being guided 
 onely by the tracks of dead Indians' 
 carkasses floating upon the seas. 
 
 "The tyrannic which the Spanish 
 exercise over the Indians is one of the 
 cruellest things that is in the World. 
 There is no hell in this life nor other 
 desperate state in this World that may 
 be compared unto it." 
 
 Again and again the Indians rebelled. 
 With hideous cruelties they tortured the 
 Spaniards who fell into their hands, 
 pouring molten gold down their throats, 
 crying, "Eat! eat gold, Christian!" But 
 the arms and discipline of the Spaniards 
 were in the end always victorious. 
 
 The behaviour of the Friars during 
 this period is of everlasting credit to 
 them and to their Church. Massacred 
 in numbers by the infuriated natives, 
 who could not differentiate between the 
 monks and the savage oppressors of 
 
 ii 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 the same race, scorned and bullied by 
 the soldiers and the adventurers, these 
 devoted men did their best to alleviate 
 the lot of the Indians. Las Casas 
 reached the Emperor Charles V, and 
 pleaded, at first in vain, the cause of 
 Christianity. Father Roderic Minaia 
 appealed to the Pope, who loosed the 
 thunders of a Bull upon the oppressors. 
 Armed with the papal mandate, the 
 Friars again approached Charles V, 
 who was at last persuaded to send an 
 honest man to investigate. Upon the 
 latter's report, he decreed at once the 
 freedom of all Indian slaves. Despite the 
 seriousness of the blow to Spanish indus- 
 tries in the New World and the protests 
 of his officials, it was executed with a fair 
 degree of loyalty. The lot of the Indians was 
 never again quite what it had been before. 
 
 During the half century after the dis- 
 covery the Spaniards had been mostly on 
 islands or near the coast. As time went 
 
 12 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 on they came into touch with the tribes 
 of the interior. 
 
 The conquests of Mexico, Peru, and New 
 Granada in turn poured millions of money 
 into Spain, firing the imagination of every 
 man. The idea of a great civilized nation 
 in the interior of South America, richer 
 than any yet conquered, started from the 
 legends of the Indians. Their statement 
 that gold came from far inland fructified 
 readily in minds fallow to marvels. Thus 
 sprouted and grew with tropic luxuriance 
 the belief in El Dorado. 
 
 In his letter to Cardinal Bempo, the 
 chronicler Oviedo records clearly and as 
 actual fact the existence of " A great King, 
 bruited in those lands, covered with golden 
 powder, in such fashion that from head to 
 foot he was like a figure of gold, graven 
 by the hand of a rare artificer. The gold 
 is stuck to his body by an aromatic resin. 
 But since this would irk him as he slept, 
 every night the King bathes and every 
 
 13 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 morning once more is he gilded, which 
 shows that the Kingdom of El Dorado 
 is marvellously rich in mines." 
 
 A great city, " Manoa," on the shores 
 of a lake called Parime, palaces with 
 columns of massive gold, soldiers "armados 
 de piecas y joyas de oro," endless were 
 the details filling in the picture of the 
 realm of the Gilded Man. 
 
 Rumour was precise about everything 
 save the location of the city of Manoa. 
 Some tales placed it at the foot of the 
 Andes, in the highlands of Peru or New 
 Granada. Some in Guiana, far up the 
 Caroni River, which joins the Orinoco just 
 before the latter spreads out into the great 
 delta. When the Andes region had been 
 crossed, so often and so fruitlessly, the 
 hopes of the goldseekers turned and still 
 clung to the location on the Caroni of 
 which Milton wrote : 
 
 "Guiana, whose great city Geryon's sons 
 Call El Dorado." 
 
 14 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 The famous map of Hondius showed 
 definitely in Guiana the huge lake of 
 Parime and the Golden City of Manoa 
 on its border. 
 
 The first expedition up the Orinoco was 
 that of Diego de Ordez. He was one of 
 the Conquistadores of Mexico, granted the 
 right to bear on his coat of arms the 
 Burning Mountain of Popocatapetl. He 
 was named Adelantado of all the country 
 he could conquer between the Amazon 
 and the Welzers' concession in Venezuela. 
 In his venture he saw " emeralds as big 
 as a man's fist." Far up the Orinoco he 
 heard of "a mighty king with one eye, and 
 animals like deer that are ridden as horses." 
 Along the Caura he saw natives who 
 anointed themselves with turtle fat and 
 powdered themselves with glittering mica. 
 His trip gave a considerable impetus to 
 the belief that here at last was to be found 
 El Dorado. 
 
 Next came, with a great expedition of 
 
 15 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 two thousand, Don Antonio de Berrio y 
 Oruna, son-in-law of the Conquistador of 
 New Granada, Ximinez de Quesada. 
 Landowners in Spain sold their family 
 estates to accompany him. Ten secular 
 ecclesiastics and twelve Observantin monks 
 joined the adventurer. The cacique of 
 Marequita, which bordered the Orinoco 
 near where San Felix now stands, came to 
 Cumana at about the same time with a mass 
 of golden images to trade. This event 
 and the story of one Juan Martinez, who 
 said that he had been captured by Indians 
 on the expedition of Ordez and had been 
 taken from town to town until he had 
 actually reached " the Imperial and Golden 
 City of Manoa" and had seen the " Inca of 
 Guiana," inflamed the party to the highest 
 point. De Berrio's expedition started 
 from Marequita southward into Paragua. 
 Thirty men of the two thousand 
 ultimately straggled back. De Berrio 
 retired, crushed and bankrupt in every- 
 16 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 thing save hope, to Trinidad, and made 
 his headquarters in Port of Spain. 
 
 Here, in 1594, there appeared an Eng- 
 lishman, Captain Widdhon, who landed 
 and made many inquiries, to the great 
 suspicion of the Governor. Eight of his 
 sailors disappeared in Trinidad. Captain 
 Widdhon left as mysteriously as he had 
 come. He was the scout for Sir Walter 
 Raleigh. 
 
 On March 22, 1595, with an imposing 
 force, Elizabeth's favourite himself cast 
 anchor outside of Port of Spain. Should 
 he attack the Spaniards, breaking his 
 Queen's peace, or sail on ? Long and 
 serious was the discussion with his officers. 
 Then he took his decision. " To depart 
 four hundred or five hundred miles from 
 my ships and leave a garrison in my back, 
 interested in the same enterprise, which 
 daily expected supplies from Spain, I 
 should savour very much of an ass." He 
 ordered an immediate attack. 
 
 c 17 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 On the excuse that the eight missing 
 sailors had been murdered by the Spaniards 
 Raleigh surprised Port of Spain and 
 slaughtered its garrison. Then, sending 
 Captain Colfield with sixty men and follow- 
 ing himself with forty, he marched to 
 St. Joseph, stormed it, and captured the 
 Governor, de Berrio. 
 
 The latter was carried up the Orinoco in 
 the hope that he might be able to supply 
 information. This first expedition of 
 Raleigh's was, however, an utter failure. 
 The falls of the Caroni prevented a passage 
 up its stream. The tropic jungle was im- 
 penetrable. Raleigh returned to Trinidad, 
 released de Berrio, and sailed sadly home. 
 
 De Berrio moved over to San Thome, 
 now Los Castillos, on the Orinoco, and 
 established a settlement preparatory to 
 another march inland. Shortly afterwards 
 he died, worn out with hardship, defeat, 
 and disappointment. Twice more Raleigh 
 sent out expeditions one in 1596, under 
 18 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 Lawrence Keymis, another in 1597. 
 Despite Von Humboldt's polite sneer, 
 Raleigh did actually find a great gold 
 region, as the millions taken of late years 
 from the Callao mine attest. Rather too 
 imaginatively, however, he wrote, on his 
 return : 
 
 " Every mountain, every stone in the 
 forests of the Orinoco shines like the 
 precious metals. If it be not gold, it is the 
 mother of gold." 
 
 Meanwhile word was constantly carried 
 to Europe of the riches of Guiana. 
 Francis Sparry, left behind on Sir 
 Walter's expedition, captured by Spaniards 
 and taken through much of Guiana, 
 drifted back to England. 
 
 "In the province of Guiana," he testified, 
 " is much natural and fine gold, which 
 runneth between the stones like veines. 
 Of which gold I had some store, but now 
 the Spaniard is the better for it. 
 
 "Camalaha is a place where they sell 
 
 19 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Women at certain times, in the manner of 
 a Faire. In this faire, which is to the 
 south of Orinoco, I bought eight young 
 women, the eldest whereof I thinke never 
 saw eighteene yeeres, fore one red-hafted 
 knife which in England cost mee one 
 halfe-pennie. I gave these Women away 
 to certain Salvages which were my friends." 
 An alluring prospect for the adventurous ! 
 
 To Raleigh the Gilded Man still beckoned. 
 In 1617, in person, he led a final search 
 for Manoa. It was a last and a desperate 
 gamble. Once more he was to beard the 
 King of Spain. James stood ready to 
 profit by success or to disavow failure. 
 On New Years Day, 1618, Raleigh's men 
 under Keymis landed at San Thomd 
 A brave and wary Spaniard, Geronimo de 
 Grados, laid an ambuscade for the English, 
 who had intended to land merely, and 
 not attack until next day. 
 
 "The common sort," says Raleigh, 
 "were so amazed as had not the Captains 
 20 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 and some other valiant gentlemen made 
 a head and encouraged the rest, they had 
 all been broken and cut to pieces." 
 
 The Spaniards, after a sharp engage- 
 ment, fell back, and were reinforced by 
 a new band, led by Diego Palomegue, the 
 Governor. Young Walter Raleigh, son of 
 the Admiral, rallied the English. He 
 was shot by an arquebuse ball, and, as he 
 stood reeling, was felled with the butt-end 
 of a gun. 
 
 " Go on : may the Lord have mercy on 
 me and prosper your enterprise ! " he cried 
 to Keymis. These were his last words. 
 
 The Spaniards were broken at last ; their 
 refuge, the monastery of St. Francis, 
 was stormed, and Raleigh's men sailed up 
 the Orinoco as far as the Narrows, where 
 Ciudad Bolivar now stands. Sir Walter 
 landed at Soledad, climbed the hill, looked 
 over the Orinoco stretching away into 
 the west like a silver ribbon, and then 
 turned back. 
 
 21 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Keymis committed suicide after the 
 failure of this expedition. Sir Walter 
 was executed on October 29, 1618. 
 King James wavered, but the Spanish 
 King was insistent upon his enemy's 
 death. "Tis a sharp medicine, but a 
 sound cure for all diseases," Sir Walter 
 said as he felt the axe's edge. 
 
 Spain strengthened her grip on the 
 continent. She gradually worked inland, 
 fighting and conquering the Indians, 
 attacked herself at sea by adventurous 
 pirates and admirals. Her dominion in 
 Venezuela was never again, however, 
 seriously challenged by a European foe. 
 
 With Trinidad the history was different. 
 The island was surprised in 1640 by 
 the Dutch, who " found no booty " ; in 
 1672 by Sir Tobias Bridges, who came 
 over from Barbados to assault it. In 
 1677 the French under the Marquis de 
 Maintenon, aided by some pirates from 
 Tortuga, made a landing and carried away 
 22 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 as plunder a hundred thousand "pieces- 
 of-eight." In 1687 the Carib Indians re- 
 volted, murdering the Governor and most 
 of the whites on the island. In 1690 
 Levassor de la Touche, and in 1716 
 Blackbeard Tench the pirate, attacked 
 Trinidad. Small wonder that in 1773 
 only 162 male adult whites were recorded 
 as living on the island. 
 
 A French resident of Grenada, M. de 
 Saint-Laurent, became, in 1778, the real 
 founder of Trinidad. So impressed was 
 he with its fertility that he bought a large 
 area of land, drew up a Bill of Rights, 
 or Cedula, got it approved by Spain 
 in 1783, and secured the appointment of 
 an excellent Governor, Don Jos6 Maria 
 Chacon. 
 
 In five years the population jumped to 
 10,422, mostly French settlers from 
 the neighbouring West India Islands. 
 Toussaint TOuverture's rebellion of 1793 
 in Haiti added another set of French 
 
 23 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 refugees, and in 1795 still others came from 
 the West India Islands, newly captured 
 by the British. 
 
 In 1797 a British fleet sailed through 
 the Dragon's Mouth with twenty vessels 
 and seven thousand men for the conquest of 
 Trinidad. Sir Ralph Abercrombie's force 
 so overwhelmingly exceeded Governor 
 Chacon's that the latter burned his ships 
 and surrendered without firing a shot. 
 Colonel Thomas Picton was left behind as 
 Governor. 
 
 Whip in hand, Picton stalked grimly 
 into the easygoing administrative offices 
 of the island. In front of the Government 
 House stood his gallows for grafters. The 
 road-contractors trembled for his grim un- 
 heralded visits. The cowed thieves feared 
 his police hardly less than his police feared 
 their iron taskmaster. A population in- 
 creased from 17,000 in 1793 to 29,000 in 
 1803 witnessed the order and prosperity 
 which his man-of-war discipline produced. 
 24 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 His reward was an impeachment for 
 malfeasance in office. Acquitted, but 
 under a cloud of suspicion as bitterly 
 unjust as history has ever recorded, 
 Picton left to fight through the Peninsular 
 War with Wellington, and to perish 
 gloriously at Waterloo at the head of the 
 "thin redjine" of three thousand which 
 repulsed D'Erlon's sixteen thousand 
 charging grenadiers. 
 
 The frigate "Victory," with a lean, 
 one-eyed Admiral on her deck, sailed by in 
 1805. She was flagship of thirteen British 
 men-of-war that had hounded twenty-eight 
 French and Spanish vessels from the 
 Mediterranean to the Caribbean. The 
 inhabitants of Port of Spain, taking his 
 fleet for an invading enemy, got under 
 arms. But the Admiral sailed out anew 
 to Martinique and back again across the 
 Atlantic, still wolfishly pursuing the allied 
 fleet. He met it at Trafalgar."^* 
 
 Thus passed the last of the English 
 
 25 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 conquerors, leaving Trinidad to grow 
 into the ways of peace. Venezuela had 
 not the good fortune of the island. 
 She had still to live through tempestuous 
 years. 
 
 In the latter part of March, 1817, a score 
 of horsemen were riding towards An- 
 gostura from the northern sea-coast, some 
 on mules, some on mangy horses. Most 
 were sallow-skinned Creoles clad in civilian 
 dress, sombrero on head, sword and pistol 
 at the belt ; a few wore dingy uniforms. 
 One, a gigantic negro, bore the insignia of 
 an officer of the Black Republic of Haiti. 
 Two, military of bearing, keen of eye, had 
 the weather-worn red of the British Grena- 
 diers ; half a dozen barefoot peons in 
 ragged ponchos rode behind with the 
 sumpter burros. 
 
 A slight figure in faded blue regimentals 
 
 faced with red led the band. Only 
 
 thirty-four years old, he looked fifty. His 
 
 dark and wrinkled face was drawn and 
 
 26 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 puckered. Hardship, dissipation, and the 
 bitterest disappointment had left their 
 marks. 
 
 Born of a noble and wealthy Caracas 
 family, he had been sent to Europe at the 
 age of sixteen. He had visited France, 
 then under the Consulate, still vibrant with 
 the recent revolution ; he had played and 
 beaten at tennis the Prince of the Asturias, 
 against whom as Ferdinand VII of Spain 
 he was now in a duel to the death for the 
 freedom of South America. He had 
 married at the age of nineteen and been 
 widowed within the year. He had re- 
 turned to Paris and broken his health in 
 wild living. At Rome he had refused to 
 kiss the Cross on Pius VII's shoe. He 
 had returned to Caracas and had taken 
 part in the Junta which drove out Emperan, 
 the Spanish Captain-General, forced the 
 establishment of a National Congress, and 
 drafted the declaration of Rights of April 
 19, 1810 celebrated now as the Vene- 
 
 27 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 zuelan national holiday. He had gone to 
 England and had brought back the 
 banished General Miranda. He had with 
 his "Societa Patriotica" secured the 
 Declaration of Independence of July 5, 
 1811. He had fought against the 
 Royalists, been overwhelmingly beaten, 
 and fled to Cartagena. He had returned 
 while Spain was in the throes of conflict 
 with Napoleon, and entered Caracas amid 
 delirious enthusiasm in a chariot before 
 which girls strewed roses, hailing him " El 
 Libertador." He had been defeated once 
 more and had been obliged to flee to 
 Jamaica. A negro spy, hired to assassinate 
 him, had killed his secretary by mistake. 
 Now at length, by the aid of a Dutch ship- 
 owner and the President of the Negro 
 Republic of Haiti, he had been enabled to 
 come back on this final attempt at South 
 American liberation. 
 
 "A monkey "(" Mono") he was once nick- 
 named, and not unlike a monkey he seemed 
 28 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 with his thin little body and his wrinkled 
 face. But one look from his dark brooding 
 eyes told of the fiery, unconquerable soul 
 that burned in the slight frame. The 
 man was Simon Bolivar, the Washington 
 of Spanish America. On this March day 
 in 1817, heading his tattered little cavalcade, 
 he was passing through the anguish of his 
 Valley Forge. 
 
 The sky behind was reddened with the 
 fires of Barcelona. The four hundred de- 
 voted troops left to hold the Franciscan 
 monastery had been butchered to a man, 
 and the Spaniards were giving the city to 
 the sack. One thousand of the towns- 
 people had been massacred, some on the 
 altar steps. Women and children were 
 being hunted through the streets. Dogs 
 roamed the by-ways eating their fill of the 
 neglected bodies. 
 
 Nor was Barcelona alone. Town after 
 town that had given the Revolutionist 
 harbour had fallen to the Royalists and 
 
 29 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 had suffered a like fate. Boves, the 
 butcher, condemned as a "ladron del mar/' 
 a renegade Revolutionist leading a band 
 of desperadoes which the Spaniards them- 
 selves nicknamed " The Corps of Hell " ; 
 Rosete, with his branding-iron " R " for the 
 foreheads of Republicans ; Morales, whom 
 even Boves had called " Atrocious " these 
 were all in the pay of Spain. Before them 
 fell the town of Acumare. Its streets 
 were left a shambles of the dead and the 
 dying. Old men, women, and children lay 
 with the rest. Valencia surrendered upon 
 the oath of Boves, sworn in the presence 
 of the Holy Sacrament, to respect the 
 lives of everybody, yet as soon as arms 
 had been surrendered, the Governor, 
 ninety of the leading citizens, sixty-four 
 officers, and three hundred and ten troops 
 were slaughtered. Caracas surrendered 
 to Boves on similar terms, which were 
 similarly observed. Boves issued an order 
 that any who had conspired against Spain 
 30 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 should be shot and the slaughter re- 
 commenced. Aragua was stormed and 
 some three thousand townspeople were 
 massacred. 
 
 Now Barcelona, the last of Venezuela's 
 northern cities, had fallen, and all that 
 were left to follow Bolivar were fifteen 
 officers and a few peons as their servants. 
 Help from abroad there was almost none. 
 President Madison had issued an order 
 forbidding any aid from United States 
 citizens to the struggling Revolutionists. 
 Great Britain stood apathetically by her 
 ally, Spain. The feeble little Negro 
 Republic of Haiti alone had lent support J 
 in men and money, asking in return only 
 Bolivar's promise, which he loyally kept, 
 to give freedom to the slaves of Venezuela. 
 
 In the Colonies themselves even, piti- 
 fully few were his sympathizers. The white 
 population in Venezuela, but two hundred 
 thousand in number, was practically the 
 only element in the country interested in 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 any way in the outcome of the struggle. 
 These native-born Creoles, tyrannized over 
 by the arbitrary power of the Viceroys and 
 Spanish officials, excluded from office and 
 emolument, while their trade and manu- 
 facturing were garrotted by prohibitive 
 laws, were in general dissatisfied with 
 Spanish misrule, but were averse to the 
 fearful sacrifice which resistance entailed. 
 The King had refused to the Venezuelans 
 permission to found a University in 
 Maracaibo, because, in the opinion of his 
 Fiscal, "it was unsuitable to promote 
 learning in Southern America, where the 
 inhabitants appeared destined by nature to 
 work in the mines." The making of wine 
 and oil, the growth of almonds or grapes, 
 the manufacture of cloth, trade with 
 the outside world or even with any 
 Spanish port, other than Seville, were 
 prohibited. Oppressed by these abuses, 
 the native whites still refrained from 
 rallying in any great number to Bolivar. 
 32 
 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 The Indians, two hundred and seven 
 thousand in number, stigmatized as "a 
 race of monkeys, filled with vice and 
 ignorance, automatons unworthy of repre- 
 senting or of being represented " ; the 
 negro slaves, sixty thousand in number, 
 and the mixed bloods, forty-three thousand 
 souls in all, though their grievances were 
 far greater than those of the native whites, 
 for the most part simply followed as they 
 were led or paid. 
 
 With but a small portion of the Creole 
 population as its support, the Revolution 
 was imperilled he ^rly by the insatiable 
 vanities and jealou ies of the rival leaders. 
 The Libertador had heard ring in his ears 
 the cry of the mob at Guiria, " Down with 
 Bolivar up with Marino and Bermudez!" 
 Would liberty never come? Was this 
 river of blood all that the years of devoted 
 effort were to bring ? Bolivar at the front 
 of his twenty men hung his head in the 
 agony of defeat and failure. 
 
 D 33 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 ' ' Halt, halt!" whispered one of the 
 riders suddenly ; " what is that glitter 
 beyond the trees?" 
 
 A horse neighed to the right of the party. 
 
 "An ambuscade!" cried hoarsely the 
 first of the red-coated officers. 
 
 The drooping figure of Bolivar stiffened, 
 the dark eyes flashed, he turned in his 
 saddle. Then in a voice of thunder he cried : 
 
 " Columns extend right and left ! Attack 
 on both flanks." 
 
 It was an order to an imaginary force 
 behind. The officers of his escort repeated 
 the order and rode forward, discharging 
 their pistols. The ambuscade melted 
 away. The Spaniards, inferring a 
 superior force, had taken flight. 
 
 The insurgent party continued south- 
 ward. As it marched, here and there wild 
 llaneros and peons were drafted in by 
 payment, promise, or impressment. With 
 a force swelled to some hundreds, Bolivar 
 reached the Orinoco. In the city of 
 34 
 
' -. :*:: ' .*: 
 
 *<* * ', * 
 
 01 o 
 
 py ^.^ 
 
 o 
 
 ^ 
 
 w 
 c< 
 P 
 fe 
 t) 
 33 
 
 a 
 ffi 
 
 H 
 
 fe 
 
 o 
 
 S5 
 
 o 
 
 1 
 
 M 
 
 s 
 g 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 Angostura, to be later renamed in his 
 honour Ciudad Bolivar, he surprised and 
 blockaded the feeble Spanish garrison. 
 
 Piar, the mulatto chief of a band of 
 Republican cut-throats who had combined 
 patriotism with profit by seizing the 
 persons and property of the Capuchin 
 Friars along the Caroni, now joined 
 Bolivar. The latter sent him to attack 
 San Felix. The bloodthirsty but efficient 
 half-breed defeated the Spanish garrison 
 and took prisoner the Governor, seventy- 
 five officers, and two hundred men, all 
 of whom he remorselessly slaughtered. 
 
 Fearing now lest the monks whom Piar 
 had captured would embarrass his move- 
 ments, Bolivar sent a message to one of 
 the mulatto's officers in charge, saying : 
 
 " Transport the prisoners to La 
 Divina Pastora." 
 
 The officer, not knowing of the town 
 thus named, and supposing that he 
 was to send the monks to "the Divine 
 
 35 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Shepherdess" in heaven, forthwith mas- 
 sacred them all. Neither of these atro- 
 cities was punished. Of such deeds was 
 the war. Murder marched alike with 
 Royalist and Revolutionist. 
 
 On July i yth the weak Spanish forces 
 abandoned Angostura and Los Castillos. 
 The Orinoco was in the possession of the 
 Revolutionists. Bolivar's joy was intense. 
 The capture of Angostura marked the 
 turning-point in this struggle, as the 
 capture of Trenton had signalled the turn 
 of the tide for Washington. 
 
 A few days after the capture of Angos- 
 tura, Bolivar's staff met in the thick-walled 
 house which lodged the Libertador. The 
 members of his provisional Cabinet were 
 there Zea, Martinez, Brion, Colonel Wil- 
 son, commander of the " Red Hussars," 
 the English Dr. Moore. 
 
 A map lay on the table before them, 
 blue pins locating the Royalist troops. 
 These occupied Cartagena, Valencia, 
 36 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 Caracas, Barcelona, the cities all along 
 the north coast. A few red pins showed 
 the scattered centres of the Revolutionists : 
 Santander in New Granada ; Marino and 
 Bermudez on the north-east, opposite 
 Trinidad ; Arismendi on the Island of Mar- 
 garita. What was to be the next move ? 
 
 11 1 propose that we stay here and meet 
 the troops sent against us/' suggested Zea. 
 
 Colonel Wilson objected. " The Spaniards 
 will beat Marino and Bermudez one after 
 the other and then overwhelm us." 
 
 " The Colonel is right," insisted Bolivar. 
 " We must strike while they are separated." 
 
 " Join Bermudez and Marino in the north- 
 east," counselled Martinez ; " march west- 
 ward along the coast and attack Morillo. 
 He had only seven hundred Spaniards on 
 the island when he attacked Arismendi." 
 
 Bolivar shook his head. " Better fight 
 alone than with them. They will sacrifice 
 me, the Republic, and anything else to 
 their vanity and love of power. You know 
 
 37 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 how Bermudez drew his sword on me at 
 Guiria and the plots to kill me." 
 
 There was silence for a moment ; the 
 fate of Spanish South America hung on the 
 decision. A rattle of hoofs sounded out- 
 side. A rough voice demanded admission. 
 
 " I would see General Bolivar ; I come 
 from Uncle Paez," called the mounted 
 figure. 
 
 " Bring him here," said Bolivar. 
 
 A half-breed llanero, barefooted, clad in 
 dirty cotton shirt and trousers, his head 
 thrust through a great blue poncho, 
 shambled in before the Council. 
 
 " Which is Bolivar?" he asked; the 
 leader was pointed out, and the llanero 
 approached and put his hand familiarly 
 on the officer's shoulder the undisciplined 
 plainsman's greeting. 
 
 " Uncle Paez sends me to you to tell 
 that the unconquered Bravos de Apure, 
 with a thousand llaneros, will ride with 
 you against the Spaniard." 
 38 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 The members of the Council looked at 
 each other. Paez with his vaqueros, roving 
 over the boundless plains of the interior, 
 from which for four years he had been 
 harrying the Spanish outposts, was hardly 
 known to most of these Caracefios and 
 Margaritans, though Bolivar had heard of 
 his exploits in New Granada. 
 
 Bolivar seized the map. " Where is 
 Paez?" he cried. 
 
 " By the Apure, near San Fernando," 
 said the peon. 
 
 In a flash the Libertador's mind was 
 made up. He turned to the llanero : 
 
 41 Ride to General Paez and say I march 
 to join him." 
 
 He rose to his feet and pointed to the 
 map. "See, senores, here lies our route. 
 We hold in Angostura the gateway to 
 the Orinoco. As far as Santa F6 de 
 Bogota there is no force to oppose us 
 along the line of the Orinoco and Apure. 
 We are in the rear of the enemy, whose 
 
 39 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 strength is in the coast towns. Here we 
 have cattle and horses. Here we can raise 
 recruits from the llaneros, who care not 
 for whom they fight and who are for us 
 now that Boves is gone. If beaten, we 
 can retreat like Tartars to the immeasurable 
 plains. We will march to Apure and 
 join Paez" he hesitated. " Morillo will 
 come down thus from the North in haste. 
 We will meet him" his finger halted, 
 then pointed to the plain near Calabozo, 
 "we will meet him here. Now gather 
 our forces and organize. This is the death- 
 grapple." 
 
 Recruits flocked to Bolivar's standard. To 
 pay them he confiscated the property of all 
 Spaniards. The blood-stained Piar, found 
 plotting against Bolivar, as Lee against 
 Washington, was more summarily treated. 
 He was shot and his force was attached to 
 Bolivar's own. With two thousand 
 infantry and one thousand cavalry the 
 leader started from Angostura on the 3ist 
 40 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 December, 1817, up the Orinoco. Bolivar 
 was joined on the way by his fugitive 
 lieutenant, Zaraza, and a remnant of men. 
 On January 3ist, he united with General 
 Paez and added one thousand cavalry and 
 two hundred and fifty infantry to his 
 army. 
 
 Together they marched against Morillo. 
 At El Dimante the Apure River barred 
 their way. If it were not passed their 
 sudden attack on Morillo would be 
 checked, and the Spaniard could rally his 
 forces. Moored to the opposite bank was 
 a Spanish gunboat, three flat-bottomed 
 flecheras, and several canoes. Bolivar 
 paced up and down nervously. 
 
 "You have brought me here, General 
 Paez ; how will you get me across ? " he 
 asked querulously. 
 
 " On those flecheras over there," said 
 Paez nonchalantly. 
 
 Bolivar looked after him in amazement. 
 Paez had already gone to his llaneros. 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 "We must have those flecheras, 
 children," he cried ; " who will come with 
 Uncle Paez and capture them ? " 
 
 " Choose whom you want, Uncle," was 
 the answering shout. 
 
 Fifty llaneros he picked out. On horse- 
 back, lance in hand, they entered the 
 stream and swam into the current. Two 
 men were seized by caimans and dragged 
 below as Bolivar's force breathlessly 
 watched them. The forty-eight reached 
 the flecheras and the gunboat, the 
 Spaniards too surprised to resist seriously. 
 In a tumult of triumph the boats were 
 sailed across the river. On February i2th, 
 Bolivar appeared before the surprised 
 Morillo near Calabozo. The small 
 Spanish force was attacked, beaten, an< 
 massacred without quarter. 
 
 Then the fortunes of war turned against 
 
 the Libertador. He was driven back to 
 
 the Orinoco. But reinforcements had 
 
 begun to come in now that he held firmly 
 
 42 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 the great river artery. Several hundred 
 blacks from Haiti joined him. An Irish 
 Legion came, commanded by General 
 Devereux, and a British officer, " English " 
 by name, one of Wellington's trusted sub- 
 ordinates, arranged for the equipment and 
 shipment of twelve hundred good troops. 
 Most of these were soldiers of fortune, 
 veterans left without congenial occupation 
 at the close of the Napoleonic wars. 
 
 Notable among the volunteers was 
 Francis M. Drexel, of Philadelphia, an 
 Austrian portrait painter, who later, with 
 Bolivar's backing, was to found the great 
 banking house of which John Pierpont 
 Morgan is now the head. 
 
 By the end of 1818 Bolivar had won out 
 sufficiently to issue a call for the Congress 
 of Angostura to meet on January i, 1819, 
 to frame a Republican form of government 
 and replace the military dictatorship. 
 
 The magnificent dream of the Libertador 
 now took shape. It was to erect upon the 
 
 43 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 ruins of Spanish power a great centralized 
 Republic, extending from the Atlantic to the 
 Pacific, from the Caribbean Sea to the 
 valley of the Amazon, covering all of 
 Northern South America. Against the 
 party that desired to carve up this vast 
 territory into a number of small sovereign 
 States loosely confederated, Bolivar threw 
 the whole weight of his vast influence. 
 He pleaded before the Congress : " I have 
 been obliged to beg you to adopt centraliza- 
 tion and the union of all the States in a 
 Republic one and indivisible." 
 
 The Congress wavered and then sided 
 with Bolivar. There was decreed a unified 
 Republic, including what are now the 
 J Republics of Venezuela, Colombia, and 
 Ecuador. Of this Empire, named Greater 
 Colombia, Bolivar was chosen the first 
 President. 
 
 The ideal of the Libertador had 
 triumphed. But the bulk of this domain 
 was yet to be conquered. The first assault 
 44 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 was planned against the Spaniards in the 
 north-west, in New Granada. 
 
 Here the flames of resistance had been 
 kept alight by General Santander, with 
 whose ragged band it was Bolivar's 
 immediate purpose to unite. By the 
 middle of June, 1819, this preliminary 
 move had been successfully taken. 
 
 But the Andes had yet to be crossed, and 
 at the worst time of the year. The passage 
 of the Cordilleras with a tattered and 
 steadily diminishing handful of famished 
 men was an act of desperate courage. It 
 meant four weeks of weary climbing over 
 snow-capped peaks and through freezing 
 torrents. The road traversed by the poor 
 wretches was marked by crosses in memory 
 of those who had perished in the snow 
 sierras. But beyond these awful moun- 
 tains lay the smiling plains of New 
 Granada, and its populace was friendly to 
 the Patriot cause. 
 
 Disregarding all recognized rules of the 
 
 45 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 game of war, Bolivar, who was in terrible 
 need of provisions and arms, determined 
 to leave the enemy across his line of 
 communications and make direct for the 
 important town of Tunja. It was taking 
 a risk, but a necessary risk, and one that 
 was completely justified by the result. 
 For Barriero, the Spanish general, con- 
 ceiving that he must fight for the defence 
 of Tunja, gave Bolivar battle at Boyaea 
 and was utterly routed. Barriero broke 
 his sword across his knee and surrendered, 
 with many officers and some sixteen 
 hundred men. The Patriot army had to 
 mourn the loss of only thirteen killed 
 and fifty-three wounded. 
 
 Everywhere now Bolivar was victorious. 
 He marched to Bogota, from which 
 Samano, the Spanish Viceroy, fled. 
 
 Returning eastward, he fought the des- 
 perate battle of Carabobo, which finally 
 freed Venezuela from the Spanish yoke. 
 The dogged heroism of the British 
 46 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 Legion, which lost a third of its men and 
 two commanders in succession, saved the 
 day. As Bolivar rode past their shattered 
 ranks that night he hailed them " Sal - 
 vadores de mi patria." All of its survivors 
 were made on the field of battle members 
 of the " Order of Liberators." 
 
 On into Peru went Bolivar, proclaimed 
 Dictator by the inhabitants. On the field 
 of Ayacucho, while the Dictator was absent, 
 his second in command, General Sucre, 
 fought and won a last great battle in which 
 the Spanish army was completely routed 
 and dispersed. The ground for miles was 
 strewn with the silver helmets of the 
 Spanish hussars. 
 
 Ayacucho, the death-blow to Spanish 
 power in South America, was the culminat- 
 ing point of Bolivar's career. Dictator of 
 Peru, President of Greater Colombia, 
 Organizer of the new State of Bolivia, 
 his authority extended over a territory 
 two-thirds as large as Europe. He had 
 
 47 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 indignantly rejected all suggestions for 
 monarchy and a personal dynasty. As the 
 Libertador he had fought to free, not to 
 enslave. For one brief moment as splendid 
 a vision as man has ever cherished was real 
 the great South American Republic. 
 
 Almost in an hour the whole structure 
 fell. Against him rose the generals who 
 had shared his glory, Santander in New 
 Granada, Paez in Venezuela. Sucre, dis- 
 satisfied, abandoned Bolivia. Peru de- 
 manded the end of the dictatorship. 
 Bolivar's ungrateful fellow-countrymen 
 cried out against his inordinate ambition. 
 In his home city of Caracas an attempt 
 was made to assassinate him. 
 
 Attacked on all sides by those whom 
 he had befriended and raised to power, 
 Bolivar resigned from the Presidency and 
 retired to Cartagena. Even here the 
 enmity of jealous hate hounded him. He 
 prepared to leave South America for a 
 refuge in the West India Islands. But 
 48 
 
 
The Conquistadores 
 
 before he could sail the end had come. 
 Exhausted by the terrible exertions of his 
 life of warfare, broken in spirit, bankrupt 
 in hope, he died in December, 1830, at the 
 age of forty-seven. So little had he 
 personally profited by his supreme position 
 that he had to be buried at the expense 
 of his friends. 
 
 Thus ended the long line of Conquis- 
 tadores who battled for Trinidad and 
 Guiana. For each was the draught of 
 bitterness after all his heroism and all his 
 glory. Columbus carried back to Spain in 
 irons, De Berrio dead of disappointment, 
 Raleigh executed by his treacherous King, 
 Picton brought to trial for peculation, 
 Nelson falling for a nation that refused his 
 last prayer, Bolivar dying despised and 
 penniless in the country he had freed, 
 tragedy, grim and relentless, had marched 
 side by side with the Conquistadores. 
 
 49 
 
II 
 
 TRINIDAD 
 
 HPHE green slopes of Tobago, where 
 the shipwreck of the real Alexander 
 Selkirk inspired the " Robinson Crusoe" 
 of Defoe, have been left behind in the 
 dark mists of the Caribbean. Ahead lies 
 a shadowy range of mountain peaks, grow- 
 ing every moment more clear as the dawn 
 lights up their densely wooded sides and 
 outlines the trees that crown their crests. 
 A rush of crimson heralds the sun. 
 The hills to the east slowly separate as 
 the steamer forges on, and a narrow strait, 
 the Dragon's Mouth, opens out. In the 
 distance, to starboard, stretch Venezuela 
 and the South American mainland. The 
 50 
 
Trinidad 
 
 island of Trinidad, now close at hand, 
 lies to port. 
 
 The dazzling brilliance of the tropic 
 sunrise sows the dark sea with glittering 
 flame points. We go always nearer to 
 the land. Suddenly a narrow passage, 
 the Boco de Monos, appears, bending 
 sharply to the left. Into it the 
 " Marrowijne " turns. Through this 
 channel the tidal current sweeps with a 
 force that has piled many a ship upon 
 the impending cliffs. The red-bearded 
 Dutch captain and the first officer keep 
 anxious watch, one on each side of the 
 bridge. The crew stand alert at their 
 stations. 
 
 Gaunt black crags pierced by wave- 
 hewn caverns, festooned with vines which 
 droop to the water's edge, threaten on 
 either hand. Madame Tetteron's Tooth, a 
 jagged rock, rises close to the channel. 
 Multitudes of birds swarm out from the 
 little island to the right and surround 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 the ship with raucous cries. A pelican, 
 resting on the water, takes alarm, awk- 
 wardly rises a stone' s-throw distant, and 
 flaps heavily away. 
 
 A few moments and we are through 
 the strait and into the placid calm of the 
 protected bay. The ocean swells sink 
 into ripples ; the tension of the crew 
 standing at their stations slackens into 
 the relief of a voyage virtually finished. 
 Captain Drijver leaves the bridge. 
 
 "We are at anchor before Port of 
 Spain in an hour," he calls to Miss 
 Graham, a Trinidadian returning from a 
 visit to Canada. An irrepressible young 
 American, who is slated for a six months' 
 stay in a coast town of Venezuela as 
 manager of a magnesite quarry, comes 
 up, camera in hand. 
 
 "The Royal Dutch Line is all right, 
 Captain," he exclaims, "but I am not 
 going past Hatteras by sea again. I'm 
 going back by land." 
 52 
 

Trinidad 
 
 The seriously-minded English Colonial, 
 returning from two months " at home " 
 to his general merchandise establishment, 
 the " Caledonian Stores" of Port of 
 Spain, solemnly undertakes to instruct 
 him as to the impracticability of going 
 overland from Venezuela to New York. 
 
 " You won't want to leave the tropics 
 at all," volunteers Grath, late serjeant of 
 the Philippine Constabulary, bound now 
 for the Barber Asphalt Company works at 
 Pitch Lake. " I spent just one winter 
 in the North, and then I applied every- 
 where for a position that would take me 
 back to where it was warm." 
 
 Miss Graham agrees with the ex- 
 serjeant, but says that it is good to get 
 North sometimes, " to thicken one's blood 
 a bit." The six tank-builders imported 
 from Oklahoma look apathetically at 
 the shore where they are to spend the 
 next year constructing steel storage-reser- 
 voirs for an Oil Fields Corporation. 
 
 53 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Glittering green areas of coco-nut palms 
 nestling at the foot of the hill-sides stand 
 out among the variegated tones of the trees 
 on the slopes of the peninsula which 
 the vessel skirts ; a bright red-and- 
 white roof peeps out from the midst of 
 a banana plantation ; flocks of gulls, 
 fishers, and pelicans pass ; a dory driven 
 forward by a swarthy crew creeps along 
 the coast ; myriads of milky jellyfish float 
 in the still water, whose glassy surface is 
 broken from time to time by the rush of 
 a shoal of little fish pursued by sharks, 
 whose triangular fins sail menacingly past. 
 
 The golf course is still laid out on 
 the deck, where, during the six days 
 from New York, Captain Drijver has 
 held the field against all comers, vic- 
 torious because of his matchless science in 
 sending the discs into the " Marrowijne's " 
 scuppers. But now it is deserted. For 
 the last meal before landing the gong 
 makes its announcement, and we descend. 
 54 
 
Trinidad 
 
 The irrepressible American opens rather 
 early in the day his final bottle of the 
 ship's champagne, as a finishing luxury 
 before his six months* exile. Grath tells 
 a last story about a rheumatic cripple in 
 the Philippines, cured by the appearance 
 of a Moro with a three-foot creese, en- 
 deavouring to obtain a pass into Paradise 
 by the slaughter of so convenient an 
 infidel. Brown, boss of the tank-building 
 gang, mourns silently the three men who 
 deserted on the last jovial night in New 
 York after he had paid their passage from 
 Oklahoma. The bearded Dutch mate, 
 sitting stiffly at table in his white tropical 
 uniform, pays his parting addresses to 
 Miss Graham. 
 
 It is a hurried meal, for we are skirt- 
 ing the hills of Trinidad and nearing 
 port. Tiny islands appear, with houses 
 perched on them as on the Thousand 
 Isles of the St. Lawrence. A sloop is 
 overtaken, all sail set, moving with the 
 
 55 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 breath of wind that is stirring. The 
 masts and stacks of larger ships are seen 
 in the distance, and a steeple rises on the 
 shore. The roadstead comes into view, 
 and finally, with white houses amid green 
 verdure and grey docks and the crowded 
 sailing-ships in front, there is unveiled 
 the city of Port of Spain. 
 
 The Captain looks intently through his 
 binoculars and turns around to us. 
 
 "The bubonic plague is in Trinidad," 
 he says. 
 
 " Holy smoke ! " ejaculates one of the 
 tank crew. 
 
 Brown and the drillers look disconso- 
 lately at the shore. There is a moment's 
 silence. 
 
 " Oh, there's nothing alarming in the 
 plague," drawls Miss Graham phlegmatic- 
 ally. "We are always having cases here 
 only one or two among the natives, 
 however." 
 
 " Yes," says the English resident, " but 
 56 
 
Trinidad 
 
 it means quarantine. Jamaica wants to 
 hurt our trade and puts up quarantine, 
 and then the States quarantine Panama 
 and you have to play hide and seek 
 from port to port until you can find one 
 where they will let you in and from 
 which you can start for your destination. 
 I knew some Venezuelans who had to 
 take a ship to Grenada, from Grenada 
 to Jamaica, and from Jamaica back to 
 Venezuela to go the hundred miles from 
 Puerto Cabello to Caracas." 
 
 "The worst that can happen is that 
 they do not allow you to return to the 
 States," says Captain Drijver consolingly. 
 
 A swarm of row-boats nears the 
 " Marrowijne." Two heavy lighters bear 
 down on her quarter, great brown lateen 
 sails spread : negroes in dilapidated shirts 
 and abbreviated trousers help the sails 
 with long sweeps. 
 
 A launch comes puffing out with sundry 
 officials clad in white, escorted by two 
 
 57 
 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 well-set-up negroes in dark blue uniforms 
 and black straw hats bearing on the bands 
 " Trinidad Constabulary." The mail-bags 
 are taken up and piled on deck, together 
 with the passengers' trunks and bundles. 
 
 A long delay now occurs. We sit 
 idly about with belongings heaped around 
 us and wait and look at the docks and 
 the shipping and the water. At last the 
 word is given. Passengers, bags, and 
 baggage go down the steps alongside into 
 the launch, and we steam ashore. 
 
 The landing is crowded with people. 
 A horde of avid porters jump on board 
 as we touch and seize all the luggage 
 they can find. Three girls are on the 
 dock to greet Miss Graham, a little dark 
 Venezuelan to meet the American, an 
 agent of the Oil Fields Company to guide 
 Brown and the tank-builders to the train 
 for New Brighton. We all jostle into 
 the custom-house and assemble our 
 baggage on the long tables. 
 58 
 
Trinidad 
 
 Sleepily a half-breed official pokes 
 around in the bags. If one admits having 
 fire-arms they go into bond until a licence 
 is secured. All is over in five minutes, 
 and you are free of Trinidad. 
 
 The gateway from the custom-house 
 is blocked by a disorderly mass of 
 riotously vociferating negro hackmen, 
 strangely clad in raiments ranging from 
 antique liveries to brown overalls, with 
 battered top-hats or straw sombreros 
 perched indifferently on their heads. 
 From them you are rescued by a neatly- 
 uniformed half-breed chauffeur. Your 
 luggage is crowded onto his machine, 
 which gradually works clear of the dock 
 and into Marine Square, simmering be- 
 neath the morning sun. 
 
 A hundred-foot strip of lawn with trees 
 planted haphazard along it runs between 
 the roadways on either side. We pass 
 the colonnaded stores of the Trinidad 
 merchants, the shipping companies' offices, 
 
 59 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 the quaintly called Ice House Hotel, 
 the Union Club with its row of chairs 
 on the terrace, and farther up the Roman 
 Catholic Cathedral. 
 
 Into Frederick Street the automobile 
 turns. The whole narrow roadway is 
 glutted with a motley swarm of many- 
 toned humanity. Negroes in every sort 
 of garb, from trim khaki to ragged 
 overalls, clean-looking English business- 
 men in white linen and pith helmets, 
 dark Venezuelans with wide sombreros, 
 sallow octoroons, and here and there an 
 East Indian coolie in flowing white, tur- 
 baned, barelegged. Clerks crowd the shop 
 entrances. Goods heap the side-walks as 
 at a Paris bazaar. A few blocks farther 
 the crowd has thinned, and the shops are 
 smaller and less pretentious. The chauffeur 
 lets out an unearthly shriek from the horn 
 two natives jump aside, and away we go. 
 
 Trinidad is new to automobiles, and 
 there is no speed limit. A naively un- 
 60 
 
Trinidad 
 
 feeling editorial in the " Port of Spain 
 Gazette " once bemoaned the coolies' habit 
 of walking in the middle of the road 
 because it is so unpleasant for automo- 
 biling tourists to be obliged to run over 
 people. The streak across Port of Spain 
 which the automobile now makes is like 
 the nightmare of a speed maniac. 
 
 Stone houses with jealous white walls, 
 over which peer great masses of red 
 and purple flowers, airy wooden cottages 
 embedded coquettishly in verdure, corner 
 shops, native carts, messenger boys on 
 bicycles, groups of negro women walking 
 three abreast, graceful coolie girls all 
 dart by as if jerked from in front of 
 your eyes. A cricket match is passed 
 before you can see whether the ball is 
 hit or missed. The level savanna at 
 the base of the hills, with its race-course 
 and football fields, is skirted, and the 
 motor shoots through the palm-bordered 
 entrance to the Queen's Park Hotel. 
 
 61 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Here is rest. It is the antithesis to 
 the bustle of the port and the delirium 
 of the drive. An old darky in faded 
 livery, " Methuselah," totters out and 
 looks at you. Coolly-clad figures in 
 rocking-chairs on the porch meditatively 
 absorb their drinks without even doing 
 that. After a time, a clerk appears and 
 you sign the register. A while later a 
 black boy comes and lifts your luggage 
 from the motor. After a little longer 
 interval the manager has reached the 
 point of taking you for a long, slow, 
 rambling walk which leads at length to 
 the room that is reserved. 
 
 It is a huge chamber half as large as 
 a tennis-court. A wicker couch, two big 
 cane arm-chairs, two tables, a gigantic 
 bed and a chest of drawers constitute the 
 furniture. The doors, the window-shades, 
 and the walls for two feet down from the 
 ceiling are lattice-work, open to all the 
 winds that blow. A door in front opens 
 62 
 
Trinidad 
 
 into the garden facing the Savanna. 
 In the courtyard behind, tame white 
 egrets step daintily among the palms and 
 a parrot and toucan screech to each other 
 from adjoining cages. On one side is a 
 row of sheds containing huge bath-tubs. 
 
 The hotel regime is printed on a notice- 
 board. Coffee is at seven, breakfast at 
 eleven, tea at four, and dinner at seven. 
 In effect, you are put on a two-meal 
 basis, staving off mid-afternoon pangs 
 with tea and toast. As breakfast is over 
 at twelve, which hour is already rapidly 
 nearing, it seems desirable to indulge 
 now, calling the meal lunch, to justify 
 eating at this time. So you go out on the 
 veranda, which serves as a dining-room. 
 
 Black waiters dressed in white serve 
 you, with quarter-hour waits between 
 courses, and there are brought the multi- 
 tudinous dishes of a meal, which begins 
 with hominy and progresses through the 
 stock British stand-bys of bacon and 
 
 63 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 eggs and liver and bacon. Indigenous 
 additions follow : fried plantains and a 
 strangely named fish whose consumption, 
 according to the legend, will bring you 
 back to Trinidad without fail. When 
 fruits are reached you explore a new 
 kingdom, mangoes with their stringy 
 seed ; little bananas three inches long, 
 with a flavour never found in varieties 
 shipped North ; juicy star-apples ; sour- 
 saps with prickly green exterior and 
 creamy paste inside ; sapadillas, in appear- 
 ance brown and like a spherical potato, but 
 inside granular with sugary sweetness. It 
 is a wonderful collection. Why are they 
 not exported in cold storage? $Quidn 
 sabe ? 
 
 It is a long function, this breakfast. 
 One feels as if he had accomplished an 
 important act when he joins the rest on 
 the rocking-chairs of the portico. None 
 but the heaviest of black Havana cigars 
 seem appropriate, or at least none are 
 64 
 
Trinidad 
 
 procurable. You idly watch a company 
 of negroes with a couple of energetic 
 Englishmen at cricket practice on the 
 Savanna. Farther off some cattle feed, 
 strange humped beasts, zebu imported from 
 India with the indentured coolies. Horses 
 are being exercised for the forthcoming 
 races on the track beyond the zebu. 
 
 Magnificent trees are scattered here and 
 there, gigantic spreading samans, ban- 
 yans with their myriad roots, cannon- 
 ball trees bearing spherical black pods. 
 In front of the houses that face the park 
 stand, like sentinels, rows of towering 
 royal palms. Splashes of vivid colour 
 show here and there amidst the green : 
 the poinsettia's flaming scarlet, the be- 
 gonia's purple, the white of the matapile 
 flowers. 
 
 As the heat grows, the cricketers cease 
 
 their laborious play. The portico chairs 
 
 are largely deserted. It is hot, let no one 
 
 doubt this. It is time for the siesta and 
 
 F 65 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 the bath which prepares you for a fresh 
 start in the late afternoon. 
 
 At four o'clock, refreshed, rested, and 
 clean, the world reappears. There is a 
 stir around the veranda. Englishmen 
 on horseback ride up. Ladies in white 
 come out and make tea for linen-clad 
 visitors. Carriages, at first a few but 
 soon a stream, pass by. 
 
 A brougham with an ancient negro on 
 the box stops before the hotel door, 
 Methuselah potters over to give you a 
 note. It is an invitation to drive from 
 Mrs. Farrell, wife of the manager of one 
 of the oil companies. You climb into the 
 carriage and set out for your hostess's resi- 
 dence. Big rambling houses embowered 
 in gardens line the short way. A row of 
 towering palms marks the Farrell land. 
 In their yard a tame deer looks question- 
 ingly at you. The whole front of the 
 house is a big broad veranda, with tall 
 white pillars supporting the roof. 
 66 
 
Trinidad 
 
 " We all drive in the cool of the after- 
 noon," says Mrs. Farrell, who is awaiting 
 you. " It is the most important function 
 in the day." 
 
 We enter the carriage, drive out of the 
 grounds and swing into the procession 
 that flows past the gateway. 
 
 " Most of the ladies here do not get 
 dressed until afternoon," she observes 
 presently. " Mother Hubbards and carpet 
 slippers, you know. Now I will point you 
 out the lions." 
 
 A dark middle-aged man with a very 
 pretty girl beside him passes and bows 
 ceremoniously. "That is Mr. Siegert and 
 his daughter ; his place is beside the 
 Queen's Park," says Mrs. Farrell. " He 
 was a Venezuelan, but the revolutions 
 drove him out. He came here with his 
 family and makes the Angostura bitters 
 which the monks used to brew." 
 
 A brougham with a fine pair of bays 
 goes by. " The Sandersons," says your 
 
 67 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 hostess. " He is an American. His 
 father got the flour monopoly of Venezuela 
 and the family has still an interest in it. 
 He married a Venezuelan and lives here 
 most of the time. They have that big 
 white house by the College." 
 
 A solitary bearded man driving a dog- 
 cart passes. " That is Graham, the richest 
 man in Trinidad. They say he is the 
 shrewdest too. He has a grant of Crown 
 land planted with coco-nuts and cocoa. 
 He has plantations all over the island." 
 
 On the piazza of a big house with palms 
 in front she points out Benoit Tomasi. 
 " He is a Corsican, who came to Venezuela 
 without a penny. He traded and built 
 up a big business along the Orinoco. 
 His nephew runs it now and he lives here. 
 He owns the Callao Mine, but there is a 
 lawsuit on and he can get nothing from it. 
 
 " You have a letter for Mr. Robertson, 
 have you not ? That is his automobile 
 just turning in." 
 68 
 
Trinidad 
 
 You mention that you have received an 
 invitation to dine with him to-night. 
 
 " He is very interesting. He is as 
 Scotch as if he had only been out of 
 the old country a fortnight, but his family 
 has been here for two generations. His 
 father came from Scotland fifty years 
 ago and started a mercantile house 
 in Demerara. The son conducts the 
 Trinidad branch of the firm ; but he 
 keeps up his family connexion with 
 Scotland and goes back every year. 
 His wife is there now." 
 
 A bearded man of distinguished ap- 
 pearance salutes us from the promenade. 
 
 " Baron Spejo, a Spaniard," says Mrs. 
 Farrell ; "and yonder," nodding forward 
 to a typically British figure on horseback, 
 " is Major Bridges, of the Constabulary. 
 He has seen service in Egypt and South 
 Africa was sent here after the Boer War. 
 There beyond are Sefior and Sefiora 
 Gracia. They are nice people, but it 
 
 69 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 is whispered that they are touched negro 
 blood, you know. It may not be so. It 
 is fashionable for gossip here to blacken 
 skins as well as reputations." 
 
 We leave the Savanna drive and its 
 promenaders and turn to the left into the 
 Maraval road, past a straggling negro 
 settlement and into a wooded valley under 
 the hills. The road runs between huge 
 clumps of bamboos, in many places 
 shading the way like a tunnel. Humming- 
 birds flit here and there, the sacred " lere " 
 of the now extinct Carib Indians who 
 welcomed the old Conquistadores. 
 
 A delightful coolness fills the air, 
 scented with the odour of a multitude 
 of flowers. The contrast to the blaze 
 of midday is luxuriously appreciated. 
 
 We turn as dusk comes on. Slowly 
 the sedate horses take us back to 
 town. The peace of nature casts its 
 spell over the dying day. As darkness 
 gathers quickly, bats begin to dart and 
 70 
 
Trinidad 
 
 circle alongside. The chirp of insects, 
 the cry of night-birds, the mournful 
 " O-poor-me-one," which the negroes say 
 is the call of the sloth, sound from the 
 thickets. Light after light springs out from 
 cottages along the road and from the 
 town ahead. It is dark when the horses 
 hoofs rattle on the gravel of the Farrell 
 driveway. 
 
 It takes some speedy dressing to make 
 Mr. Robertson's dinner on schedule time. 
 Even here in the tropics that stiff- 
 bosomed rampart of British respectability, 
 the dress-suit, is requisite. A dinner 
 coat is permissible, but that is the ultimate 
 concession. Mr. Robertson sends his 
 machine to take you to his house, which 
 is one of those facing the Savanna. 
 
 As you enter the host is talking with 
 another guest, Mr. George Stevenson, 
 Mining Engineer, Member of the British 
 Institute, fresh from the Galician oil- 
 fields, called here to examine some 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Trinidad oil prospect. Soon after appear 
 George Frothingharn, a cocoa-planter 
 with large estates in the middle of the 
 island, a nephew of the host, fresh from 
 the old country and being broken in at 
 Robertson's stores, and Major Albert 
 Bridges, of the Constabulary. 
 
 We are introduced to the renowned 
 "green swizzle'' a liquid whose translu- 
 cent tinge fills the bottom of the glass, the 
 green shading gradually into the dark red 
 of bitters near the surface. Gin, lime, and 
 soda have entered into its making, and 
 the star-shaped swizzle-stick has been 
 twirled within it. Its taste is unique ; its 
 action suamter in modo, fortiter in re. 
 
 Green swizzles have a marked effect 
 on people's conversational ability. Steven- 
 son recounts stories of his start in the 
 Indian Civil Service under Sir William 
 Willcox, the famous engineer, whose 
 genius threw the Assuan Dam across 
 the full current of the Nile and redeemed 
 72 
 
Trinidad 
 
 a kingdom of waste land for Egyptian 
 cultivation. " The most religious man I 
 ever knew," adds the engineer; "he did 
 not even swear when the berm of one 
 of our irrigation canals gave way." 
 
 " He never had to unravel a lawsuit 
 between two time-expired East Indians," 
 says Major Bridges. 
 
 " He never tried to make cocoa-plant- 
 ing pay wdth negro labour," grumbles 
 Frothingham. " Those negroes are not 
 worth a penny. If it weren't for the 
 coolies there would not be a white planter 
 in Trinidad. It is bad enough as it is." 
 
 "Cocoa-men are always grumbling," 
 says the host. " How would you like 
 to have had sugar and to have seen your 
 values wiped out by foreign beet-root 
 subsidies? Why, you cocoa people and 
 the coco-nut growers are all capitalists 1 " 
 
 Frothingham does not have much to 
 say, for in fact he has not suffered in 
 the sale of cocoa. "We have done well 
 
 73 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 in cocoa for the Paris market, but that 
 is only because chocolate is displacing 
 coffee for the French petit ddjeuner" 
 he admits grudgingly. 
 
 The nephew breaks in: "You planters 
 should encourage new uses for your 
 product. Advertise and make anointing 
 the body fashionable, as it used to be in 
 Rome. That will help sell your coco-nut 
 oil." 
 
 " Can't you arrange that they use crude 
 petroleum as well ? Our industry needs 
 encouraging too, " observes the engineer. 
 
 "We need all the oil you can pump 
 as fuel for our battleships," declares 
 Major Bridges. " Trinidad is the one oil- 
 producing district under the British flag. 
 These fields are shifting the whole 
 balance of political power. Since these 
 and others in Venezuela were discovered 
 the German Government has been making 
 soundings all around Margarita Island, 
 which they say the Kaiser is trying to get 
 74 
 
Trinidad 
 
 as a naval station. It is generally believed 
 here that the British Admiralty is planning 
 to beat them out by establishing a huge 
 naval base at Port of Spain. Fortifying the 
 islands at the Dragon's Mouth and Cedros 
 Point overlooking the Serpent's Mouth 
 will enable us to command both entrances 
 to the Gulf of Paria. Then we will control 
 the trade route from Europe to Panama, 
 and to the east coast of South America." 
 
 "They say the Standard Oil Company 
 is trying to get control of the field already," 
 comments Frothingham. 
 
 "Well, eil is here all right," asserts 
 the host. "The Pitch Lake people have 
 shipped one tank-steamer full and are 
 building sixteen big thirty-five-thousand- 
 barrel tanks. And they don't usually 
 spend any money foolishly except what 
 they give for revolutions in Venezuela." 
 
 "We aren't like Venezuela," says 
 the Major virtuously. 
 
 "There is one good thing about 
 
 75 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Venezuela," says Mr. Robertson, with a 
 twinkle in his eye. " All the officials 
 aren't sent from the old country. A 
 native over there gets a chance some- 
 times for something higher than school 
 commissioner." 
 
 The Major takes his host's remark very 
 seriously. " But you can't have self- 
 government here, with your population. 
 You have two hundred and eighty 
 thousand people in Trinidad. Half of 
 them are negroes, a third are coolies, 
 and the whites are of every nation and 
 every tribe on this terrestrial ball." 
 
 "You remember the story of how 
 Toussaint 1'Ouverture sprinkled salt 
 over a handful of black dirt and said 
 'Voila les blancs,' then shook the hand- 
 ful together, opened his hand, and asked 
 ' Ou sont les blancs ? ' Trinidad would 
 be like Haiti in ten years if we gave 
 you Home Rule." 
 
 "Well," says Mr. Robertson, turning to 
 76 
 
Trinidad 
 
 you and speaking in his broadest Scotch, 
 " we'll forgie them in Lunnon if they'll 
 send no more like yon wastrel." 
 
 Everybody laughs at the Major, and 
 then we pour him a drink of Scotch to 
 cheer him up. 
 
 The talk drifts to the indentured coolies. 
 The engineer has studied their social 
 system while in India. "All here are of 
 the lower castes sudras," he says, "and 
 each goes down one degree by leaving 
 India. It will take many payments to the 
 priests when they return to procure 
 redemption." 
 
 " Many of them don't return at all," 
 comments Robertson. " I have a lawsuit 
 with a time-expired coolie freeholder about 
 a road. They are the worst people for 
 going to law you ever saw." 
 
 " I should think they were," adds 
 Frothingham, "except when their wives 
 are too attractive to their friends. Then 
 they slice the woman up with a machete 
 
 77 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 and send the man a piece of her as a 
 gift. But everything else they go to law 
 about. There was a case up before the 
 San Fernando Police Court last week. 
 A free labourer named Bo Jawan, 
 belonging to our Harmony Hall estate, 
 came to the Government Savings Bank 
 with his wife Jugdeah, making the air 
 blue with Hindu expletives. The 
 woman had deposited some money in 
 her own name and the husband wanted 
 to draw it. * If you don't give me the 
 money I will bring Mahabit Maharaj (the 
 Governor) and the police,' he shouted. 
 Jugdeah tried to run away, but the 
 coolie made a tackle and got her by the 
 leg. De la Rosa, the cashier, is a hot- 
 tempered chap and he threw the man 
 downstairs. The coolie summoned him 
 for assault, and the wife proceeded to 
 perjure herself by saying that she and 
 her husband had tiptoed in, hand-in- 
 hand, and had asked for her money 
 78 
 
Trinidad 
 
 together in a dulcet voice. De la Rosa 
 got off, but it cost him a pound fine. 
 The judge is a negro, and he gives it 
 to the whites a little extra when a case 
 comes up to him." 
 
 We end dinner with coffee and 
 cashew nuts, and go out to watch the 
 engineer beat the cocoa-planter at 
 billiards on a huge English table in 
 the palm room. At midnight the party 
 breaks up, and as the automobile whirls 
 back to the hotel, among the wonder- 
 fully bright constellations can be seen 
 the Southern Cross, upright high above 
 the horizon. 
 
 A fortnight's stay in Port of Spain is 
 well worth the time. You are put up at 
 the Union Club in Marine Square, where 
 the business men gather for breakfast, 
 and at the Queen's Park Club, which 
 declares itself to be " sporting and 
 social." You explore the recesses of the 
 negro quarter. You visit the nurseries 
 
 79 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 where seeds and shoots from all over 
 the world are experimented with, to test 
 their adaptability to Trinidad, and where 
 indigenous coffee plants, balata gum, 
 cocoa, bananas, oranges, everything that 
 may be useful to the Colony, is being 
 grafted and developed. You can order 
 khaki or white linen suits made at an 
 English tailor's for some such ridiculous 
 price as five dollars, and buy American 
 watches and sewing-machines at about a 
 quarter less than in the States. 
 
 Your letters open the doors to a quaint 
 world of English officials sent out from 
 the old country to this London-governed 
 Crown Colony. You meet Venezuelan 
 exiles, some long-established, like the 
 Siegerts, some only recently fled from 
 across the Gulf, with their property 
 confiscated and bitterness in their hearts. 
 You find American managers of the 
 asphalt and petroleum companies ; re- 
 tired Corsican traders grown rich on 
 80 
 
>** 
 
 QUEEN'S PARK 
 
 INDIGENOUS CRICKET 
 
Trinidad 
 
 the balata export; English and Scotch 
 merchants and old French families dating 
 from the time of the negro insurrection 
 in Haiti. A veritable kaleidoscope of 
 tints and shades are the assemblages at 
 the Government Palace, where the wives 
 of negro magistrates rub elbows with 
 Colonial planters and English officials. 
 
 To see the rest of the island, a motor 
 trip is the best method. Trinidad is 
 only 50 miles square, and is crossed by 
 splendid roads. The manager of one of 
 the oil companies, Mr. David Jefferson, an 
 American from Alabama, puts his car at 
 our disposal. A day is selected, and as 
 an early start is desirable, so as to ride 
 as much as possible in the cool of the 
 day, seven o'clock in the morning is set 
 for the time of departure. The machine 
 appears promptly with a smart-looking 
 negro chauffeur at the wheel. Fixed on 
 the front of the radiator is a bedraggled 
 Teddy Bear. 
 
 G 81 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 "A queer conceit," you remark. 
 
 u That isn't a fancy," is the answer; 
 "wait until we hit the native settlement." 
 A few moments later we are in the 
 region of low mud huts and streets so 
 crowded that the horn must be blown 
 continuously. From every side run up 
 piccaninnies, some clad in a shirt, some 
 in a wisp of rag, some in a smile. 
 With one accord they shriek for joy, 
 dance up and down, point to each other, 
 and a good half of their parents do the 
 same. " Monkee ! monkee ! " they cry. 
 
 "You see!" says Mr. Jefferson; "they 
 don't pay any attention to the automobile, 
 they are so interested in the Teddy 
 Bear. I can run over a dozen assorted 
 chickens, dogs, pigs, and ducks, and 
 when I come back, instead of heaving 
 rocks at me, they shout at the bear." 
 
 We shoot on with the echo ringing in 
 our ears, " Monkee ! monkee 1 " 
 
 An East Indian settlement appears 
 82 
 
Trinidad 
 
 now, and the coolie children do exactly 
 as the negro piccaninnies did, shouting 
 while their elders stare fixedly at the 
 Teddy. 
 
 We pass a tall figure of a man with 
 ample robes and a caste mark on his 
 forehead who does not deign to notice 
 us a Hindu priest. Coolie women, 
 their faces half covered with silken 
 shawls and their arms laden with silver 
 bangles, hammered out from the English 
 shillings which represent the savings 
 of the family, glide gracefully by. 
 What a contrast are their lithe slender 
 figures, in gracefully draped robes, to 
 those of the negro women, in cheap 
 ready-made skirts and bodices, who, 
 shapelessly bundled together, waddle 
 clumsily along! Some of the coolie 
 girls are really beautiful, though they 
 invariably spoil the effect by a nose-ring. 
 
 A cart drawn by a span of zebu 
 with half a dozen bare-legged coolies 
 
 83 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 sitting on hard planks passes. Farther 
 along, beside a small stream rest a yoke 
 of water buffalo. Little nondescript dogs, 
 looking like degenerate fox-terriers, run 
 out and snap at the whirring wheels. 
 Four coolies appear walking abreast 
 and carrying a big magenta flag. They 
 scatter to left and right as we pass. Their 
 usually snowy white shirts are stained 
 and streaked with purple, as if a tub of 
 dye had fallen on them. 
 
 "They throw those colours on each 
 other at the feasts," explains Mr. Jefferson 
 above the whir of the wheels. 
 
 The suburbs of Port of Spain extend 
 for six miles. Almost all the' way along 
 the road there are little adobe houses, 
 sometimes those of negroes, sometimes 
 those of coolies, for though these two 
 races disdain each other they live side 
 by side. 
 
 Each has a comfortable feeling of 
 superiority, the negro because he is free 
 84 
 
Trinidad 
 
 to loaf while the coolie is indentured for 
 five years, the coolie because of his 
 traditions of ancient civilization and the 
 pride of caste, to which every Indian 
 down to the lowest clings, even here on 
 the other side of the world. 
 
 A sugar-cane plantation is reached, 
 extending for miles in every direction. 
 A locomotive on a narrow-gauge track 
 puffs near by, hidden amid the high 
 cane. Farther on coolies with machetes 
 in hand are cutting stalks, which others 
 load into cars, piling them to a great 
 height. Miles of cane-brake flank the 
 beautifully smooth and well-kept roads. 
 
 The ground becomes more hilly. 
 Cocoa plantations begin, straight files of 
 small cocoa-trees shaded by immortelles, 
 with dark alleys between the rows. The 
 ripening pods, green, yellow, red, and 
 purple, sprout in queer fashion directly 
 from the trunk or from thick branches. 
 
 After a two-hour run San Fernando 
 
 35 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 is reached, with its statue of the crucified 
 Christ overlooking the market-place of the 
 coolies. A half-dozen miles beyond this 
 is the entrance to the Government's 
 Forest Reserve. The trail into the forest 
 is impassable, unfortunately, for the 
 automobile. We start in on foot through 
 a small cocoa plantation owned by a 
 coolie who has served his time and pur- 
 chased Crown land. 
 
 Beyond it the forest begins. Nothing 
 can describe the feeling of one's own 
 insignificance which the monster trunks 
 that flank the narrow trail inspire. 
 One is an ant beneath these giants. The 
 weirdly colossal forests which Gustave 
 Dor drew to illustrate Chateaubriand's 
 "Atala," with pygmy figures wandering 
 beneath the overwhelming majesty of the 
 virgin woods, are here a reality. Mora 
 trees, 80 feet to 120 feet high, tower up 
 on either hand. Cedars rise 60 feet to 
 80 feet tall. Balatd rubber trees shoot 
 86 
 
Trinidad 
 
 up ioo feet, with the scars of the rubber 
 tappings on them. Here and there are 
 specimens whose boles grow in the shape 
 of narrow buttresses and cover at the 
 bottom an area 40 feet square. From 
 the tall hardwoods hang tenuous vines, 
 dropping straight as a plummet. We 
 toil through the heavy clay, around trunks 
 and over logs, drenched with perspiration, 
 oppressed by the dank heat. 
 
 " Here are hardwoods that nobody ever 
 heard of up North, which ought to be 
 marketed," Jefferson remarks. 
 
 " Disgracefully commercial," you tell 
 him, and climb back into the automobile. 
 
 Frequent villages of coolies and negroes 
 lie along the way, and long stretches of 
 cocoa plantation. Now and then we pass 
 a neat stucco constabulary station. Amid 
 the multitudes of natives an occasional 
 white overseer is seen driving by in his 
 buggy- As we get towards the Atlantic 
 coast the road narrows and the jungle 
 
 87 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 takes the place of cultivated lands. 
 Dense thickets 30 feet high, with occa- 
 sional big trees lifting their heads above 
 the other vegetation, close in on either 
 hand. The ground is more and more 
 hilly. At length, after a stretch of coco- 
 nut palms, there appear the roofs of a 
 straggly settlement of poor-looking houses, 
 the village of Mayaro, in the south-east 
 corner of the island. 
 
 Twelve miles of drive along the beach 
 will take us to the Guayaguayare oil- 
 fields, where the production of petroleum 
 has been recently started. We must leave 
 the car, which cannot negotiate the heavy 
 sands, but a good mule and buggy are 
 loaned us for the trip. While waiting 
 for low tide, we lunch upon tinned goods 
 and biscuit bought from a Chinaman who 
 keeps a general store. All around coco- 
 nut trees are growing, the nuts hanging 
 a few feet overhead. We ask for one to 
 try, but not a man will budge. " They 
 88 
 
Trinidad 
 
 belong to George Grant," is the explana- 
 tion. It is a commentary on the rigidity 
 and the enforcement of the law here. 
 
 At length, when close to ebb-tide, we 
 start along a beach. Mile after mile of 
 unfenced coco-nut plantations, the palms 
 rooted in the barren sand, border the 
 sea-shore. A few houses of negroes and 
 one occupied by a white superintendent 
 look out towards the Atlantic. Beautiful 
 pink and purple Portuguese men-of-war 
 lie on the beach. The dry ones burst 
 with a loud pop when a wheel crushes 
 over them. A negro boy walks along in 
 the shoal water, throwing a net from time 
 to time and bringing back the small 
 bulge-eyed fishes which swim along the 
 margin of the land to avoid the bigger 
 fish in the deeper water. A solitary 
 pelican skims the sea, making occasional 
 dives into the breakers. 
 
 Here along the shore, with the trade 
 wind blowing in, it is cool even in mid- 
 89 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 afternoon. But where the road cuts 
 through the forest the heat is oppressive. 
 We ford two shallow river-mouths with 
 tangles of mangrove in the area where 
 fresh water meets salt. The coco-nut 
 groves give place to forested hills and the 
 distorted and broken strata of clay and 
 sand show up on the cliffs along the sea. 
 
 At length appears a row of houses set 
 up on stilts 15 feet in the air, the quarters 
 of the white workmen of the oil company. 
 The local manager comes down to meet 
 us, and we climb the stairs and enter the 
 mosquito - proof portico, where pipes, 
 magazines, and great easy-chairs show 
 that when off duty certain elemental 
 comforts are not lacking. 
 
 Dinner is due as we arrive, and after 
 a wash we sit down to the manager's 
 mess. After dinner some bottled speci- 
 mens of the deadly coral snake found on 
 the works are proudly exhibited. We 
 dip into some ancient " Strand Magazines" 
 90 
 
' :. 
 
Trinidad 
 
 on the veranda and smoke our pipes and 
 talk looking out upon the quiet ocean. 
 
 In the morning we take a handcar 
 propelled by four negroes and go up the 
 narrow-gauge track to the wells. Row 
 after row of spare bits and casing-ele- 
 vators lie neatly ranged in the store-room. 
 Farther on are the derricks with their 
 boilers 100 feet distant, so that in case 
 of a gusher the oil will not take fire. A 
 6o-foot stream of oil shot up from one 
 of the wells near by recently, and most 
 of the oil was lost at sea before the 
 flow could be stopped. 
 
 Within the derrick-shed an engine 
 turns a g-foot bull-wheel, driving up and 
 down a walking beam like that on a 
 Mississippi steamer. The drill-hole, lined 
 with pipe 8 inches in diameter, goes down 
 i, 800 feet through the layers (clay and 
 sandstone) of the oil - bearing anticline. 
 At the bottom of the well, attached to the 
 walking beam by a 2-inch hemp cable 
 
 91 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 works the drilling bit, shaped like a fish's 
 tail. Above it is the jar or link which 
 brings the bit up with a jerk when the 
 beam is being raised. This " string of 
 tools " churns down through rock and 
 clay into the oil sands. Some hundreds 
 of feet away a well fully dug is being 
 pumped for oil. Still farther off another 
 is having the water and the sand, pul- 
 verized by the bit, baled out so that 
 drilling can recommence. 
 
 We take a trip on foot to a place close 
 at hand where natural gas rises from the 
 ground and can be lit by a match. 
 Farther on is a little brook running a 
 driblet of black oil instead of water from 
 some spring in the hill-side. In places 
 black ledges of pitch, soft in the hot 
 sun, give under the feet. A small mud 
 volcano is near by. 
 
 The forest with its great trees, screeching 
 parakeets and buzzing insects, is all about. 
 
 The return trip along the sands brings 
 92 
 
Trinidad 
 
 us back to Mayaro at about noon, after 
 long stretches of wading, for the tide 
 nearly catches us under the cliffs. A 
 long run in the automobile brings us 
 to the celebrated Asphalt Lake. The 
 straggling village at its edge is an extra- 
 ordinary spectacle. Not a house but is 
 twisted out of plumb. The land is the 
 source of never-ending litigation, because 
 the slowly shifting currents of the pitch 
 bottom in a few years move yards and 
 gardens on to other men's property, dis- 
 tort boundaries into every possible shape, 
 carry landmarks a hundred yards away. 
 Some natives are doing a little desultory 
 digging here before the territory of the 
 Asphalt Company begins. A green bam- 
 boo across the road marks its boundary. 
 There shiftlessness ends and system 
 begins. Well-built mosquito-proof bar- 
 racks for the workmen, with shower-baths 
 and clothes-racks, grace the bare hill. 
 A long pier extends far out to sea and 
 
 93 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 the houses of the officers are built over 
 piles alongside, swept by every breeze. 
 On a cable-way to the ship waiting off 
 the pier-end goes a slow line of big steel 
 buckets, and negroes stand sending the 
 asphalt contents down a chute into the hold. 
 
 The manager of the lake, Mr. Procter, 
 clad in khaki and riding gaiters, welcomes 
 us with strange drinks and Cuban cigars 
 on his swaying house above the waters 
 of the Gulf of Paria. We lunch with him 
 and his engineers. After a chat we follow 
 back the half-mile-long cable- way to the lake. 
 
 The abomination of desolation is this 
 lake. In spots a palm killed by the 
 asphalt droops disconsolately. A few 
 tufts of grass have secured a footing in 
 places. But for the rest it is a solid mass 
 of black, dull, evil-smelling pitch, with 
 pools of water here and there in which 
 swim little parboiled fishes. Against any 
 of the hot spots in the world, bar none, 
 this can be backed. The tropic sun beats 
 
 94 
 
Trinidad 
 
 down ; the black asphalt reflects it back 
 like the entrance of a furnace. One's feet 
 are unbearably hot through the heavy 
 leather and one sinks if he stands still 
 for a moment. A hundred and fifty 
 degrees have been recorded on the lake. 
 
 A wicked-looking black snake six feet 
 long glides into the bushes near the 
 margin of the lake. It has been sunning 
 itself on the asphalt. No wonder the 
 serpents are supposed to be creatures of the 
 devil. As for ourself, fifteen minutes' 
 stay takes away every bit of vitality we can 
 summon. Not enough interest is left in 
 life to inquire what the negroes hewing 
 with mattocks at the asphalt receive in 
 wages. They earn the pay, whatever it is. 
 There is no mechanical way yet discovered 
 by which the stuff can be dug. Hour after 
 hour these negroes hack out, with a few 
 blows of the mattock, the brittle pitch, 
 which flakes away in pieces a foot square. 
 They lift the burden to their heads and 
 
 95 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 dump it into the steel buckets, which start 
 their slow way to the ship. The holes fill 
 up in a few days with new pitch. 
 
 " The lake is ninety to one hundred 
 acres in extent now," says Mr. Procter, 
 " but it is gradually shrinking with the 
 removal of such large quantities. A good 
 percentage of the asphalt pavement in the 
 world comes from this one lake and its geo- 
 logical complement in Venezuela. We 
 leased it under a forty-seven year contract 
 with the Trinidad Government, to which 
 nearly $250,000 a year has been paid in 
 royalties. Such mining is the nearest 
 thing there is to digging money out of 
 the ground.'* 
 
 " Yes, but your Asphalt Trust is wel- 
 come to it," says Mr. Jefferson. " If I had 
 a thousand a day to dig pitch I would not 
 take it." 
 
 We drink all the iced tea in the Thermos 
 bottle, when we get back to the machine, 
 and turn it loose for Port of Spain. 
 96 
 
Ill 
 
 THE SERPENT'S MOUTH 
 
 proposed trip across the Gulf, up 
 the Orinoco and into the interior of 
 Venezuela along the path of the Seekers 
 for El Dorado evokes a most alarming 
 chaos of varying advice. 
 
 Major Bridges, of the Constabulary, who 
 has never been out of Trinidad and has a 
 truly Saxon prejudice against everything 
 Latin and lawless, roundly declares that 
 Venezuela is a " no man's land'* where 
 murder is commoner than soap and water. 
 " I have never been in the vile country, but 
 I heard that for shooting a man over there 
 the judge fines the guilty party only forty 
 dollars." 
 
 Baron Caratoni, who has a rubber con- 
 H 97 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 cession in Venezuela which he wants to 
 sell, protests volubly. "No, no, they don't 
 shoot strangers they only shoot each 
 other. It is perfectly safe for a stranger." 
 
 Jefferson, of the oil fields, tells that the 
 Sunday previous seven men employed at 
 the Pitch Lake had gone over to Venezuela 
 in a sail-boat. They had been all thrown 
 into prison as revolutionaries and had not 
 yet been released. " They will keep you in 
 jail for months and you will get the yellow 
 fever," he warns. 
 
 Carrera, exiled in the Castro regime, 
 now the possessor of a timber concession 
 upon the Caroni granted by the new 
 Government, relates how in the old days 
 he was incarcerated for carrying an entirely 
 innocent letter which a friend had given 
 him to post. He was arrested on the 
 pretence that carrying letters was a 
 Government function and letters were 
 "contraband." 
 
 "They used to do that in the old times, 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 but not now under President Gomez. No 
 one has any trouble now," the exile avers. 
 
 " Beastly country, just the same," insists 
 Robertson, the merchant. " They have 
 an extra customs tax 'of 30 per cent, on 
 all goods which come from Trinidad. 
 Castro put it on and Gomez does not take 
 it off." 
 
 " You can never get your guns in, any- 
 way," cautions the cocoa-grower. "The 
 Minister of the Interior is the only man 
 who has the right to issue permits for 
 firearms, and he always refuses to do so. 
 They are so afraid of revolutions." 
 
 Evidently Venezuela is an interesting 
 country. Also, all this advice is worth 
 considering. You sit back and ponder as 
 the critics one and all leave the hotel. 
 Mr. Jefferson turns as he goes: "Over 
 there is a man who can tell you enough 
 about the Orinoco. He is just back from 
 Ciudad Bolivar." 
 
 Talking with a couple of dusky-hued 
 
 99 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Spanish belles on the portico of the 
 Queen's Park Hotel sits a linen-clad figure 
 topped by a sweeping white sombrero. 
 
 " Introduce me," you suggest. For 
 some reason Jefferson hesitates. He is 
 silent a long, dubious minute. Then he 
 laughs lightly and shrugs his shoulders. 
 " If you insist," he says, and walks across. 
 
 " Mr. Fitzgerald!" The latter turns 
 around carelessly. 
 
 "Hullo, Jeff! How's the boy?" he snaps 
 with a regular Yankee twang. The intro- 
 duction follows. A few general remarks 
 are interchanged, then we settle to our 
 theme. His roving grey eyes meet yours. 
 
 1 ' Venezuela! sure I can tell you about 
 Venezuela ! " He signals a waiter with 
 his rattan cane and gives a repeat order. 
 
 After the chaos of contrary advice from 
 insular Englishmen and Venezuelan pro- 
 moters anxious to sell rubber plantations, 
 it is like the turning on of a searchlight 
 to meet this type of fellow-countryman. 
 100 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 You fire in some specific and direct 
 questions. 
 
 " Do people shoot each other habitually 
 over there ? " 
 
 "Only when they get excited." 
 
 This seems perfectly satisfactory. 
 
 " How about the men that went across 
 from New Brighton and got caught by 
 the gunboat ? " 
 
 " Why, sure, they got pinched. They 
 didn't take out any papers or pass the 
 custom-house. You'll be jugged any- 
 where if you enter that way. Get the 
 permit and go in through the custom- 
 house then it is like sliding off a log." 
 
 "Well, how about confiscating your 
 rifles, and 30 per cent, taxes and such 
 things?" 
 
 "Why, if you are on the level there is 
 nothing to it. But every revolution 
 Venezuela ever had started in Trinidad, 
 and half the merchants here have divvied 
 up with the smugglers. That old fox 
 
 101 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Castro figured out that an extra 30 
 per cent, duty would square things, 
 and his dope was about right. Gomez, 
 the new President, seems to think so, 
 anyway." 
 
 "Then there is no trouble about going 
 up the Orinoco and into the interior?" 
 
 " Never a bit," says Fitzgerald. "The 
 Venezuelans are the real goods dead 
 game sports and no limit." 
 
 " That settles it," you remark. " I am 
 going to Ciudad Bolivar to-morrow on 
 the 'Delta.'" 
 
 Fitzgerald thinks a moment and sizes 
 you up with a sidelong glance. " Say, 
 I'm off for there myself to-morrow on my 
 launch ; come along with me." 
 
 You sweep a scrutinizing glance over 
 him in turn ; thinking a moment, too, you 
 recall Jefferson's shrug wherein he shook 
 off all responsibility. Then you accept. 
 
 " Done," and on it you shake. 
 
 You agree to dine together at the hotel 
 1 02 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 that evening and talk over ways and 
 means. Meanwhile you start out alone 
 to assemble your personal outfit. The 
 Spanish Baron is the first man you meet. 
 " All is decided," you say gleefully. 
 
 "Ah, so monsieur is going on the 
 ' Delta '?" 
 
 11 But no, upon the launch of Monsieur 
 Fitzgerald ! " 
 
 The Baron's face goes pale. " That 
 launch ! Why, it is only of two tons ; 
 you do not know what it is to cross 
 the Straits, the Serpent's Mouth it is 
 to die." 
 
 The Venezuelan exile, Carrera, comes 
 up the hotel steps. 
 
 11 He is going up the Orinoco on Fitz- 
 gerald's little launch," appeals the Baron. 
 "Cest se suicider let him ask Vicetella, 
 of the Navigation Company." 
 
 Carrera tactfully shrugs his shoulders 
 and says nothing. But a moment later 
 he draws you to one side. 
 
 103 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 " Fitzgerald you don't know, but he is 
 mixed up in all sorts of things. A 
 filibuster, partner of Jack Boynton. 
 It was he ran in the guns for Matas's 
 revolution, packed in barrels of lard/' 
 
 On the streets you meet Robertson, 
 the British merchant. " Seriously, it is 
 very, very dangerous passing the Serpent's 
 Mouth, and Fitzgerald is absolutely reck- 
 less. He's the only man in all Trinidad 
 mad enough to go on a trip like that." 
 
 Scott, the young American field super- 
 intendent of the oilfields company, three 
 years out of Princeton, who has been 
 listening to the divers woes and alarms, 
 grins at the last. " I wish I were going 
 too." 
 
 We meet Fitzgerald at dinner and start 
 a list of supplies. It begins with flour 
 and goes on down through such stock 
 provisions as condensed milk, baked 
 beans, and canned stuff, ad lib. The 
 tropic specialities Fitzgerald adds: a big 
 104 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 mosquito bar for the whole back of the 
 boat, a basket of limes, cashew nuts, and 
 a box of oranges. Now come a series 
 which elicit remarks. 
 
 " Half a dozen hams." 
 
 " Isn't that rather a mouthful for a 
 fortnight's trip?" you ask. 
 
 "Oh, they are a present for El Presi- 
 dente, the Governor of the State of 
 Bolivar." 
 
 " Put down one case of champagne." 
 
 " Are you going to swim up an Orinoco 
 of fizz, or do you nourish the crew on 
 champagne ? " asks Scott. 
 
 "Oh no. It goes as presents to the 
 officials of the Aduana the Custom 
 House, you know. Put down a ten-pound 
 box of chocolates for the wives of the 
 officials of the Aduana. Add a case of 
 beer." 
 
 "Who is this for us?" you inquire. 
 
 " No, for the Jefes Civiles in the little 
 towns the mayors, you know. Put 
 
 105 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 down five boxes of Havana cigars for 
 the Commandantes." 
 
 " You have forgotten the wives of the 
 Commandantes and the Jefes," suggests 
 Scott. 
 
 " Good ! I am glad you reminded me," 
 says Fitzgerald. "Add candy in jars for 
 them. Now put down two dozen bottles 
 of rum for the minorJCustom House people 
 and the boatmen ; they can't get along 
 without rum." 
 
 This completes the bill, and you put 
 the list away. Fitzgerald gives a most 
 improper wink and sighs luxuriously, for 
 dinner has been completed and we are 
 sitting on the hotel piazza sipping bad 
 coffee and smoking good cigars. Across 
 the road are the telephone lines of the city. 
 
 " Did any one ever tell you how the 
 first telephone in Trinidad came to be 
 put up?" asks Fitzgerald meditatively. 
 
 You have not heard, and neither has 
 Scott. 
 106 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 " A friend of mine whom I will not 
 name managed it," he goes on medita- 
 tively. " It was this way : A certain 
 President of one of the South American 
 Republics wanted a police telephone put in 
 at his capitol. The price to be paid was 
 twenty-five thousand dollars. The tele- 
 phone was to cost about eight thousand, 
 and five people were to split up the 
 balance. We got a first payment of six 
 thousand dollars, all in silver, from the 
 National Treasury, and carried it away 
 in a cart. The President of course got 
 his rake-off in a separate bag, which we 
 sent around first. 
 
 " Then the four others sat down, two 
 of them Cabinet Ministers, to slice up 
 their melon. It was a sight to see the 
 Minister of Frumento, who was fat, puff- 
 ing and perspiring in his shirtsleeves 
 that night making piles of the pesos. 
 
 " But that is all the money we that 
 is, my friend got. The President was 
 
 107 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 killed and a new President came in. Not 
 long after, his secretary called on my friend. 
 
 '"Look/ he said. 'You have not built 
 the telephones for which you have con- 
 tracted.' He thought we would give up. 
 But my friend, who had ordered the tele- 
 phones on credit, figured out that there 
 were pickings on what was left, so he 
 said : ' I will carry out the contract ; give 
 me the thirteen thousand dollars re- 
 maining.' 
 
 " The President's secretary reversed his 
 engines fast, for the Government had no 
 money left. ' No, no 1 Not that ! ' He 
 thought awhile, then said : ' As a great 
 favour to you I will get the contract can- 
 celled for nothing.' My friend let it go. 
 There was not enough left in the deal for 
 the new President. So the contract was 
 cancelled and the telephones were brought 
 over and put up here in Trinidad." 
 
 Methuselah comes to tell Scott that 
 one of his foremen has called him up 
 1 08 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 from San Fernando to ask about a drilling 
 bit that is being rethreaded in the Govern- 
 ment iron foundry here in Port of Spain. 
 He goes out to reply, and we muse 
 upon the devious ways by which progress 
 comes. 
 
 11 But that other city never got its 
 police telegraph," Fitzgerald remarks. 
 
 We go next day to the Venezuelan 
 Consul, who has been appointed only three 
 days. "They've bounced the Consuls 
 four times in the last year," whispers Fitz- 
 gerald. We sign many papers for clear- 
 ance, and enrol at the Consulate as 
 " captain and first officer respectively of 
 the gasolene launch ' Geraldo,' 2^ tons 
 burden, 24 feet long, crew of two, laden 
 with ship's supplies." 
 
 The inwardness of the proceeding is 
 this : A passenger is forbidden by the 
 most stringent possible law from landing 
 in Venezuela at any spot where there is 
 not a " puerto habiltado," or licensed port 
 
 109 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 with a custom-house. There is not one 
 of these piiertos between the Orinoco 
 mouth and Ciudad Bolivar, 400 miles 
 up. A passenger for Pedernales, at 
 one of the mouths of the river, is 
 bound to go to Ciudad Bolivar without 
 touching foot to ground, pass the customs, 
 and then come back. To disobey means 
 arrest, jail, fines, and endless trouble to 
 the diplomatic representatives of which- 
 soever foreign Government has to dig the 
 culprit out. But the officer of a vessel 
 is a bird of another colour. It is not 
 only his pleasure but his duty to land 
 and present his papers and his compli- 
 ments to the Commandantes and other 
 officials on the way up. And what Com- 
 mandante is such a particularist in the 
 law of Caracas as to prevent his amigos, 
 once landed, from taking a stroll or getting 
 a shot at some alligators ? Voyez vous ? 
 
 Many prominent citizens of Venezuela 
 are in the Consulate of Port of Spain, 
 no 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 Three or four have the onerous duty 
 of putting a rubber stamp on the 
 clearance papers, charging some six- 
 teen dollars for their labours. Other 
 patriots are on hand to hold converse 
 with the Consul and smoke cigarettes, 
 while the talk over the sizzling politics 
 of the home country goes back and forth. 
 General Desham, President of the State 
 of Miranda, said to be the best revolver 
 shot in Venezuela, is here. He has several 
 mining concessions in his pocket. Car- 
 rera, the rubber man, is here, and the 
 Spanish Baron. The Consulate is like a 
 club-house. 
 
 Very courteous they all are, giving us 
 letters to their friends up the river and 
 offering cigarettes ad libitum. After an 
 hour we break away and reach the 
 launch. 
 
 The wharf-boys have loaded the side 
 of the Custom House dock with a moun- 
 tain of supplies. It is a miracle how so 
 
 in 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 much of it gets stored away in the little 
 lockers. The beer and champagne bottles 
 go aft, bereft of their straw covers, which 
 are strewn about the water in front of 
 the Custom House like fallen leaves in 
 autumn. Flour, baking-powder, hams, 
 cans of beans, potted meats, tins of 
 biscuit these and many more go into 
 the side lockers and drawers. Engine- 
 oil and carbide are tucked away forward. 
 Your modest bag of clothes has to stand 
 on deck behind the engine, the pneumatic 
 mattress and the cartridge box along- 
 side it. 
 
 When at last the "Geraldo" is fully 
 laden, with a mountain of cargo on . the 
 midships deck because it cannot be 
 stowed, the launch looks seriously over- 
 loaded. At that moment a big row-boat, 
 pulled by two negroes, comes alongside. 
 Its entire stern is laden with red wooden 
 boxes containing ten-gallon gasolene 
 tins sixteen of them. To your horror 
 
 112 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 you find that Fitzgerald proposes to load 
 these too into the "Geraldo." 
 
 There is nothing for it, however. Fuel 
 must be provided and gasolene must be 
 carried. It is passed aboard while you 
 stand aghast. The whole floor of the 
 launch, save a small space beside the 
 engines, is piled as high as the seats 
 with gasolene tins and other goods. The 
 Custom House authorities will not let 
 gasolene be loaded even from the dock. 
 The launch has become a very floating 
 powder-magazine. 
 
 With many misgivings, you climb in 
 and perch on the cargo. The two boys 
 that compose the crew let go the moorings 
 and you are off. " Be careful in the 
 Serpent's Mouth," calls Captain Hunt, of 
 the Customs. He shakes his head and 
 goes back into his office on the dock. 
 
 We have started. Will we arrive? 
 The two boys casually light up cigarettes 
 as they sit on the forward pile of 
 i 113 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 gasolene tins, but they throw them over- 
 board in double-quick time on order of 
 the first-officer. The frightfully over- 
 loaded boat, flat-bottomed, of Q-inch 
 draught, ploughs through the smooth 
 water in the lee of the land without too 
 much labour. But a half mile out the 
 waves are choppy. The exhaust is partly 
 submerged and the gases puff and snort 
 in protest as the seas block their outlet. 
 An explosive back-fire from time to time 
 barks a sinister warning. 
 
 You sit on the cushions and worry for 
 a while. Usually a launch-owner, if he 
 does not mind his own life, is careful of 
 his property. It takes not much seaman- 
 ship to tell you that to go a mile in a 
 boat so loaded is a nice juicy risk, let 
 alone crossing the Gulf of Paria and 
 passing the reefs of the Serpent's Mouth. 
 There doesn't seem, however, to be any 
 practical way of backing out now. 
 
 Fitzgerald appears himself to realize 
 114 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 for the first time what sort of trip it is 
 he has so insouciantly proposed. He is 
 a little nervous and voluble. You learn 
 for the first time with a touch of dismay 
 that this is a new launch and that his 
 former trips up the Orinoco have been 
 made in the 2oo-foot " Delta." 
 
 " Is there a chart?" you ask. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I have one," he says. 
 
 But a lengthy search fails to produce 
 it. It has gone overboard or been left, 
 or is buried hopelessly in the inextricable 
 mound of luggage. 
 
 Now the engine stops, a mile from 
 land, and we toss about in the trough 
 of the waves. 
 
 " Joe, come back and turn this fly- 
 wheel," orders Fitzgerald. 
 
 Joe, a boy of eighteen, jet black, 
 shambles astern. He has forgotten to 
 throw away a new cigarette he has been 
 smoking on the sly, up forward, hidden 
 by the gasolene tins. In a sulky, half- 
 
 "5 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 hearted way, his second cigarette having 
 gone the way of the first, Joe turns the 
 flywheel. Not an explosion, not a buzz. 
 He turns it again and again and then a 
 few more times. Not a spark. 
 
 " Something must be wrong," says Fitz- 
 gerald. Nobody contradicts him. " I 
 think it is the spark-plug," he adds. 
 He unscrews the spark-plug. Nothing 
 seems to be wrong there. Joe turns the 
 wheel some more. 
 
 " Charlie, you come and turn the 
 wheel ! " shouts Fitzgerald. Charlie is 
 about seventeen years old, a mixture of 
 Chinese, negro and white in an unknown 
 ratio. His arms are skinny, and he is 
 far less strong than Joe, who is an able- 
 bodied wharf-rat. Charlie's performance 
 at the wheel is not a success. Joe has 
 to try again. 
 
 It takes three hours of this to run 
 down the trouble. We are so loaded in 
 the bow, by the gasolene tins, that the 
 116 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 tank is too low to feed into the engine. 
 We move several tins aft, and just 
 as the sun goes down we get started 
 again. 
 
 You stop worrying. Things are too 
 bad to think about. You dig out a tin 
 of sardines and some crackers, and, 
 reclining on the luggage, make a scratch 
 meal. Joe takes the helm and is told 
 to steer for the Southern Cross. Fitz- 
 gerald comes astern, joins in the crackers 
 and sardines, and digs out some liquids 
 as well. The sun goes down and the 
 stars .pome out over the waste of waters. 
 It is a wonderfully beautiful night and 
 the sea is dead calm. The engine throbs 
 away regularly : the troubles of the start 
 seem to have been all smoothed away. 
 
 Fitzgerald gets out a mouth-organ 
 from somewhere and wheezes complac- 
 ently a medley of Venezuelan and Ameri- 
 can airs * Gloria al Peublo," "The 
 Swanee River," "La Paloma." He 
 
 117 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 sings an ancient ditty about a girl who 
 declares to her lover : 
 
 " My father was a Spanish merchant, 
 
 And the day he sailed away, 
 He bade that I should answer * No, sir,' 
 To whatever you should say." 
 
 The resourceful lover promptly asks if 
 she would refuse him if he offered his 
 hand. She answers " No, sir," and they 
 all live happy ever afterwards. 
 
 Fitzgerald is entertaining. He doubt- 
 less feels twinges from a conscience 
 somewhat battered by ten years' knocking 
 around South America, for he exerts 
 himself to make you forget the troubles 
 of starting and the overloaded powder- 
 magazine on which you are reclining 
 and smoking Jamaica " Tropicals." 
 Helped out by a ball-bearing imagination 
 and a few drinks, his memoirs become 
 truly worth their cost. A filibuster, a 
 captain in the United States Army, a 
 118 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 police chief in Peru, a lobbyist in Caracas, 
 a circus proprietor in Ecuador, an official 
 photographer in Panama, exhibitor of the 
 first Edison phonographs along the west 
 coast, which cleaned him up two hundred 
 thousand in a year, a fugitive riding 
 200 miles and holding up passers-by for 
 fourteen horses in escaping from an out- 
 raged Government in Chili, fashionable 
 photographic artist of Ciudad Bolivar 
 and the representative of large capitalists 
 who are on the point of investing in rail- 
 roads, rubber, timber, et al., in Venezuela 
 this is our interesting host and superior 
 officer, Fitzgerald, of the launch "Geraldo." 
 
 We smoke for a while in silence. 
 
 "Did you ever read Lord Byron's 
 poetry?" he asks. 
 
 You allow that you have a bowing 
 acquaintance with Byron. 
 
 " I think ' Don Juan ' is the greatest 
 poem that was ever written." He pro- 
 duces a volume evidently bound by a 
 
 119 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Spaniard, since Byron is spelled " Vyron." 
 Most Venezuelans pronounce the words 
 beginning with v, such as "vaca," cow, 
 as if the v were b " baca." So the 
 Spanish bookbinder assumed that Byron 
 should be Vyron. Long sections of " Don 
 Juan" regale you now, read beneath the 
 swinging lantern. At last Fitzgerald 
 shuts the book regretfully. 
 
 " I used to write poems," he says mus- 
 ingly. " Here is one which I wrote in 
 Cuba : 
 
 "Roll on, roll on, ye wheels of steel, 
 You bear us on to woe or weal, 
 You bring the bitter and the sweet, 
 The flowers and the sugar beet. 
 Some are carried for commercial use, 
 Yon sugar-mill will use the juice 
 To start the smiles of your sweetheart 
 And ease the sorrow when you part." 
 
 " Can't we make the last a little clearer?" 
 you suggest. " Does the sugar-juice get 
 made- into sweets or rum ? It really isn't 
 the thing to offer a young lady rum." 
 120 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 " It is candy, of course," says Fitz- 
 gerald indignantly. " Everybody will 
 understand." 
 
 The launch plugs away into the night, 
 and at length you fall into an uneasy 
 sleep on the cushions. Shortly before 
 dawn you wake. There is a sound of 
 voices. Joe is explaining something in 
 an insolent drawl and Fitzgerald is 
 swearing in an eminently capable manner. 
 Land is nowhere to be seen. Fitzgerald 
 turns indignantly to you. " This damn 
 fool boy has steered us into the middle 
 of the Gulf of Paria instead of going 
 south along the coast. We ought to be 
 at Cedros Point now, and Heaven knows 
 where we are." 
 
 We set a course due west to get into 
 touch with Trinidad again. The ship's 
 officers judge it best to take the wheel 
 personally this time. About nine o'clock 
 land is sighted. On going closer in, the 
 long pier of the Asphalt Company and 
 
 121 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 their boats at anchor are seen. We are 
 only to San Fernando, half-way down the 
 island, instead of being at the extreme 
 south-west point, which we had expected 
 to strike in the early morning so as to 
 cross the Serpent's Mouth at flood-tide, 
 when the ocean pushes back the Orinoco 
 current and carries one into the river mouth. 
 
 This is exasperating, but there is 
 nothing for it but to eat more biscuits 
 and sardines and steer south again. We 
 give the wheel to Charlie, watching him 
 like hawks, however, and go back to the 
 cushions in the stern. 
 
 " I never told you how I joined the 
 U.S. Army, did I ? " inquires Fitzgerald. 
 
 "You did not." 
 
 " Well, it was this way. When the 
 Spanish War broke out I was putting 
 up a telephone line in Barbados. Just 
 as soon as I heard that the Americans 
 had occupied Porto Rico I dropped every- 
 thing and jumped on board a sailing- 
 
 122 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 vessel. When we got to Porto Rico a 
 young lieutenant would not let me land 
 on account of the blockade. I said, ' Take 
 this note to the General,' and wrote on 
 a slip of paper, ' An American who speaks 
 Spanish as good as he does English isn't 
 allowed to land.' In an hour they had 
 me on shore and made me interpreter for 
 the General Now, you know, I am an 
 engineer." This you are quite prepared 
 to believe. "And it was not long before 
 they put me in charge of the port works, 
 to handle all the workmen that loaded 
 and unloaded. The General said he 
 wanted me regular, so they gave me a 
 captain's commission in the 6gth New 
 York Volunteers. I liked the job. Every- 
 thing was mixed up, and I was drawing 
 two salaries one from the United States 
 as captain, and one from the Provisional 
 Government of the island. I had a 
 regular contract for serving as Port 
 Engineer, and I held the men to their 
 
 123 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 work. One of my superiors had tried to 
 get me to sign a contract which was half 
 graft, and I blocked it and got him fired. 
 I am for graft every time here in South 
 America when you're after something, but 
 it ain't right when you're in our service. 
 
 " Then a new General came, and he 
 began sniffing around. I had a trucking 
 business on the side, and he asked about 
 this business. * Can't a man invest his 
 money as he likes ? ' I said. Soon he 
 got fussy about my salaries, and tried to 
 stop one of them. I got pretty sore at 
 this. I had a contract for a year, and I 
 made him come across. Then I resigned, 
 and all the men went on strike because 
 they liked me. 
 
 " In three days he was around begging 
 me to come back. In time I relented and 
 said I would straighten out his strike 
 for him, so I went down with a couple 
 of kegs of beer and gave the dockers a 
 talk. I told them that the new man was 
 124 
 
:* : : 1 1 
 
 **.:':: 
 % 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 a better fellow than he seemed, and they 
 must do right by him. I told them I 
 was tired of the job and could make 
 more money. The old General offered 
 me a commission in the Regulars if I 
 would go to the Philippines with him. 
 But a tornado had struck Porto Rico, and 
 there was a lot of contract work to be 
 done on the island, so I resigned ; I wish 
 sometimes I had stayed in the service." 
 Being a little downcast, he gets out the 
 mouth-organ again. 
 
 In due time we are off Cedros Point, 
 that long, narrow neck of land which 
 pointed to the Conquistadores the way to 
 the Orinoco and El Dorado. Venezuela 
 is not in sight ; we pass the point and 
 enter the Serpent's Mouth. The tide-race 
 of which Columbus wrote to the King of 
 Spain is marked only by ripples. 
 
 The swell of the sea in long, smooth 
 waves over which we glide presently grips 
 the " Geraldo." The wind is astern, and 
 
 125 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 we steer dead south. All of a sudden the 
 boat turns completely around and faces 
 Trinidad. Joe is at the wheel. 
 
 "What are you doing there?" howls 
 Fitzgerald. " Drop the wheel ! " He takes 
 it himself. We have not gone a hundred 
 yards before the boat does the same thing 
 again. The tiller is helpless. Some 
 whirlpool has swung the boat about 
 bodily, though only a little swirl on the 
 surface shows the whirlpool's location. No 
 harm done, but it jerks one's nerves a little. 
 
 The wind freshens measurably. White 
 caps are on the waves. Gulls fly by, 
 shrieking hoarsely, or poise alongside. 
 The wind is still astern. 
 
 Up ahead now looms a solitary rock, 
 the Sentinel " El Soldado." Sharp and 
 menacing it stands. We steer to seaward 
 of it, as we are making for one of the 
 eastern outlets of the river and the wind 
 is favouring us. 
 
 But is the wind favouring us ? It has 
 126 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 changed, and is blowing every moment 
 more heavily in towards Soldado from the 
 sea on our beam. The tide is going the 
 same way always towards Soldado. We 
 have passed this to starboard now, and 
 can see a line of breakers to leeward 
 where a mile-long row of jagged rocks 
 runs shoreward. 
 
 " It is lucky that blighted engine has 
 not balked again," you remark. " We 
 would be on the rocks in ten minutes if 
 it did." Hardly are the words spoken 
 before the engine gives a couple of gasps, 
 starts convulsively again, gives a last dull 
 explosion, and stops. 
 
 One does a lot of quick thinking at 
 such a time. If the boat goes to pieces 
 on those reefs to leeward, can we swim 
 athwart the current to Soldado, or will 
 we be swept past it and have to 
 swim the six miles to Venezuela? Can 
 we climb Soldado's steep sides if we 
 do reach it? Will we be picked off en 
 
 127 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 route by a shark? the water is alive 
 with them. Will we have to wait a 
 fortnight without water for a boat to take 
 us off if we do get to the rock ? Fitz- 
 gerald fiddles with his engine. A friend 
 has given you a pneumatic mattress. This 
 will make a good life-preserver if you have 
 to swim to Venezuela. You blow it up, 
 put it in the stern, and look at the rocks. 
 We are a bare hundred yards from 
 the breakers ! We had not figured on 
 the rapidity of the tide six miles an 
 hour it runs here. You jump to the 
 anchor and heave it over. The line 
 runs through your fingers so fast that 
 you cannot fasten it to a cleat. In the 
 last six feet of line you catch it braced 
 around the tiller and make it fast. But 
 the anchor can barely slow down the 
 speed of drifting. You get the mattress 
 ready and stand oar in hand to push 
 past between the reefs if it is possible. 
 
 Joe and Charlie watch stupidly at the 
 128 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 bow. Everything has happened so 
 quickly that their low-geared thinking 
 apparatus has not had time to work. 
 Fitzgerald stands grimly by his engine. 
 Not a word is said. Then ten feet away 
 appears a wave-lashed rock in advance 
 of the partly submerged reefs. The 
 launch has drifted to the northward, and 
 this is a spur higher than the rest 
 which you had not seen. It is right at 
 hand. "This ends it," you think, stand- 
 ing on the stern, mattress in hand. The 
 main emotion you have is of utter 
 disgust at the whole proceeding. 
 
 The current boils around the end of 
 the rock. But to your paralysed aston- 
 ishment, instead of crashing into it the 
 boat is swirled around its point. The 
 anchor-rope has caught on some provi- 
 dential point and we swing into the slack 
 back-water behind safe for a moment. 
 You look stupidly at the rock, astounded 
 at not being battered against it. Fitz- 
 K 129 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 gerald shows real clean grit and presence 
 of mind. He gives his engine a turn, 
 and in this smooth water it makes two 
 expiring kicks and stops. But these 
 two are enough to bring us to the lee side 
 of the spur. We grapple it with pike 
 poles. Joe is pushed ashore with the end 
 of the anchor-rope and a big fish line, 
 doubled, is heaved over and made fast 
 to a jagged point of rock. We are safe. 
 
 The two boys stare stupidly back at 
 the row of reefs. You look to the 
 lashings. Fitzgerald takes a deep breath, 
 glances around, and then makes for the 
 locker. He gets out a bottle of the 
 champagne, sacred to official entertain- 
 ment, and as the launch heaves giddily 
 with the swell, in the lee of the rock all 
 hands take a drink. 
 
 After a council of war it seems best to 
 
 stay here until the tide changes or the 
 
 wind dies down. The engine is doctored 
 
 up until it is apparently in perfect order. 
 
 130 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 The boys, with oars and pike poles, hold 
 the boat from battering against the spur. 
 We officers bathe in pools on the rock, 
 not venturing into the sea alongside be- 
 cause the sharks are reputed to like white 
 meat. Around the line of reefs the peli- 
 cans and gulls are fishing. 
 
 At about four o'clock we cast off from 
 the rock that gave us shelter. We make 
 for the main channel towards Trinidad 
 to avoid the line of reefs. The tide still 
 flows westward, but we figure that it will 
 be ebb shortly, and we must make land 
 by nightfall. Soldado is on our lee now. 
 We steer so as to get from in front of 
 it as fast and as straight as possible. 
 The engine stops again ! 
 
 The boys take the oars and try to pull 
 us out of the danger zone. But the heavy 
 boat makes no way. Down every moment, 
 closer to Soldado we go. The multitudes 
 of gulls and water-birds that rest on it 
 take alarm and fly out till the air is dark 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 with them. Two hundred yards from the 
 crag the engine is started once more. You 
 grasp the tiller, look back so as to take the 
 shortest line past Soldado and the launch 
 wears clear of it a hundred yards away. 
 
 The reefs are all to windward now, 
 the Venezuelan coast ahead. The wind 
 is right to make the Pedernales or the 
 Vagre mouth. 
 
 As the boat heads inland the water 
 gets a lighter and lighter brown. It is 
 evidently shoaling. Sandbanks and 
 nest of submerged rocks lying here, is 
 your memory of the chart. Joe hastily 
 heads out to sea and for a spell we 
 go parallel to the coast. The waves 
 strike our quarter huge white-capped 
 mountains of water. If one of them hits 
 the boat right and fills it, we swim. 
 
 This situation is intolerable. We may 
 
 be swamped any moment. To stay out 
 
 six miles from land in this weather is 
 
 as risky as the hazard of the rocks. 
 
 132 
 
The Serpent's Mouth 
 
 "We've got to get in," you say at last, 
 and take the helm. Straight for the sup- 
 posed location of the Pedernales passage, 
 with the wind nearly astern, you steer, 
 taking the chance of reef and shoal, 
 lifted now high on the crests of great 
 following waves, the boat leaping for- 
 ward, buried now deep in their trough. 
 
 Joe is sent to heave the lead from 
 time to time. He has picked up this 
 knack and does his job fairly well. 
 Heave : " Five fathoms, sir." Heave : 
 "Four fathoms, sir." Heave: " Three 
 and a half, sir." 
 
 We are down to two and a half 
 fathoms, the water is yellow, a rock 
 spouts to port, the sweep of the waves 
 hurls us up and down like a cork, but 
 we keep straight on. The coast of 
 Venezuela gets more and more distinct 
 a long green wall of mangrove trees. 
 Ahead is a break in their green expanse 
 for which we are steering. The sun is 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 nearly down. We get almost to the 
 break in the trees we see the smooth 
 water beyond them. 
 
 Right at the edge where sea meets 
 river, the water is churned into a tempest 
 of short, sharp waves. We sweep into 
 them and are shaken like a rat in a 
 terrier's mouth for a hundred yards. Then, 
 just as the sun goes down, we glide behind 
 the trees into the peace of the Orinoco. 
 
 For half an hour we ascend the river 
 between the silent forests. Then sud- 
 denly the rudder-wire snaps, worn 
 through. We cannot use the wheel, so 
 you go aft and steer by pushing the 
 tiller with your feet. Lucky this mishap 
 also did not befall us an hour earlier ! 
 The night falls with its usual rapidity in 
 the tropics. We see a glimmering light 
 ashore, some dimly outlined machinery. 
 We make for it and tie up to the bank. 
 
 "We have thrown dice with the Devil 
 and won out/' says Fitzgerald. 
 
IV 
 UP THE ORINOCO 
 
 A SHADOWY figure appears above 
 ^~^ us. " Who's there ? " a voice calls. 
 We stumble up the bank and onto a 
 crumbling concrete platform with a rusted 
 iron framework built above it and scraps 
 of broken machinery underfoot. Into 
 the uncertain light of the lantern comes 
 a well-built and almost white mulatto, 
 clad in a ragged shirt, trousers, and a 
 broad-brimmed straw hat. He reaches 
 out to shake our hands. 
 
 11 You Trinidad men ? " he asks ; " I am 
 Englishman, too." 
 
 A big negro and a little Venezuelan 
 mestizo appear from the darkness. They 
 talk together in Spanish. 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 The boys work stolidly at the pumps, 
 for we have shipped much water. Dead 
 tired, you sit on the bank waiting for 
 this necessary task to finish. A half- 
 dozen mosquitoes appear and you brush 
 them away. But now it is a score that are 
 assailing you, every moment more. You 
 feel the stings in a dozen places at once. 
 The swarm is around you like a cloud. 
 
 The natives, bitten themselves but not 
 so badly, do not at first notice our 
 martyrdom. The Trinidad boy perceives 
 it first. He grins broadly. 
 
 " Mosquito very bad one here," he 
 says. " I making fire for you." He 
 scrapes together an armful of dried grass 
 and lights it in the lee of an engine 
 which is falling to pieces from rust. 
 Standing full in the smoke the mos- 
 quitoes are not so bad. We ask him 
 how he bears them. 
 
 " I must, I watchman here. They 
 being very bad, but I used to them." 
 136 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 "What is your name?" 
 
 " Tom." 
 
 For a while, with streaming eyes, we 
 stand in the smudge. Tom is lost in 
 thought. 
 
 " Have you gun?" he presently asks. 
 
 We say that we have. 
 
 " Will you shoot me tiger that come 
 into building nights ? " 
 
 We get back to the boats and dig 
 out our rifles and an electric flash-lamp. 
 Machete in one hand and flash-lamp in 
 the other, Tom guides the way through 
 high grass. Old boilers, engines, lathes, 
 dump cars, all rusted and overgrown 
 with vines, litter the ground. A hundred 
 yards from the bank stands the skeleton 
 of a steel building. 
 
 "There I sleep," says Tom, pointing to 
 a shelf high up on the rafters. " At night 
 tiger come under." 
 
 We go for a quarter of a mile up a 
 ramshackle narrow - gauge track, over 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 swampy ground. Stiflingly hot is the 
 night, and the sweat streams down us. 
 We reach at length a second building. 
 
 " Here tiger walk," and Tom points 
 to some tracks on the ground. We flash 
 the light around but see no jaguar. 
 
 The mosquitoes are worse every in- 
 stant. On each exposed bit of skin 
 light the insect pests. They bite through 
 the khaki. Tom's shirt is grey with them. 
 No slapping with hand or handkerchief 
 can keep them away. In a hundred 
 spots their poisoned needles pierce you. 
 The swarm blinds you. You breathe 
 them in by mouth and by nose. Never 
 for an instant is there peace. You are 
 choked, tortured, maddened. You have 
 to grip yourself as if for a supreme 
 struggle to keep from a shrieking stam- 
 pede. 
 
 Almost on a run we hasten back to the 
 first building and start a smudge, and 
 as the dense black cloud of smoke rolls 
 138 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 up around you and the bites stop it is 
 like a reprieve from hell. 
 
 " Tiger come here later," says Tom, 
 and rolls a big gear-wheel into the smoke 
 for you to sit on. " I cook dinner." 
 
 Into a tin goes a most uninviting and 
 scraggy piece of meat, then plantains and 
 onions, sliced with the machete. This 
 mixture is boiled over the fire. In an- 
 other tin, black coffee is brewed. Fitz- 
 gerald goes back to the boat ; he will 
 have none of it. You do not want to 
 hurt Tom's feelings, for he has been as 
 courteous as a grandee, and the tiger is, 
 he asserts, due around. So you try his 
 soup and some of the coffee with a piece 
 of cassava bread. The hot coffee is not 
 so very bad. The cassava bread looks like 
 a flat bath sponge and tastes as it looks. 
 
 The fire dies down. The mosquitoes 
 
 come back in swarms, the jaguar does not 
 
 - come. At last you too retreat to the 
 
 boat. Fitzgerald is wideawake, fighting 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 mosquitoes. Rabelais would blush at his 
 language. 
 
 You crawl beneath the mosquito bar, 
 dead tired, and fall asleep despite the 
 bites. It is not for long, however ; in 
 three or four hours you wake. The net 
 is full of the pests, who have either found 
 the meshes passable or have located an 
 entrance underneath. Your hands and 
 even your body, covered by the thick 
 khaki cloth, are raw with their stings. 
 Only the utter exhaustion of the last two 
 days enabled you to sleep at all. Fitz- 
 gerald is already up and seated by a 
 smudge. Haggard in the grey of [the 
 morning, with bleeding face and hands, 
 he looks as one newly carried from the 
 torture-chamber. 
 
 At last the sun comes out over the 
 green forest, and the mosquitoes no longer 
 besiege us. We are on the border of a 
 wide pitch deposit covering several acres. 
 Evidently extensive works to dig and 
 140 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 remove this were started, a great plant- 
 equipment bought, and then the whole 
 thing abandoned. It is a battlefield of 
 industrial defeat. Only Tom is left to 
 watch for a shilling a day the shattered 
 machinery. 
 
 He strips and dives into the water 
 from the concrete landing-stage. " Not 
 shark here," he calls. We all bathe and 
 change our clothes. The world begins 
 to look better. A pair of parrots fly 
 from the woods behind with their loud 
 shrieks. Far overhead goes a flock of 
 scarlet ibises. Gulls and divers skim by. 
 An egret, snowy-white against the green 
 mangroves, perches on the opposite river- 
 bank. 
 
 We clean up ship and repack, getting 
 in somewhat better shape. By eight 
 o'clock we are ready, and after leaving 
 some eatables and drinkables as a present 
 for Tom and his friends, we start on 
 our belated way. 
 
 141 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Pedernales is about a mile off. We 
 soon sight its straggly row of about 
 twenty low-thatched adobe houses, with 
 a few dugout canoes moored to stakes 
 in front, and begin to steer shoreward. 
 We land on a pile of stones and 
 scramble up the bank. The whole 
 population is on hand a slovenly outfit 
 showing all possible permutations and 
 combinations of negro, Indian, and 
 Spaniard. One of these, a little cleaner 
 and more authoritative than the rest, is 
 pointed out as the Commandante. 
 
 Now comes the crucial time. How 
 are we to be received ? We are already 
 liable to arrest for having landed last 
 night on unauthorized Venezuelan terri- 
 tory. And our future halts on the way 
 up the Orinoco depend on getting 
 domestic clearance papers despite the 
 fact that we come from a foreign port. 
 
 Fitzgerald in any event has the 
 assurance of an army mule. He makes 
 142 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 for the Commandante and grasps his 
 hand with the warmth of a candidate 
 for Congress in a close district. 
 
 " Buenos dias, amigo, com' esta ! " 
 He starts to tell in dramatic Spanish 
 the perils we encountered at Soldado. 
 While the Commandante's mind is thus 
 kept occupied, Joe, well-coached before- 
 hand, has appeared with a bottle of 
 whisky and some glasses. We have 
 edged up to the official headquarters by 
 this time, and with expansive gestures 
 have invited all and sundry to have a 
 drink. At the same time our clearance 
 papers are handed to the Commandante. 
 
 We get rid of two bottles of whisky 
 at Pedernales, and, after wringing the 
 hand of every male inhabitant, leave 
 with a paper, artistically extracted from 
 an official who is not authorized by any 
 law under the sun to give such a docu- 
 ment, permitting us to make stops on 
 the way up the river. Fitzgerald, by 
 
 H3 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 elaborating upon your letters to the Pre- 
 sidente and adding his own blarney, has 
 bluffed the licence out of the Comman- 
 dante. 
 
 " Very well done, Fitz," you say as 
 the boat chugs out. And Fitzgerald 
 winks. 
 
 To go up the Orinoco by the Peder- 
 nales passage we have been told to enter 
 the first opening on the port side after 
 passing a near-by point. We see this 
 cano, but it looks too narrow to be the 
 real one. So we keep on going and 
 enter a broad bay with rather choppy 
 seas. After a couple of miles of this we 
 enter a wider passage, which turns out 
 to be the rarely traversed Vagre mouth 
 of the Orinoco. 
 
 The mangrove-trees are like a wall 
 on either side of the broad still river. 
 All seem to have reached a standard 
 height above water-level ; the labyrinthic 
 network of their roots drops from the 
 144 
 
'. 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 branches to the water. It is like a 
 phalanx of gigantic spiders, standing in 
 the still water with their black legs inter- 
 locked and bearing a burden of towering 
 foliage on their backs. No more impene- 
 trable wall could be devised. Nothing 
 but monkeys, birds, and crabs can 
 possibly penetrate a mangrove swamp. 
 Of these there is the greatest possible 
 number. Birds are everywhere. Big 
 white and grey cranes are all along the 
 river. Fishers of every kind dive down 
 beside the boat. Ibises rise in a flock 
 of scarlet. The "croaking hoatzins," 
 relics of the reptilian age, strange birds 
 with fingers under their feathers, shriek 
 and flop awkwardly from bough to bough. 
 We shoot some, for they are as big as 
 pullets and look good to eat. But they 
 smell badly and are tough as mangrove 
 stems. Even Charlie and Joe decline 
 them. 
 
 Less than a day gets us past the 
 L 145 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 mangrove swamp. These trees still occur, 
 but there is no longer the solid wall of 
 them. Land high and dry has begun, 
 jungle with every kind of tree banana, 
 bamboo, mora, cedar, ten-foot grass, 
 creepers and vines swinging in matted 
 loops. We shoot two males of the big 
 red howling monkey, sitting on a bare 
 branch, and though the tree out of which 
 they fall is but 20 feet from the 
 water's edge, it takes two hours to find 
 a spot at which to make a landing, get 
 up the steep clay bank, and cut with 
 machetes a way in, and we can only get 
 one of the monkeys. 
 
 Further along we find a landing-place 
 where balata cutters have come. We 
 land and ease our hunger with cold 
 victuals and coffee. Two manatees poke 
 their noses up out of the river from time 
 to time and snort. One never sees more 
 than the nose of a sea-cow, and that 
 only for an instant. A fresh-water por- 
 146 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 poise jumps up. More monkeys are 
 in the woods behind, but we let them 
 alone. 
 
 The trip from Pedernales is delight- 
 ful. It is entirely cool and comfortable 
 in the moving boat even at midday. 
 The thermometer under the awning does 
 not show over 85. We anchor at sun- 
 set in a shallow place amid stream and 
 not a mosquito appears. It is cool 
 at night about 68, and even a little 
 chilly towards morning. A breeze from 
 the sea the trade wind blows gently 
 astern. The murmur of the forest is on 
 either side. From time to time the snort 
 of a manatee breaks the stillness, but for 
 the rest all is quiet. 
 
 As on the morrow we go on up the 
 river we pass infrequent banana planta- 
 tions kept by mestizos and Guarano 
 Indians. A native dugout passes silently 
 from time to time. These Indians are 
 curious little people, hardly averaging 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 5 feet high. We stop at some of their 
 landing-places. 
 
 In one of the palm-thatched shelters 
 open on all sides to the wind are half a 
 dozen women and children. They speak 
 no Spanish and seem to take no interest 
 whatever in anything. A dozen wicker 
 baskets of different shapes and sizes hold 
 their belongings. With one of these 
 baskets, 5 feet long and very slender, 
 they make cassava. Tuberous roots 
 looking like elongated sweet potatoes, 
 taken from a tree which is of the same 
 family as the Ceara rubber plant, are 
 first peeled and washed. Next they are 
 grated on a kerosene tin which has had 
 holes punched in k with a nail. The 
 gratings are thrown into the long 
 narrow basket and squeezed. Stones are 
 put upon it and everybody climbs onto 
 the stones to help out the process. The 
 compression is to get rid of the juice, 
 which contains poisonous hydrocyanic 
 148 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 acid. The lumps of meal remaining are 
 baked in flat cakes about 2 feet in 
 diameter. Bread from a deadly poison! 
 
 A number of children are running 
 about in this encampment. One little 
 boy has several scars scored in parallel 
 lines down his heel. " Caiman (crocodile)," 
 says his mother after our repeated 
 questions. The children all have pro- 
 truding stomachs. Some say this is 
 because they have the rickets ; some, 
 because they eat cassava bread and drink 
 water, a combination which bloats them ; 
 others, that it is because the babies are 
 not swaddled after they are born. Take 
 your choice. 
 
 The woods thin out in places as we 
 ascend the Orinoco. Sandbars on which an 
 occasional crocodile suns himself are met 
 here and there. We shoot several, which 
 squirm back into the water. In one place 
 we get up a carlo that leads nowhere, and 
 have to come back and try again through 
 
 149 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 a narrow gap down which the river races 
 at a good 7 miles an hour so strong 
 a current that we can hardly make head- 
 way. We run aground badly in a wide 
 place, and have to go overboard, in deadly 
 fear of alligators and sting-rays, and 
 push off. 
 
 At length, after passing a big island, 
 we are out of the Delta and enter the 
 Orinoco proper. We are running short 
 of gasolene, but Fitzgerald knows of a 
 Corsican woodcutter a few miles up 
 stream who can supply some. Shortly 
 after leaving the Delta we reach a town 
 situated on high ground Barrancas, 
 meaning the Sandbanks and tie up 
 alongside one of the war-vessels of the 
 Venezuelan Navy. 
 
 This vessel is fully 35 feet long. Her 
 Captain is asleep in his hammock, with 
 one bare foot sticking through. We do 
 not wake him, but get out a bottle of 
 beer so as to have it available. We now 
 150 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 get the " Geraldo " in order, clean our- 
 selves, change into some fresh linen, 
 climb up on to the deck of the man-of- 
 war, and order its cocinero to boil our 
 coffee. 
 
 In good time El Capitan wakes and we 
 introduce ourselves. The process is like 
 the old nursery rhyme about the kitty : 
 
 " You pet her and stroke her and feed her with food, 
 And kitty will love you because you are good." 
 
 " Will El Capitan sample some Trinidad 
 beer?" 
 
 El Capitan will "con mucho gusto." 
 
 El Capitan finds the beer drinkable and 
 the cigars smokable. He accompanies 
 his amigos up to El Commandante. 
 El Commandante finds the beer drink- 
 able, the cigars good, and the clearance 
 papers in perfect order. He returns with 
 us to the war-vessel for dinner. 
 
 El Capitan is a mighty man of valour. 
 He has curly yellow hair and choleric 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 blue eyes. He possesses a sword a yard 
 and a half long. A dozen Mauser rifles 
 to arm the crew are piled in the ward- 
 robe among his soiled linen. His is an 
 important post, for the boat dominates 
 this part of the river, to the terror of all 
 smugglers, except, of course, such as may 
 be amigos. 
 
 He mellows as the meal progresses, and 
 tells of an arrest he made when he was 
 a policeman on land before he became 
 a ruler in the Presidente's navee. 
 
 "You know the road from Paragua to 
 San Felix," he starts. " I was once riding 
 out on the llanos that way, and I stopped 
 at a woman's house to drink coffee. I 
 heard a pedlar insisting that she buy 
 something which she did not want to buy. 
 I went in and he became polite and left. 
 I noticed that he was a Turk " by which 
 El Capitan probably means an Armenian. 
 
 " I drank coffee and went on. Next 
 day I was near there, and I noticed 
 152 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 vultures wheeling around. When I see 
 zamuros I always go look what is dead, 
 and I found a Turkish woman and girl, 
 not long dead, with their eyes picked out. 
 
 I went away and sent somebody to bury 
 them. 
 
 " Now when I came to San Felix, I 
 went into the inn there, and I saw that 
 same Turk eating dinner. When he saw 
 me he went to his room without finish- 
 ing. 'That is queer,' I thought, and 
 waited for him to come out. I then said 
 to the landlord, ' Go tell the Turk I want 
 to see him.' The Turk told the posadero, 
 
 I 1 am sick and cannot come.' 
 
 "So I went to the door and said, 
 ' Open, or I shoot you through the door." 
 He did not open, so I kicked in the door 
 and arrested him. 'You murdered that 
 woman and girl,' I said. ' Confess, or I 
 shoot.' So he confessed. 
 
 " I sent word to the Jefe Civil to know 
 what to do with him. The Turk offered 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 much money and begged to be let off. 
 He said the woman was his wife and 
 they had quarrelled. But I would not ; 
 word came to take him to Bolivar and 
 shoot him if he tried to escape. 
 
 " I took a sergeant and two men and 
 started for Bolivar. A mile out the 
 sergeant told the Turk to get down and 
 tighten his saddle. Then he shot him 
 through the head. One of the soldiers 
 had a shovel, so we buried him and went 
 back. That is what is meant by 'shoot 
 him if he tries to escape.' They were 
 content in Bolivar and promoted me." 
 He takes a gulp of the warm beer. 
 
 The Commandante is inspired to tell 
 a tale. 
 
 " One day when I was stationed at 
 Apure, I was riding along the bank in 
 the dusk, with the river below me, when 
 I heard a groan. I slid off my mule and 
 drew my revolver. On my hands and 
 knees then I crawled down until I could 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 see the outline of a man's outstretched 
 figure. ' Esta Usted bueno ? ' (' Are you 
 all right ? ') I called out. I heard only a 
 groan. I asked again. 'Agua, agua,' the 
 man called back, ' I die of thirst.' I came 
 down and saw he had been shot behind 
 the neck. I had a flask of white rum, 
 which I offered. Then I went cautiously 
 to the river and got water in my sombrero. 
 He drank it in great gulps, and I propped 
 him against a tree and questioned him : 
 1 Who shot you ? ' ' Lorenzo,' and I 
 wrote it down. Then he told how 
 Lorenzo was jealous of him and coming 
 back from a dance had shot him. I 
 dragged the wounded man to the road. 
 After a time a mule-train came by. We 
 tied a blanket between two poles and put 
 him, still groaning, on to the stretcher 
 and took him 10 miles to town. He died 
 a few days after. Lorenzo was identified 
 by what I had written down and had to 
 go to prison for a year." 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Far be it from Fitzgerald to be 
 stumped in such a competition. 
 
 " While I was Prefect of Police at 
 Maragoto, in Peru," he began, " there 
 occurred the murder of a very wealthy 
 and important cattle-raiser named Rodri- 
 guez who had an estate a little distance 
 from the city. In every way we tried to 
 find the murderers, but could not. 
 
 " A year later a man loafing in the 
 market-place noticed two foreign-looking 
 men pass. As they went by, one pointed 
 out half a dozen blackbirds and remarked 
 to the other, ' There are Rodriguez's 
 witnesses.' The second man laughed 
 and said, ' Yes, there they still are.' Now 
 Rodriguez was so important a man that 
 he who heard the two became suspicious, 
 and came and told me what had passed. 
 I said at once, ' Those are the murderers.' 
 I sent and had them arrested, kept in 
 separate cells and lashed, until they 
 explained their words. They finally con- 
 156 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 fessed. They had robbed Rodriguez of 
 two thousand dollars and then had 
 murdered him. He had begged for his 
 life, but they feared he would tell the 
 tale, and so killed him. Before he died 
 a flock of blackbirds passed over, and he 
 lifted his hands, saying : ' You blackbirds 
 are witnesses of my death. See that I 
 am revenged.' The Italians had gone to 
 Italy for a year, had spent the money, 
 and returned to be discovered by the 
 witnesses of Rodriguez. I had them 
 shot next day." 
 
 "Que maravilla!" exclaims the Com- 
 mandante. 
 
 "Es posible?" asks El Capitan. 
 
 "Yo le aseguro a Usted que es la 
 verdad, palabra de caballero," says Fitz- 
 gerald without the quiver of an eyelid 
 "on his faith as a cavalier 1" 
 
 The veracious tales carry us well 
 through dinner. We go on shore and 
 leave some soiled clothes with the 
 
 '57 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 women washing in the river. There are 
 no caiman so near El Capitan's Mausers. 
 From time to time the women halt their 
 labour and swim around in the shallow 
 water. They are the only people in 
 Barrancas who, so far as is visible to 
 the eye, do a stroke of work. We 
 walk around and inspect the town. It is 
 like Pedernales, a row of adobe houses, 
 the rough beams inside smoke-begrimed 
 and crude to the last degree. We stop 
 in at the one place of entertainment 
 which the town affords and watch a 
 pool game on an ancient French table. 
 We return presently to the war-vessel 
 and shoot at bottles and turkey buzzards 
 without doing much harm to either. 
 
 A little gasolene launch appears up 
 stream rapidly nearing town. This is 
 Fitzgerald's friend. " Hey, Mattey, 
 Mattey ! " he shouts, and El Commandante 
 and El Capitan cry in unison, " Mattey, 
 Mattey ! " The launch comes alongside. 
 158 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 Two small Indian boys about twelve 
 years old are seated at the front of the 
 jfrail cockleshell. They make a good 
 [landing and Mattey himself climbs up. 
 ;He is a little wizened Corsican, fiery of 
 temper and rapid of speech. He is 
 [engaged in getting out timber on General 
 JDesham's concession. Just at present he 
 is cutting telegraph-poles for the Pre- 
 tsidente's electric-light plant at Bolivar, 
 i Mattey is down now to see some people 
 ;due on the " Delta," which arrives the 
 day after to-morrow from Trinidad. 
 (" Bien stire " he can and will supply us 
 lavith enough gasolene to go to San Felix, 
 [perhaps enough to get us to Bolivar. 
 
 Being relieved on this score, we con- 
 sider dinner. What is our horror to find 
 Ithat while drinks, Worcester sauce, pepper, 
 I baking-powder and vinegar abound, there 
 are no tinned meats or fish or beans left. 
 Somebody with an enormous appetite has 
 been stealing. It does not take long to 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 light on Joe, who had charge of the 
 keys to the lockers and lost them so that 
 nothing could be locked up. 
 
 A council of war is held. 
 
 " Shoot him," says El Commandante. 
 " Nobody will mind," adds El Capitan. 
 " Throw him overboard," says Mattey. 
 Fitzgerald is for " marooning." " Send 
 him back to Trinidad by the ' Delta,' ' 
 you suggest. Pending a decision, a 
 motion to whale him is unanimously 
 carried and executed. We go ashore and 
 buy provisions of enormous price and 
 dubious pedigree. 
 
 Next morning, while waiting for the 
 " Delta," Mattey suggests that we drop 
 down and call on the Germans who are. 
 putting up a meat-extract factory jusfcj 
 beyond Barrancas. We take the launch 
 to their landing and find a big blond 
 German with a gang of men fishing out 
 a dump car that has fallen into the river. 
 We follow the track a short distance in- 
 160 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 land. Concrete buildings are in course of 
 construction. Beyond them is a very 
 cosy wooden house, of the most welcome 
 contrast to the crazy shacks of Barrancas 
 ^and Pedernales. 
 
 A remarkably good-looking German 
 hausfrau appears for a moment, and a 
 bare-legged blond boy comes around the 
 corner of the porch, looking like a 
 youngster fresh from the beach of Sche- 
 veningen. Mr. Max Dude, the manager, 
 hurries out and gathers us in. We are 
 invited to the forthcoming meal breakfast 
 or lunch, whichever one chooses to call it. 
 
 The Dude family has come from some 
 place near the border-line between Brazil 
 and Bolivia a place that nobody ever 
 heard of. 
 
 "It took five changes of steamers to 
 get back to Hamburg," says Frau Dude 
 plaintively, " but I got first prize for my 
 hat with the aigrette plumes when I did 
 get home." 
 
 M 161 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 The meal is " echt Deutsch," and finely 
 cooked. Frau Dude explains that she 
 holds the whip over the cook personally 
 or nothing would ever be right. 
 
 Herr Dude is banking on the Mal- 
 thusian law. " Where is the world to get 
 meat in the next fifty years ? The United 
 States is raising barely enough for its 
 own use. Argentina and Australia 
 supply England now. Prices are always 
 rising, and there is never enough. Vene- 
 zuela is the only great cattle area left, 
 and it is almost untouched. We have 
 moved up here and settled where ocean 
 steamers can come and tap Venezuela. 
 We can't ship much beef yet, but we 
 begin and get the start for the future. 
 After a while we will have here places 
 like Armours', and these will be German/ 
 
 The " Delta " is due at four o'clock, and 
 
 it stays for only an hour. We watch the 
 
 clock anxiously. Herr Dude disdains the 
 
 " Delta"; he bets Mattey a bottle of 
 
 162 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 champagne she won't be in that night. 
 But about six she appears. We make 
 an engagement for dinner at seven to 
 pay bets, and hurry for our launch. 
 
 Hon. Robert Henderson, United States 
 Consul at Ciudad Bolivar, Henry Wads- 
 worth, a young American engineer coming 
 down to put in the Presidente's electric 
 plant, and an assortment of Venezuelan 
 beauties are on board. Fitzgerald lines 
 the officers up at the bar to see if he can 
 jolly them into breaking the law and 
 putting off some of his own gasolene 
 which is on board. It does not work this 
 time, so we have to fall back on Mattey. 
 
 Later we go up with the timber-cutter 
 to his bachelor quarters in Barrancas. 
 The house has the same tumble-down 
 appearance as the rest. The rear half is 
 in ruins. Mattey lives in the first two 
 rooms, which are furnished with a table, 
 a hammock, and a barrel of gasolene. We 
 load some of our empty cans, take a cup 
 
 163 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 of very good coffee, and then start back 
 to the German's. 
 
 It is a wild night at Dude's. We are 
 the only even partly-civilized people whom 
 they have seen for months. Frau Dude 
 is charming, Fitzgerald entertaining as 
 ever, and Mattey shows real Gallic salt 
 and surprising erudition. A remark of 
 his, characterizing work in Venezuela as 
 " a filling of the jars of the Danaides," 
 comes startlingly in our environment. 
 
 When the " Delta " bet has been paid 
 two or three times over, Fitzgerald pro- 
 pounds to the unsuspecting Teuton the 
 addition to his gang of labourers of one 
 able-bodied wharf-rat named Joe, strong, 
 courageous, accustomed to turning heavy 
 flywheels. 
 
 " Gewiss, gewiss ! " assents Herr Dude 
 willingly, for labour is hard to get up 
 here. 
 
 This seems hardly fair to the host, so 
 you intimate, as tactfully as possible, lest 
 164 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 he back out of the bargain, that the afore- 
 said Joe, while possessing many virtues, 
 is not likely to achieve nervous breakdown 
 by reason of too great industry and has 
 a remarkable appetite for rum and canned 
 goods left unlocked. 
 
 " Der Schweinhund 1 " says Herr Dude. 
 " Never mind, he can't steal my donkey- 
 engine. The cook will give him plenty 
 bananas and cassava. I take him." 
 
 Fairly late the party breaks up. Joe 
 is left like Dido on the bank. The cap- 
 tain is able to navigate the "Geraldo" to 
 Mattey's lumber-camp, a mile up stream 
 on the right bank. 
 
 The camp-fires are burning when we 
 arrive, but not a soul is to be seen. "'The 
 Indians don't know the launch," Mattey 
 says, laughing ; " they think we are a 
 commission." This seems rather an ex- 
 treme view to take regarding government 
 by commission, but Mattey explains : 
 * Taxes have been imposed upon the 
 
 165 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Indians which they can't pay. Then 
 commissions come and seize them to 
 work off the taxes. So the men take to 
 the woods when an official appears." 
 
 Mattey shouts lustily into the darkness 
 of the night, calling certain names. 
 
 The camp consists of a dozen shelters 
 of palm thatch, each built between two 
 trees and having a hammock stretched 
 underneath. Fires are alight in three 
 or four places to drive away the mos- 
 quitoes. The head of a huge fish is 
 roasting on a framework of saplings. 
 We sample a piece of it, and also the 
 red berries lying in a gourd on the 
 ground. 
 
 Some sharp eyes eventually recognize 
 Mattey and the Indians hear his shouts 
 and come back a half-dozen men and 
 as many women and children. Some of 
 them wear clothes. They go tranquilly 
 to their fires and presently to their little 
 hammocks. By and by Mattey climbs 
 1 66 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 into his, after pulling down the mosquito 
 bar, and we go back to the. boat. 
 
 Charlie has fixed up our mosquito net. 
 But here you, taking as a proven premise 
 that the net is no good for keeping out 
 mosquitoes, try a new method for beat- 
 ing them. No one ever heard of a turtle 
 being troubled by mosquitoes ; obviously 
 you must adopt his system. Now the 
 inflated mattress that so nearly saw 
 service as a life-preserver is covered with 
 a case of heavy canvas. Taking out the 
 rubber air-mattress there is left a canvas 
 bag 7 feet long, and just wide enough to 
 wriggle into. You crawl inside this and 
 cover all your head except your nose 
 with a bath towel. 
 
 " I don't see how you can stand it," says 
 Fitzgerald, getting under his mosquito net. 
 
 "A Turkish bath is better to sleep in 
 than a menagerie," you retort from the 
 depths of the bath towel. 
 
 It works like a charm. Breathing is 
 
 167 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 observed in New York under a Tammany 
 administration. 
 
 Back in the camp, one of Mattey's 
 Guaranos skins our monkey. This and 
 the dove we eat. The Indians make 
 away with the hawk and the crane. 
 
 Charlie develops unsuspected senti- 
 mentality about sampling the monkey. 
 " I eat him if you do, sir," he finally 
 says plaintively. The monkey is not 
 very large and we consume most of it, 
 Charlie disposing of his full share once 
 he has started. Except for being a little 
 tough the flesh is very good. 
 
 In the afternoon we take a dugout 
 coriara and paddle up a little river which 
 is only 30 feet wide where it joins the 
 Orinoco, but which widens beyond to 
 200 feet. There should have been croco- 
 diles here in numbers, but they were 
 cleaned out, we learn, at the rate of 
 two hundred a night by some Swedish 
 pot-hunters a while ago. 
 
 169 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 We shoot four divers, but can recover 
 only one. They disappear permanently 
 when wounded, apparently clinging to the 
 bottom. 
 
 Some distance up this river we strike 
 inland towards the savanna. For a 
 quarter of a mile we go through woods 
 without underbrush. Then there is a 
 treeless place with sabre-grass as high 
 as the head. A dense hot moist jungle 
 follows, impassable save by the trail we 
 are following. Then comes a half-mile 
 stretch of grass, waist-high. Another 
 group of chapparal-trees appears, looking 
 like a gnarled orchard, the trunks spaced 
 40 feet to 60 feet apart as if artificially 
 done. Finally comes the savanna, or 
 plains of coarse grass 6 inches to 12 
 inches high. A few isolated thickets 
 show up here ; the mountains are in the 
 distance. A herd of wild cattle is 
 browsing on a distant stretch of llanos, 
 but the binoculars show no game in sight. 
 170 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 The sun is blistering, so we get back to 
 the coriara, paddle down to the launch, 
 and start up the Orinoco once more. 
 
 We pass the battlemented heights of 
 Los Castillos, where young Raleigh fell 
 in the assault of San Thom6, and arrive 
 next day late at San Felix. This is the 
 most pretentious place yet. The town 
 stands on the top of a high bank, where 
 a column of mottled stone commemorates 
 some forgotten general. A herd of fine- 
 looking beeves is grazing on the slope. 
 Burros loaded with balata, just in from 
 the rubber forests, stand waiting to be 
 relieved of their burdens. A four-mule 
 prairie schooner jingles past on the road 
 to the Callao mining district, 100 miles 
 away. 
 
 After the usual proceedings with the 
 Commandante we go up to the Hotel 
 Colon. This is kept by a Corsican, immi- 
 grated only four months ago. Pictures 
 of Napoleon deck his walls. A slovenly 
 
 171 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 wife, a good-looking, but equally slovenly 
 belle-s&ur, and a stark-naked baby com- 
 plete his family. 
 
 A travelling theatrical troupe is stopping 
 with them. It consists of M. de los 
 Rios, Prestidigitateur and master of 
 " Oriental Blak Arts,'' and Miss Judhit, 
 singer and puppet-manipulator. The Pro- 
 fessor is clean-shaven and very thin. 
 He wears a skin-tight brown pepper-and- 
 salt suit. Miss Judhit is tall, gaunt, and 
 angular, and has dark eyes. She wears 
 a red gauze waist, and keeps a tame 
 parakeet on the tree in the courtyard. 
 An English engineer of doleful aspect 
 down from the mines is on hand. He 
 smokes a pipe constantly and never says 
 a word to anybody. An elderly local 
 financial light with a prejudice against 
 shaving, a bearded Corsican merchant from 
 Callao, and a young Spanish-German, 
 son of a big merchant in Bolivar, com- 
 plete the quota of guests. 
 172 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 We get a rather good dinner at 
 the Hotel Colon. Fitzgerald considers it 
 due to Lord Byron to make violent love 
 to Miss Judhit, which does not in the 
 least trouble Professor de los Rios. They 
 are to give a performance to-night that 
 is, probably. The Professor fears that 
 everybody will be down on the river- 
 bank to watch the " Delta," now due from 
 Ciudad Bolivar. 
 
 We encourage him and offer helpful 
 suggestions. A procession through the 
 town in costume would be the proper 
 thing. 
 
 "Only the priest is allowed to have 
 processions ! " the Professor says listlessly. 
 
 " The priest can't have them here," cuts 
 in the Corsican merchant. " They threw 
 the last padre into the river." 
 
 " But that does not help me," protests 
 the Professor. 
 
 "Hire men to go down to the bank 
 and, as soon as the ' Delta ' leaves, shout 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 out, * Let us go to the performance of Pro- 
 fessor de los Rios,' " suggests Fitzgerald. 
 
 He shakes his head dolefully. " But 
 we can let off fireworks,' he adds, as if 
 on an inspiration. 
 
 When nine o'clock comes, the perfor- 
 mance being billed, " a las 8 y media en 
 punto " sharp, we help set off fire-crackers 
 and sky-rockets in the hotel courtyard. 
 Nobody bothers about the sparks which 
 fly down onto the thatched roofs of the 
 town. 
 
 In the next hour or so, some fifty 
 people, a good half of them children, 
 slouch in, bringing their own chairs. 
 We, who rank as Charter Members and 
 Patrons of the Arts, pre-empt rocking- 
 chairs in the front row. The orchestra 
 takes its place on a bench near the 
 curtain. 
 
 The orchestra consists of a leader, Big 
 Guitar, a Trinidad mulatto in grey over- 
 alls and undershirt ; Big Mandolin, a 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 Zambo or Negro-Indian combination, in 
 yellow linen with needle-shaped yellow 
 shoes ; Little Guitar, a mestizo, or 
 Spanish-Indian half-breed, in blue over- 
 alls with a red bandana neckcloth ; Man- 
 dolin, a full-blooded Indian with a sailor 
 cap and brown trousers. The police 
 force, in a dusky undershirt, beats back 
 the children with the flat of his sabre. 
 The overture is a local danza air. 
 
 Professor de los Rios finally appears 
 in blue dress-coat and knee trousers and 
 the performance begins. He borrows a 
 handkerchief from a lady, and while a 
 thrill of expectation surges through the 
 crowd, he cuts a hole in it. One peon 
 wants to be shown if this handkerchief is 
 the original. The Professor angrily pro- 
 tests and aims a pistol at the interloper, 
 who cows down behind the man in front. 
 The people on the line of fire edge to one 
 side. There is a gasp of horror and 
 everybody ducks as the Professor fires. 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 But it is all part of the show. The hand- 
 kerchief descends intact in a little para- 
 chute from the ceiling. Immense relief 
 and thunderous applause from the rather 
 nervous audience. Bows from the Pro- 
 fessor and music by the orchestra. 
 
 A long entr'acte follows, during which 
 the row of piccaninnies look with open 
 mouth at the ceiling whence the parachute 
 fell. The Professor is not crowding 
 attractions. He opens the curtain a little 
 and beckons to Fitzgerald, who goes in 
 behind the scenes. The captain is soon 
 back grinning. " The Professor says 
 there have been paid only two pesos. 
 These people have sneaked in from be- 
 hind." 
 
 Fitzgerald makes himself a collecting 
 agent, and by the help of a dollar of yours 
 gets the pot up to five pesos. The land- 
 lord with an improvised bar is doing a 
 thriving trade, meanwhile. 
 
 Miss Judhit comes on now to sing a 
 176 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 song. Big Guitar is to accompany her. 
 After jockeying for a start they get away, 
 but something goes wrong. The impas- 
 sioned ditty dies down and Miss Judhit 
 glares wickedly at Big Guitar. You can 
 imagine the Duchess of " Alice in Wonder- 
 land" ordering " Off with his head!" 
 They try again. Poor Big Guitar is 
 flustered by his previous failure and 
 wilts beneath the acid frown of the 
 senorita. The air trails off in doleful 
 discords. Miss Judhit stamps her foot, 
 mutters a "Caramba!" and flees from 
 the stage. 
 
 The Professor nervously comes for- 
 ward and explains that the accompanist 
 is inexperienced, but that he himself will 
 do the wonderful lost-coin trick. Miss 
 Judhit holds the glass, glaring now and 
 again at the unlucky Big Guitar, between 
 her professional smiles at the audience. 
 The coin is of course miraculously found 
 in a negro boy's ear, much to his sur- 
 
 N I 77 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 prise and that of his friends. With this 
 the show ends. After due felicitations to 
 the troupe we stumble sleepily back to the 
 river, and out to bed, via a plank and 
 a schooner to which we have tied. 
 
 We inspect next day the falls of the 
 Caroni, set in the tropic forest, one of 
 the most beautiful sights possible " that 
 wonderful breach of waters," Raleigh 
 described it. We take the Comman- 
 dante and his guitar along and the 
 Spanish-German youth. 
 
 On the way we break a mirror, and 
 return to find that our gasolene will not 
 take us to Bolivar and that the reserve 
 supply expected on the returning " Delta" 
 has not come. A telegram says it is on 
 the way in a sailing vessel. Five days' 
 dead loss, waiting at San Felix, is the 
 significance of this. 
 
 It cannot be borne. Several sailing- 
 vessels are at anchor before the town. 
 You send word to the captain of each 
 178 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 that any one will receive the large sum 
 of five pesos who will sail at once and 
 take you to Bolivar. Only one captain 
 is willing to negotiate he is sailing next 
 day anyway. 
 
 This officer sends back word that he 
 will consider the offer, which is not very 
 promising, so we all go ashore for lunch. 
 Just as the meal is about to begin 
 Charlie comes up panting. " The captain 
 sail-boat say he go Bolivar now." You 
 take precipitate leave of Fitzgerald, and 
 start for the river. 
 
 " I'll meet you at Mannoni's Hotel," 
 he calls. 
 
 You jump into the coriara which 
 serves as tender, hurriedly load in two tins 
 of sardines, a piece of cheese and a can 
 of corn, and climb aboard the " Hijo de 
 Dios." 
 
 The boat is a sloop, rigged with an 
 auxiliary lateen sail which is used as a 
 spinnaker in running before the wind. 
 
 179 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 A microscopic cabin like a well lies just 
 forward of the tiller. One coriara is 
 towed astern, another smaller dugout is 
 lying on the deck, which is covered with 
 a mess of disordered ropes and blocks. 
 The red, blue, and yellow flag of Vene- 
 zuela with its seven stars floats at the peak. 
 
 The captain is a thin, hawk-nosed 
 mestizo in an undershirt and once white 
 trousers. The first officer is a tough- 
 looking indeterminate who stands by the 
 helm. A villainous set of three deckers, 
 including the dirtiest cocinero that ever 
 maltreated victuals, complete the crew. 
 
 The other passengers are four Indian 
 girls, all smoking cigars, three naked 
 children and one Zambo peon. The girls' 
 baggage consists of a bunch of bananas, 
 some pieces of cactus, a parrot tied by 
 one leg, and a puppy. 
 
 The vessel gets under way with a good 
 trade wind behind at about half past one 
 on Sunday. The captain gives you, to sit 
 1 80 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 upon, a heap of tarpaulin against the 
 mast, in the shade of the sail. The 
 cocinero lights a fire of faggots in a big 
 wooden box with sand in its bottom, 
 and brews coffee, which is passed around. 
 The ladies puff at their cigars. One of 
 the children, apparently not over three 
 years old, picks up his mother's stub and 
 sucks at it. 
 
 We read and smoke and look stupidly 
 at the landscape, and wriggle uncomfort- 
 ably all through the long afternoon. The 
 cook makes up a dinner consisting of 
 coffee, boiled rice, cassava bread, and the 
 stringiest and toughest beef this side of 
 leather. 
 
 Presently the passengers compose them- 
 selves to sleep. The Indians lie wedged 
 like sardines on the roof of the cabin. 
 You are just behind the mast ; the puppy 
 comes and curls up beside you. 
 
 All through the early part of the night 
 the captain, the mate, and the Zambo 
 
 181 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 peon argue at the top of their voices. 
 Occasionally they shriek in falsetto. The 
 discussion seems to be about an infini- 
 tesimal sum of money. You doze fit- 
 fully through it, while with a strong 
 wind behind the boat is ploughing its 
 way up stream. 
 
 Suddenly there is a chorus of cries, 
 stamping of feet and rattling of ropes. 
 The boom swings over in a jibe. The 
 throat halyards of the lateen sail part, 
 and it comes down with a bang, knock- 
 ing one of the crew into the river. The 
 night is pitch dark ; confusion of the pit 
 reigns. After you have been walked 
 over, the dog stepped on, and everything 
 bedevilled generally, things are fixed up 
 and we go on again, the castaway climb- 
 ing back complacently. 
 
 With malicious frequency now the 
 
 boom swings across, and you find your 
 
 head in the scuppers, your feet high up 
 
 to windward, and have to crawl around. 
 
 182 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 About one in the morning the night is 
 so dark that the mate does not dare sail 
 any more for fear of the rocks, and he 
 drops anchor. The negro passenger comes 
 and sleeps beside you, the captain climbs 
 into the dugout on deck, the mate curls 
 up by his tiller. 
 
 Before daybreak you awake, stiff from 
 the hard deck. The parrot is screeching 
 and there is a flat calm. The cook 
 makes more coffee and passes it around. 
 In a couple of hours a little puffy breeze 
 arises. We lift anchor and crawl slowly 
 up the river. 
 
 Until about three o'clock in the after- 
 noon this weather continues and we ad- 
 vance at a snail's pace. The sun is like 
 the opening of a furnace, beating down 
 from above. The only shade is forward 
 of the mast, where there is no room to sit 
 and where the filth of the cook-stove 
 and its smell are worse almost than the 
 torrid sun, which continues to glare down 
 
 183 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 on us savagely all through the day. 
 The captain has an old umbrella, under 
 which he reads a Spanish edition of 
 Dumas' " Deux Diane." The Indians and 
 the crew are used to the climate and 
 roast stoically. 
 
 In the middle of the afternoon, quite 
 unheralded, a swirl of dust appears on a 
 sandbank of the left shore a mile away. 
 " Chubasco ! " cries the mate excitedly, 
 pointing to it. " Chubasco"! One of the 
 dangerous storms peculiar to the Orinoco 
 is upon us. The captain shouts an order 
 and the crew jump to their feet and 
 lower everything but the jib. Save for 
 that dust-whirl in the distance nothing 
 stirs, and the water is like glass. Then 
 all in a moment comes a rush of wind. 
 The lightning flashes, dark clouds appear 
 from nowhere and pour down a deluge 
 of rain. The passengers get under tar- 
 paulins and cower ; the sailors take it as 
 it comes and are drenched in a moment. 
 184 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 In half an hour the storm has died 
 down. You crawl out. Sail is hoisted, 
 and with only another parted halyard 
 we reach the spot where the negro peon 
 is to land. His coriara, which was towed 
 astern, is brought alongside and loaded 
 with bananas and sugar-cane from the 
 hold. With praiseworthy dexterity the 
 crew steal several bananas and pieces of 
 cane as they pass these down. The 
 passenger counts out some money to the 
 captain and pushes off. 
 
 Night comes on again, but afar off 
 we see the lights of Bolivar. There is 
 almost no wind. A slight drizzle of 
 rain is falling. We go up a dangerous 
 channel with rocks like a manatee's back, 
 close alongside. At last we cast anchor 
 before the town. It is half past one : we 
 have been thirty-six hours out from San 
 Felix. 
 
 You feel that you could stand anything 
 save staying on the "Hijo de Dios" another 
 
 185 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 night. Luggage cannot be landed, because 
 it must pass the custom-house. But 
 you, in bedraggled khaki, can land if 
 fancy moves. The dugout takes you to 
 a bank so steep that you have to use 
 hands and knees to scramble up. Covered 
 with sand and dirt, which stick to your 
 wet clothes, you reach the parapet and 
 start to find a hotel. The street lamps 
 are burning, but not a soul is in sight. 
 A little way down you meet a drunken 
 sailor. He can hardly navigate, much 
 less talk. Farther on is a boyish sentry 
 with a long Mauser musket ; he politely 
 leaves his post and guides you to the 
 "Gran" Hotel. 
 
 You push in through the door and try 
 to wake a negro boy asleep in a hammock. 
 No idea whatever can penetrate his head. 
 He falls into a doze as he stands. At 
 length a mulatto woman with a candle 
 appears. " No rooms go away no 
 rooms ! " she says hospitably. Arguments 
 1 86 
 
Up the Orinoco 
 
 avail nothing. Besides, the stone floor 
 is as little inviting as the " Hijo de 
 Dios" deck. 
 
 Out into the cold world you go again 
 and stumble into the market and the 
 Barracks. An old woman turns to the 
 south. " Hotel Espana esa I" she says, 
 pointing. You stalk over, find it finally, 
 and wake a mestizo in another hammock. 
 In this establishment they are used to 
 parties arriving late and in a battered 
 state. The mestizo leads you upstairs 
 and you thread your way between other 
 hammocks to where he opens the door 
 of a bare, brick-floored room with a 
 chair and a cot constructed of sailcloth 
 stretched upon a frame. It has the sem- 
 blance of a bed. Feeling like Ulysses 
 cast on Calypso's Isle, without any 
 Calypso, you drop on to the cot and 
 fall into a dead sleep. 
 
 187 
 
V 
 
 THE CITY OF BOLIVAR 
 
 A T six o'clock you wake, make such 
 ^ * a toilet as is possible under the 
 circumstances, and breakfast at the hotel. 
 As you have a letter to the Administrator;! 
 de Aduana, General Navarro, it seems 
 best to present it before trying to bring 
 your armament ashore. 
 
 General Navarro is the soul of courtesy 
 " Expect a while," he says. " We hean 
 from Trinidad that you were coming ! 
 You " expect" a while, chatting an 
 smoking his cigarettes. Presently you an 
 agreeably surprised to be told that you 
 belongings are below, ready to be take 
 away. He has sent a man to get you 
 goods, and has passed them throug 
 188 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 without a look or charge. A peon whom 
 he designates as your porter is directed 
 to take your luggage to the Hotel Cyrnos, 
 kept by Mannoni, late of Corsica, and 
 thither you duly follow. 
 
 The city of Bolivar looks far less weird 
 in the daylight than it did in the night. 
 A tree-shaded walk along the bank where 
 the band plays in the afternoon stretches 
 in front of the Calle de Orinoco, the 
 , main business street. 
 
 The river sweeps by below with a 
 
 : rapid current, for the shores converge 
 
 sharply here, giving the town its former 
 
 .!name of " Angostura" the Narrows. A 
 
 big rounded rock breasts the current in 
 
 mid-stream. 
 
 The business houses are solidly built, 
 many with lofty galleries projecting over 
 the sidewalk. The American flour im- 
 " porters, Dalton & Co., who have a 
 monopoly of this business, face the 
 steamer landing with their big arched 
 
 189 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 Farther along is the office and house of 
 ;he President of the State of Bolivar 
 \ristides Telleria for whom the tele- 
 jraph-poles are being cut by your 
 riend Mattey. A crowd is outside his 
 loor talking with his private sentry and 
 vaiting for an audience. 
 
 Beyond this a narrow street with a 
 lowing gutter down its middle leads up 
 he steep hill. We begin, over the 
 mmpy cobble-stones, a laborious climb. 
 )n each side are solid square houses, 
 ne or two stories high, with barred 
 /indows and a wide doorway. Absolutely 
 nlike Trinidad, with its wooden build- 
 igs embowered in palms and flowers 
 re these white, yellow, and slate-coloured 
 ouses in solid blocks one against the 
 <ther, barred and shuttered like prisons. 
 
 At intervals you get a glimpse through 
 ; doorway and see the central courtyard 
 nth a fountain playing or a burro 
 sanding ready saddled beneath the arch- 
 
 191 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 way. At the window of one house, iron- 
 barred, provided with neither glass nor 
 curtains, a girl is sewing. These Bolivar 
 buildings are like the villas uncovered at 
 Pompeii, of frowning exteriors and smiling 
 courts, into whose brightness the living- 
 rooms open through big doorways. 
 
 At length Mannoni's Hotel is reached. 
 The brother of the proprietor, who has 
 recently finished his time in the French 
 Army, and threatens to go back because, 
 he says, " There are not enough pretty 
 girls in Bolivar," leads the way to a per- 
 fectly clean room looking out on an airy 
 palm-planted courtyard. Three shower- 
 baths are just around the corner. 
 
 You are just in time for the half-past 
 eleven meal. There are two main tables 
 at Mannoni's in the breeze-swept room 
 between the courtyards. One, serious, 
 quiet, heavy, is the Anglo-Saxon table, 
 where they put German drummers and 
 stray English travellers. The other is the 
 192 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 Latin table, where Corsicans and Spanish 
 flourish, where M. Mannoni himself sits 
 and where another M. Mattey lays down 
 the law amid difficulties. This table is 
 in a constant state of effervescence, 
 of explosions, of vivid words and far- 
 flung gestures. By virtue of your letter 
 to S. Jos Aquatella, you are seated 
 here. 
 
 As you enter a great discussion is on. 
 Mannoni has just exhibited an ancient 
 revolver, with the proud statement that 
 his great-grandfather carried it in Paoli's 
 fight against the Genoese. 
 
 " Mais, c'est impossible/' M. Mattey is 
 affirming. " Revolvers were not invented 
 until fifty years ago." 
 
 Mr. Robert Henderson, the veteran 
 United States Consul, from a small table 
 3f his own midway between Saxon and 
 Latin, stands by M. Mattey. "We did 
 lot have cartridges such as would go 
 nto that revolver until the Civil War. 
 o 193 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Only men with good teeth were enlisted 
 because they had to bite off the cartridges." 
 
 Here a Corsican from San Felix breaks 
 in with the statement : " I know Man- 
 noni's family in Corsica, and all the 
 men were hunters and soldiers. So the 
 revolver must have come from his great- 
 grandfather." 
 
 "The Germans had the first cartridges 
 with their needle-guns ; that is why they 
 beat us in 1870," says M. Mattey. 
 
 The argument is still going on in 
 detached fragments when the divers 
 merchants leave the table to go down to 
 their business. 
 
 An envoy from General Navarro, a 
 little, weazened Venezuelan official, ar- 
 rives somewhat later in the afternoon. 
 
 " The Presidente invites you to his 
 house at four o'clock, and I, who manage 
 various languages, will meet you at the 
 hotel and accompany you." This is 
 the purport of his message. You are 
 194 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 tempted to suggest " mangle " for 
 manage, but refrain. 
 
 In the interim you visit the Consulate 
 of the United States. Mr. Robert 
 Henderson supplies you with American 
 papers only a month or so old and 
 some grafted mangoes, grown on his 
 brother's estate, which taste like peaches. 
 
 Just outside the Consulate windows, 
 in the hot sunlight of the river-bank, 
 Wadsworth, the American electrical 
 engineer, who came up on the " Delta," 
 is superintending a gang of twenty 
 stevedores, busy hauling a section of 
 the great flywheel of the Presidente's 
 electric-light plant. Many idlers are 
 looking on. 
 
 The scene presents a picture of peace 
 beneath the hot sun. " You should have 
 seen the plaza yonder when General 
 Matos, who is now in the Cabinet, was 
 in insurrection against Castro," the 
 Consul observes dreamily. " I did not 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 think I ought to leave the post, so I 
 stayed here. Two men were behind 
 each of those trees firing across the river 
 at Soledad, where the Government troops 
 were. We had these windows barricaded 
 with sacks of flour and balata anything 
 we could get to turn a bullet. The 
 firing was so continuous you could not 
 hear the separate shots. It was a grind- 
 ing roar like a coffee-mill. 
 
 "They fight, I tell you, like devils/' 
 he continues. " I saw the insurrectos 
 charge the Government troops, machete 
 against rifles. They came round that 
 corner too quick and close for the regulars 
 to kill. The revolutionists were splitting 
 heads like coco-nuts. One hundred and 
 fifty men killed out in front there. Don't 
 let any one tell you these Revolutions are 
 a joke. Two thousand men killed out of 
 seven thousand engaged is what they did 
 here. The cemetery of La Trinidad, where 
 the insurgents of the town were attacked 
 196 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 by Castro's men, was simply heaped with 
 bodies. Go and look at that lamp-post 
 over by Wadsworth before you leave. 
 Those holes are from Mauser bullets." 
 
 Wadsworth has hitched to it a block 
 and tackle to give a purchase for his fly- 
 wheel. You stroll across. In the lamp- 
 post, some 4 inches in diameter, there 
 are twenty-two holes. In a telegraph- 
 pole farther along there are thirteen. 
 
 " What's up?" asks Wadsworth. 
 
 You tell him that you are looking at 
 the bullet-holes. 
 
 " Gee I " he says ; "I saw them, and 
 thought somebody had done it with a 
 pick." He wipes his forehead and 
 observes cynically: "I'm glad the army 
 is good for fighting. They sent part of it 
 down to help pull up this machinery and 
 the men weren't worth a whoop. I had to 
 engage these stevedores, who get two 
 dollars a day instead of eight cents, like the 
 Army. Gee I but I'm having a time with 
 
 197 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 this little plant. They told me the founda- 
 tions were all ready and I only had to set 
 up the machinery. When I got here I 
 found they had made the concrete without 
 gravel and the holes for the engine bed- 
 plate were 8 inches out of true. And slow! 
 This isn't the land of manana, as they 
 say ; it is the land of pasado manana 
 the day after to-morrow." 
 
 It is about time to go to the Presidente, 
 so you return to the hotel and wait for 
 your escort. He comes soon, takes a 
 refreshment with you, and then leads the 
 way to the seat of government. The 
 sentry presents arms and a black servant 
 in civilian clothes takes in your card. 
 You are ushered into a parlour over- 
 looking the market-place. A beautiful 
 jaguar rug on the floor, dainty Parisian 
 furniture, and a few engravings are its 
 furnishing. 
 
 Almost immediately comes in a fine- 
 looking man of about forty, with a deter- 
 198 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 mined-looking jaw and energy in every 
 movement. 
 
 " His Excellency General Aristides Tel- 
 leria," says your guide, introducing you. 
 
 "Sea Usted bien venido," he remarks. 
 "We do not get many Americans travel- 
 ling for pleasure here. The senor is a 
 welcome guest." 
 
 You express appreciation of the cour- 
 tesies extended by the Custom House and 
 the officials up the river, to which he 
 responds by a deprecatory shrug. He 
 asks about the hunting on the way. 
 
 " I have hunted all around my own 
 estates in Coro," he says, "but not here. 
 This State of Bolivar is as large as France, 
 and it keeps one somewhat occupied." 
 
 You mention having seen his telegraph- 
 poles in process of delivery, and he asks 
 about how many are lying ready for 
 shipment. 
 
 ' The electric light and the roads are just 
 a beginning," he comments. "We need 
 
 199 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 so much here sewers, good waterworks, 
 a railroad into the interior. But it is a 
 long pull. There is so little population, 
 and save for a few merchants the people 
 are so poor." 
 
 You remark incidentally that you have 
 seen the river and hope to see something 
 of the interior. Rather to your surprise 
 he says at once, " I will arrange it," and 
 adds the Castilian formula to the effect 
 that his house is yours : " Haga Usted lo 
 mismo que si estuviera in su casa." You 
 pay your respects and presently leave. 
 
 Passing up the street, you step in upon 
 Senor Jos Aquatella, who takes you to 
 the Club Union Commercial. He orders 
 two lemonades, and you sit together on 
 the broad portico overlooking the Calle 
 de Orinoco and the river. 
 
 "Sans blague, the Presidente is an ex- 
 cellent man," he says. " He is one of the 
 best Governors we have ever had, always 
 working to improve the roads and to en- 
 200 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 courage cattle-breeding. A Presidente can 
 
 do much. He is a Satrap, supreme over 
 
 ! the entire State. If the other Governors 
 
 | were like our General and would help, 
 
 i! much could be done with this country. 
 
 The sleeping riches here are beyond 
 
 belief. We are simply pecking at the 
 
 j edges. Nobody knows what is in the 
 
 interior of this Guiana district. But so 
 
 many officials just milk the cow! Et la 
 
 vache, c'est nous." 
 
 We sip the lemonade and look at the 
 river. " Never mind," he finally says. 
 " Bolivar still stands up above there 
 watching over the city. Let us go and 
 look at him." 
 
 In the cool of the late afternoon we 
 
 jl climb the cobble-paved hill to its sum- 
 
 j mit, where in the square beside the 
 
 cathedral, surrounded by palms and 
 
 ! flowers, stands the statue of Bolivar and 
 
 the effigies of the four Republics made 
 
 from the land he won Venezuela, 
 
 201 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Colombia, Bolivia, and Peru. The thin 
 worn features of El Libertador look brood- 
 ingly down over the city in which he was 
 elected President of Greater Colombia, and 
 from which he started the great winter 
 march across the Andes to break the back- 
 bone of Spanish rule on the continent. 
 
 We go down to Mannoni's for dinner. 
 One by one the guests stroll in. Wads- 
 worth comes back and changes from his 
 khaki to a shirt and collar. Mr. Hender- 
 son appears, then two German drummers, 
 then three Corsican traders and an 
 English tourist whom nothing pleases. 
 M. Mattey and his nephew enter 
 with a young Cuban just arrived. M. 
 Mattey is expounding to him volubly 
 the merits of the city. 
 
 " Voyez vous," he declares, " ici il n'y 
 a pas de la fivre. I have lived here 
 sixteen years, and the only time I was ill 
 was once when I got very angry at a man. 
 Un accs de rage me rendait malade. Of 
 202 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 course, it is hot at this time, but not 
 very 92 to 112 in the middle of the 
 day. The average temperature is 80, and 
 it is fairly cool generally by night." 
 
 The gong sounds for seven o'clock. 
 
 u Allons diner," says Mannoni. 
 
 "You should say 'Allons souper," 
 observes M. Mattey, correcting him. 
 
 Mannoni is wounded to the quick that 
 his language and the regime of his estab- 
 lishment should be so questioned. He 
 declares that it is " diner" and nothing 
 else. The rest of the table at which he 
 is now officiating is behind him. Mattey 
 adroitly shifts his ground. 
 
 " But if you took your next meal at 
 four o'clock in the morning, it would be 
 dejeuner, and you would have had no 
 souper." 
 
 This puzzles Mannoni sadly. Every 
 possible hour for a repast is imagined, 
 and its title discussed. Sefior Aquatella 
 says all depends upon whether you wear 
 
 203 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 a dress-suit. M. Tomasi opines that it 
 is decided by whether you go to sleep 
 before or after. M. Vicentini believes that 
 if you take white coffee the meal is break- 
 fast, and black coffee it is supper. Man- 
 noni's brother is appealed to as a soldier. 
 He replies that in barracks every meal is 
 called a " pail of slops," which the guests 
 take as a point scored on Mannoni, at 
 which they laugh uproariously. 
 
 This question gets no nearer settlement 
 than did the revolver problem. After 
 dinner most of the residents stroll down 
 to the club for billiards, cards, or to talk 
 politics. The others sit and smoke around 
 the courtyard, and very early everybody 
 drops off to bed. 
 
 When " El Luchador," the daily paper 
 of Bolivar, is brought around, the wave of 
 discussion waxes hot, although it is the 
 most innocuous sheet ever printed. About 
 half the paper is given up to first, second, 
 and third advertisements of balata-con- 
 204 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 cession claims, official pronunciamientos 
 regarding cattle in the city limits, thatch 
 on houses, and such technical details. 
 
 Among the advertisements the familiar 
 Allcock's porous plaster spreads its sticky 
 lure, flanked by many sorts of " Pildoras." 
 A woman in wood-cut begs her husband, 
 whose hand clasps a glass, to put a certain 
 powder into his coffee. This will kill 
 his appetite for drinking, which " is a 
 vice and will ruin us." One Dr. Diaz y 
 Diaz announces to " cultivated society 
 and to the public in general " that he is 
 a " Cirujano Dentista de la Illustre Uni- 
 versidad Central de Venezuela." Some 
 eminently safe and sane leading articles 
 on the Bolivian Medical Congress, the 
 celebration of the 5th of July, the Cattle 
 Pest, the " Labor Noble" of the office- 
 holders, and a few foreign cables constitute 
 the reading matter. 
 
 Fitzgerald appears a few days after your 
 arrival. He has measured the Falls of 
 
 205 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Caroni, and has come to the conclusior 
 that here is the power for an inland rail- 
 road. Pending an application for a powei 
 plant and railway concession, he is goin^ 
 back to Trinidad on some mysterious bui 
 pressing business. After a day's stay h( 
 leaves by the " Delta," promising to meel 
 you at Port of Spain. 
 
 You gradually peddle off your letters 
 M. Jules Tomasi, the Corsican wine- 
 merchant, puts you up indefinitely at the 
 Club Union Commercial, of which Senoi 
 Josd Aquatella is President and M 
 Mannoni Secretary. M. Santos Palazz: 
 is at his desk in the big warehouse, when 
 balata, hides, machetes, wines, rum, tools 
 and saddlery lie in picturesque piles. H( 
 is a splendidly set-up man of about thirty- 
 five, clean-shaven, save for a moustache 
 He is a keen sportsman, President of th< 
 local Gun Club and of an incipient Yachl 
 Club, and owner of the stallion which foi 
 the last two years has won the Bolivar races 
 206 
 

 m 
 
 A BELLE OF BOLIVAR 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 He takes you up to his residence in 
 the Calle de Constitucion, to meet Senora 
 Palazzi. Their home is on the second 
 story of an old, thick-walled Spanish 
 house, up the hill near Mannoni's. In 
 the hall-way beside the courtyard are a 
 dozen deer-horns, trophies of bygone 
 hunts. Light mahogany furniture is in 
 the rooms. A gilt cabinet for little curios 
 contains nuggets, carved ivories, and Dutch 
 silver. 
 
 Senora Palazzi, a slight vivacious Cara- 
 cefia, clad in the latest Parisian mode, 
 greets you here. English and French 
 she speaks perfectly, thanks to French 
 governesses and two years at Convent, 
 New Jersey. She is in touch with plays, 
 books, and events as recent as the mails 
 allow. 
 
 In a dog-cart drawn by her husband's 
 racing stallion she drives you to see the 
 11 Morechales," or country places around 
 the outskirts of Bolivar. The low cot- 
 
 207 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 tages are surrounded by grounds luxuri- 
 ant in vegetation and abounding in all 
 manner of fruit trees. It is a beautiful 
 drive in the cool of the afternoon, with 
 only occasional bumps where watercourses 
 cross the road. Half a dozen vehicles are 
 on the way, filled with the wealth and 
 beauty of Bolivar. We drive to Mara- 
 quita and return to the Palazzis' suburban 
 tract, where they expect soon to build a 
 house. 
 
 At present only the stables for three 
 racing horses and the kennels for a dozen 
 tiger-dogs are completed. Curious dogs 
 are these, descendants from the hounds 
 brought over by the Spaniards. They 
 resemble those which one sees in old 
 tapestries, grey-brindled with grey-blue 
 slanting eyes. They have no pedigree, 
 but breed fairly true. 
 
 Dinner with the Palazzis is an uncere- 
 monious meal to which friends come as 
 they will. At one of these repasts, where 
 208 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 you and a young Venezuelan are guests, 
 Senor Palazzi tells of an expedition he 
 has in view to look for buried treasure. 
 
 " This city, you know, was one of the 
 last that was held by the Spaniards during 
 the War of Independence. All the monks 
 from round about and the wealthy land- 
 owners and the officials fled to it. Some 
 brought their possessions, and when 
 Bolivar entered the city, buried them here. 
 A tenant in one of my father's houses 
 up the street found a treasure and left 
 the country a rich man. All these houses 
 were built by the Spaniards and have walls 
 3 feet thick, with secret closets and floors. 
 
 ' Many buried money in the country. 
 Eight million pesos' worth of gold is said 
 to have been interred at the old monastery 
 of San Seraphine. When the monks 
 left they gave their Indians a basket of 
 corn, and told them to throw away a grain 
 each day. If no one had come when the 
 corn was gone they were to dig up the 
 p 209 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 treasure and throw it in the Caroni. 
 Years ago a monk came with the plan 
 of the hiding-place. He found the cave 
 and the mouldering chests. But the 
 treasure was gone ; the Indians had kept 
 their word. 
 
 " Now only a week ago some peons on 
 an estate of ours found a cave with a 
 doorway to it, bricked up. They started 
 to break the door down, but got frightened 
 of ghosts. I have planned to go there 
 and enter. We may find nothing we 
 may find a treasure. People don't go to 
 the trouble of bricking up a doorway for 
 nothing. I am afraid of snakes, but not 
 of ghosts." 
 
 "The mention of your ghosts," says 
 the Venezuelan, "reminds me of a 
 veracious tale about a peon near our 
 estate who met a veiled figure on a 
 lonely road. 
 
 "'Who are you?' said the peon 
 tremblingly. 
 210 
 

 The City of Bolivar 
 
 " ' I am the devil,' a voice answered 
 in sepulchral tones. The peon walked 
 up and held out his hand. 
 
 " ' Embrace me, amigo. I married your 
 sister. ' " 
 
 Senor Palazzi smiles broadly ; Senora 
 Palazzi is a little piqued. 
 
 "A disgracefully ungallant story," she 
 says. " I will tell you a better one, and 
 true, too. It is about a young girl, a 
 Caracena, sixteen years old, who lived 
 with her grandmother. I will not give 
 the real names, though you will know 
 them. We will call the girl Senorita 
 Dolores Blanco. The grandmother be- 
 longed to an old Caracas family which 
 had some fine rare port, dating from the 
 time of the Spaniards. The good dame 
 was stingy and would let no one 
 partake of the closely guarded treasure. 
 
 " One day Dolores, coming from the 
 garden, hot and tired, found the cave 
 door unlocked and was seized with a 
 
 211 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 desire to sample her grandmother's 
 vintage. Noticing in the corner an old 
 dust-covered bottle which had once been 
 opened, she drew the cork and poured 
 some of its contents into a glass. Then, 
 hearing footsteps, she gulped it down 
 precipitately. 
 
 " At once a sickening nausea came over 
 her. Her lips blanched, her eyes became 
 glazed, and her face took on an ashen 
 hue. The grandmother, who had come 
 in, snatched up the empty bottle. It was 
 marked ' Death to Vermin ' ! 
 
 " Dolores was carried hastily to bed 
 and a doctor was summoned. Only with 
 great efforts he was able to save her 
 life. 
 
 "When at last she was out of danger, 
 the family group around her bed plied 
 her with questions. 
 
 " ' Why did you drink the poison,' they 
 asked ; ' did you want to die ? ' 
 
 " Dolores, too exhausted for argument 
 
 212 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 and adverse to confessing her pilfering, 
 just nodded weakly, 'Si, si/ 
 
 " ' She is in love/ said the grandmother 
 dogmatically. * Who is it ? ' 
 
 "The girl felt lost and baffled. She 
 was tired and confused and was becom- 
 ing overwhelmed by the people around. 
 Her grandmother leaned over, insisting : 
 1 Tell us who it is,' and her mother 
 comforted her : * You shall marry him. 
 Do not be troubled.' 
 
 "The poor girl could say nothing. 
 
 " ' I know who it is,' said the grand- 
 mother. * It is Juan Garcia. Is it not 
 he?' 
 
 " The girl moved uneasily. 
 
 " * But she has seen him hardly twice,' 
 protested the mother. 
 
 "'That is enough to do the mischief,' 
 said the grandmother. 'Well, we cannot 
 have her killing herself this way. I will 
 add fifty thousand pesos to her dot and 
 in three months she shall marry him.' 
 
 213 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 " Juan Garcia's surprise when he learned 
 that Sefiorita Dolores Blanco had tried 
 to poison herself because of him was very 
 great. But after he had thought it over, 
 had looked at himself in the glass, twirled 
 his moustache and pulled down his tie, 
 he had to admit the girl's good taste. 
 
 " ' After all/ he meditated, ' I am begin- 
 ning to tire of the life of a bachelor. 
 This senorita is pretty, her family is of 
 the best, and the dot is muy conveniente. 
 Why not make her happy ? ' He proposed 
 to her parents, who did not even consult 
 Dolores before giving their consent. 
 
 " Senorita Dolores Blanco became Senora 
 Garcia, and .they have lived happily ever 
 after. The story leaked out, and though 
 the family denies it, every one in Caracas 
 knows it is true." 
 
 Late in the evening, pondering the 
 
 strange marriages that are made in 
 
 heaven, you wander back to Mannoni's. 
 
 You are still early enough to watch a half 
 
 214 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 a dozen less startling, but perhaps equally 
 romantic, courtships arranging themselves 
 through the bars of the houses along 
 the hill. 
 
 The Acaddmie Franchise is under dis- 
 cussion at breakfast next morning. 
 
 "The Academicians can't even finish 
 a dictionary," says one of the Latin table. 
 
 Mattey declares "quand mme" that 
 they are the greatest body of men in the 
 world. 
 
 "But the Academy refused Fulton's 
 steamboat when Napoleon referred it to 
 them," observes our Consul. 
 
 This reminds Vicentini of a picture of 
 Napoleon at St. Helena. He is watching 
 a steamboat on the horizon and smites 
 his head, saying, "Si j'avais cru!" ("Had 
 I only believed ! "). 
 
 Wads worth comes in to the table 
 immensely pleased. "The foundation 
 builder was going to hold up our whole 
 installation with his delays. The Presi- 
 
 215 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 dente came down himself to-day and cut 
 away a mile of red tape. He has put 
 the fear of God into the contractor. You 
 ought to see the men working now. I 
 think he said he'd hang somebody if the 
 job was not done on time." 
 
 The Cuban friend of Mattey's is giving 
 some lurid details of the United States 
 intervention there. "Why, the whole 
 trouble was started for five thousand 
 dollars," he says ; "I know, for I got 
 some of it. Cuba had twenty million 
 dollars in her treasury and the Yankees 
 wanted that. They spent the money on 
 roads, framing up deals with the con- 
 tractors, and then they evacuated the 
 country. It was all nonsense about the 
 negroes or the Liberals stirring up the 
 row. 
 
 "We did not fight a battle; just marched 
 
 around and burned farmers' barns," he 
 
 continues ; " I had two hundred men, not 
 
 over ten armed, and we wanted to pass 
 
 216 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 the Government post near Caballo. So I 
 sent word to the captain that I was going 
 to attack the town and ordered him to 
 send away the women. He drew in his 
 outposts and I was able to pass. It was 
 a good joke on him. But that revolution 
 was una representation dramatical 
 
 The Commandante of Bolivar, El Senor 
 Coronel Pilar Para, invites you to go 
 shooting with him along a lagoon across 
 the river. Wood-pigeon are the objective. 
 It is a real test of shooting to get these 
 birds in the instant before they dive down 
 into the brush. The difficulties of wing 
 shooting, however, do not trouble El 
 Senor Coronel. He sneaks up to a dis- 
 tance of about ten yards and lets them 
 have it sitting. Then he turns around 
 and grins, while a boy goes into the brush 
 for the mangled remains. Twelve pigeons 
 and two parrots are the bag before it gets 
 too hot for comfort and we return. 
 
 At dinner that night Senor Vicentini 
 
 217 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 asks if you know a certain French paper. 
 In a passing way, you allow. 
 
 "They are blagueurs" he says; "last 
 month they showed a picture of the 
 Calle Babilonia here in Bolivar with the 
 rebels of Matos's revolution, and labelled it 
 * Mexican insurgents at Juarez.' ' 
 
 " Did you ever hear of how Palazzi 
 saved us from starvation in that Revolu- 
 tion?" asks M. Mattey. 
 
 "Was that Senor Santos Palazzi?" 
 you ask. 
 
 " Si, si ; Santos Palazzi, whom you 
 know," says Senor Vicentini. 
 
 " Bien," continues M. Mattey ; " the in- 
 surgents Matos's men had held this city 
 for nearly two years. But after the big 
 battle which Castro won, the Government 
 troops came closer and closer in. They 
 raided the country behind, where we got 
 our provisions. They blockaded the river 
 with their gunboats. Save a few who had 
 depots, we could get no food except some 
 218 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 fish from the Orinoco or some mangoes 
 from Marequita. Many were on the point 
 of starvation." 
 
 11 En effet c'6tait affreux," exclaims 
 Sefior Aquatella, who has been listening. 
 
 " It was at this time that Palazzi said 
 he would bring food. Nobody believed 
 him, for we knew that Castro was every- 
 where victorious. But Palazzi got a 
 coriara, covered it over with green 
 branches, and on a night when there was 
 no moon started down stream with two 
 peons. 
 
 "Only at night they paddled. In the 
 day they hid in canos or under over- 
 hanging trees. At San Felix was the 
 gunboat. They stole past close to the 
 bank, like a shadow between the beams 
 of the searchlight. It was to stand 
 against a wall with a file of men in front 
 if he were caught. 
 
 "After passing San Felix it was not 
 so bad. He got down to the mouth of 
 
 219 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 the Orinoco and was picked up by an 
 American cruiser its name I forget ; per- 
 haps it was the ' Gloucester.' Any way, 
 the American captain refused to permit 
 us to be starved. He had the 'Apure 
 loaded up with food and started with it 
 to relieve us. 
 
 "At Los Castillos, the commander of 
 the fort was going to fire on the ' Apure.' 
 But the American captain trained his 
 cannon and sent word that on the first 
 shot he would blow the fort into little 
 pieces. So Castro's men did not fire. 
 And we got food." 
 
 " Et $a gotitait bien, parbleu ! " adds 
 Senor Vicentini. 
 
 The Presidente has sent a request for 
 you to come at four o'clock to his house. 
 A tall, very dark Venezuelan gentleman 
 with a thin eagle nose and a full beard is 
 there Senor Ygnacio Alvarado. Genera 
 Telleria introduces you. Then he an- 
 nounces the purport of his summons. 
 
 220 
 
The City of Bolivar 
 
 The senor has been so good as to 
 invite you to his estate at San Jose, so 
 that you may see something of the 
 interior of Guiana. He is leaving in a 
 day or so. Would you like to go? 
 
 You are rather taken aback. The Pre- 
 sidente has manifestly issued to this grave 
 senor a royal request that you be invited. 
 Of course, however, you will be delighted 
 to accept the kindness. It is not a chance 
 to miss. 
 
 The Presidente asks about your outfit 
 a poncho, a mosquito bar, a hammock? 
 
 " Give me the pleasure of being allowed 
 to attend to the equipment and to the 
 provisions for the road," says Senor 
 Dr Alvarado in quiet dignity. 
 
 "How about a horse?" asks Telleria. 
 ' Perhaps for the comfort of the trip 
 ] a mule is better," says Alvarado. " I can 
 3 I get one from Montez." 
 
 " Good ! " says General Telleria. Then 
 he turns to you. "You are in the best 
 
 221 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 of hands with my friend," he says cordially. 
 11 Vou will meet Dr. Velazquez, a great 
 hunter, one of the finest examples of an 
 intelligent and educated estate owner. 
 Have a good time and drop in to see me 
 upon the return. Adios, hasta la vista ! " 
 He shakes your hand warmly. Rather 
 bewildered and decidedly conscience- 
 stricken at being thus imposed upon the 
 hospitality of his personal friends, you 
 take your departure to make ready for 
 the trip. 
 
 222 
 
VI 
 
 ON THE LLANOS 
 
 SENOR ALVARADO accompanies you 
 to the hotel to work out the expedi- 
 tion. He is the traditional Spanish 
 gentleman, grave, dignified, soft-spoken, 
 of punctilious courtesy. He explains in 
 fuller detail the expedition which El 
 Presidente has arranged. You are to go 
 to his estate at San Jose, some seventy 
 miles southward on the Garapo River, in 
 the heart of the plains. There you will 
 hunt and be shown the life of the 
 Venezuelan ranch-owners. Food is to be 
 carried packed on a burro for the stretches 
 where no supplies are obtainable. 
 
 " But most of the people along the road 
 are relatives of mine," adds Sefior Alvarado. 
 
 223 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 He asks to see your equipment. The 
 rubber poncho he condemns at once. It j 
 is too small, and you must have some- 
 thing warm. " I will get you a covija" 
 Your mosquito net, on the other hand, 
 has meshes which are too large. 
 
 " It must be very fine, like a lady's I 
 veil," he says. "It must fit well over 
 the hammock. I will get the right 
 sort." The hammock that you have 
 acquired at Mannoni's he thinks will do. 
 " Everybody sleeps in hammocks out 
 on the llanos," he remarks. 
 
 The mule is the next quest. We go 
 down the Calle de Constitution to the 
 Calle Babilonia and enter the general 
 merchandise store of Guilelmo Montez. 
 The proprietor is wedged in a corner 
 behind a high desk. He has tobacco, 
 canned goods, blankets, balata, machetes, 
 cheeses, everything that one can think of. 
 He is round as a dumpling, tanned 
 nearly to the black of a negro, and with 
 224 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 his broad smile looks like an ebony 
 idol. 
 
 Yes, he has a "buen mula." It is in 
 the courtyard behind, and we go out to 
 look at it. A capuchin monkey on the 
 veranda roof, chained by his middle, 
 reaches for your hat as you pass, and a 
 guinea-cock jumps to one side. 
 
 The mule is brought out and looks all 
 right, save for a saddle gall, which you 
 object to. 
 
 " No importa," says Senor Alvarado, 
 shaking a long finger, " I will fix it. You 
 try him." 
 
 A couple of black boys go to get the 
 saddlery. It takes two of them to bring 
 it. Really, it is appalling what is put 
 on to that little beast. First comes a 
 Blanket, carefully folded so as to leave 
 a depression along the spine. Then 
 bllows a piece of sacking with a hole 
 cut in it over the sore. Next an oilskin, 
 stuffed with straw on the under side, and 
 Q 225 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 reinforced over the withers. Then a leather 
 saddle-cloth with coloured patterns sewn 
 in. Last, the big embroidered saddle with 
 pockets and jingling rings on all sides. 
 It is covered with some yellow upholstery 
 which looks like a bath towel. 
 
 Alvarado smiles with pleasure as the 
 latter is cinched tight. 
 
 "We will put the saddlebags one on 
 each side, and strap the covija behind. 
 The mosquito net you can sit on, and 
 we will put a surcingle over it, which will 
 make the riding softer." 
 
 You feel as if you were on a miniature 
 Eiffel Tower as you mount. No wonder 
 the mule looks discouraged. His poor 
 thin neck and wabbly ears are far below 
 you. With the ferocious curb loose, you 
 take a turn around the block and come 
 back. The saddle sore has not rubbed 
 and the mule goes at a very comfortable 
 gait. 
 
 Montez swears it is strong enough for 
 226 
 

On the Llanos 
 
 any trip, and Alvarado nods his head : 
 "Buen mulal" 
 
 You return to the hotel and arrange 
 to leave next day at four o'clock in the 
 afternoon. 
 
 Some laundry work would be desirable, 
 so the boy is called. 
 
 "Only a Chinaman can do him so 
 quick," he says. 
 
 You summon the official head Celestial 
 and put it to him. He thinks a moment, 
 for half past three next day is a rush 
 order in this land of pasado manana. 
 The Mongolian, however, here as every- 
 where in the world, is equal to profitable 
 business. Finally, he agrees to deliver. 
 
 During your last dinner at Mannoni's 
 you hear another discussion, regarding 
 the time of the steamer run from Ciudad 
 Bolivar to Cayenne. It varies from two 
 to five days, according to Senor Aquatella 
 and M. Vicentini respectively. 
 
 Wadsworth, too, gives you his last ad- 
 
 227 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 monitions regarding the Spanish language : 
 " Make everything masculine, and don't 
 bother about tenses and things. People 
 will look surprised, but still they will 
 understand." 
 
 You eat another of Mr. Henderson's 
 mangoes, and go out into the court and 
 smoke. 
 
 At four o'clock Senor Alvarado comes 
 for you at Mannoni's. He is dressed in 
 black and wears a wide brown plush 
 sombrero and black leggings. Outside is 
 a peon with his steed, and the " buen 
 mula" for yourself. The Chinaman has 
 kept his word. Presently you are ready, 
 with some spare linen packed in a saddle- 
 bag, your rifle in its sling, and binoculars 
 handy. The hotel turns out to see you 
 climb on to the lofty peaked saddle, tower- 
 ing above the mule, and start up the 
 cobbled hill. 
 
 Along the steep road, bordered by the 
 pale blue and yellow stucco houses with 
 228 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 their barred windows, in front of the 
 white cathedral and the brooding statue 
 of Bolivar, we go, the mules picking their 
 way daintily among the cobble - stones. 
 Through the Plaza Miranda on the top 
 of the hill the hoofs clatter. We pass 
 the Infantry Barracks, then take the steep 
 slope, and draw in under the shadow 
 of the old Spanish monastery, with its 
 sentry-boxes on the wall. We skirt the 
 cemetery of La Trinidad, leaving the 
 ruined Spanish fort which guarded the 
 height to our left. 
 
 " There Bolivar stood," says Alvarado, 
 "just before he entered Angostura to be 
 named President. There he chose the 
 colours of the flag for Greater Colombia. 
 It had been raining, and the sun came out 
 over the city as El Libertador's force came 
 onto the crest. 
 
 " ' What better flag/ he exclaimed, 'can 
 we have than the colour of the heavens 
 with the rainbow aglow?* That is why 
 
 229 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 the nations that were made from his 
 great Republic have such bright colours 
 on their banners." 
 
 We enter a road leading between sub- 
 urban country houses. One cottage has 
 over its door the name " San Buena- 
 ventura." 
 
 A peon here salutes our host. He reins 
 in his mule for a moment, and each man 
 puts his hand on the other's shoulder. 
 
 " Buenos dias, amigo," says Alvarado. 
 
 Three or four other friends come up 
 while we stand and are greeted in this 
 way. Alvarado knows a good half of 
 the people in the streets as we pass along, 
 and for each one, high or low, he has 
 this affectionate salutation. 
 
 The road broadens out presently into 
 a succession of trails with grass between, 
 and we pass woods and thickets of middle- 
 sized trees. After about two hours 
 of riding we meet a band of peons, 
 whom Alvarado hails and from whom 
 230 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 he asks a question regarding Dr. 
 Sarto. One of them turns back and 
 takes down the bars of a gate a few 
 hundred yards ahead. We enter grounds 
 with small mango-trees and cedars planted 
 here and there, a neat row of stones circling 
 each trunk. 
 
 In front is a long, low stucco building 
 whose roof-thatch covers a veranda which 
 runs completely around it. 
 
 " A nephew of mine, Dr. Sarto, lives 
 here," says Alvarado. 
 
 We hand our mules over to some boys 
 who run to our service and enter the 
 gallery. Two ladies come out to meet 
 us. For a moment one suspects that 
 they have just risen from a surprised 
 siesta and have been caught in rather 
 disordered robes-de-nuit, for they are 
 dressed in shapeless loose white frocks. 
 But this proves to be the regular house- 
 dress of the wives and sisters of country 
 estate owners. 
 
 231 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 The ladies conduct us to the end of 
 the veranda, which is the reception-room 
 of the house. Canvas, reefed like the sail 
 of a ship, is stretched under the thatch, 
 ready to be let down in case of rain. The 
 walls of the house are of adobe, whose 
 paint, once white, is much flaked away 
 and is scarred with nail-holes. Two faded 
 engravings hang on the side wall, and 
 these, with a table and some rocking- 
 chairs, painted black, constitute the 
 furnishings. 
 
 This family is one of the comfortable 
 bourgeoisie of Ciudad Bolivar. Dr. Sarto 
 owns a pharmacy, and rides out home 
 after a few hours in town each day. He 
 is a physician, and while speaking Spanish 
 only, he reads French medical books with- 
 out difficulty. 
 
 His wife, who has refined features and 
 
 a pleasant address, speaks the remnants of 
 
 French and English. She once had a fair 
 
 knowledge of both languages, but long iso- 
 
 232 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 lation from the world and its interests has 
 buried it and her other possibilities. Her 
 five children are sturdy-looking and well 
 cared for, but Madame Sarto is sallow, 
 careworn, and ailing. 
 
 The Doctoj himself comes home 
 presently on mule-back. He is a well- 
 built, strong-looking man of about forty, 
 more of the German than the Spanish 
 type. He takes us for a stroll around the 
 gardens while dinner is being prepared. 
 
 In a corral made of crooked posts from 
 the chapparal-trees there are half a dozen 
 rather skinny-looking cows. Farther on 
 is a little plantation which the Doctor has 
 started, with a couple of tentative irriga- 
 tion ditches. The yuma-tree, from whose 
 roots cassava is made, bananas, bread- 
 fruits, and other plants are growing. A 
 cashew-tree, whose fruit is edible though 
 not very good, but whose nut, growing 
 outside the fruit, is really excellent, is 
 flourishing behind the house. The 
 
 233 
 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 children run ahead of us with sticks to 
 knock off mangoes. 
 
 Just at nightfall we sit down on the 
 veranda to eat la comida. Boiled beef 
 with rice is the pikce de resistance, a sort 
 of Yorkshire pudding, made of plantains, 
 eggs, and milk, accompanying the meat. 
 Wine and beer are on the table, and are 
 liberally taken. A crowd of little negro 
 children and women dependents of the 
 house, who hover habitually about the 
 kitchen and the servants' quarters, pass the 
 plates and serve the repast. One expects 
 every minute to see them fall over each 
 other and make a general cataclysm, but 
 they graze adventures and deliver the 
 viands safely. 
 
 The dinner scene is suddenly enlivened 
 by a shriek from one of these boys, who 
 has just missed stepping on a scorpion 
 with his bare feet. We get up and 
 kill the insect by stamping on it with 
 boots, then go back to some excellent 
 234 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 preserves called "papoi," served with a 
 white cheese which flakes away like an 
 onion "quesa a manos," it is called. 
 
 We retire after dinner to the other end 
 of the veranda for coffee and cigarettes. 
 Dr. Sarto lights an acetylene lamp, and 
 we puff a few minutes in silence. Outside 
 the moon rises slowly, and you settle for an 
 evening of quiet comfort. But Alvarado 
 does not give us much indulgence. 
 
 "This is just the time to travel," he 
 says; "the mules go best by night." 
 
 So the mules are brought around and 
 we take leave of the Doctor's household. 
 Two peons on horseback join us now. 
 They drive before them a little burro with 
 a box of provisions slung on each side of 
 his back. To the tail of one peon's horse 
 is moored a spare mule. The burro runs 
 free, and when the front rider has nothing 
 better to do he gives the animal a slash 
 with his whip. We go out of the gate 
 and into the night. 
 
 235 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 A good moon is shining, but the sky 
 is so overcast that one can barely see 
 the path ahead. Alvarado goes on, how- 
 ever, without hesitation. The forest has 
 thinned, and we follow now an irregular 
 road, now cattle-paths, riding in Indian 
 file. Twice Alvarado deserts these trails 
 altogether, and for a mile or so cuts across 
 a wide savanna of bunch grass, where 
 shadowy cattle, stunted bushes, and chap- 
 paral-trees appear from time to time in 
 the wide expanse of grass. 
 
 Two labouring ox-teams of six yoke 
 are passed, drawing a high cart with 
 wheels set 7 feet apart. Peons walking 
 alongside are goading on the unwilling 
 cattle. 
 
 After about three hours of silent riding 
 the dim outlines of a house and a corral 
 loom ahead. We ride up and dismount. 
 The peons unload the animals and go off 
 to picket them where they can graze. 
 We enter without ceremony a large dim 
 236 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 room and sling our hammocks from the 
 beams which support the roof. 
 
 " No mosquitoes here," says Alvarado ; 
 "do not get out your net." 
 
 None of the inhabitants of the house 
 stir. After removing gaiters, shoes, and 
 coat, you take wearily to the hammock. 
 Towards morning you open one eye and 
 reach for the woollen covija. It is actually 
 chilly. Soon, however, you are awake for 
 good, though the sun has just risen. 
 Cocks are crowing, parrots screeching, 
 cows lowing somewhere outside, and 
 people moving about and talking. You 
 look around and finally get up. 
 
 You are in a big room with the thatch of 
 the roof rising to an acute angle above 
 your head. At the doorway this is cut 
 away like a bang on a child's forehead, but 
 along the rest of its length the roofing 
 comes down shaggily to within about 
 5 feet of the ground. The stalks of the 
 palms used in thatching are laid in regular 
 
 237 
 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 ranks over beams and are held together 
 with fibres. Not a nail is used. The 
 sapling lattice framework forming the sides 
 of this big central room leave it open to 
 every breath of air. The kitchen, at one 
 end, is enclosed up to 2 feet under the 
 roof with wattle and thatch, and the 
 owner's bedroom at the end of the casa 
 opposite the kitchen is completely enclosed 
 in the same way. The floors are of clay, 
 stamped hard and irregularly laid, giving 
 miniature mountains and valleys an 
 ideal battle-field for a child's lead soldiers. 
 
 Of furniture, there are in the centre room 
 only a table and a chair, hammocks in the 
 bedroom, in the kitchen a few pots, a 
 wooden trough, and a coffee-can. On the 
 walls of the living-room a couple of 
 muzzle-loading guns, a machete, and some 
 old saddlery complete the inventory. 
 
 The owner, Pedro Cristine Praga, of 
 mixed Indian and Spanish blood, is a 
 typical small proprietor. He is slenderly 
 238 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 built, with a heavy moustache and side 
 whiskers. His wife is much older-look- 
 ing and shows the wear of work. His 
 daughter, about seventeen, is quite 
 comely, with great dark eyes. So are 
 also the two half-grown boys and the 
 two little " muchachos," Juan and 
 Anastasia. 
 
 The women shuffle about in their 
 sandals alpargatas preparing breakfast. 
 Coffee is made by pouring hot water 
 several times through a coffee-bag. 
 Some cheese and cassava bread are laid 
 out for us. Fried eggs and milk fresh 
 from the cow complete the repast. 
 After breakfast the girl goes to a bunch 
 of dried tobacco leaves in a corner, 
 rolls herself a cigar, and lights up. 
 You get her to make you one also. 
 It is shaped like a diseased cheroot, 
 but is not bad to smoke. 
 
 After a short stay the animals are 
 brought up and we mount and go on, 
 
 239 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 so as to travel as much as possible 
 while it is still cool. We are on a 
 fairly elevated plateau now, seared by 
 precipitous gullies, whose coarsely sanded 
 sides are dark red. Down in these 
 arroyos the thickets grow together into 
 a jungle of trees, creepers, bamboo, and 
 cactus. The water brings dense vegeta- 
 tion all along its path, while on the flat 
 sandy plateau nothing is met for long 
 distances save bunch grass and the 
 gnarled chapparal-trees. 
 
 Through this we travel mile after 
 mile, following dubious-looking paths 
 among the bunch grass. The red sand- 
 stone formation and sharp peaks and 
 gullies give place to occasional ledges of 
 granite, strewn with boulders, thickets 
 growing up at times around the rocks. 
 The grass is very coarse and tufted. 
 The cattle we sometimes pass are thin 
 and small. Towards noon the heat has 
 become intense. 
 240 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 " Hace mucho calor," you gasp. 
 
 "We are near the place for a halt/' 
 says Alvarado consolingly. 
 
 The peons lash the burro along behind 
 us, and the mules need to be encouraged 
 with the barbed espuelas every few feet. 
 At last a brown adobe house, with a 
 small banana plantation behind, appears 
 out in the bare llanos. We ride up, 
 slide off our mules, and walk into the 
 centre room, while the peons unload the 
 animals and bring in the provisions. 
 
 This house is built on the same plan 
 as that of the peasant proprietor of last 
 night, save that the open lattice-work 
 is plastered over with adobe and every- 
 thing is shut in and correspondingly 
 dark and stuffy. We are welcomed by a 
 little old crinkly-haired Zambo woman 
 wearing smoked spectacles and nearly 
 blind. Alvarado greets her with his 
 usual courtesy and guides her to the 
 kitchen, where she and another woman 
 R 241 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 prepare coffee. About half an hour later 
 lunch is ready. It consists of a big 
 meat stew, in which plantains, a yellow 
 vegetable with a green skin like a frog's, 
 a white fibrous vegetable looking like a 
 potato, and some rice swim round 
 together. Cheese, more coffee, and some 
 of our preserved milk round out this 
 repast el almnerzo. 
 
 Chickens in numbers are running about 
 underfoot, including one curious breed 
 called "grifo," the black feathers of which 
 stick out at right angles. There is also 
 a sort of white bird, like a pullet, but 
 longer and thinner, and a big-headed 
 sun-bittern which catches and eats flies. 
 
 We hang up our hammocks and pre- 
 pare to sit under cover until the sun is 
 lower, for it is now torrid outside, and 
 hot even under the cover of the house. 
 Alvarado stretches himself out comfort- 
 ably and talks. 
 
 "This road to San Jos is safe enough," 
 242 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 he says ; " here all are friends and rela- 
 tions, for our family and the Perez and 
 the Velazquez have been on the land for 
 centuries, but beyond, in Paragua, it is 
 bad un pais malo. Once I went far into 
 Paragua to look at some balata forests. 
 The place had a bad name, but I knew 
 of the wealth people get with balata. A 
 man who had been there offered to guide 
 me an Indian with a big machete-scar. 
 Nobody in San Jose knew him, but I 
 hired him, got the mules, and started. 
 We travelled for two weeks. Then one 
 day we stopped at a little rancho to eat. 
 I noticed that the guide said something 
 secretly to the man of the house, whose 
 looks I did not like. 
 
 "A little farther on I saw my Indian 
 looking to right and left and touching 
 his hat with his hand. We were going 
 through a very thick forest, and I became 
 suspicious in an instant. I drew my 
 revolver and aimed at him. 
 
 243 
 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 " * Call your friend who is in those 
 bushes/ I said. 
 
 " He called ' Ramon/ and the man 
 came out with a lasso in his hand. I 
 aimed the revolver, and told my Indian 
 to tie him to a tree. 
 
 " Their scheme was to lasso me and 
 rob, and probably kill me. Many tra- 
 vellers had disappeared in Paragua. But 
 I was in a bad position, for I did not 
 know the way, and the nearest town was 
 40 miles. So I rode with the guide in 
 front of me and the pistol at his back 
 for 30 miles. Then I could see the 
 road. I tied him to a tree with many 
 knots and rode on quickly. 
 
 "The Jefe Civil was in the town, and 
 he sent and got the Indian. He con- 
 fessed he had meant to rob me, and 
 they found that he had murdered other 
 travellers. So they shot him and his 
 partner. It was a close escape. But 
 here it is all right, save in time of 
 244 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 revolution, when thieves and soldiers are 
 all about." 
 
 We slap at the flies and wait for the 
 heat to diminish. About four o'clock the 
 mules are brought out and we start off 
 once again. It is still chokingly hot, and 
 the miles of savanna spread out un- 
 brokenly in the glare. Now and then 
 granite rocks and thickets are passed, and 
 far ahead a mountain range, the Parida, 
 is dimly outlined. 
 
 A few birds are flying among the rare 
 chapparal. On one bush is perched an 
 oripopa, a sort of small vulture, so tame 
 that we pass it 30 feet away, and an occa- 
 sional zamuro, or turkey-buzzard, wheels 
 in the sun far overhead. 
 
 Clouds of the purest white, in great 
 rolls like mountains of billowy cotton, are 
 heaped in the pale blue of the sky. Some 
 are distant, some seem so close that one 
 could almost touch them. The sun sinks 
 lower and lower. It tinges now the 
 
 245 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 under side of the clouds, and flushes to 
 deepest crimson the whole mass along the 
 western horizon. On the east a thunder- 
 storm is brewing, and the clouds are iron- 
 grey. Now, in paler reflex, the splendour 
 of the west steals over them too. The 
 far-off shower shows like a broad band 
 of rose, while north and south the clouds 
 every moment become darker. A few 
 minutes longer the glory of the sunset 
 lasts. Then almost at once, like a curtain, 
 falls the night. 
 
 With the last light of the dying day 
 we ford a river bordered by great dark- 
 green trees and palms, skirt a banana 
 plantation, pass a chapparal-trunk corral 
 and enter the grounds of Sefior Ber- 
 mudez, a cousin of Alvarado. 
 
 Senor Bermudez, driven out by an early 
 Venezuelan revolution, was for many years 
 a resident of Trinidad. But there he 
 met business reverses, so he has recently 
 returned and bought this estate. The 
 246 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 senor and his wife welcome us to a 
 home which is a duplicate of Dr. 
 Sarto's, save that it is more poorly 
 equipped. The peasant's rough plenty of 
 yesterday is absent here. Life is evidently 
 a hard struggle for the old man and his 
 wife and two grown daughters. He has, 
 however, the tradition of Spanish hos- 
 pitality, and offers his best entertainment 
 and a corner of the porch for the ham- 
 mocks. 
 
 Senor Bermudez has a sample of tobacco 
 from a valley some distance to the west- 
 wards which he believes to be as good 
 as the best Cuban. It takes more of an 
 expert than you are to pass judgment. 
 
 11 1 had some cigars made," he recounts, 
 "and got a Partagas band put around 
 them. I gave a box to Senor Antonella, 
 who is one of the gourmets of Port of 
 Spain, and he said they were particularly 
 good cigars. He was very angry when 
 we told him they came from Venezuela, 
 
 247 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 but he had to allow they were fine 
 smoking." 
 
 We are lit in to dinner by a single 
 flickering candle. The poor light throws 
 on to the dark walls shadows of gigantic 
 gestures and heads with enormous features. 
 It is weirdly fascinating. From time to 
 time, when some one turning a little 
 presents his profile to the trembling 
 yellow flame, a huge hand lifts some- 
 thing like a pronged pitchfork up to a 
 mouth which opens like the gullet of a 
 monster. It is an eerie dinner, and, as we 
 have been many hours in the saddle, you 
 soon accept the hospitality of the rafters. 
 
 You sleep, however, with a certain 
 difficulty. Two geese, early in the night, 
 come to roost on the rail near your head, 
 and hiss to the world in general before 
 finally retiring. A pig makes an investi- 
 gation of your shoes. Sundry chickens, 
 which should have roosted long ago, come 
 in clucking anxiously. Cocks crow to 
 248 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 the moon and the stars all through the 
 night. An uneasy cow in the corral 
 near by utters a periodic " moo." 
 
 At dawn you are definitely awakened 
 by Alvarado. You find everything packed 
 but your hammock. One of Senor Ber- 
 mudez's daughters has a cup of black 
 coffee ready, and you are very soon in 
 the saddle. 
 
 "Adios, sefior," the ladies call to you. 
 Alvarado and Sefior Bermudez touch 
 hands to shoulders and our cavalcade 
 starts. 
 
 "We will breakfast at San Jose," says 
 Alvarado. 
 
 The llanos become more rolling as we 
 advance and the rocky thickets more 
 numerous. The grass seems better. It 
 is dense, and in some places it has lost 
 its clumpy character and is all one sway- 
 ing sward, "como un mar de yarbas," 
 like Humboldt's "sea of grass." We pass 
 many little watercourses, whose presence 
 
 249 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 can be discovered a long way off by the 
 palm-trees which follow them down. An 
 occasional lagoon is seen. We skirt one 
 whose soft border is churned by the 
 cattle into a bumpy morass, A solitary 
 white crane is standing sentry over it. 
 A palm glade is left behind and a boulder- 
 covered hill-slope. The Parida Mountain 
 Range is nearing us ahead. 
 
 "This is my land," says Alvarado, and 
 his eyes light with the pleasure of a 
 home-coming. 
 
 We ride a couple of miles farther to 
 where the trail divides. The peons and 
 the burro are behind. Alvarado dis- 
 mounts and lays twigs from a chapparal- 
 tree across one of the trails. 
 
 " Thus the peons will know which path 
 to take/' he explains. 
 
 A half hour farther on we descend 
 into a hollow and reach a cattle-pond 
 with lofty trees around it. Beyond, we 
 climb back onto the upland. 
 250 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 " Nearly there," calls our host eagerly. 
 
 A barbed-wire fence appears presently, 
 and this we skirt for another mile. Then 
 a clump of big dark-green mango-trees 
 arises, and a chapparal-wood corral, and a 
 long, low, thatched house. A boy runs 
 forward and lets down the bars and we 
 ride in. 
 
 A strong-looking, much-tanned youth 
 of about eighteen comes up and affection- 
 ately salutes Alvarado. 
 
 " My son Carlos," he is introduced. 
 We walk up to the entrance of the portico. 
 Two ladies with sallow waxen com- 
 plexions in the now familiar white shape- 
 less dresses appear from inside. One is 
 Senora Alvarado, the other an orphan girl 
 whom they have taken into the family 
 without any bond of relationship or 
 obligation. Carlos tells you that he has 
 spent two years at school in Trinidad. 
 He speaks some English. The rest of 
 the family know only Spanish. 
 
 25 1 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 While breakfast is being prepared 
 Alvarado gets out the gifts which he has 
 bought in Bolivar for his family. There 
 are boxes of scented soap for Senora 
 Alvarado, a brooch for the girl, a pair 
 of knitted blue socks for the two-year-old 
 baby, a tin trumpet for the six-year-old 
 muchacha, and a new necktie for Carlos. 
 The recipients are all delighted, and every- 
 thing is spread out on the table. 
 
 The almuerzo comes on in due time- 
 coffee with fresh milk, fried eggs, and 
 cassava bread. You are not deficient in 
 appetite nor are you averse to a siesta, 
 in the heat of the day, after break- 
 fast. The hammocks are hung on the 
 porch. 
 
 Lying in them lazily, you can follow 
 the parrots screaming in the mango-tree 
 overhead. Half a dozen vultures are 
 perched on the stockade of the corral, 
 watching a sick calf with sinister patience. 
 A peacock, with much whirring of plumes, 
 252 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 is displaying his charms to an absolutely 
 indifferent white pullet, while the neglected 
 pea-hen, with one fledgling, is quietly 
 picking up a living for the family in 
 another portion of the garden. Down by 
 the kitchen to the left a sow, followed by 
 half a dozen pink pigs, is rooting beneath 
 a lime-tree. A flock of blackbirds wheels 
 in the sky and passes. Guinea-fowl and 
 chickens wander up and down the piazza. 
 A tiger-dog comes and pokes his nose 
 into your hand. A white turkey gobbles 
 in emulation of the peacock. 
 
 On the adobe railing in front of you 
 is a row of saddles, while bridles, sur- 
 cingles and straps are hanging on the 
 posts. The wall behind is pasted up with 
 advertising lithographs of girls' heads, 
 amid which is a cartoon of a man who 
 sold on credit when he should have sold 
 for cash. A religious calendar, giving 
 the names of the Saints to whom each 
 day in the year is sacred, occupies a promi- 
 
 253 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 nent place, and chromos of the Venezuelan 
 Presidents "dado" the gallery. Close 
 beside the hammock are slung big gourds 
 that hold a reserve of drinking-water and 
 a porous jug which, being always damp, 
 keeps cold a supply for immediate require- 
 ments. Just under the thatch are 
 suspended the skulls of eleven jaguars 
 shot in the neighbourhood of the ranch. 
 
 At about the end of the siesta a well- 
 set-up figure in white rides up to the yard 
 gate. He is welcomed by the family and 
 introduced to you Dr. Eduardo Velaz- 
 quez, the senor to whom the Presidente 
 has given you a note. 
 
 The Doctor is about thirty years old, 
 and is tanned a dark brown by constant 
 riding in the torrid sun. A heavy mous- 
 tache covers strong white teeth ; his air 
 is alert and keen. He has studied medi- 
 cine for two years in Paris, but on the 
 death of his father last year came out to 
 manage the family estates. He is a 
 254 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 nephew of Alvarado, and, owing in a large 
 measure to his business capacity, has 
 assumed the management of his ranch 
 also. He receives by the hand of friends 
 passing from Bolivar the French medical 
 journals and the Caracas " Heraldo." 
 Medicine he practises to some extent still, 
 but mostly on the farm animals, which 
 assuredly need it. 
 
 We go out to look at a small herd of 
 horses that his peons have driven in from 
 the savanna. Carlos brings along a bottle 
 of some brown creosote tincture. Horse 
 after horse has to be treated in the ears 
 and groin for "garrapata," little ticks 
 which fatten on blood, swell to a full 
 quarter of an inch or more, and burst, 
 distributing a numberless progeny which 
 have grown within their body. A colt 
 has some bone disease that prevents it 
 from rising to its feet. One mare has a 
 cancer which the Doctor has unsuccessfully 
 operated upon. Others have raw sores 
 
 255 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 here and there. Truly the cattleman's life 
 in Venezuela is not easy. 
 
 The River Carapo is a mile away from 
 the house. A swim is suggested by 
 Carlos. Our steeds are saddled and 
 brought around, and we ride down to a 
 gap in the thickets which line the river, 
 where a gravel beach stretches just below 
 a deep pool. 
 
 " There are no crocodiles here, but some- 
 times we get electric eels," you are told. 
 
 The sport is so refreshing that the after- 
 noon passes all too soon. 
 
 As the shadows are lengthening, you 
 ride back to the house among the mango- 
 trees, as cool and comfortable as if you 
 were on the plains of the Dakotas rather 
 than nine degrees north of the Equator. 
 Indeed, it would seem that the heat of the 
 Tropics is by no means the terror it is 
 pictured. Unless one is in a hot and 
 stuffy room, or on a pitch lake, or in a 
 city where the buildings absorb heat, he is 
 256 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 comfortable everywhere save under the 
 direct rays of the sun. And at no time 
 do you find it worse than some of the 
 bad days in New York. The Torrid differs 
 from the Temperate Zone not so much in 
 having a greater extreme of heat, as in 
 having warm weather all the year round. 
 The nights are cool, and here at San Jose 
 the woollen comja is needed always before 
 morning. 
 
 The household at Alvarado's rises at 
 dawn. The milking of the cows is the 
 first duty. A chorus comes from them 
 and their calves in the mists of the early 
 day. The sound is like the groaning of 
 a great suffering host. 
 
 " Comme le champs de bataille de Wa- 
 gram, dans la derniere acte de 1'Aiglon," 
 Velazquez expresses it. The calves are 
 kept in one pen, the cows in another. 
 As each cow's turn comes to be milked her 
 calf is let join her for a moment, then it 
 is pulled away by main strength and held 
 s 257 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 until the milking is accomplished. These 
 animals are the descendants of the cattle 
 brought over by the Spaniards at the time 
 of the Conquest. Almost no new blood 
 has been brought in since, and as no care 
 has been taken in breeding, here, where 
 the grass is not particularly good, the 
 cows are rangy and thin, and give but 
 little milk. 
 
 A wild bull is to be slaughtered in your 
 honour for fresh meat. Early in the 
 morning, after he has been driven near 
 the house and cornered, a peon has ridden 
 up with the raw-hide lasso fast to the 
 horse's tail and has caught the victim. 
 He stands now lashed to a tree by the 
 many turns of the raw hide around his 
 horns. A savage look is in his eyes. 
 
 At about ten o'clock a keen - eyed, 
 leather-skinned vaquero lassos the bull's 
 front feet and throws him. Then Dr. 
 Velazquez with one dexterous stab cuts 
 an artery in the throat. The ill - omened 
 258 ' 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 buzzards sit in the trees around and coldly 
 wait. Without staining his white suit the 
 Doctor flays the head and one leg, then 
 leaves the rest to the vaquero and a young 
 Indian. The ribs are slashed away and 
 roasted on the end of a spit over a slow 
 fire for our dinner. The rest of the flesh 
 is cut into strips a half-inch thick and 
 hung on a rack to cure in the hot sun. 
 This makes the tough desiccated beef one 
 gets throughout this country. 
 M Everything we eat at San Jos6 is raised 
 on the. ranch or near by coffee, sugar, 
 cassava bread, milk, meat, beans, mangoes, 
 papoi, bananas, plantains, tobacco. It is 
 wonderful what a small area of ground 
 will supply an abundance of food. Accord- 
 ing to Von Humboldt, one acre of bananas 
 will feed twenty times as many as will 
 an acre of wheat, and bananas go on 
 bearing year after year without cultivation. 
 Nature here is very close at hand. 
 Every morning you shake out your shoes 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 lest a scorpion has nested there. Once you 
 find beside them a poisonous lizard, lar- 
 garaba. The domestic animals are under 
 your very feet. Bats fly around in the 
 house and hang from the thatch. Rats 
 run about under the end room where the 
 stores of rice and beans and the Doctor's 
 medicine chests are kept. Parrots and 
 blackbirds swarm in the trees outside, 
 and here nest the little birds that give 
 warning of serpents. 
 
 Near the house is a hill of those 
 strangely civilized communities, the para- 
 sol ants. For 200 feet you trace their 
 line of march, one rank going to the 
 nest carrying fragments of leaves, which 
 fall back over their bodies as if the 
 creatures were shading themselves from 
 the sun. These colonies have been com- 
 pared to Sir Thomas More's " Utopia," 
 or to the ideal socialism. All work in the 
 hill-hive the big ants, nearly half an inch 
 long, provided with formidable jaws, and 
 260 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 the little ones, no bigger than gnats. Each 
 carries the burden it can bear. All are 
 nourished by the fungus which grows 
 upon the masticated leaves planted inside 
 the nest. But the individual is nothing. 
 The wounded ones are let struggle where 
 they lie, the procession going on past and 
 over them indifferently. Toil, not life, is 
 the goal of the hill-hive, and the toil never 
 stops. 
 
 A hunting-party is arranged to start in 
 the afternoon of the second day and camp 
 near a group of hills on the edge of the 
 savanna. Two ancient Winchesters are 
 at the casa, and Velazquez has a 38- 
 calibre revolver. A machete for the peon 
 who will accompany us completes the 
 outfit. 
 
 We ride off to the eastward with a pack 
 of seven " peros tigreros " trotting behind. 
 Nominally these dogs are for hunting 
 jaguar. Actually, they will chase nearly 
 anything. An hour before we start they 
 
 261 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 kill at the foot of the banana plantation 
 a rabbit, which is promptly consigned to 
 the family larder. 
 
 The pack is a curiously mixed one ; 
 three dogs are of the true "tigrero" type, 
 brindled grey with slanting eyes. But 
 the best dog is a black, El Negro, with 
 no class at all in his looks and one eajr 
 chewed off. There are two white and 
 grey " pintos " and one brown brute, small 
 and long like a dachshund, with hanging 
 bloodhound ears. The pintos are just 
 puppies, and ever and anon they get stuck 
 on thorns and make the forest ring with 
 their woes. 
 
 About two hours of riding from the 
 casa brings us to a grove of chapparal 
 at the foot of a rocky thicket-grown hill. 
 A pool of water girded with palm-trees 
 is alongside. We decide to camp here. 
 The mules are picketed in some good 
 grazing ground. While the peon gathers 
 wood for a fire, including a reserve supply, 
 262 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 which he carefully covers with palm 
 fronds against a rain which seems immi- 
 nent, we stretch our hammocks between 
 the trees. The mosquito bar, which has 
 not been unfolded so far, is now opened 
 out and drawn into place. As a protec- 
 tion against the shower, a rope is stretched 
 above the net, and over this is laid the 
 thick covija, which makes a miniature tent 
 over the hammock. 
 
 There is no danger from jaguar in the 
 night, surrounded as we are by dogs and 
 with the fire burning. But there is a 
 chance that a bull may come along the 
 cattle-path and give your hammock a 
 poke for good luck. This is one of the 
 risks, however. 
 
 Having fished up water by means of a 
 horn at the end of a string, an equipment 
 which both Velazquez and the peon carry 
 in their saddle pockets, we soon make a 
 meal of coffee, cassava, and cheese. The 
 coffee-grounds are later allowed to drain 
 
 263 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 for an hour or so, and just before going 
 to bed we have the second brew, called 
 guarapo. The original brew was cafe. 
 
 It is a warm, moist night, whose deep 
 encircling shadows seem full of murmur- 
 ings and of whispers. Between the high 
 trees above are spaces of dense blackness. 
 An odour of earth, of grasses, a scent of 
 woods and of dead branches, is in the 
 air. Above are the fitful stars, and though 
 no breeze stirs, you feel around you the 
 vague palpitation of this ocean of leaves. 
 You feel lost, at bay, surrounded with 
 dangers under this living mystery a- 
 tremble everywhere. You fall asleep to 
 this deep throb of the jungle. 
 
 In the morning we discuss the plan 
 of campaign. " Venedo 6 tigre deer or 
 jaguar ? " is the first question. All votes 
 are counted for jaguar. 
 
 " Now," says Velazquez, " there are two 
 ways of hunting tigre. One is safe and 
 easy, but it is hard to find him by it. 
 264 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 The other is very difficult and dangerous, 
 but if there are any tigres you get them. 
 The first method is to ride around the 
 savanna with dogs and try to run on 
 a trail. The dogs chase the tigre up 
 a tree, and you station yourself about 
 10 feet away and shoot it in the eye. The 
 second way is to go into the montana to 
 their dens. If jaguars are in the neigh- 
 bourhood they will be there. You build 
 a fire and stand in front of the hole. 
 They come out on the jump and you have 
 to shoot quick. " Esta los llanos" he 
 points to the level savanna, "y esa el 
 monte" he points to the jungle-covered 
 hill above. 
 
 We enter the montana. The peon, 
 machete in hand, leads the way to cut 
 the vines and creepers where they are 
 impassable. In a few minutes you are 
 fighting your way up the hill through the 
 worst jungle you have ever had to face, 
 bar none. 
 
 265 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 The Venezuelans have a special word 
 for these tangled forests of trees and 
 creepers, " los bejucales." Here and there 
 are trees with long needles like thorns 
 which break off in the flesh. On the 
 climb you grasp branches whose upper 
 surface is fitted with row on row of jagged 
 triangular teeth like a shark's, so that 
 even a monkey cannot climb them. Sabre 
 cacti, with hook-shaped thorns along the 
 edge and a fine point, grapple and pierce 
 your clothes. Others which you brush 
 into are four-sided, standing upright with 
 sprays of needles at the angles. On the 
 rocks grow still others like gigantic 
 thistles, white on top with a little red 
 flower. Vines sweep down from the tree- 
 tops and overhanging rocks. They are 
 so many entangling ropes with which 
 you struggle like some labouring Gulliver 
 while tearing your hands upon the fish- 
 hook and thorn attachments. Clumps 
 of young bamboo add their stubborn 
 266 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 spines to the rest. You set your teeth 
 hard, breast the savage resistance, and 
 press forward. 
 
 Boulders line the way ; between them 
 you must pick a precarious way as best 
 you can. Now and again your feet stub 
 against a rock, and being entangled, you 
 fall forward, clutching desperately at all 
 in reach. In places the ground is so 
 steep that you must climb on hands and 
 knees. The dogs will not stir from the 
 path you make to hunt these thickets, 
 but follow cringing, with bleeding paws, 
 whining as the thorns pierce them. Once, 
 fortunately in a more open place, the 
 guide gives a cry and runs a score of 
 yards. Before you can understand the 
 reason, four hornets have stung you on 
 forehead and temple. A cascabel (rattle- 
 snake) is sighted by the peon, but disap- 
 pears quickly into the brush. Woodticks, 
 (garrapatas) are on your arms and neck, 
 burrowing in. The sweat pours down 
 
 267 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 your forehead, and the thick khaki of 
 your suit is drenched with it. 
 
 At last we see a cavern under a great 
 rock. "Tigre," whispers the peon. Guns 
 ready, we tiptoe up. The peon pokes 
 tenderly with a long stick. We are braced 
 to receive a jaguar coming out at a 
 spring. Our emotion is wasted, however. 
 The dogs come and sniff: nothing is in 
 the den. 
 
 We move along the base of the cliff, 
 poking into all the dens we find. It is 
 heart-breaking work. The peon is fear- 
 lessly brave "guapo." He goes up to 
 every hole and pokes in it with a stick, 
 as well as leading the way through the 
 brush. He is a silent, thin-faced, sinewy 
 vaquero, of the cowboy breed with 
 whom Bolivar beat the Spaniards. We 
 accomplish nothing. We poke into holes 
 for two days, riding across the savanna 
 from mountain to mountain. Several 
 turtles with orange spots on their backs, 
 268 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 called morocoi, and an armadillo, called 
 caracal, are all we get. 
 
 Once we see the zamuro wheeling about 
 in the distance, and ride a couple of miles 
 to see if a jaguar has killed something 
 there. A hundred buzzards, black, re- 
 pulsive, are around a cow. We examine 
 her, but there is not a wound. Her eyes 
 only have been pecked out as the first 
 tit-bits by a white and black royal vulture, 
 on whose pleasure the rest wait. 
 
 " Une veille vache morte d'amour," says 
 Velazquez disgustedly. 
 
 The peon cuts a piece of the cow's leg 
 for the dogs, which shamelessly gnaw the 
 flesh, for with raw meat they are fed 
 without scruple. 
 
 The vaquero decides finally that the 
 tigres must be in the deep woods, rather 
 than here in the neighbourhood of the 
 cattle-ranges which they usually haunt. 
 
 On the third day out we camp for lunch, 
 in the midst of which a rain comes on. 
 
 269 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 For two hours it pours in torrents. Every- 
 thing we have is wet through. A gourd 
 which was left standing to catch the coffee 
 drippings is full to the brim. The dogs 
 whimper and move uneasily from place 
 to place. El Negro, knowing that his 
 hunting ability entitles him to special 
 privilege, comes and curls up with us 
 under a dripping couija. 
 
 The afternoon sun dries us out. We 
 sight a herd of deer in a thicket and 
 bag two. Then the dogs start something 
 which we run down and find to be an 
 ant-bear. It has taken to the limb of a 
 little tree. It is striking at El Negro 
 with its curved claws, and is hissing 
 so virulently with its ridiculously small 
 mouth, shaped like a horse's, that the 
 dogs do not dare go near it. We add 
 it to our bag. 
 
 Farther on, just as we have picked our 
 way across the boulder-strewn bed of a 
 branch of the Carapo, the dogs start a 
 270 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 fox, and are off in full cry back across 
 the river. There is a beautiful burst for 
 a mile or more, in which the fox doubles 
 back and is killed a hundred yards from 
 where he started. El Negro is first at 
 the death, and we keep the tail in 
 souvenir. 
 
 We take a trip to the land of " The 
 Lame Senor," and add a grey-eyed, red- 
 moustached mestizo and a piratical-looking 
 Indian, with a great hooked machete, to 
 the guides force, bagging another deer on 
 this land. We sleep on the senors porch 
 while the Indian strums his guitar and 
 the mestizo improvises to the rattle of 
 the maracas gourds a song about a mighty 
 hunting. 
 
 At length, after a week of it, we turn 
 our mules back towards San Jos6, and 
 come trailing in about dusk, the mules 
 spent with fatigue and the dogs straggling 
 home in single file behind us. 
 
 After a good night's rest we are ready 
 
 271 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 for the next interest. Dr. Velazquez goes 
 with you to the woods by the river, to point 
 out some medicinal plants that are in local 
 repute. On the way he points out the 
 arestin, that curious sensitive-plant whose 
 leaves close as one touches it. 
 
 After some scrambling along the valley 
 bottom he points out the Cruseta real, 
 a tree with light-brown bark, an infusion 
 of which has the same effect as quinine. 
 In Venezuela they gather the bark, boil 
 it, and swallow 40 drops of the liquid 
 per day. Many people who cannot take 
 quinine, which makes them spotted, use 
 this Cruseta real for fever. Dr. Velaz- 
 quez believes that the tree is not the 
 Bonplandia trifoliata, brewed by the old 
 monks of Angostura, which Von Hum- 
 boldt noted in 1799 as being good for 
 fever, but another and unknown species. 
 
 The mora, which is like the balata, gives, 
 when its bark is tapped, a milk which is 
 antiseptic and good for ulcers. This is 
 272 
 
On the Llanos 
 
 applied externally, sometimes diluted with 
 water. 
 
 The yagrumo root is soaked in water 
 and drunk. For hemorrhages the bark 
 is scraped and put onto the wound. 
 
 The courtesy of the Alvarado household 
 is exquisite. They notice that you like the 
 fresh milk, and without a word of comment, 
 despite the small quantity secured from 
 the reluctant cows, two glasses are at your 
 place every meal. Senora Alvarado sends 
 a peon to a neighbour 10 miles away to get 
 a loaf of a creamy sugar, like maple sugar, 
 called alfondoque, for you to sample. Carlos 
 sees that your heavy riding-boots are un- 
 comfortable for use around the house, and 
 gets you a pair of light alpargatas. Every- 
 body in the family joins in to help polish 
 up your raw and meagre Spanish. 
 
 Having spent ten days at San Jos, 
 
 you plan now to return to Bolivar. You 
 
 square up indebtedness as well as may be 
 
 by giving Velazquez a pair of binoculars, 
 
 T 273 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Alvarado a watch, and Carlos a camera 
 and the muchacha a silver penknife. Your 
 hosts supply you with provisions, delegate 
 a peon as escort, and with affectionate 
 farewells start you on your outward way. 
 
 Four days, after some detours and halts 
 for shooting, bring you nearly to Bolivar. 
 A six hours' forced night-march enables 
 you to reach Mannoni's in time to take 
 a shower-bath and sit down to breakfast 
 with the rest. 
 
 " No, I believe that freemasonry is 
 anti-Christian," M. Mattey is saying as 
 you enter. 
 
 " On the contrary, it is of the greatest 
 possible benefit to society at large," 
 retorts M. Vicentini. 
 
 274 
 
VII 
 
 THE "DELTA" 
 
 HTHE " Delta" is scheduled to sail for 
 Port of Spain in five days. There 
 may be a delay, because the " Apure " 
 has got stuck on a sandbank near 
 Pedernales, and if her signals are seen, 
 the " Delta" must steam over and pull 
 her off. 
 
 You go around and make your fare- 
 wells to the Presidente, giving him a 
 Thermos bottle to keep his coffee hot 
 overnight and receiving a photograph 
 in remembrance. You take leave of 
 Santos Palazzi, getting presented with a 
 tiger-dog and a jaguar skin, and leaving 
 your rifle as a partial reciprocation. 
 Dr. Sartos gives you a comja. It is 
 
 275 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 really embarrassing to know how to get 
 square with all these kindly people. 
 
 You go down with Wadsworth to see 
 how his engine has progressed. Every- 
 thing is ready for the assembling, and 
 the work will be done on schedule 
 time. Wadsworth is pleased as Punch, 
 and turns over the engines to show 
 you how well they function. The 
 Commandante goes for another dove- 
 hunt with you, and this time some 
 cranes and a young alligator are added 
 to the bag. 
 
 You prepare for departure by getting 
 out custom papers, or rather Santos 
 Palazzi gets them out for you and 
 General Navarro rushes them through. 
 The papers are a relic of the time 
 when almost everything paid an export 
 duty, as gold still does. There comes 
 at the last a hitch, or at least a halt, 
 in getting the baggage on board the 
 boat, because the " Delta," just when the 
 276 
 
The "Delta" 
 
 passengers are expecting to have their 
 possessions embarked, goes over to Sole- 
 dad to load cattle and returns only an 
 hour before sailing-time. Charlie, whom 
 Fitzgerald has left here with his launch, 
 mounts guard lest the boat slip off 
 without one passenger or his luggage. 
 
 At length the " Delta" reappears from 
 across the river and toots her whistle. 
 Most of the townsfolk have come to 
 watch her off. They stream down across 
 the naked earthen bank of the river 
 to the water-line. Friends are out 
 in force to speed the parting guests. 
 M. Mattey is escorting his Cuban 
 confrere, who leaves by this boat. 
 Senor Aquatella has a large shipment of 
 balata. The American Consul is anxious 
 to get some cigars sent up from Trini- 
 dad, and has to commission the Scotch 
 engineer to bring them for him. 
 
 The gang-plank is soon thrown 
 across, and porters in a line, like para- 
 
 277 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 sol ants, are passing in with bundles 
 and trunks on heads, and coming out 
 at the low entrance below-stairs. 
 Covijas and saddlebags, owned by the 
 swarthy Venezuelans bound for San 
 Felix are heaped in one corner of the 
 deck. Cedar chests, palm-fibre baskets, 
 and bundles of many kinds are on 
 their way 'tween decks, where a large 
 family of Trinidad negroes have camped. 
 Five porters carry the cumbersome 
 equipment of the English tourist- 
 saddle, top-hat-case and all to the cabin 
 indicated by the buxom Trinidad negress 
 who is stewardess, and seems to manage 
 all the men. 
 
 The deck is a hubbub of porters and 
 passengers of every shade and complexion. 
 Some are embracing each other. Some 
 are talking excitedly. More are looking 
 on stolidly. A crowd are opening cham- 
 pagne at the ship's bar in honour of a 
 German merchant who is retiring for 
 278 
 
The "Delta" 
 
 good and leaving Venezuela one Herr 
 Mtiller. An American who has been up 
 country getting hold of a balata property, 
 and has various shadowy concessions of 
 problematical worth which he is taking 
 to New York to realize upon, smokes a 
 big Havana in company with a swarthy 
 cattle-rancher from the llanos near Apure. 
 The dark-skinned Jefe Civil of San Felix, 
 Sefior Pablo Garcia, is on the deck, stand- 
 ing stiffly up and ceremoniously saluting 
 his friends, while beside him his private 
 secretary, in civilian clothes and pointed 
 yellow shoes, sabre on thigh and Win- 
 chester in hand, listlessly smokes a 
 cigarillo. 
 
 A warning toot and the shore-bound 
 element makes precipitate descent to the 
 gang-plank. They stand upon the dock 
 and begin the hand and handkerchief 
 waving sacred to all boat-leaving. A 
 third whistle and the vessel starts on 
 the wide sweep which will face it down 
 
 279 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 stream. The German band on shore 
 plays wheezingly " Gloria al Pueblo 
 Venezolano," and with the white flannels 
 still waving us their "bon voyage," we 
 start down with the current, the City 
 of Bolivar dropping farther and farther 
 behind, its cathedral and the old Spanish 
 fort fading last from our lingering vision. 
 
 The English tourist is first to break 
 the retrospective charm. He is grumbling 
 his troubles into the ear of a fellow-country- 
 man who has been manager for an English 
 syndicate interested in a mining concession 
 near Callao. 
 
 " Do you know what I had to do to 
 get out of this beastly country with my 
 luggage? I had to buy a stamped piece 
 of paper at the Custom House, cost 50 
 centimes. The inventory had to be made 
 out in a certain form, they told me, but 
 no form was printed on the stamped paper. 
 A young chap at the Custom House 
 said he would make out my list for 
 280 
 
The " Delta " 
 
 5 bolivars. But I wouldn't pay such a 
 sum, so I went back to the hotel and had 
 the schedule made out there. Then I had 
 to go to a hat-store which had the stamp- 
 selling concession and buy a one-bolivar 
 stamp. I took this to the Custom House, 
 and one man pressed a rubber marker 
 on the paper and another signed it. I 
 knew intuitively that the stamp should 
 have been cancelled and I pointed this out. 
 The second official said I was right, they 
 had happened to miss it. He opened a 
 penknife and stabbed the stamp. Then 
 I took the document to still another place, 
 and the Commandante stamped it anew 
 and wrote his name upon it." 
 
 In one corner of the deck the Jefe 
 Civil is talking to the Commandante of 
 San Felix, the jovial banjo-player who 
 went on the excursion with you to the 
 Falls of the Caroni. They are discussing 
 a murder which has taken place recently 
 near their bailiwick. It was all on 
 
 281 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 account of a stolen pig. A small farmer 
 had some goats lifted and went to law 
 about the matter, but the thief had been 
 acquitted. When, subsequently, a pig also 
 disappeared, he took the law into his own 
 hands, and on the report of his little 
 daughter, loaded his shotgun with a 
 couple of slugs, lay in wait for his 
 enemy, and killed him. 
 
 " Too many thieves go unpunished," 
 says the Commandante. " I think the 
 man should be let off." 
 
 The Jefe Civil, who will be the judge 
 unless overruled by the Presidente at 
 Bolivar, is discreetly silent. 
 
 " It was curious how I captured that 
 murderer," says the Commandante. " My 
 mule smelled the dead man's blood as I 
 passed the body, and next day, seeing the 
 farmer go into the bushes, rather than 
 come up and speak to me as I went by, 
 raised my suspicion. I noticed it was 
 near where the body was found." 
 282 
 
The "Delta" 
 
 The forest is waving beside the broad, 
 quiet river, by which one can penetrate 
 three thousand miles into the interior. 
 The vessel is gliding quickly down 
 stream. On the lower deck the thickly- 
 packed cattle stamp and low. A negro 
 somewhere is strumming a guitar. All 
 sit down to dinner at a long table. The 
 English engineer is at your right and 
 the retired German merchant and a negro 
 balata trader at your left. 
 
 The latter has secured an enormous 
 concession on rubber-trees in the interior 
 of Paragua, and, though he has made a 
 fortune at the business, has gotten more 
 now than he can handle. He is going 
 to London to try and make a company 
 to take over his property. 
 
 There is no discrimination at this 
 festive board as to race, or colour, or 
 previous condition of servitude. Only 
 one per cent, of the Venezuelan people are 
 recorded as pure white, and in the most 
 
 283 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 aristocratic circles the black of Africa is 
 mixed with the blue of Castile. The 
 most common mixture is white and 
 Indian, of which two-thirds of the in- 
 habitants, the mestizo, are composed. 
 Mulattos are fairly common, and Zambos, 
 negro and Indian half-breeds, less so. 
 There is every possible permutation of 
 these race mixtures. 
 
 The English engineer between the 
 courses tells the tale of the Callao Mine. 
 
 " About 1860 some Yankees from Cali- 
 fornia came here and began to pan gold. 
 They founded the Callao Mine, and a 
 French company was organized and 
 bought it. After a few years' work the 
 company became insolvent, and, to eke 
 along, paid tradesmen script redeemable 
 in shares. A thousand pesos' worth of 
 shares would be bought then for 50 pesos. 
 The great vein was struck shortly after, 
 and for years shares of 1,000 pesos pro- 
 duced 72,000 pesos. One Trinidad negro 
 284 
 
The "Delta" 
 
 boatman, who kept a cookshop, sold a 
 few shares given him for a board bill. 
 He is to-day one of the rich men of 
 Trinidad. 
 
 " In 1895 the main lode was lost. No 
 reserve of money had been kept to explore 
 with, and the company went permanently 
 bankrupt." 
 
 The German trader, Herr Mtiller, who 
 is going back to the old country to finish 
 his days in quiet, has been for twenty 
 years in Bolivar, starting as clerk with 
 Blohm & Cie. He has studied the 
 trade of the country with characteristic 
 German thoroughness. 
 
 " Venezuela is a country enormously 
 rich, principally in coffee, cocoa, balata, 
 rubber, hides, and cattle. Even now the 
 balance of trade is in her favour eighty 
 million dollars of exports to fifty millions 
 of imports. Guiana has a population of 
 only fifty thousand two to the square 
 mile over an area as large as the British 
 
 285 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Isles. These countries are nothing to 
 what they could be. The llanos will 
 support a hundred times more cattle if 
 only they are bred instead of neglected. 
 Our neighbour speaks of the Callao. 
 There are other mines just as rich if 
 people had the capital to work them." 
 
 We adjourn to a corner of the deck 
 and light up some Havana cigarettes. 
 The owner of the cattle on the lower 
 deck, who is taking them to Trinidad 
 for sale, joins us. The German puts to 
 him the problem of stocking the llanos. 
 
 11 You talk about breeding better cattle," 
 he says. " I know all about that busi- 
 ness, but what good does it do me if I 
 import bulls and make an enclosure and 
 breed good cattle ? They are the first ones 
 that will be shot by the next revolution. 
 If the cattle range wild it is harder to steal 
 them. But even thus the insurrectos got 
 away with three hundred head from my 
 estate last time. 
 286 
 
The "Delta" 
 
 "And such ridiculous laws!" he con- 
 tinues. " There is one that you must 
 not kill a cow. How many cows have 
 infectious diseases and should be killed? 
 There's another law that barbed - wire 
 fences should have seven wires. Don't I 
 know how many wires my fences should 
 have as well as those crooked lawyers 
 in Caracas ? " 
 
 "And how can foreign capital come 
 into this country and open up the mines ? " 
 chimes in the engineer. "You ought to 
 see our costs. A hundred and fifty dollars 
 a ton to transport goods 60 miles ! To 
 get out of the country I have to secure a 
 permit in San Felix and one in Bolivar 
 too. The negroes down the river have to 
 hand out graft for every time they move. 
 Why, the carters to the Callao Mine have 
 to pay 1 20 pesos a year, a tax greater 
 than the largest sized motor-car pays in 
 England. All our supplies have to go up 
 to Bolivar first and then be brought back 
 
 287 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 to the mine. A narrow-gauge railway 
 from San Felix would open out the 
 country. Will they allow it ? No. Fifteen 
 years ago a route was planned and marked 
 on Guzman Blanco's map as 'under 
 construction/ They say the railroad must 
 start from Bolivar. 
 
 " And graft, graft ! " he continues. 
 " Mining machinery is free of duty by the 
 Code, which is ideal on paper. But you 
 have to pay the Customs first and then get 
 the money back. A miner up here a while 
 ago paid four hundred dollars in duties, 
 and before he got it back he had expended 
 one hundred dollars for stamps and fees. 
 Why, up at Callao we send telegrams 
 instead of letters, because the dispatch 
 fees go to the salary of the local Comman- 
 dante, and he has to be taken care of. It 
 is all right so long as you spend money 
 in Venezuela, but God help you if you 
 make any ! " 
 
 " But this Government is all right," 
 288 
 
The "Delta" 
 
 protests the American promoter ; "it is 
 safe to invest here now. Of course, the 
 officials get their little pickings for their 
 trouble, but since Venezuela was made to 
 give up all that money after the Hague 
 decision, a foreigner's property is safe- 
 Since Gomez has become President trade 
 has increased 15 per cent." 
 
 " That is because it was nothing during 
 Matos's Revolution and Castro's troubles," 
 interrupts the German. " But those 
 indemnities hit pretty hard, it is true. The 
 whole Customs receipts are less than four 
 million dollars, and nearly two and a 
 half millions go to the indemnities and the 
 foreign debts." 
 
 "They will not let capital be brought 
 in either," grumbles the English traveller. 
 " I had an idea there might be openings 
 here for manufacturing, and I looked the 
 situation over. Matches you buy in 
 Venezuela for 20 cents a dozen boxes, 
 of far worse quality than those in Trinidad, 
 u 289 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 and the boxes are not full. At Trinidad 
 they cost 10 cents, and that is dear enough. 
 But can you start a factory here ? Not 
 much ! because a distinguished official in 
 Caracas owns stock in the match factory 
 which makes these fosforos, whose heads 
 fly off and burn your clothes. Salt sells 
 at Bolivar with the largest official discount, 
 which, by the way, you do not get, for a 
 cent and a fifth a pound. At Cura^oa it 
 is quoted at three-tenths of a cent. But 
 can you sell salt ? Not much ! It is a 
 Government monopoly. The distinguished 
 official in Caracas owns three-fourths of 
 the stock in this steamer company, which 
 has the concession for selling salt. And 
 this Compania Fluvial has the sole right 
 to navigate the Macareo passage. Any 
 competing line has to go up the Pedernales 
 passage and spend twelve hours longer 
 getting to Bolivar, if, indeed, it does not 
 run onto the bar and stick there like the 
 ' Apure/ ' 
 
 290 
 
The "Delta 9 
 
 The cattle merchant chimes in: "We 
 want a man like Diaz." He shakes his 
 fist, "With a sword!" 
 
 The American promoter protests : 
 
 "We do not want a machetero ; we 
 want an administrator who will ally 
 himself with capital. The Government 
 would become good if capital came in and 
 people had work. There are too many 
 guapos, too many bravos" 
 
 " But how can it come?" interrupts the 
 Englishman. "Will the distinguished 
 gentleman in Caracas give up his salt 
 concession and the matches or the cigar- 
 ettes, or the Orinoco Navigation Company, 
 or the Maracaibo steamers ? Where can 
 capital go ? When it enters, the Govern- 
 ment or the revolution runs off with it. 
 You have a mine with four hundred men. 
 The Presidente sends word : ' There is 
 danger of a revolution ; I must have those 
 men for my army/ What can you do ? " 
 
 The promoter is bellicose. 
 
 291 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 " If I had a railroad with two thousand 
 four hundred men I would arm them and 
 fight anybody who tried to take them 
 away, Government or revolution. The 
 Asphalt Company at Pitch Lake has its 
 men armed and does that." 
 
 " But they got their property taken away 
 after they had spent two hundred thousand 
 dollars to help Matos beat Castro," com- 
 ments the mine manager. 
 
 "Well," says the promoter, " did not 
 Castro have a reason to take their lake 
 away? They stole it in the first place, 
 anyway. I know, because I took part in 
 the revolution and we had great sums of 
 money. A British war-vessel stopped me, 
 but when the officer saw my papers he 
 let me through ; Castro took the steamer 
 line away from the Americans, too. They 
 gave twenty-five thousand dollars to the 
 revolution. The Yankees would have 
 been all right if they had left politics 
 alone." 
 292 
 
The "Delta" 
 
 The German grows placative : "This 
 Government is not so very bad. It 
 wouldn't be, that is, if only the distin- 
 guished official you mention was not so 
 interested in cattle. He will be in an 
 important conference with foreign repre- 
 sentatives, when a servant comes and 
 says, ' The old cow has had a calf.' Up 
 he jumps, and says, ' Excuse me/ and does 
 not come back for three days. He is just 
 a cattle-man." 
 
 11 That is what the Venezuelan people 
 like," says the ranchman. "Well, I hear 
 up Apure way there may be trouble any 
 minute." He lowers his voice mysteri- 
 ously : "The Old One is in Colombia, it 
 is said." 
 
 " Pish ! " says the promoter ; " he is all 
 eaten up with tumours and is in the Canary 
 Islands." 
 
 "Well," says the cattle man, "I have 
 been told by our agent in Trinidad to 
 keep my eyes and ears wide open." 
 
 293 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 " There is another," adds the promoter. 
 
 "The lame one?" 
 
 "Yes, the lame senor. The most 
 popular man in Venezuela. I have heard 
 from the inside that he is to be Presi- 
 dent when there is the next trouble. 
 There will be an intervention by the 
 United States and an entirely free elec- 
 tion, with inspectors, and he will be 
 elected, and he is an absolutely honest 
 and patriotic man. Twice before he 
 could have been President, by treachery, 
 and he would not. I should like to 
 see the Presidente of the State of Bolivar 
 go higher. He is most diplomatic. He 
 says, 'The roads are my monument." 
 
 " He made Gomez President," adds 
 the German. "You know Castro was 
 away in Paris, and he sent word to the 
 Cabinet to proclaim that the country 
 needed his return. One of the Ministers 
 offered this motion. Then the General 
 stood up and said, ' Is Castro to treat us 
 294 
 
The "Delta" 
 
 as children who cannot run the country ? * 
 And Perez said the same. So Castro was 
 not recalled. But General Telleria took 
 ship next day to the United States and 
 stayed there two years. He is a good 
 man." 
 
 " We have another revolution coming 
 soon, anyway," says the cattle-man. " One 
 trouble in the country is we have too 
 many officials, and they change always. 
 Of course, it is necessary to reward those 
 who have fought well, so what else can 
 be done ? I have seen revolutions start. 
 Somebody who has been driven out, or 
 who has influence in some State, will get 
 together a thousand or so brave fighters 
 g^lapos. Other men in the district, rest- 
 less, or with a grudge, send in to him 
 and say : ' I control three hundred men. 
 They are yours if I can be Custom House 
 collector of San Felix,' or, ' I have a 
 hundred ; I would be Prefect of Police of 
 Barcelona.' The leader is glad to get 
 
 295 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 allies and pledges the posts. These pro- 
 spective officials promise smaller places 
 and rewards to their men, and thus the 
 army is made. To foreigners the leader 
 generally promises concessions and so 
 gets money. With a force and some 
 cash he marches to the capital. Matos 
 had sixteen thousand men against 
 Castro's six thousand. I was with Castro 
 that day in the steeple of the Church of 
 Ascencion. Matos' men none of them 
 wanted to die. Castro said that morning, 
 1 I win,' and his regular soldiers went 
 through the insurgents like a mad bull. 
 
 " When a revolting general wins, as 
 Castro did before he came into the Presi- 
 dency, he marches to Caracas with his 
 army from the backwoods, and meets a 
 crowd of thievish lawyers, who have been 
 Ministers, and know the ways of graft 
 and of the Government. When the vic- 
 torious general is made Acting President, 
 they adroitly get into the new Ministry, 
 296 
 
The "Delta" 
 
 and show him how to conduct a pretended 
 election before declaring himself ' Presi- 
 dente Constitutional.' Now the time 
 comes for the redemption of promises to 
 his henchmen. 
 
 " Some of the chiefs get their appoint- 
 ments ; and at once their enemies flee to 
 Trinidad to escape alive. The new 
 officials take their goods. The men 
 driven out are crazily angry and des- 
 perate, and ready to join the next revo- 
 lution. 
 
 "The slick lawyers get to the new 
 President, and say such and such a one 
 is not fit to be Commandante of the pro- 
 mised port. ' He is a good fighter/ they 
 allow, ' a giiapo, but he is a rough neck. 
 He cannot fill that job put in such an- 
 other.' So the President tells his officer 
 who had the pledge to wait a little while, 
 or he appoints some one and says it is 
 only temporary, or he offers something 
 else. So the man waits and waits, getting 
 
 297 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 angrier and angrier, and his lieutenants 
 call on him to fulfil his own promises, 
 which he cannot do. Finally he goes 
 home with a burning heart, ripe also for 
 the next revolution. The President seizes 
 all the concessions and monopolies he can, 
 to hire his own soldiers and keep him- 
 self President. So it goes. 
 
 "The country needs a new Diaz," he 
 concludes. " Old General Guzman Blanco 
 was like Diaz. Truly he was ridiculous 
 with the statues he built to himself, 
 plastered over with the title of ' El 
 Illustre Americano/ Yet he allowed no- 
 body to steal but himself, and the country 
 was the most prosperous it has ever been." 
 
 The Jefe Civil is near and seems to be 
 listening. 
 
 "Tenga ciudado," whispers the pro- 
 moter. The conversation stops abruptly. 
 
 " Those trees along the bank are very 
 beautiful," says the cattle-man. 
 
 The scene along the river really is 
 298 
 
The "Delta" 
 
 magnificent. The water-rushes rise like 
 a lawn from the water's edge. Behind is 
 tall grass several feet high, then stretches 
 the irregular line of the trees. 
 
 The Englishman does not care who 
 hears him. "Say what you please," he 
 proclaims, "on one side of a ten-mile 
 strait is a province as large as Prussia 
 lavishly rich in untouched natural resources, 
 without a mile of railway, without a decent 
 road, without industries or anything but 
 the most elementary agriculture, supporting 
 a poverty-stricken population of less than 
 sixty thousand. On the other side of the 
 channel is a little island fifty miles square 
 with railroads, trolleys, factories, oil-fields, 
 roads like boulevards, supporting in peace 
 and prosperity two hundred and eighty 
 thousand people. The Flag means thus 
 much, anyway." 
 
 " Give Venezuela a fair chance," protests 
 the American, " Guiana will come out all 
 right yet." 
 
 299 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 " You can make money here, anyway," 
 says the German in a conspicuously loud 
 voice. "The English have nothing to 
 complain of, if they don't ship through 
 Trinidad and have to pay the 30 per cent, 
 surtax. They sold three million dollars' 
 worth of manufactures, goods, and cottons, 
 to Venezuela, and the Germans sold two 
 millions only ; the United States lose out 
 here. They send nothing but wheat, 
 patent medicines, and a lot of catalogues 
 which nobody reads. They have not sense 
 enough to send commercial travellers 
 speaking Spanish down with samples. 
 But the States buy most of the exports 
 and send gold coin back." 
 
 In the evening we see the lights of San 
 Felix, and the Jefe Civil and the Com- 
 mandante are rowed ashore. Later we 
 reach Barrancas, and take on board a 
 dark-coloured family consisting of a 
 bearded local magnate, his wife, and three 
 senoritas. 
 300 
 
The "Delta" 
 
 You go to bed to the sound of the 
 thrashing of the stern paddles and wake 
 to the cry of the parrots screeching in 
 the jungle alongside. The vessel ploughs 
 northward through the morning mist. 
 You stroll around the decks, watching for 
 monkeys in the trees upon the bank. 
 
 One of the senoritas, aided and abetted 
 by her sister, seems to be having an in- 
 cipient flirtation with a young Venezuelan. 
 You pick up on the deck, fortuitously, a 
 piece of paper evidently intended for him. 
 On it is written in a delicate feminine 
 hand : 
 
 " Sefior X. i. Esperame. 2. Me esperas? 
 3. Esperame pronto." 
 
 You slip it to the Venezuelan, who 
 is properly grateful, though a little per- 
 plexed at the selection of yourself as 
 intermediary. 
 
 The mangrove-trees of the Delta mouth 
 appear now, pierced by an occasional 
 narrow cano, and here and there, rarely, 
 
 301 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 the thatch of a Guarano Indian's hut. 
 The choppy water of the mouth of the 
 Macareo passage is passed. The man- 
 grove coast slowly fades away. We pass 
 the Soldado rock with its menacing line of 
 breakers and enter the Serpent's Mouth 
 of sinister memories both. The hills 
 of Trinidad appear soon. They are clearly 
 defined, with the regularly laid out coco- 
 nut trees of the plantations at their feet. 
 White houses peep out between the palms. 
 Just as the sun is sinking over the distant 
 hills, we cast anchor in Port of Spain close 
 beside the Royal Dutch West India Mail 
 Steamer bound to-morrow for New York. 
 
 302 
 
INDEX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ABERCROMBIE, SIR RALPH, takes Trinidad for England 24 
 Aigrette gathering plumes in Venezuela . . . 168 
 Angostura = " The Narrows." See Ciudad Bolivar. 
 Congress of Angostura frames Constitution for 
 
 Greater Columbia 43 
 
 Asphalt Lake 
 
 In Trinidad 93 
 
 At Pedernales entrance of Orinoco . . .140 
 In Venezuela ....... 292 
 
 BERRIO, DON ANTONIO DE 15 
 
 Expeditions seeking El Dorado . . . .16 
 
 Captured by Raleigh 18 
 
 Dies of disappointment 18 
 
 Bolivar, Simon 
 
 Appearance 26 
 
 Early life 28 
 
 " El Libertador " 28 
 
 Battle of Calabozo 42 
 
 Elected President of Greater Columbia . . 44 
 
 Crosses the Andes 45 
 
 Battle of Boyaca, liberates New Grenada . . 46 
 
 Battle of Carabobo, liberates Venezuela . . 46 
 
 Battle of Ayacucho, liberates Peru . . - 47 
 
 Abandoned by his Generals 48 
 
 Death 49 
 
 CALABOZO, Battle of, February 12, 1818 
 
 Bolivar and Paez defeat Spaniards . . .42 
 
 303 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Caroni River, location of El Dorado . . . .14 
 
 Friars massacred 35 
 
 Casas, Bartholomew de Las 7 
 
 Cassava bread 139 
 
 Manufacture of . . . . . .148 
 
 Castillos, Los, formerly San Thome 
 
 Stormed by English 20 
 
 Present ruins 171 
 
 Chacon, Don Jose, Governor of Trinidad . . . 23 
 Charles V abolishes Indian slavery . . . .12 
 Ciudad Bolivar, formerly Angostura . . . . 35 
 
 Reached by Raleigh 21 
 
 Blockaded by Bolivar 35 
 
 Abandoned by Spaniards 36 
 
 The modern city 189 
 
 During Matos's Revolution . . . . 197, 219 
 
 Public improvements 199 
 
 Cocoa-growing in Trinidad 73 
 
 Appearance of plantations 85 
 
 Coco-nut industry in Trinidad 54 
 
 Crown grants .68 
 
 Profitable industry 73 
 
 Columbus, Christopher I 
 
 Names Trinidad 3 
 
 Description of Serpent's Mouth .... 4 
 Discovers pearls at Margarita .... 4 
 Transported to Spain in chains .... 6 
 
 Corsicans in Trinidad 68 
 
 Woodcutter at Barrancas 150 
 
 At San Felix 171 
 
 At Ciudad Bolivar 193 
 
 DORADO, EL 
 
 Origin of Legend . . . 13 
 
 Expedition of Ordez . .15 
 
 Expedition of de Berrio . . . . ' 16 
 
 304 
 
Index 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dragon's Mouth 
 
 Appearance ... . . 51 
 
 Columbus passes . . ... 5 
 
 Nelson passes ....... 24 
 
 FERDINAND OF ARAGON .... -4 
 
 Ferdinand VII, tennis game with Bolivar . . .27 
 Friars 
 
 Befriend Indians n 
 
 Massacred in revolution 35 
 
 Buried treasure 209 
 
 GERMANY 
 
 Sounding around Margarita . . 74 
 
 Securing Venezuelan meat trade . .161 
 
 Gold- 
 Discovered in Guiana by Raleigh . . . .19 
 
 Buried by monks ..... . 209 
 
 Callao Mine .... . 284 
 
 Mining difficulties 287 
 
 Great Britain 
 
 Seizes Trinidad 24 
 
 British officers in Bolivar's army . . 33, 36 
 
 British Legion 43 
 
 British Legion wins Battle of Carabobo . . 46 
 Government of Trinidad . . . . . 76 
 Naval station at Trinidad 75 
 
 Greater Columbia organized by Congress of An- 
 gostura ........ 44 
 
 INDIANS 
 
 Before the conquest 8 
 
 Treatment by Spaniards ..... 9 
 In Venezuela at time of Bolivar . . . .33 
 Guaranos along Orinoco . . . 147 
 
 Dislike of u Commissions " . . . . . 165 
 
 East Indians in Trinidad 60 
 
 Coolie indenture system . 76, 85 
 
 x 305 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 PAGE 
 
 LLANOS 
 
 Typical households on . . .231, 237, 241, 246 
 
 Transportation across 255 
 
 Ranch life on 255 
 
 Hunting 261 
 
 Medicinal plants ....... 272 
 
 Parasol ants 260 
 
 MANOA, city of El Dorado 14 
 
 Margarita, Pearl Island 
 
 Discovered by Columbus 5 
 
 Occupied by Spaniards 7 
 
 German naval station 74 
 
 Marequita, Cacique of, visits Spaniards . . .16 
 
 NEGROES 
 
 Labour in Trinidad ...... 73 
 
 Negro judges 79 
 
 Negroes v. East Indians . . 84 
 
 Nelson passes Trinidad .... . 25 
 
 OIL 
 
 Importance of Trinidad deposits . . 74 
 
 Guyaguyare field ... . 88 
 
 Ojeda, Alonzo de, names Venezuela .... 7 
 
 Ordez, Diego de, expedition for El Dorado . . 15 
 
 Orinoco 
 
 Columbus passes 4 
 
 Raleigh ascends 18 
 
 Bolivar's military base . . . . . -34 
 Entrance to Pedernales mouth . . . -134 
 
 Vagre passage .144 
 
 Flora and fauna along 145 
 
 PAEZ, " Uncle," First President of Venezuela- 
 Guerilla warfare 38 
 
 Joined by Bolivar 41 
 
 Captures gunboats with cavalry . . . . 42 
 
 Turns against Bolivar .... . 48 
 306 
 
Index 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Port of Spain, Trinidad 
 
 Appearance from harbour 56 
 
 Population ........ 60 
 
 Society in 66 
 
 RALEIGH, SIR WALTER 
 
 Seizes Trinidad 17 
 
 Ascends Orinoco . 18 
 
 Last expedition 20 
 
 Execution ........ 22 
 
 Revolution in Venezuela . . 101, 197, 219, 292, 295 
 
 Robinson Crusoe shipwrecked on Tobago Island . 50 
 
 SAN FELIX 
 
 Captured by Bolivar 35 
 
 Serpent's Mouth 
 
 Description by Columbus 4 
 
 Passage in " Geraldo " 125 
 
 Slavery 
 
 Indians under Conquistadores . . . .10 
 Abolished at instance of Pope . . . .12 
 Sale of women along Orinoco . . . .20 
 Negro slavery abolished by Bolivar . . 31 
 
 Spain 
 
 Occupies Trinidad and Venezuela ... 7 
 
 Treatment of Indians 8 
 
 Driven from Trinidad by English . . .24 
 
 Misrule in Venezuela "32 
 
 Rebellion in Venezuela 29 
 
 Atrocities of Royalists 30 
 
 TEMPERATURE 
 
 In Trinidad 65, 95 
 
 Up Orinoco 147 
 
 In Ciudad Bolivar . . . . . . 203 
 
 Theatre- 
 Travelling show at San Felix . . . .173 
 
 307 
 
The Path of the Conquistadores 
 
 Trinidad 
 
 Named by Columbus . 
 Spanish conquest . 
 Captured by Raleigh 
 Spanish occupation 
 English conquest 
 Population 1911 . 
 
 VENEZUELA 
 
 Named after Venice 
 Spanish conquest . 
 Independence declared 
 National Government . 
 State Government 
 Local administration 
 Trade . 
 Population 
 
 WELZERS 
 
 Granted Venezuela concession 
 White population 
 
 Of Trinidad, 163 in 1773 
 
 Of Trinidad 1911 . 
 
 Of Venezuela 1817 
 
 Of Venezuela 1911 
 Woods 
 
 Of Trinidad .... 
 
 Of the Orinoco 
 
 Of the Llanos 
 
 3 
 
 9 
 
 17 
 
 22 
 
 24 
 7 6 
 
 7 
 
 . 8 
 . 28 
 
 . 280, 294, 288 
 
 . 199, 216 
 
 142, 152, 279, 282 
 
 . 300 
 
 . 284 
 
 23 
 76 
 
 33 
 
 284 
 
 86 
 170 
 
 272 
 
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