Nicaragua

A SORTIE FROM LEON—QUESALGUAQUE—EL ESTERO DE DONA PAULA—THE “MONTE DE SAN JUAN”—SUMMARY WAY OF DISPOSING OF “LADRONES”—“EL TIGRE,” JAGUAR, OR OUNCE; ITS HABITS; HOW HUNTED—THE “LEON,” OR PUMA—THE “COYOTE”—POSULTEGA—A SPECIMEN PADRE—SOBRINAS—CHICHIGALPA—POISED THUNDER-STORM—THE ORACION—HACIENDA OF SAN ANTONIO—CHINANDEGA—A CHALLENGE—EL VIEJO—FAMILIAR FIXTURES—AN ENTERPRISING CITIZEN AND HIS TRAGIC FATE—A DECAYING TOWN—MULES vs. HORSES—VISIT TO THE HACIENDAS—AN INDIGO ESTATE, AND A MAYOR-DOMO—FINE VIEW—THE SUGAR ESTATE OF SAN GERONIMO—BACHELOR QUARTERS AND HACIENDA LIFE—A FRUIT GARDEN—THE BREAD FRUIT—SUGAR-MILLS, AND THE MANUFACTURE OF AGUARDIENTE—A SINFUL SIESTA—VISIT FROM THE MUNICIPALITY—“UNA CANCION”—CHINANDEGA BY DAYLIGHT—REALEJO—PORT AND HARBOR—THE PROGRESS OF ENTERPRISE—THE PROJECTED NEW TOWN OF CORINTH—RETURN TO LEON.

Early after our arrival in Leon, amongst many others of like character, we had received an invitation from the wealthy and influential family of Venerio, to spend a week at their establishment in Viejo Chinandega; which, as it was coupled with a promise to give us an initiation into the mysteries of hacienda life, we had at once accepted. Up to this time, however (Sept. 3, 1849), I had been unable to leave the capital. But now my official negotiations were happily terminated, and pending the action of the Legislative Chambers, which were called to meet on the 22d of the same month, I had an opportunity of seeing something more of the magnificent plain, in the centre of which we were residing.

I have already said that, for obvious reasons, most of the travelling in Central America is done in the morning or evening. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, therefore, when we started for El Viejo, twelve leagues, or thirty-six miles distant. This, with us, would be considered quite a day’s journey in itself, but here it is what is called an evening “paseo,” or ride. Our course led through Subtiaba, crossing the stream which flows past that pueblo at a place where art had cut down the steep banks, and nature woven an evergreen roof above—one of those dark, cool nooks in which the water birds love to gather, and where the Indian girls come to bathe—beyond which spread out the luxuriant maize fields, traversed by hedge rows like the lines on a chess board. The road, bordered with trees, to protect the traveller from the sun, wound amongst these fields for five or six miles, when it entered the forest again, and soon came to a deep ravine, with abrupt banks, seventy or eighty feet high, at the bottom of which flows a large clear stream, called, at this point, Quesalguaque. It rises near the volcano of Telica, and for some distance from its source it bears the name of Rio Telica. It flows into the harbor of Realejo, and for a number of leagues from its mouth, is a tide-water stream, and called “El Estero de Doña Paula.”

This is the largest stream on the plain of Leon, and is probably that to which some map-makers have given the name of Rio Tosta. The cart-road descends the ravine circuitously, and ascends in like manner; traversing nearly a mile in passing from one bank to the other. The mule-road, however, is direct, but the descent and ascent are both abrupt and difficult. I hardly thought either possible, and was really amazed to find my horse attempt them without so much as the touch of the spur, and quite as a matter of course. Emerging from the ravine, we came to some cleared fields, (one of which was planted with pine-apples, now nearly ripe, and looking wonderfully tempting in the sun), in the midst of which was a small collection of huts, called the Pueblecita de Quesalguaque. We stopped for a moment to fill our pockets with delicious nisperos from a tree overhanging the road, its treasures free to all who chose “to come and eat,” and then diverging from the camino real, struck into the narrow mule-path which leads through the Monte de San Juan. This portion of the road has a bad reputation throughout the whole country; and during the late troubles had been the scene of several tragic occurrences. The robbers or ladrones who infested it, however, had been hunted by volunteers from Leon and Chinendaga, and shot down like wild beasts; a summary, but most effectual way of preventing further depredations. At one point we passed a number of newly-erected crosses, marking the place where murder had been done. But all was still and peaceful now, and we saw nothing to startle us except a Tigre, which leaped across the path a few paces in advance, disappearing instantaneously in the forest.

What is here called the Tigre or Tiger, is the true Jaguar, or Ounce; and the animal which is called the Lion is the maneless Mexican Lion, or Puma. Ounces are abundant throughout the entire country, and often commit serious depredations upon the cattle of the haciendas. They are of a tawny color, the body beautifully variegated with irregular oblong black spots, breast and belly whitish. They grow to the length of four or five feet, are powerfully built, with massive jaws, and possess a strength and activity superior to any of the feline race of equal size. They unhesitatingly attack all animals, of whatever proportions, which are not fully capable of defending themselves; and in riding through the woods I have several times seen fall grown heifers, which they had not only killed, but dragged to considerable distances,—in one instance not less than a hundred yards.

The Tigre, however, sometimes meets his match in a sturdy bull or spirited cow, and is compelled to retreat. The vaqueros of the haciendas, who are fluent on the subject of tigers, and often able to show ghastly scars in confirmation of their stories of adventures, relate instances in which the tiger has been killed outright in his encounters with the toros. A bull of venerable aspect, but exceedingly mild demeanor, was pointed out to me in Honduras, which was the hero of many battles, successful in all, and in three instances killing his adversary. I quite respected this protector of his herd, and thought he should at least receive the title of the “Great Defender.” The herdsmen concur in saying that the tiger is generally too cunning to attack the cattle, except singly, when separated from each other, as they all make common cause against him when he ventures amongst the herd. The ounce seldom attacks man, unless pressed by hunger, or by the hunters. This is a fortunate circumstance; for otherwise travelling in Central America, where, in the secluded parts of the country, hardly a day passes without seeing one or two of them, would be attended with the greatest danger. In some localities, however, the ounce is represented to be more ferocious than in others, and so bold as to slip into the villages in broad daylight, in search of his prey. There are many men distinguished for success in hunting this animal, who arrogate to themselves the title of tigreros. They use no arms, except a long and stout spear or lance, and their machetes. Their first object, with the aid of dogs, is to drive the tiger into a tree, or bring him to bay. When this is done, the tigrero wraps his poncho around his left arm, and approaches the fierce and excited animal, with his lance so fixed as to be able to receive him on its point when he shall make his spring. This requires great coolness and firmness, for everything depends upon the hunter planting his spear full in the animal’s breast. If this be not done, a terrible fight ensues, from which the strongest and bravest man is fortunate if he escapes with life. The genuine tigrero scorns to use firearms,—“no tiene valor, nada,” they are of no use, none! Some of these men number their victories by scores, and are considered invincible.

The tigre negro, or black ounce, is erroneously regarded by the natives as a distinct species; and, perhaps from his more forbidding appearance, is supposed to be stronger and fiercer. They are undoubtedly a little larger in size than the other variety. In Nicaragua they are rarely seen, but are quite abundant, it is said, in the mountainous districts of Honduras.

The Lion, or Puma, notwithstanding his name, has fewer of the traditional magnanimous traits of the lion proper than the tigre. He is altogether a sneaking fellow, and attacks cattle only when he finds them wounded, entangled in thickets, or embarrassed in swamps, where he has everything to his own advantage. He flies from man, but will prowl stealthily after him in the evening, like the wolf. He is consequently approached with difficulty, and rarely killed. His color is a pale, brownish red, inclining to black on the back, but light under the belly. In shape he is slenderer than the ounce, his legs and tail longer, and his claws and head slighter. “A full grown tiger,” said an old hunter to me, “is a match for half a dozen of the cowards.” The weary traveller, sleeping in the forest, has more to dread from the puma than any other wild animal. Besides the ounce and the puma, there are several varieties of tiger, or mountain cats, which commit depredations on the fowls and smaller domestic animals of the ranchos, but from whom man has nothing to fear.

The “coyote,” wild dog, or as he is sometimes called, wolf, is common in some parts of Central America. I never saw any of them, but they are said to differ as widely from the true wolf as from the common dog. Some have conjectured that they are descended from the bloodhounds which were used by the early Spaniards in hunting down the natives. But all attempts to reclaim them, although carried on during two or three generations, have failed. Like wolves, they generally hunt in packs, making no noise beyond a low howl, and follow their prey with a perseverance which is almost always successful in the end. It is said that, although individually arrant cowards, they will collectively attack the tiger himself, drive him into a tree, and besiege him for many days, until exhausted, in attempting to escape, he falls a victim to the number of his assailants. The natives have a singular notion, however, that the coyotes never beleaguer the tigre unless he has committed some outrage on the fraternity, robbed them of their prey, or made a meal of some straggler.

To return from this digression. Two leagues beyond Quesalguaque, the intervening country level and magnificently wooded, and the road broad and smooth, is the Pueblo of Posultega, an unpretending town of some five or six hundred inhabitants, and distinguished for nothing except an ancient church, more remarkable for its dilapidation than its architecture. The cura, who had called on me in Leon a few days before, was swinging in his hammock, between a couple of orange trees in front of his house; he leaped up as we approached, stopped me in the open street, and gave me an embrace “as was an embrace,” and from my elevated position on my horse, quite too near the belt to be comfortable. He insisted on our stopping for the rest of the afternoon and for the night at his poor house, (every house in Central America is called “mi pobre casa” by its owner), which I declined doing with a prodigious affectation of regret, that became real a moment after, when I discovered the padre’s sobrina or niece, a fair, full-breasted girl, peeping slyly out between the bars of the window. Of course it is not reputable for padres to have females in their establishments, except near relatives,—aunts for housekeepers, and nieces for—companions! The aunts, I observed, were always old, but the nieces almost invariably young and pretty, as nieces are bound to be.

The country, from Posultega to Chichigalpa, a considerable town, two leagues further on, preserves its flat surface, the monotony but slightly relieved by the occasional narrow and shallow channels which carry off the superabundant water of the rainy season. Chichigalpa, formerly a very large Indian town, still numbers from three to five thousand inhabitants; it is regularly laid out, and has a neat and attractive appearance. It was just sunset when we entered its streets. A heavy thunder-storm was piling up its black volumes behind the volcanoes in the east, and the calm and silence which precede the tempest rested upon the plain; the winds were still, and the leaves hung motionless on the trees. The adult inhabitants seemed to sympathize with the scene, and sat silently in the open doorways; but the children were as playful and noisy as ever, their voices rendered doubly distinct, and almost unnatural in the pervading quiet. Suddenly the bell of the oracion struck; the careless voices of the children were instantaneously hushed, and we mechanically stopped our horses, and uncovered our heads. A low murmur of prayer floated forth on the undulating waves of sound which seemed to subside in circles around us;—again the bell struck, again, and then, when the pulses had almost ceased to beat, that the straining ear might catch the expiring vibrations, rolled in the muffled sound of the distant thunder. It came down from the mountains with the majesty of an ocean poured along their trembling sides!

The oracion, which never fails to impress the most careless traveller with a feeling of reverential awe, was but one element in this grand combination of the solemn and the sublime.

We rode through Chichigalpa without stopping, and pressed rapidly forward, with the design of reaching the estate of San Antonio, belonging to the family of my companion, before the storm should overtake us. Darkness, however, closed speedily around our path, and in ten minutes we were unable to discover our position, except as it was revealed to us by the lightning, which occasionally poured in lurid, blinding sheets, from the summits of the volcanoes, where the storm seemed to pause as if to concentrate its gloomy squadrons, before moving down upon the silent plain, and forth upon the dark Pacific. Fortunately the road was wide, and permitted us to ride rapidly, without any great danger from the projecting branches. We reached San Antonio, eight miles from Chichigalpa, in an hour.

The resident on the estate was an uncle of my companion, an amiable and gentlemanly person, who apologized for not coming to the door to receive us. His apology was a valid one. He had led the hunt after the ladrones who had infested the road to Leon, and had received a ball in his hip, in the final encounter with them. We were at once offered a cup of chocolate, which we accepted, in deference not less to our own tastes than to a sensible practice of the country, which is always to take whatever is tendered to you. Thus a caballero is offered a cigar; he at once accepts it with a bow, or “mil gracias,” a thousand thanks, and if he does not care to smoke, puts it in his pocket. This will occur during the same sitting as often as the cigars are passed. With chocolate the case is a little different; it is not easily put in one’s pocket, and is therefore otherwise disposed of. The house at San Antonio, I observed as soon as I entered it, was superior to any of the hacienda residences which had yet fallen under my notice. It was not only well constructed, but conveniently arranged, and painted in the interior. It had been built by a Mr. Bridge, an Englishman, who had established here one of the finest sugar plantations in the country. In common with most of the English residents, he had married a woman of the country, and what with trade, his hacienda, and an English vessel-of-war, always conveniently at hand to enforce any claim which he and his English brethren might find it profitable to set up against the government, had contrived to amass a considerable fortune. Upon his death, however, the estate had been sold to its present proprietors, and although it had fallen somewhat out of repair, it still showed what might be accomplished in this favored land, with a very moderate share of enterprise and industry.

The wind had sprung up, and carried the impending storm off to the southward; so, after waiting half an hour at San Antonio, we again mounted and pursued our course. By the dim, reviving light, I could make out that we were now in an open and highly cultivated country, sprinkled over with houses. Half an hour more brought us to the suburbs of Chinandega, probably the most flourishing town in the State, and the only one, I believe, which has increased in population since the independence. The commerce of Realejo is conducted through it; here nearly all the merchants reside; and the inhabitants, some fifteen or sixteen thousand in number, are conceded to be the most industrious and thriving of any in the Republic.

It was too dark to distinguish anything beyond long, broad avenues, bordered with gardens, each one having a hut in the centre. The streets really seemed endless, and we passed square on square, for full a mile and a half, before we reached the paved streets surrounding the plazas, where the adobe and tile-roofed houses are built, and where the wealth and trade is concentrated. The people were still sitting at their doors and windows, in luxurious enjoyment of the cool breeze which the passing storm had evoked somewhere beyond the mountains. We would have ridden directly through the plaza, but were stopped by the sudden ring of a musket on the pavement, and a fierce order to halt and give the countersign. We did so, and then supposed we might go on. But the sentinel demanded that we should advance singly, and called to the officer of the guard. Finding that we should probably be detained for an indefinite period, I whispered to my companion to fall back, and avoid the plaza by making a circuit around it. He did so, muttering something about the stupid military, which might have cost him dear had it been overheard. A long detour brought us to the other side of the town, which is bounded by a considerable stream, flowing through a deep hollow. The path to the water was broad, and artificially graded, so, notwithstanding the darkness, we passed without difficulty. We were now in the plain road to El Viejo, and a brisk ride through the intermediate fields and the silent suburbs, brought us to a large house, fronting on the plaza. We stopped before a high and imposing portal, the massive gates of which parted in answer to the well known voice of my companion. In another instant we were beneath the trees in the courtyard, in the full blaze of hospitable lights, streaming through the open doors of the grand sala, where our friends were awaiting our arrival.

Upon entering the house, I was surprised to find myself surrounded by nearly all the well-known furniture of a parlor in New York. Here were sofas and rocking-chairs, and mirrors and clocks, of familiar fashion, holding something more than their own against hammocks and hide-bottomed sillas. A portrait of Washington and a fac-simile of the Declaration of Independence were suspended against the walls, and a bust of Shakspeare filled a vacant place on a little shelf in a distant corner. A clear blue eye, a rosy cheek, and the pleasant sound of our native tongue were alone needed to complete an illusion, in which the full form, the classic profile, pale complexion, large and liquid eyes, the stately grace, and low but cordial welcome of the mistress of the mansion, did not permit me to indulge.

I have said that the family whose hospitable courtesies I was now enjoying, was one of the wealthiest, and socially one of the most influential in the country. Yet its history for the past fifteen or twenty years is unfortunately too truthful an illustration of what the condition of the country has been during that disastrous period. Don Gregorio Venerio, the late head of the family, was one of the few men which Central America has afforded, possessing enterprise, a liberal and enlightened spirit, and that sound philosophy which consists in a practical disposition to make the best of existing circumstances. Overcoming most of the narrow prejudices which had grown up under the rigorous colonial system of Spain, and which fettered the mass of the people for a long time after the independence, he introduced improvements in agriculture, new machinery in the manufacture of sugar, and the preparation of cotton and indigo for foreign markets, and with a true patriotism and public spirit sought to direct the general attention to useful occupations and the development of the natural resources of the country, as the best means of insuring civil order and stability in government. His labors were, for a time, eminently successful, and he gave an impulse to industry and trade in the section of the state in which he resided, which has since doubled its wealth and influence. But envious and evil disposed persons were not wanting to misrepresent his motives, and to awaken distrust of the objects which he aimed to accomplish. The hostility of the ignorant masses was excited against him and his family; his machinery, it was said, would depreciate wages, and his products destroy the market for the productions of smaller proprietors. The ultimate result may be anticipated. The robber chieftain, Somoza, whose violent end I have already recounted, at the head of a band of assassins and robbers, entered his house at night, dragged him from his bed, and butchered him in cold blood, in the presence of his entire family, in the very room where I was now seated. Yet, up to the time of my arrival, the murderer had escaped apprehension and defied justice.

El Viejo Chinandega, Old Chinandega, or as it is briefly called El Viejo, is one of the most ancient towns in Nicaragua. It is beautifully situated upon a stream which flows through its centre, and contains between five and six thousand inhabitants. Formerly it was the principal town, next to Leon, in this department, and was the seat of the trade carried on through the port of Realejo. But the new town is located more favorably for commerce, and as that has increased in importance, El Viejo has declined, During the supremacy of the bucaneers in the South Sea, El Viejo was several times attacked, and once or twice burned. It has a large church, of high antiquity, situated upon an artificial terrace in the midst of a plaza. A fantastic wall runs along the edge of the terrace, and above each flight of steps, by which it is ascended, are lofty arches of fine proportions, which lend a very singular effect to the whole structure. Architecturally, El Viejo affords no other object of interest.

After breakfast, on the morning following our arrival, we started on a visit to the haciendas, or plantations, belonging to the family. I had a strong prejudice against mules, but my host quietly insisted that I should ride his macho, a sleek-looking, clean-limbed animal, upon which my saddle had already been placed. I complied without, at the moment, fully comprehending the reason of the request. But no sooner had we struck into the main road, than I found that, in respect of speed and of ease to the rider, no horse was comparable to the splendid animal upon which I was mounted. Without an apparent effort, and quite as a matter of course, he distanced all the horses of the party, and at what appeared to be his ordinary pace, kept them at a sharp gallop. “That macho,” said my host, “cost me three hundred dollars; and I have ridden him sixty miles in six consecutive hours!” When I add that ordinary mules here cost only about twenty dollars, and that this one was valued at three hundred and fifty, the difference between them is brought to some standard of calculation. The pace is artificial; and when what is called “a good education” is joined to good proportions, soundness of limb, and high spirit, (for they differ widely in this respect,) mules are esteemed infinitely higher than horses. Their endurance is incredible, and they have the ability to take care of themselves where a horse would starve.

At the distance of a league from the town, we turned into a beautiful shaded lane, or avenue, running through the broad estates which we had come to visit. The fields, with the exception of one or two which were planted with maize, were overgrown with weeds. I inquired the cause, and was told that these were indigo grounds, the cultivation of which had been suspended from the impossibility of securing permanent laborers; for the processes in manufacturing the indigo are so delicate, that any deficiency in attention ruins the entire crop. When affairs became fully settled, it was intended to resume the cultivation of this valuable product; but until then, the ground, dams, vats, and machinery were valueless property. In the centre of this portion of the estate, on an eminence near an artificial pond covered with water plants, and constructed for supplying the indigo works, was the house of the superintendent,—a large two-story edifice, with a double corridor on every side, and surrounded by a little forest of magnificent trees, relieved by towering palms and the green columns of the cactus. The mayor-domo, a venerable old man with his head bound in a variegated handkerchief, white shirt and breeches, and red shoes, himself one of the fixtures of the estate, received each of us with a hearty embrace, and then led us up a flight of broad stone steps, to the upper corridor. Here were the old man’s daughters, three pretty, blushing girls, who were introduced individually as Paula, Manuelita, and Concepcion. “Their mother is a saint,” said he, as he gazed on them with an expression of pride; “but happier times are coming for our poor country, and they will live to see them, I am sure!” and he tottered off, to procure “algo fresco.”

From the corridor we enjoyed a magnificent view of field and forest, stretching away in billows of verdure to the base of the volcano of El Viejo, lifting its purple summit to mid-heaven, beyond and over all. I ventured to imagine the intervening plain in the hands of an enterprising and vigorous people, dotted over with villages, and loaded down with the richest products of all-bountiful Nature, and queried if this generation might not witness the change. Let the babbler about impossibilities, in this first decade of the last half of the nineteenth century, turn his eyes to the shores of the Bay of San Francisco, be silent, and mark the reality!

From the indigo estate, bearing the name of some favorite saint, which I have forgotten, we rode a mile or two further, to the sugar plantation of San Geronimo. The ground which it occupies is perfectly level, and by means of ditches, designed particularly for purposes of irrigation, is laid out in squares, or manzanas. The cane on some of these squares had been newly planted, and on others lately cut, while upon others it was now in perfection, and ready for use. The mills are here kept running steadily the year round, and by the time the cutters have gone through all the fields, those which were first cleared are ready for the knife a second time. Under favorable circumstances, three crops can be taken yearly; and the ground does not require to be replanted oftener than once in ten or fourteen years.

A two-story house, newer and better built than that which I have already described, stood upon one side of the cane-fields, on the banks of a stream, and in the vicinity of the mills. It was approached by a broad avenue, kept scrupulously clean, and its white walls and red roof stood out against a dense background of trees, now in the perfection of their foliage, and loaded with fruit. The lower story was occupied by the mayor-domo and his family, and the upper by a bachelor brother of our host, whom we found in his shirt sleeves, swinging in a hammock suspended in the corridor on the shaded side of the building, and engaged in reading a translation of Sue’s Mysteries of Paris! He rose hastily, uttered some indistinct apologies, and led us into the body of the building, where in an instant we were surrounded by a playful troop of blooded dogs, which our friend, who was a good deal of a Nimrod, had expressly imported from England and the United States. In one corner of the room stood an elegant rifle, with a brace of pistols, a sword, and a variety of bits and spurs grouped, around it. In another corner was a guitar and a saddle, and on the table, in that delightful confusion seen only in bachelor establishments, a flute, some music, and books, and an infinity of cigars. An engraved portrait of Lola Montez was the only decoration on the walls, unless the skin of a monstrous tigre, stretched at one end of the apartment, might be called a decoration.

From the corridor, the eye traversed broad fields of cane, framed in by a dense forest, the view opening only towards the east, where the perspective of fields terminated, in the distance, with the tiled roof of the house belonging to the indigo estate, but half seen amidst the surrounding trees. A creaking cart came up the broad avenue towards us, loaded with stalks of the caña, which were piled in heaps in front of the mills situated in the valley of the stream, and partially concealed by the vapors rising lazily from the boiling kettles in which the juice was evaporated. The mozos engaged in the various processes moved about with a slow and careless air, in perfect harmony with the general quiet of the scenery, and in unison with the monotonous clatter of the mill, which seemed to be half asleep, and just about to stop altogether. I sat down in a vacant hammock, and for the first time fully comprehended the charms of hacienda life,—that aimless, dreamy existence, undisturbed by ambition or envy, and separated from the struggle of conflicting interests. Our bachelor friend vegetated here month after month, without a wish ungratified, making the most of the present, and careless of the future. Occasionally, he said, his slumbering energies would be roused for a moment, but lacking legitimate objects to occupy them, soon subsided again, and the stream of life flowed on as before. A turn with his dogs in the morning, a stroll of supervision through the mills, chocolate, a book, the hammock, and the siesta,—these, with now and then a ride to the village, or on extraordinary occasions a rapid descent of a single day on Leon, made up the sum of life.

Connected with this estate was a “huerta de las fruitas,” a fruit garden, upon which the late Don Gregorio had expended a great deal of money and care. It covered several acres of ground,—a wilderness of oranges and lemons, white and yellow pine apples, melons, mamays, marañons, jocotes, limes, citrons, guavas, tamarinds,—in short all the innumerable varieties of tropical fruits and flowers, traversed by broad walks, here a vista terminating in a bower, and there ending with a glimpse of the deep pools of the neighboring stream; the whole surrounded by an evergreen hedge of cactuses, in full bloom, and loading the air with fragrance. Here was the odorous sweet lemon, and in the centre of the garden a group of bread-fruit trees, remarkable for their broad, deep green leaves, amongst which might be discerned the nuts, looking for all the world like the heads of young darkies. These trees had been introduced by Don Gregorio from the Sandwich Islands, and flourished quite as luxuriantly as in their native soil. But the fruit did not “take” with the Nicaraguenses, who preferred the tortilla and the plantain; the tree is therefore propagated solely from motives of curiosity.

From the garden we went to the mills. The machinery in use had all been imported from England and the United States, via Cape Horn. There was first the crushing or grinding mill, from which a copper conductor carried the juice through a strainer into a vat, communicating by means of tubes with the coppers or cauldrons. From these, when the reduction and clarification were sufficiently far advanced, the liquid was drawn off into other coppers, whence the scum was constantly removed, and thrown into a large trough, to be used in the distillation of aguardiente. When reduced to a certain strength or thickness, the sugar was transferred to the coolers and strainers, where the graining took place, and the molasses was separated. A large portion of the sugar is not subjected to this process, but while in its crude state, is laded into moulds of a certain size, forming what is called chancaca, sold for ordinary consumption amongst the poorer classes, at a quartillo (three cents) the cake, equivalent to about one cent and a half the pound. The finer qualities of sugar produced on this estate are nearly as white and hard as the refined sugars of commerce. Connected with these works is a complete apparatus for distilling aguardiente, capable of an indefinite production of that article of consumption. But this is a government estanco, or monopoly, and it cannot be manufactured on private account. The fact that the late Don Gregorio had obtained the contract for supplying the government, was one of the causes of hostility to him amongst the smaller proprietors, whose rude but costly modes of distillation were entirely supplanted by the introduction of his improved machinery. This hostility had not yet died out, and the family meditated throwing up the contract, and discontinuing the manufacture altogether, as the easiest mode of relieving themselves from the popular odium which it excited. We can hardly understand how such prejudices should exist, but it is nevertheless a fact that, at the first, every improvement in the useful arts, all social progress, and every advance in government, philosophy, and religion, have the world over been met and opposed in precisely the same spirit, and from precisely the same motives.

Upon our return to the house, we found a table spread with the rarest collection of tropical fruits and luxuries which I had yet seen, and which might have excited the envy of a king. We had “frescas” compounded from the marañon, the orange, and the juice of the cocoanut, slightly dashed with aguardiente, the coolest and most refreshing imaginable; and melons—such melons! And when we came to lie down in our respective hammocks, beneath the shaded corridor, for the afternoon siesta, it was unanimously voted that, with our present limited information on the subject of Paradise, we should be quite willing to accept perpetual youth and hacienda life “down,” rather than incur the risk of attaining the former! “Opinions may differ about the propriety of confessing it,” said W., “but really,” and he took a long and lazy pull at his cigar, “I think this is quite good enough for a miserable sinner like myself!”

The smoke wreathed slowly up from each hammock, the mill clattered drowsily, and we slept until the cool evening wind, gathering strength as the sun declined, began to rustle amongst the orange trees which grew beside the corridor, and the creaking carts, which had stood idle during the heat of the day, again began to move in the direction of the cane fields. A hacienda dinner, and a cheery ride townward, in the twilight, completed the day; and we went to bed that night, with a most satisfactory conception of hacienda life.

I had flattered myself that my visit to El Viejo was unknown beyond the family with which we were stopping; I had, in fact, stipulated with our host, that our incognito should be rigidly preserved. He was, therefore, a good deal embarrassed, and I was not a little annoyed, when he announced the next morning at breakfast, that the municipality of the town had been there, before I was up, to say that they should do themselves the honor to pay their respects to “El Ministro” in form, at the early hour of ten o’clock. There was now no alternative but to submit to the arrangement, and make the best of what we would gladly have prevented. Punctual to the moment, when the clock struck the appointed hour, a band of musicos, preceded by half a dozen fellows firing bombas, emerged from the cabildo, on the opposite side of the square, in the direction of our house. They were followed by the municipal and spiritual fathers of the town, the former with their red sashes and gold-headed canes, and the latter in their black robes and broad-brimmed hats, after whom came a mingled mass of men, women, and children. The musicos played with an energy befitting the occasion, and the men with the bombas managed to keep up an incessant discharge. The musicos, the municipality, and the priests, with a very select few of the prominent citizens, alone entered the sala. The populace had to content themselves with gazing in turns through the open windows and doors. Amongst the ecclesiastics was the Dean Remijo Salazar, one of the most imposing men in appearance, and most accomplished in manner and in education, of any in the country, and withal an orator and a philanthropist, and the venerable Padre Jose Maria Guerrero, distinguished throughout the State for his exemplary piety, and noted as a musician and a composer of music. I experienced a real satisfaction in taking these men by the hand, and my subsequent acquaintance with them only served to deepen my respect and esteem. After the exchange of salutations, and a very neat welcome from the first alcalde, we were told that the musicos were prepared with a “Cancion,” composed expressly for this occasion, which they begged permission to sing. The permission, accompanied with a glass of ardiente by way of clearing their respective whistles, was graciously accorded. It was but seven stanzas in length, but each stanza was seven times repeated, with a constantly increasing nasal intonation, until the sweat rolled down the faces of singers and players,—for each musico both sang and played. The infliction was severe, and would have been unendurable, had it not been for the amusing contortions of features, and strong muscular exercises of the performers, which far surpassed the most extravagant pantomime ever brought on the stage. A copy of the “Cancion” was handed to me at the conclusion of the performance, of which the title and a couple of stanzas will suffice to satisfy any curiosity which the reader may entertain in respect to it. I could not learn who was the author; for, with the modesty of true genius, he carefully concealed his name.

We remained but two days at El Viejo, and on the morning of the third started on our return to Leon. Chinandega, by daylight, more than confirmed the favorable opinion which I had formed of it from descriptions and starlight glimpses. It covers a very large space of ground, and is regularly laid out in “cuadras” or squares, which are again subdivided into what can best be described as gardens, each one embowering a dwelling of some kind, generally built of canes and thatched, but often of adobes and neatly roofed with tiles. The central, or what may be called the business part of the town in the vicinity of the grand plaza, is compact, and as well built as any part of Leon or Granada. Yet it is scarcely twenty years since there was but a single tile-roofed house in the town. Altogether, Chinandega has an air of thrift and enterprise which I have seen nowhere else in Central America; and as the trade now springing up on the Pacific coast increases, its importance will continue to augment. The country around it is flat, yet the soil is dry, and although the heat during the day is considerable, yet here, as in El Viejo, the evenings and nights are cool and pleasant. This is perhaps due to its position in respect both to the sea and the great volcano of El Viejo, which stands guard at this extremity of the plain of Leon.

Realejo is about two leagues distant from Chinandega. It is a small town, situated upon a tide-water stream, full five miles from the harbor proper, and can only be reached by the ordinary bongos or lighters, at high water. The position is low, and is reputed unhealthy. The customs’ establishment is located there, but the merchants who conduct their trade through the port have their stores in Chinandega and Leon. It is said that the town was originally built nearer the harbor, and that the present site was afterwards adopted in consequence of the frequent attacks of the pirates, who, as I have already observed, infested this coast. The population of Realejo is about twelve hundred, who find employment in loading and unloading vessels, and supplying them with fruits and provisions. Recently the place has derived a great impulse from the Californian trade; docks and warehouses have been built, depôts for coal established, and several of the American steamers now touch there regularly for supplies; the station, in this respect, being favorably situated intermediately between Panama and Acapulco. It seems likely, however, that the old town will be abandoned and a new one built up, immediately on the harbor, opposite the anchorage, where there is a fine position, adapted to all the wants of commerce. A road has, in fact, lately been opened to the mouth of the Estero Doña Paula, by a company of native merchants, and the site of the new town has already been laid out under direction of the government. It is to bear the classical name of “Corinth,” and will not be distant more than eighteen or twenty miles from Leon, to which place it is supposed it will sustain the same relation that Realejo has hitherto done to Chinandega. The official paper, the “Correo del Istmo,” of the 30th of January last, advertises four hundred and twenty of the lots in “Corinth,” varying from 1000 to 1500 square yards, and the minimum prices at which they are to be sold, i. e. from $25 to $37. There seems to be little doubt that this enterprise will prove successful, and that the Port of Realejo will become second in importance to no other on the entire Pacific coast from Panama northward.^[21]

The opening of the port of San Juan del Sur, or San Juan de Concordia, for purposes of transit across the Continent via Lake Nicaragua and the Rio San Juan, it has been supposed will seriously affect the importance of Realejo. The port of San Juan del Sur, however, can never meet the requirements of a considerable commerce. As a point of embarkation and disembarkation for steamers, it is unobjectionable; but it is small, and it is almost impossible for sail vessels to approach this part of the Nicaraguan coast. The north-east trade winds, which blow the entire year, here sweep across the whole continent, and for a considerable distance, and almost constantly, off the shore; where, meeting with other currents, they form those peculiar, revolving, contradictory winds known as Papagayos, which give their name to the Gulf within which this port is situated. Realejo, from this circumstance, and that of position in respect to the back country, must therefore remain the chief port of Nicaragua. It is undoubtedly the best for harbor purposes.