Nicaragua

Since the publication of the original edition of this work, in 1852, the beautiful but hapless Republic of Nicaragua has been the theatre of a series of startling events which have concentrated upon it not only the attention of the American public, but of all civilized nations. It has been made the arena of aimless, and not always reputable diplomatic contests, and of an obstinate and bloody struggle between a handful of Northern adventurers and an effete and decadent race. And unless the future shall strangely betray the indications of the present, it is destined to pass through a succession of still severer throes, in its advance to that political status and commercial importance inseparable from its geographical position and natural resources. For, in Nicaragua, and there alone, has Nature combined those requisites for a water communication between the seas, which has so long been the dream of enthusiasts, and which is a desideratum of this age, as it will be a necessity of the next. There too has she lavished, with a bountiful hand, her richest tropical treasures; and the genial earth waits only for the touch of industry to reward the husbandman a hundredfold with those products, which, while they contribute to his wealth, add to the comfort and give employment to the laborer of distant and less favored lands.

Public interest, and especially American interest in Nicaragua must therefore constantly increase; and the desire to know the characteristics of the country, its scenery and products, and the habits and customs of its people, can never diminish. In the Narrative which follows, these are faithfully presented; and though, in some cases, there may be a needless amplitude of incidents, yet even this is probably not without its use in relieving descriptions and details which might otherwise prove dry and repulsive in form. In all essential respects, Nicaragua is little changed since 1850, and since a later visit of the author in 1854. It is true, Granada has been added to its list of ruined cities, and Rivas and Masaya bear the scars of battles on their walls. The people have perhaps a more thoughtful look, as becomes men realizing that the fulness of time has finally brought them within the circle of the world’s movement, and that they must assume and discharge the responsibilities of their new position, or give place to those who are equal to the requirements of this age and prompt to recognize their duties to their fellow men.

But in all other respects, as I have said, the country is unchanged. Its high and regular volcanic cones, its wooded plains, broad lakes, bright rivers, and emerald verdure are still the same. The aguadora still steps along firmly under her heavy water jar, or climbs, panting, up the cliffs that surround the Lake of Masaya. The naked children, in average color possibly a shade lighter than before, still bestride the hips of nurse or mother. Small and pensive mules still trudge to market, ears and feet alone visible beneath their green loads of sacate. The mozo and his machete, the red-belted cavalier, on scarlet pillion, pricking his champing horse through the streets, the languid Señora puffing the smoke of her cigaretta in lazy jets through her nostrils—the sable priest, with gallo under his arm, hurrying to the nearest cock pit—the shrill quien vive of the bare-footed sentinel—the rat-tat-too of the afternoon drum—the eternal Saints’ days, and banging bombas—all, all are the same!

New York, September, 1859