Nicaragua

THE MAGNATES OF SAN JUAN—CAPTAIN SAMUEL SHEPHERD—ROYAL GRANTS—VEXATIOUS DELAYS—IMPOSING DEPARTURE—ENTRANCE OF THE RIVER SAN JUAN—“PEELING” OF THE MARINEROS—CHARACTER OF THE STREAM—THE JUANILLO—AN IMMEMORIAL STOPPING-PLACE—BONGOS, AND THEIR EQUIPMENTS AND STORES—MEALS—ESPRIT DE CORPS AMONG THE BOATMEN—THE “ORACION”—-QUEER CAPRICES—MEDIO—-OUR ACCOMMODATIONS—A SPECIMEN NIGHT ON THE RIVER—MORNING SCENES AND IMPRESSIONS—BONGO LIFE—THE COLORADO MOUTH—CHANGE OF SCENERY—THE IGUANA—A SOLITARY ESTABLISHMENT—TROPICAL EASE—THE RIO SERAPIQUI—FIGHT BETWEEN THE NICARAGUANS AND THE ENGLISH—“A FAMOUS VICTORY”—THE RIO SAN FRANCISCO—REMOLINO GRANDE—PICTURESQUE RIVER VIEWS—THE HILLS AND PASS OF SAN CARLOS—THUNDER STORMS—THE MACHUCA RAPIDS—MELCHORA INDIANS—RAPIDS OF MICO AND LOS VALOS—RAPIDS OF THE CASTILLO—ISLAND OF BARTOLA—CAPTURE BY LORD NELSON—THE “CASTILLO VIEJO,” OR OLD CASTLE OF SAN JUAN—“A DIOS CALIFORNIA!”—ASCEND TO THE RUINS—STRONG WORKS—CAPTURE OF THE FORT BY THE ENGLISH IN 1780—FAILURE OF THE EXPEDITION AGAINST NICARAGUA; A SCRAP OF HISTORY—PASSAGE OF THE RAPIDS—DIFFERENT ASPECT OF THE RIVER—A BLACK EAGLE—NINETY MILES IN SIX DAYS—THE FORT OF SAN CARLOS—GREAT LAKE OF NICARAGUA—LAND AT SAN CARLOS—THE COMMANDANTE—HEARTY WELCOME—NOVEL SCENES—ANCIENT DEFENCES—VIEW FROM THE FORT—THE RIO FRIO—THE GUATOSOS INDIANS—A PARADISE FOR ALLIGATORS, AND SOME HAPPY INSTITUTIONS OF THEIRS.

Most small communities have in their midst one or two resident notabilities, who are regarded something in the light of oracles, and to whom general deference is acceded. San Juan is not an exception; and Captain Samuel Shepherd is at once, per se, a personage so characteristic and so associated and identified with the place, that no description of San Juan would be complete in which he failed to be a prominent feature. His residence is the most pretentious edifice in San Juan; it is, in fact, the architectural wonder of the place, inasmuch as it is not only a framed building, but has a shingled roof and glazed windows. It was built by Captain Shepherd, in his more prosperous days, when he was the principal trader on the coast from Boca del Toro to Yucatan, and before age had crippled his energies, and reverses dissipated his fortune. He is now old and nearly blind, but hale, cheerful, intelligent, and communicative, and capable of giving more information relative to the coast than any man living. He seldom leaves his hammock, which is swung in the principal room of his house, and in which he receives all his visitors. We called upon him, on the second day after our arrival, and were received with every demonstration of respect. The captain was never more eloquent, and although he had always been classed as an Englishman, yet he said he was born in the United States, and meant to claim its protection as a citizen. He had been appointed “Governor of the Port,” or some such nominal and trumpery office, by the British Consul, by way of conciliation, but he was not to be taken in so easily; and as for the orders which had been promulgated in his name, concerning the pigs and chickens, he protested it was altogether the consul’s doings; he had shut up neither the one nor the other, and regarded these animals quite as good citizens as the rest; the consul might shoot any of them, (pigs or citizens,) if he dared. And as for the pretended English protectorate, and the authority assumed under it, the one was a fraud and the other an imposition; for whatever title the Mosquito Indians ever possessed, had been formally transferred and secured to him. And the captain here produced, from a very closely locked and substantial case, a variety of parchment grants and conveyances, bearing the “his ＋ mark” of “Robert Charles Frederick,” father of the little Sambo boy now wearing the Mosquitian purple, in which it was duly set forth and attested that “upon the 24th of January, 1839, in consideration of the true and laudable services rendered to us by Samuel Shepherd, etc., we, Robert Charles Frederick, King of the Mosquito nation, of our special grace, and of our certain knowledge and free motion, have given and granted, and by these presents, sealed with our seal, do give and grant unto the said Samuel Shepherd, etc., all that tract of land lying between Blewfields River on the north, and San Juan River on the south,” etc., etc., in the most approved form, and with royal prolixity, all of which is duly witnessed, together with the peaceable transfer and possession of the territory in question, approved by General Slam, Admiral Rodney, Lord Nelson, and other equally distinguished personages,^[3] comprising the august council of the breechless but imperial “Robert Charles Frederick.” Several other similar and equally formal documents were produced, in which the various Mosquito potentates had transferred to Mr. Shepherd and his associates about two-thirds of their pretended kingdom. When, in 1841, the English government sent its agents here to secure the country as a dependency on the British Empire, their first act was to procure the revocation of these grants, by the young Sambo, “George William Clarence,” which was accordingly done; the act of revocation setting forth, in a most unfilial way, that “his late majesty was not in his right mind when he made them,” that is, was drunk! But Captain Shepherd protests that the revocation was procured through the influence of Jamaica rum, that his titles are in no degree impaired by it, and that the “his ＋ mark” of one savage is as good as that of another. He regards the British occupation, therefore, as a direct invasion of his rights and sovereignty, and insists that if the port does not belong to Nicaragua, it certainly does to him; a sequitur which we at once admitted, much to the captain’s satisfaction, and to his admiration of American justice, discrimination, and judgment.

Once off from his hobby, the old sailor was more interesting, if less amusing, and talked of matters in general in a manner highly original. His account of the relations which existed between the mixed brood of Indians and Negroes on the coasts, and the Jamaica traders, was given with a directness somewhat startling to persons not yet emancipated from the conventional rigors of the United States, but which constituted the best evidence of its truth. To say that these relations were exceedingly free and easy, is hardly explicit enough, as will be admitted when it is known that the visit of the traders was looked forward to as a kind of festival, when all ages and sexes abandoned themselves to general drunkenness and indiscriminate licentiousness. Every old trader had a number of children at every landing-place or settlement on the coast; and on the occasion of each visit, he impiously baptized all those which he conceived might be his own. This indiscriminate intercourse, it can readily be imagined, has resulted in a complete demoralization of the natives, and has been attended by physical consequences quite as deplorable as those which have followed the intercourse of Europeans with some of the Pacific Islands. These relations were established by the pirates, when they thronged the Spanish main, from Jamaica as a centre, and they are now referred to, by the British government, as an evidence of ancient alliance, and in support of an assumed protectorate! It was not without a feeling of sympathy for the almost sightless old captain, that we left him swinging in his hammock, where he is doubtless yet to be found, clinging hopefully to his parchment titles.

We remained six days at San Juan, at the end of which time, having witnessed a promiscuous affair called a fandango, not at all spiritualized by the West Indian variations on the none-too-delicate original, and exhausted the limited stock of amusements which the place affords, besides having become completely wearied with the low, monotonous scenery, and not a little disgusted because of the absence of those tropical luxuries of which we had formed so high anticipations, we were anxious for a change. But few boats arrived from the interior, in consequence of an attempted revolution, and these brought accounts of the state of affairs, which we afterwards found were much exaggerated, but which made us especially anxious to proceed on our journey. When, therefore, our baggage and stores had been fished up from the hold of the Frances, and piled in dire confusion in the middle of our partitionless house, no time was lost in preparing for our departure. Through the assistance of my colored friend, we had engaged one of the largest bongos then in port for our exclusive accommodation, paying dearly for the stipulation that no freight beyond our own should be taken,—an unnecessary precaution, by the way, of which our colored friend neglected to inform us, for the troubles in the interior prevented the merchants from shipping goods in that direction, and had it not been for our opportune arrival, the boat must have gone empty. This bongo bore the name of “La Granadina,” and looked not wholly uncomfortable as she lay at her moorings, just off the shore. She had a crew of ten stalwart oarsmen, and was particularly commended on account of her patron, Pedro, one of the patriarchs of the river, who, amongst his other accomplishments, spoke a little English, of which, for a wonder, he was not at all vain. As soon as the arrangement was completed, our marineros made court to us most assiduously, fairly hustling each other for the honor (worth a medio) of carrying the members of our party backwards and forth from “La Grenadina.” One of the number, a slight but well-proportioned Mestizo, was a subject for the Washingtonians, and won the soubriquet of “Medio,” from his frequent applications for sixpence. On these occasions he would gravely take off his hat, and throwing himself in a theatrical attitude, bring his closed left hand with Forrestian force on his naked breast, exclaiming, “Soy un hombre bueno!” I am a good man! It was worth the money to witness the relapse from dignity to servility when the coin touched his palm. Medio little thought how strict a parallel he afforded to men in other countries, and loftier spheres of action. Medio’s price was sixpence, although he had served as sergeant in the army, and distinguished himself among the “veteranos.”

The day of our departure had been fixed for the 12th, at four in the morning, and Pedro had promised faithfully to have all things in readiness. With the anticipation of an early start, we bade all our friends good-bye over night, and retired early, declining any provision for breakfast on shore, lest we might cause delays in the morning. Morning came, but not a sailor was to be seen near the “La Granadina,” except the one who had kept watch over night; the rest, he said, would be there “muy pronto” very soon; whereupon he dodged beneath the chopa, and composed himself for another nap. We waited an hour on the shore; meantime the sun came up, door after door was unbarred, and the people came streaming down to the water to perform their morning ablutions, evidently greatly puzzled to account for our presence there. Their salutations seemed to conceal a vast deal of irony, and I fear were not returned with the utmost amiability. At eight o’clock, after firmly resolving to hold Pedro to a strict accountability for his delinquency, we returned in high indignation to our old quarters, and despatched orders for breakfast. To our infinite surprise, Monsieur S. had already prepared it. He received us with a smile, and when the meal was finished, coolly asked our preferences for dinner! This was rather too severe an enforcement of our first lesson in native delays, and led to an explanation, in the course of which Monsieur told us that he had long since found out the absurdity of attempting to advise Americans in such matters; and ended with the assurance that if we got off by the middle of the afternoon we might regard ourselves as particularly fortunate. We nevertheless returned to the shore, and found part of the crew had assembled, and were collecting wood and arranging their kettles preparatory to making breakfast. Never was anything performed more deliberately; and the meal itself was disposed of with equal deliberation. It was nearly eleven when the kettles were again placed in the boat, and quite twelve when Pedro made his appearance. Fortunately for his sable skin, our impatience had taken the chronic form of dogged endurance, and we sat amongst boxes, trunks, and guns, silent and grim, but cherishing the determination to make ourselves even with the vagabonds before we got through with them. Monsieur S. proved to be right; and it was late in the afternoon before the last straggler was got in, and the signal was given for starting. We severally mounted on the naked shoulders of the men, and were deposited on the pineta, a novel mode of embarkation with which we afterwards became familiar. The sailors took their places, and Pedro, with a great conch shell in one hand, gravely stationed himself at the tiller. The sweeps were raised, and every eye was fixed on the Patron, who glanced over the crew, as much as to ask “all ready?” and then, raising the shell to his lips, gave a long, unearthly blast. The sweeps fell simultaneously into the water, the men uttered a hoo-pah, the crowd on the beach shouted, the women waved their rebozos, while Ben unfurled the American flag at the bow. La Granadina seemed to fly through the water, and our friend, the Consul General, protruded his head from his hospitable garret, and waved his adieus as we swept by. The crew of the little Francis also hurrahed from her shrouds, and altogether, as Pedro, dropping his conch, proudly observed, it was a demonstration worthy of the occasion. He evidently thought it would tell well in the United States!

We were too glad to get off, to care much for anything else; nor did we experience many regrets when we took our last look at the long, low line of huts, and found ourselves shut in by the green banks of the river. Fairly in the stream, and out of sight of the town, the oars were drawn aboard, and every marinero stripped himself of his scanty clothing, which was carefully wrapped up, and deposited in a protected place, nor put on again until we reached the head of the river. This somewhat startling ceremony over, each man lighted a segar and resumed his oar; but the strokes were now leisurely made, and the severe realities of the voyage commenced. For some miles the banks of the river, as also the numerous islands which studded it, were low, covered with canes, and with a species of tall grass called gamalote. In places the stream was compressed between the islands, with a rapid current; while elsewhere it spread out in broad, glassy reaches, of great apparent depth, but shallow everywhere except in the channel; which, as the bed of the river is sand, is narrow and tortuous, and constantly shifting. A few miles above the harbor, we came to where the Juanillo, “Little John,” rejoins the river, from which it diverges some twenty-five miles above the mouth. After winding through the low grounds back of San Juan, spreading out into lagunas, and at one place into a considerable lake, it returns to the main stream, purple with vegetable infusions. The Indians sometimes penetrate this channel in canoes, for the purpose of shooting the wild fowl which people its marshy, pestilent borders, and of killing the manitus, which here finds a congenial solitude.

During the rainy season the whole marshy region through which the Juanillo flows is covered with water, as is also nearly the entire delta of the river, which, in the ordinary stages, is nowhere elevated more than a few feet above the river. It was now the commencement of the rains in the interior; the stream was rising, and, as our freight was comparatively light, we were enabled to proceed without much difficulty. We nevertheless sometimes ran aground, on which occasions our men leaped overboard, and putting their shoulders under the boat, lifted it off. The bongos are sometimes obliged, both in ascending and descending, to take out part of their freight, and depositing the remainder beyond the shallower sections of the river, return again for it. This, however, occurs only during the dry season, when the river has probably not more than half the volume which it possesses during the period of the rains.

In the exhilaration of our departure we had quite forgotten the disappointment of the morning, and had abandoned ourselves to the enjoyment of the novelty alike of our circumstances and the scenery. But our day’s annoyances were not complete. After paddling for perhaps five miles, we came to where the banks had more firmness, and were a trifle higher than below, and where the canes and long grass gave way to a rank growth of palms; their broad leaves forming a roof impenetrable to the sun. Here, at a place where the undergrowth had been removed, and the trees rose like gothic columns, with evergreen arches, covering cool, dark vistas, our boat was quietly thrust in shore, and we were astonished with preparations for another meal. We remonstrated, but it was of no use; all the bongos had stopped here from time immemorial, and Pedro told us, in broken English, that the demonio could not get the sailors by. And Pedro himself sat deliberately down on the pineta, and turning up his toes, began a grand hunt for niguas. Some of the men followed the example of the Patron, others lifted out the kettles, and still others built a fire.

Every bongo, on leaving the interior, takes on board a large number of plantains, not yet fully ripe, and which are therefore called verdes. These are detached from the stalk, “corded up” in the bow of the boat, and constitute the principal reliance of the men. A few, that are nearly or quite ripe, called maduras, are also taken on board for immediate use. Besides these, there is a box of jerked beef, or what the Americans ironically call yard beef,—i. e. beef cut in long strips and dried in the sun. Some bottles of manteca (lard), or a quantity of kidney fat and a bag of rice are added, and then the substantial supplies for the voyage are complete. The cookery is very simple. Stakes are driven in the ground to support the kettle, in which is first put a portion of fat, next a layer of platanos verdes from which the skin has been stripped, then a layer of beef cut in small pieces, a calabash of rice, some salt, and so on until the kettle is filled. Water is poured over all, and the whole is thoroughly boiled. While this is going on, the men amuse themselves with roasting bits of meat on the ends of pointed sticks. Nothing can be wilder or more picturesque than a dozen naked, swarthy figures crouched around the fire, in the deep shadows of the forest, protecting their faces from the heat with their hands, and keeping up the while a most vociferous discussion, generally about the merits of this or that bongo, or upon some other subject of equal interest to themselves. When the mess in the kettle is cooked, each one fills his calabash, and with his fingers or a cocoa-nut spoon disposes of it at his leisure. As the “yard beef” has always a most suspicious odor, I could bring myself to taste the contents of the kettle but once. I must do the marineros the justice to say that it was not an unsavory dish. It is always arranged to have half a kettle full of the compound over, to which the men help themselves at their pleasure.

Besides these common stores, every sailor has a private stock, consisting, generally, of a bag of tiste, (parched corn, ground with cacao and sugar,) which is mixed with water, making a nourishing and most delicious beverage. He has also a few cakes of chancaca, or, as he calls it, dulce, i. e., unrefined sugar, which he eats in its raw state. A few stalks of sugar-cane are almost always to be found stowed away amongst the freight, upon which the men entertain themselves after the anchor is cast for the night. In fact, when they are not sleeping or at the oars, they are eating or smoking, and are as loquacious as a flock of parrots. A stranger would suppose they were constantly on the verge of a general quarrel. Yet, like the arrieros of Mexico, these men are, with few exceptions, good-tempered, honest, and trustworthy, and have an esprit de corps amongst them which is carefully kept up. They are governed by certain conventional rules, which none dare violate; and their quarrels are generally referred to the decision of the older and more influential individuals of their own number.

It was nearly sunset when the meal was finished; the boat was pushed out in the stream, and we were once more on our way. We had now come to that part of the river where the long, broad reaches commence, and were moving slowly and almost noiselessly along in the shadow of the trees, on the tops of which the sunlight was shining, when suddenly, as if by a simultaneous impulse, the sweeps were raised, and each sailor reverently took off his hat,—the hour of the oracion had come. The bowman commenced the evening chaunt, the chorus of which was taken up by the entire crew, with a precision, in respect to cadence and time, which could only result from long practice. There was certainly something impressive in the apparent devotion of these rude men, apart from the effect of the melody itself, caught up as it was by the echoes, and prolonged in the forest solitudes. Yet the impression was destroyed by one of those freaks in which the natives of this country seem to delight, and which constantly outrage the traveller’s sense of propriety. No sooner was the chaunt concluded, than all hands gave a shout, and bending to the sweeps, pulled like madmen for a few minutes, and then as suddenly stopped again, and broke out in a paroxysm of laughter.

We afterwards frequently witnessed the same proceeding, but could never discover the reason for it, probably because there was no reason in the case. We came, in the end, to look upon it as a simple ebullition of animal feeling. The fit of laughter over, the men pulled steadily for a couple of hours, keeping time to a kind of round which was certainly not without a degree of melody, but which was chiefly acceptable because it required a full and rapid swing of the sweeps, and was therefore favorable to speed. We always applauded it, and when impatient of our slow progress, exercised our ingenuity to introduce it as frequently as possible without creating suspicion of the object. Our friend “Medio,” however, sharper than the rest, detected us; but he was adroit enough to turn his wit to account, by exacting extra allowances of our ardiente as the reward of his silence.

It was long after dark when we came to anchor in the midst of the stream, at a point above the gamalote islands, which are always densely populated with mosquitosmosquitos. For this reason the bongos never stop over night near them, if it can be avoided. The sailors have also a fancy, whether well-founded or otherwise I am unprepared to say, that noise will attract these annoying visitors. The sweeps are therefore pulled on board, and the anchor run out as silently as possible, and all conversation thereafter is carried on in a suppressed voice.

One night on the river is much like all others, and our first may be taken as an “average” example of our nocturnal experiences. The trunks of the party had been packed beneath the chopa, with principal reference to a level surface. Upon these were spread ponchos, blankets, and whatever might contribute to relieve the unyielding sub-stratum, while the carpet bags, and gutta-percha pouches were reserved for pillows. A stout cord was fastened close under the roof, over which were hung a change of linen, and a few necessary articles of dress. Here too were slung, in easy reach, and with special regard to convenience in case of necessity, our guns, pistols, and bowie knives, with the requisite ammunition. A few books and materials for drawing were bestowed on a shelf beneath the pineta, where also Ben had established the commissariat department,—one which, above all others, is not to be neglected in ascending the San Juan. It was barely possible to sit erect beneath the chopa; and excepting the narrow space between it and the first bench, there was no room to stand, unless we encroached upon the Patron’s pineta,—which, it may be mentioned, we were not scrupulous in doing. Here, notwithstanding the heat of the sun, I passed most of the day, to the thorough embrowning of every exposed part of the person. The thatched chopa, a paradise for insects, was covered with raw hides, and two immense ones were fixed at either end. When it rained, these were let down, converting the interior into a kind of oven, intolerably close and hot. After one or two trials, we preferred to take the risk of getting wet to that of being suffocated by the heat, and would not allow them to be lowered. In fact, after repeated wettings, their stench became unendurable, and we had them removed entirely, much to the astonishment of Pedro, who really seemed to relish the smell of putrescent hides! In the first class bongos, which have board roofs, with close joints, this annoyance is obviated. In these the traveller also finds a refuge on the top of the chopa, from the discomforts of the interior.

We sat up late, watching the men, who gathered in a group near the bow of the boat, each with a cigar in his mouth, a handkerchief bound round his head, and a blanket thrown over his shoulders. There they sat for hours, keeping up conversation in a low tone, and with every appearance of great earnestness. Finally, however, they broke off one by one, and stretched themselves each on his own hard bench. Ben, too, who had been with Fremont across the continent, had travelled all over Mexico, and was consequently a philosopher after his way, took to the only vacant bench, while Pedro coiled himself in a heap on the pineta. The night was threatening, no stars were visible, and we could only discern the dark water sweeping past us, by the light of the “fire-fly lamps.” An alligator occasionally plunged heavily in the stream, but excepting the water rippling under the bow, all else was silent.

It was past midnight when the drops of an approaching shower warned us to seek the shelter of the chopa. We found our quarters sufficiently narrow, and the trunks, spite of ponchos and blankets, portentously hard. Yet, thanks to former experiences, I was soon asleep, and slumbered soundly until morning. A few straggling mosquitos, however, had disturbed my companions, who were up long before me, unrefreshed and complaining. Although it was hardly sunrise, we had been moving for two or three hours, and were past the Tauro mouth of the San Juan, and approaching the point of divergence of the Colorado. And although the banks were little if any higher than before, yet the feathery palms, of which I have spoken, were interspersed with other varieties of trees, some of which were of large size, and draped all over with vines, that hung in rich festoons over the water. Birds of varied plumage glanced in and out of the forest, and cranes and other water-fowl paced soberly along the sand bars, or flew lazily up the stream as we approached. Occasionally a pair of green macaws,—the macaw is never seen except in couples,—fluttered slowly over our heads, almost deafening us with their discordant notes. The air was cool and fresh, reminding me of a morning in June at home, and I experienced a degree of exhilaration in performing my morning ablutions which completely put to flight all my previously conceived notions of tropical lassitude. Mists lurked here and there in the bends of the river, and in shadowy nooks, but they gradually dispersed, and at eight o’clock, when the boat was moored under the shadow of a gigantic tree, the sun shone brilliantly upon a scene as luxuriant as the imagination can portray. Ben boiled his coffee at the sailors’ fire, and we made our first breakfast on the river with a degree of satisfaction which, even at this distance of time, it is pleasant to recall.

At ten o’clock we were once more in motion, and shortly after came to the Colorado. At the point of junction, fourteen miles above the port, there is a broad reach, and the river at once assumes a more majestic character. As I have already said, the Colorado carries off fully two-thirds of the water of the river, so that no adequate idea of its size and beauty can be formed until the traveller has reached the main body of the stream. Here the banks become higher; the low islands disappear; and the river is walled in by a dense forest. To avoid the strength of the current, the boat was kept close along the shore, and the long vines, loaded with gay and fragrant flowers, trailed over the chopa as it passed beneath them. Brilliantly-colored birds sparkled in the cool, green coverts, and, for the first time, we saw the ugly iguanas looking curiously down upon us from the projecting limbs of the trees. They fully answered to Ben’s description of very ugly snakes, which Nature, after forming the head and tail, had neglected, until it was too late, to roll into shape, giving them afterwards four legs, by way of compensation for her oversight. They abound in Central America, and are to be met with in almost every locality, but are particularly abundant on the San Juan, where they attain to great size. They are of a variety of colors, and the different species (of which there appear to be several,) are distinguished by other peculiarities. Hundreds of small size and bright-green color might be seen clinging to every little branch, or sunning themselves on every old trunk which projected into the stream. When disturbed, they would dash for the shore with great swiftness, literally walking the water. We shot many in our passage, but recovered few, as they are very tenacious of life, and often cling to the trees after they are killed. They are esteemed delicious food, and are eagerly sought by the marineros. I could never bring myself to taste them, although the flesh, after being cooked, looked sufficiently delicate and inviting. I do not know how close an anatomical affinity they sustain to the alligator, but their jaws and teeth are much the same, in miniature, and like the alligator they take to the water if closely pressed, when there is no hole or tree in which to find refuge. Their general ugliness is unnecessarily heightened by a kind of crest or integument which runs along the back, from the root of the neck to the tail, and which is elevated when the animal is frightened or enraged. I never overcame my aversion to these reptiles, although I afterwards brought myself to tolerate a colony of them, which had taken up their quarters in the adobe walls of my court-yard in Leon.

During the day we passed an island near the place of divergence of the Juanillo, upon which an adventurous Nicaraguan from the interior had established a plantain-walk. His house was nothing more than a shed, and under it was strung a couple of hammocks, in which the master and his spouse swung slowly to and fro, complete impersonations of idleness and ease. A couple of naked children were rolling in the sand of the shore, upon which was drawn up a graceful canoe, the whole constituting a picture of primitive simplicity, to be found nowhere except under the tropics. Our men shouted, and were answered by a couple of wolfish-looking dogs, while the children scampered for the hut in apparent alarm, but neither father nor mother took the trouble to rise. Why should they?

That night we came to anchor a few miles below the mouth of the Serapiqui, and next morning passed the spot where the Nicaraguan boatmen had made their stand against the English, after the capture of San Juan. The position was well chosen, at the head of a long reach, where the river takes a sudden bend, and where the hills, for the first time, come down to the water. Here they had cleared off the trees, and with their trunks had constructed a hasty breastwork, fronting the river. This rude fortification was manned by about one hundred and twenty men, some armed with old fowling-pieces, but others having no weapons except their machetes. They had also one or two rusty pieces of artillery, which none of them knew how to use, and with these preparations they awaited the ascent of the English. The latter, made up of three hundred picked men, from the vessels-of-war “Alarm” and “Vixen,” in launches carrying guns at their bows, reached this place on the 12th of February, 1848. There could, of course, be but one result. The Nicaraguans were dislodged, with the loss of some fifteen or twenty killed, and about the same number wounded. With an equal force and equipments, the issue might have been different. The English commander reported his loss at two killed and fourteen wounded, but the Nicaraguans protest that it was four or five times that number, and the men were anxious to convince us of the fact by opening the grave where the English had buried their dead. We did not, however, take interest enough in the matter to stop, and were consequently obliged to keep our doubts, if we entertained any, to ourselves. Certain it is, that the British commander did not include in his statement the loss of Mr. Walker, “British Consul and General Agent on the Mosquito shore,” who, with a boon companion, was reported “accidentally drowned.” Walker was the most effective agent in getting up the attack on San Juan, and in organizing the British pretensions, being always at hand to manufacture “historical evidence,” and his death almost consoled the Nicaraguans for their defeat. Captain Loch was, I believe, promoted for his gallantry, in what the Admiralty termed “the brilliant action of Serapiqui.” The whole affair was a wanton act of aggression, and worthy only of pirates. No wonder the sailors hissed “death to the English” through their closed teeth, as we swept past the scene of their humiliation.

The Serapiqui is a large stream, taking its rise at the base of the great volcano of Cartago, in Costa Rica. It is navigable by bongos for the distance of thirty miles, and is one of the avenues through which the inhabited part of Costa Rica is reached from the coast. Flowing wholly to the eastward of the mountains, where the rains fall during the entire year, the volume of water in this river is very constant. It is probably the largest tributary of the San Juan. There is a small spot of ground partially cleared at its mouth, where some families had established themselves previous to the English troubles. Upon the seizure of San Juan, they abandoned their plantations and moved into the interior; and so rapid is the progress of vegetation and the course of decay, that their rude dwellings have entirely disappeared, and no trace of former occupation is left, except a few plantain trees struggling above the rank grass and undergrowth which have since sprung up.

We passed the mouth of the Rio San Francisco during the afternoon, and spent our third night above “Remolino Grande,” where rock first appears in the bank of the river. This name is given to a whirlpool caused by the abrupt turning of the stream, which is here somewhat confined by its unyielding banks. Up to this time we had accomplished only about thirty miles of our voyage, and the easiest portion, for the current above is stronger, and we were now approaching the rapids, where progress against the stream is slow and difficult.

The next day we came to where the banks of the river were higher than we had yet seen, and where the scenery became, if possible, more beautiful than before. I never wearied in gazing upon the dense masses of foliage that literally embowered the river, and which, in the slanting light, produced those magical effects of shadow on water, which the painter delights to represent. We this day caught occasional glimpses of the high hills at the junction of the San Carlos with the San Juan, where the latter breaks through the barrier which shuts in the great basin of Nicaragua on the east. The afternoon was rainy, and heavy thunder-storms swept over as we approached the highlands. The marineros, nevertheless, seemed to relish the change, and pulled at the oars with renewed vigor. Just before sunset, however, the rains stopped, and as the atmosphere cleared, we found that we were at the mouth of the San Carlos, a broad and long stream, which, like the Serapiqui, takes its rise at the base of the volcano of Cartago, in Costa Rica. This stream, Pedro informed us, brings down immense quantities of volcanic sand, ashes, and decomposed scoriaceous materials, which it deposits at various points, forming what appear to be smooth sand-bars. The material, however, is so soft and yielding, that whoever ventures upon it, sinks at once to his middle. Near the mouth of this stream is one of the largest and most beautiful islands to be found in the river; and, as we approached, two manitees, feeding amongst the grass on its shores, plunged their unwieldy bulks heavily in the water. Above the island is the pass in the hills to which I have alluded, and which reminded me of the entrance of the highlands of the Hudson from the north. The mountains, upon the left, come boldly down to the water, and their tops were wrapped in clouds, lending to them the grandeur which in some degree always pertains to the vague and unknown. Here the river is much compressed, and the current deep and strong, requiring the utmost exertions of the men to carry the boat against it. With darkness came the rain again, and thunder-storm after thunder-storm rolled heavily along the heights of San Carlos. At times the mountain summits were literally wrapped in fire, and they seemed trembling to their very bases under the reverberating peals of thunder. None but those who have witnessed a tropical storm can fully appreciate Byron’s magnificent description, or understand the terrible majesty of this elemental warfare. I slept but little that night, and shall never forget the excitement, novel and pleasurable, which I experienced under these new and singular circumstances. Towards morning I fell asleep, and was only awakened by Ben’s call to breakfast,—broiled ham, fried plantains, bread, and chocolate.

From the mouth of the San Carlos to the first rapids, those of Machuca, the river seemed to increase in beauty. The banks were higher and firmer, and hills appeared, at intervals, in the background. The country here is evidently one well adapted for cultivation, and must ultimately become populated. At present a few Melchora Indians roam through its forests, deriving their support from the river and its tributaries. They are generally very shy of the boats, and retire upon their approach. One or two families, however, have overcome their fears, and from their communication with the boatmen, have picked up sufficient Spanish to enable them to carry on a broken conversation. Two of these Indians, an old man and a boy, came to us in their canoe, and offered some dried pieces of a large fish, which abounds in the rivers, called Savalo, in exchange for bread, plantains, or any other articles which the sailors might have to spare. Both were naked, and the old man was wrinkled and drooping, his gray hair matted on his head and shoulders, while the boy was lithe, bright, and sleek as a young panther. They looked curiously at our party, and frequently exclaimed, blancos, blancos, whites, whites! I gave them some fish-hooks, in return for which they insisted on my receiving a portion of their dried fish. Pedro endeavored to make them understand that we were from “El Norte,”—but they knew nothing of El Norte, and only shook their heads. They stand in great dread of firearms, as they have been wantonly shot at by passengers ascending or descending the river. And when they glanced under the chopa, and caught sight of our armament, they pushed off hastily into the stream; the boy standing in the bow, and striking with his paddle alternately on one side and the other, while the old man guided the boat. I did not succeed in procuring any words of the vocabulary of these Indians, but they are undoubtedly of Carib stock.

The rapids of Machuca, which derive their name from Capt. Diego Machuca, who explored this river in 1529, are the first and most formidable on the river. The bed of the stream, for nearly a mile, is full of rocks and stones, between which the water rushes with great force. The boats, in ascending, are kept close in the right shore, and are poled up, slowly and with great difficulty. In descending they are often kept near the middle of the stream, down which they come, glancing between the rocks with the rapidity of an arrow. In descending, in June, 1850, my bongo, which obeyed the rudder very imperfectly, struck with immense force, and got jammed between the rocks, with its broadside to the current, where we remained for thirty hours, until literally dragged out by the united crews of six boats, after half a day of incessant labor. The boat was of great strength, or it must inevitably have gone to pieces. Such accidents are not of frequent occurrence, as the marineros are extremely expert in the management of their bongos. We were four hours in passing the Machuca. From thence to the Rapides del Mico and los Valos, the current is strong, but the channel is free. These rapids are short, and less difficult to overcome than those of Machuca. It is nevertheless a slow and laborious task to make their ascent; and until they are improved by art, they must always be great obstacles to the navigation of the river. At present the steamer “Orus,” sent out by the “American Atlantic and Pacific Ship Canal Company,” lies a wreck on the rocks of Machuca.

On the morning of the 17th of June we made the Rapides del Castillo, commanded by the ancient fort of San Juan, now called the Castillo Viejo, “Old Castle.” We had looked forward to our arrival here with great interest, not less on account of the historical associations connected with the place, than because, from hence to the lake, the passage is quick and comparatively easy. The morning was wet and gloomy, and altogether the most forbidding of any we had yet encountered, hardly excepting that on which we had made the coast, in the execrable little Francis. I nevertheless put on my water-proof poncho, and took my seatseat by the side of Pedro, on the pineta.

A league below the fort we passed the island of Bartola, on which, beneath the dense verdure, we could discover traces of the ancient advance works of the fortress. It was here the English buried their men who were killed, or died of disease during the memorable but fruitless expedition against Nicaragua, in 1780, under the command of Colonel Polson, and Captain, afterwards Lord, Nelson. This island was carried by Nelson, who here distinguished himself for the first time.

Passing the island, we came to a broad and beautiful reach in the river, at the head of which, upon a commanding eminence, rise the walls of the Castillo. The hill resembles that of Chapultepec, near Mexico; is equally bold, and has been scarped to the steepness and regularity of the pyramids. The sides are now covered with bushes, and matted over with vines, but the walls still frown gloomily above the mass of verdure. At the foot, and nearly on the level of the water, is what is called the “Platforma,” where were the ancient water-batteries. It is now occupied by a few thatched houses,—the quarters of a small garrison kept here by the Nicaraguan government, as an evidence of occupancy, and to assist boats in passing the rapids of the Castle, which, although narrow, are very powerful, and better deserving the name of falls than rapids. Here the boats have to be “tracked up” by sheer force; and it is usual for all passengers to land, and to lighten the boat in every way possible. It is often necessary to take out a considerable part of the freight, or to wait for the arrival of another boat, so as to join forces in making the ascent.

Arrived in the eddy below the “Platforma,” M. and myself bestrid the shoulders of our men, and were deposited on shore. We started at once for the castle, by a path which the garrison, under express orders from the government, kept clear of bushes. I glanced into one of the huts as I passed, but saw nothing beyond a very pretty yellow girl, swinging slowly to and fro in a hammock, with one naked leg hanging indolently over the side. She threw aside her long black curls, but, without changing her position, exclaimed, “Adios, California!” A party of outward-bound Californians had spent a number of days here, a few weeks previously, and had evidently been on familiar terms with the señora.

The ascent to the castle was very steep and slippery from the rain, which had fallen uninterruptedly all the morning. A wide and deep fosse ran around the brow of the hill, with perpendicular escarpments, which we crossed on a narrow causeway, evidently of comparatively recent construction. If the work seemed imposing from the river, how much more impressive was it when we looked down from its walls into two tiers of chambers sunk in the rock, and in which tall trees were growing, their topmost branches scarcely reaching to the level on which we stood. We descended by a bomb-proof stairway to the bottom, into what had been the magazine, and into the rocky chambers where the ancient garrison had been quartered, more than ever impressed with the daring and energy of those iron men who had subverted the empires of Montezuma and the Incas; and who, within fifty years after the Discovery, had traversed every part of the continent, from California to La Plata. We went into the chapel; there was the niche in which had stood the cross, and an effigy of “Nuestra Madre de Mercedes,” “Our Mother of Mercy,” and beneath it was the font for holding the holy water. By a passage, protected from shot, we ascended to what is called the tower,—a solid mass of masonry, rising some sixty feet above the lower works, with a parapet embrasured for twelve guns, and now almost as solid and substantial as if built but yesterday. In this climate, where the great corrodent, frost, never reaches, the durability of good masonry is almost incredible. The floor of the tower, with the exception of the centre, which had been broken, probably under the impression that treasure might be concealed there, was as smooth and firm as ever. Upon the western side of the work was the main entrance, the massive buttresses which supported the drawbridge, and a glacis, subsiding to a terrace, which had been the parade ground, garden, and cemetery of the garrison. All around the work on this side was an arched way, and immediately facing the draw, and firmly imbedded in the masonry of the tower, a block of stone, bearing a long inscription, but too much defaced to be perfectly made out. Its purport, however, is, that the castle was reconstructed, under royal orders, by the Governor Intendant of Nicaragua and Costa Rica, for the defence of the river, in 1747. How long previously works had existed there is now unknown,—probably from the middle of the sixteenth century. Great but ineffective efforts had evidently been made to dislodge or remove this stone, which bears too potential evidence against the pretensions of one “J. Bull,” to be regarded with favor by any in his interest.

On the north-western bastion of the fort and looking both up and down the river, stands a sentinel’s box of stone, and close beside it, firmly fixed in the walls, the stump of the ancient flag-staff. Within the box were yet to be seen the grooves which the muskets of the sentinels had worn in the stone. We thrust our heads through the windows, but saw nothing except Pedro and his men, some to their shoulders in the water, pushing up “La Granadina,” and others tugging at the rope attached to her bows.