As the steamer anchors far from the shore at the port of Livingston, the traveller sees almost exactly what the Spaniards saw,—earth, sky, and sea, so little change have four centuries wrought on the outer shores of Guatemala. Northward are the picturesque hills of British Honduras, backed by the blue summits of the Cockscomb range; southward the majestic San Gil, bearing like another Atlas the clouds on his broad shoulders; eastward the low Cays, covered with the feathery coconuts; before him the shore, here marked by a long limestone cliff crowned by the palm-sheltered houses of the Caribs, while farther to the westward rise the Santa Cruz mountains. The yellow waters of some great river lave the vessel’s sides; but no break is visible in the landward horizon.

For a while all is as it was when Hernan Cortez, in the year 1525, came to this shore after his terrible march from Mexico. There was even then a little village on the high bluff; and he found two of his countrymen gathering sapotes (Lucuma mammosa) to save the little colony of Spaniards, a few leagues farther south, from starving. Waiting in the early dawn for the landing-boats, I cannot but recall the ancient times; imagination sinks the great steamer into the little caravel, and the feelings of the conquistadores are mine for the time. Soon the white sails drop out from the foliage, the canoes are seen rapidly approaching, and the chatter of Caribs, both men and women, banishes all daydreams.

The “Progreso,” once a Buzzard Bay racer, sails rapidly out and takes on board her cargo,—my friend, his mother, and myself, and traps of no light weight. Her bows are soon turned landward, and as she glides along, all the features of the shore unfold,—the coco-palms of marked luxuriance, the thatched houses with shining white walls, the limestone cliff almost covered with convolvulus and other foliage, the narrow beach, the canoes of various size and shape. We turn a point, and the town of Livingston is before us, and we are in the mouth of the Rio Dulce.

On the shore the only prominent building is the custom-house, built before Livingston was declared a free port; and in front of this is a low, dilapidated wharf, at which our tender landed us, the water being not more than fifteen inches deep. The tides here are less than a foot, so that shoal-water keeps boats of any size at a distance, making landing difficult. It was comforting to know that a charter for a wharf had been obtained, and that our successors may land with greater ease.

We did not find the heat greater than on the steamer in the offing, and even the necessary bustle and trouble in getting luggage transferred to the backs of men did not cause discomfort. The custom-house and a few offices occupy the front of an amphitheatre with very steep sides, above which is the town. Springs burst from the gravel and furnish pools for the washerwomen, whose sturdy, yet graceful forms, barely concealed by their scanty garb, are very attractive. Some stood in the clear pools, others bent over the washing-stones, some played with their children in the water, while others climbed the steep path to the town, carrying a head-burden of great weight.

Our abode was on the Campo Santo Viejo, the burial-hill of former days, and right across our path lay the empty tomb of a son of Carrera, the former President of Guatemala; as we passed this we noted the admirable mortar with which its bricks were laid,—so strong that no brick can be cut out whole. On this resting-place of perished Caribs the foreign inhabitants of Livingston dwell. It is the west end of the town, and overlooks both the river and the native town, where are also the stores and the hotels.

All descriptions of a growing town must be unsatisfactory, so rapidly does the population and topography change; and a few words may convey all the geographical knowledge needed. Rolling ground, which might easily be drained, but is not; streets generally at right angles, none paved, and most of them exceedingly muddy in wet weather; fences of the rudest form, mostly sticks bound together with vines; houses with walls of adobe or of wattle, in both cases covered with mud plaster and whitewashed, none of them over one story, but with high roofs thatched with palm; yards, but no gardens; stores here and there built of boards from New Orleans, and occupied by foreigners,—French, Germans, Italians, Americans (del Norte); a dilapidated chapel on or among the neglected foundations of an intended church; beyond this the barracks on a beautiful point; children of all ages playing in the dirt and merrily greeting the passer-by with their black, shiny, healthy faces; palm-trees, mangoes, sapotes, bread-fruit, oranges, anonas, bananas, and coffee-trees scattered without order, and wholly uncultivated,—make the external features of this place. No vehicles are in the streets, though a few horses roam untethered through the town. Every burden is carried on the heads of men or women. The house-doors are all open; but the interior is generally too dark to disclose much of the inner mysteries to the stranger. Westward from the town lies the new Campo Santo, and beyond this the almost impenetrable forest.

The situation of Livingston is good,—at the mouth of one of the finest rivers of the Atlantic coast of Central America. The climate is very healthful and agreeable, and the frequent communication by two lines of steamers with New Orleans, one line with New York, and another with Liverpool, make it an important business-centre. All the fine coffee from Alta Verapaz and the fruit from the plantations on the Chocon and Polochic is shipped here; and the product might be indefinitely increased. The drawbacks are a bar with only a fathom of water at the mouth of a river navigable otherwise for many miles by the largest steamers, no wharves, little enterprise on the part of the native inhabitants, and a frequent sea-breeze in the afternoon, which sometimes makes landing through the rough water on the bar unpleasant. The population is about two thousand, chiefly Caribs; and long inaction and complete lack of enterprise have produced a people poor and careless of riches if obtained at the price of labor. As in all similar places, there is no lack of adventurers of the lowest character.

All this matter is not, however, learned at once, and observation must be depended on rather than report; for the merchants of Livingston see the prospects of their town in very different lights when talking with a mere visitor or with a possible rival in the small but very profitable business. As a stranger, I was told that the place was an el dorado; that limitless crops grew without urging from a soil of unequalled richness; that the climate was salubrious, and eternal summer reigned; that business was brisk, and constantly increasing under wise laws and a favoring government. As a settler, the song was sung to me in a minor key: labor was not to be had; no good lands could be obtained; the steamers were the tyrants of the place, and all earnings were eaten up by freights. Then there were the warning cries of those unfortunate men who wanted to make money in a newly opened country, but had not the necessary courage and endurance for a pioneer. They had not met success, and they had not grit enough to seek it. Micawbers far from home, they waited for something to turn up.

The process of finding out about the place was not an unpleasant one; it was what we had come for, and we began it the first day at breakfast. While we lodged in our house on the hill, we took our meals—with the exception of early coffee and rolls—in the town at the house of Señor Castellan; and they were in genuine Hispano-American style. Eleven o’clock is the hour for almuerzo, or breakfast, and thus the time for ceasing work and taking the needed midday rest. Late in the afternoon came the comida, or dinner,—differing from breakfast only in the occasional provision of dulces, or sweetmeats. The menu was constant; an oily soup, beans black or white, beef or chicken stew with chillis, fish, bread, and coffee, formed the almost unvarying round. Our waiters were two little boys,—one the son of our host, the other his ward. With our coffee we generally had fresh milk; but when the supply of this failed, a can of condensed milk took its place. Not infrequently the sugar also failed; and then one of the boys ran to the nearest store and bought half a pound of a coarse brown kind, and replenished the saucer that did duty as sugar-bowl. No supply of anything was ever kept in the house.

Our dining-room was dark,—the only light coming from the open doors at either end. There was but the earth, hard trodden, for the floor, and the furnishing was simple enough,—a rough table and half a dozen rickety chairs. A tablecloth served also for napkins, and the dishes were of many patterns, colors, and degrees of dirtiness. It seemed absurd to call for a clean plate; but we did so, to see what would happen. Besides our own party of four, we had a padre and an Italian as fellow-boarders; and a little observation of the habits of these polite friends helped us much in our new circumstances.

A large tame duck used to waddle under my chair, and at last would take bits of tortilla from my hand. Several mangy dogs and cats had to be driven out whenever we sat down to eat; but the hens were not disturbed, for they contributed so much to our larder that they were privileged, and one nested in an old felt hat on a corner shelf, while another came cackling out of one of the dark bedrooms that opened on either side. In spite of all these drawbacks, we liked the cookery, and did ample justice to it.

As the ancient Romans in their luxury had entertainment for the eye as they reclined at meat, we in our simplicity had a constantly moving panorama at our street door. Stout Carib women, straight as one could wish, walked by, with every burden, however insignificant, balanced on the head. Half a pound of sugar or a dose of salts would be placed above the turban as surely as would a heavy jar of water or a house-timber. Some fine forms, both of men and women, made part of this procession; and the latter wore garments short at either end, fastened over one shoulder only, and displaying the bust perfectly. A soldier came along once in a while, but only his cap and musket told his class. Boys wrestling but seldom fighting, dogs fighting for a bone,—all helped us to prolong our meal. It was difficult to make the boys understand that they must not spit on the floor as they handed us the dishes. A large brick oven in the courtyard furnished bread for a number of families, and good bread.

In our walks about the town we were often politely invited into the houses, and so had a chance to see the cassava bread making. The tuberous roots of the manioc (Manihot utilissima) often attain a weight of twenty or thirty pounds, and are full of a poisonous juice, deadly when swallowed. A mahogany board is provided, into which broken crystals of quartz are inserted, and this serves to grate the root into a coarse meal, which is washed carefully (the starch is partly removed, and settles in the water as tapioca), and is then placed in a long sack of basket-work, called very appropriately serpiente. This ingenious press is fastened at one end to a house-beam, while on a lever placed through the loop at the other end all the children of the family sit in turn, or together if they are small; and the squeezed mass is dexterously made afterwards into flat loaves about three feet in diameter, and not more than a quarter of an inch thick, dried, and then baked. The result is a wholesome and very nutritious bread, which keeps a long time and is capital on an excursion. Later on, when our own housekeeping was in order, we found it made excellent puddings, and was better than crackers in soup; while in the woods it was indispensable. It is also a capital diet in dyspepsia, can be eaten in sea-sickness when all other food is rejected, and serves to fill out the bony outlines of an emaciated human frame better than anything else. The clean white loaves can be easily exported, and are very attractive. Fine oranges we bought from a tree in the yard of our cassava-maker at ten for a medio (five cents).

The fine view from the fort can be seen in the illustration; but as Frank and I stepped over the low wall and set up the camera to photograph it, we attracted the attention of the officer in charge, who at once ordered us to come to him. A convenient temporary ignorance of Spanish delayed us until the view was secured and a squad of soldiers sent to arrest us, when the officer wanted to know what we were “telegraphing in the fort for.” With a very few words I exposed his ignorance to his soldiers, who laughed as heartily at him as if they had not been quite as stupid as he; and he begged us to leave at once. Of this same garrison it is related that some years ago a French corvette anchored off the point and fired a salute. The first gun was all right; but the second astonished the valiant soldiers, and at the third they all threw down their guns and fled to the bush, fully convinced that an attack on the village was intended. After a while boys were sent out into the woods to tell these warriors that it was safe to come home. The lighthouse here, which all incoming vessels are taxed to maintain, consists of a stout pole; but the lantern has been broken, and not replaced.

Below this military post is the usual landing-place for canoas. These are nearly all dug out of single mahogany or cedar logs, and are not only well made, but of good form. Some are forty feet long and six feet wide. The paddles were of mahogany, and the women paddled as well and powerfully as the men; both, indeed, seemed to be quite at home on the water.

Some of the incoming canoes were laden with coconuts, others with bananas and plantains from the little fincas along the coast, and yet others with fish. The last we noted more carefully, as there is no fish-market in Livingston, and the fish are always interesting to a stranger; for odd and various as may be the fruits of a new clime, the produce of the sea generally surpasses that of the land in curious forms. There were some of the oddest of the Central American waters; and the man who first ate them must have been very brave or very hungry. One of them had flesh resembling beef in color, and good and substantial when cooked.

Paths about the town are narrow and grass-grown, and the hooked seeds of a Desmodium cling to the clothes, and the thorns of the sensitive-plant (Mimosa pudicans) scratch the bare feet of the passer; but worse than all these, in the grass are tiny insects called coloradía, which bite the ankles and other exposed parts, causing red spots and an intolerable itching,—easily allayed, however, by salt-water or bay-rum applications. Mosquitoes were not troublesome, and we used no nettings; nor did we see any house-flies.

A bath in the Rio Dulce was tempered by the dread of sharks; and refreshing as the sweet water was, there was a self-congratulatory feeling on getting safely back to the huge square-hewn mahogany logs that served for dressing-room.

To the outward world Livingston is principally interesting as the free port of Guatemala,—the outlet of the coffee of Alta Verapaz and the fruits of the Atlantic coast-region. In its early history it was a settlement of Caribs,—those splendid negroes who were driven from the islands of the sea, which still bear their name, when the Spaniards enslaved or destroyed their fellow-owners of the land. Its situation at the entrance of the chief waterway to the interior and the capital soon marked it for a Spanish post; but the buccaneers were too powerful, and before their advance the port of entry was moved far up the Rio Dulce to Izabal, on the lake of that name,—the fort of San Felipe blocking the way to these lawless enemies. Not only pirates, but the Home Government hastened the decay and disuse of this port, and the banks of the Rio Dulce were of little importance, except to the mahogany-cutters and sarsaparilla-gatherers, for two centuries.

An enlightened Government, in fostering the immense agricultural wealth of Guatemala, turned the attention of foreign capital, first to the rich coffee-lands in the neighborhood of Coban, and later to the even richer fruit-lands of the valleys east of the high table-lands of the interior. The outlet for all the produce was by the Polochic, and the shipping-port was Livingston; so the little village built by the exiled Caribals (cannibals) has been gradually occupied by business men of various nations, until now the population may be nearly two thousand. The shores are high and healthful, and the anchorage within the river is secure. Dredging would easily open a channel, and jetties like those placed in the Mississippi by Captain Eads would doubtless keep the way open; for the current is frequently very strong, but now wastes its strength over a mile of shoal-water. At present all the ocean steamers lie at anchor outside; and consequently the lighterage is an important business.

In the immediate neighborhood of this port, and accessible by water, are lands pre-eminently adapted for sugar or cotton cultivation; although now, owing to the smaller capital required, and speedier returns, bananas and plantains are the chief products. The Government determined to develop these lands,—which have hitherto been left to the solitude of their dense forests and the occasional intrusion of the mahogany-cutter,—and in 1882 declared Livingston a free port, including in its territory a large triangular part of the eastern coast. The public lands were then offered for sale at reasonable rates; and in consequence, several capitalists from the United States have purchased large tracts, and are cultivating soil perhaps the most fertile on the continent.

Climatic changes are insensible here, and it may truly be said that the one season is summer. Never has yellow fever or other dangerous zymotic disease visited Livingston, and the death-rate is about one quarter that of Boston. The rapid increase of its population and commercial importance will make imperative the demand for improved harbor and wharf facilities.

Ten miles to the south of Livingston is the fine harbor of Santo Tomas, where in 1843 a Belgian colony was established; and as this unfortunate attempt has given an ill reputation to all Central America, it is well to state that failure was by no means due to the insalubrity of the climate, but to the want of foresight of the projectors and the abject ignorance of tropical trials on the part of the immigrants. Landed in an unaccustomed climate, in the wet season, without shelter, and inadequately provisioned, they lost heart, health, or life itself.

Pioneers and frontiersmen should not be recruited from shops and counters. The pluck and caution needed for a struggle with untried conditions, the determination to be content with slim comforts and undaunted in the face of every discouragement, looking always to the final result, experience shows cannot be found in this class. They do well enough as eleventh-hour assistants, when the strong men have felled the forest and broken the ground and built houses and shops for these weaker but still useful brothers; but the first colonists must be of sterner stuff. Probably, had shelter and good food been provided for those inexperienced Belgians, there would have been at Santo Tomas something more to-day than the memory of their visit.

In 1881 the little town contained but one hundred and twenty-nine inhabitants, mostly fishermen; but the construction of the Ferro-carril del Norte, to connect the capital with the Atlantic, changed for a time the sleepy hamlet into the busy haunt of contractors and laborers. The exigencies of the railroad calling for the deepest water, however, the new town of Port Barrios has been founded, some three miles to the eastward of the ancient village. Curiously enough, the Bay of Santo Tomas has no river; but it lies between the Rio Dulce and the Motagua.

From Livingston to New Orleans the distance is 900 miles; to Belize, 125; to Kingston, Jamaica, 800; to Puerto Cortez (Caballos), 55; to Izabal, 45; to Pansos, 90; and to Guatemala City (water to Izabal, and mule-path thence), 120. The usual steamer time from New Orleans is six days, including a stop of two days at Belize; from New York, ten days, including stops at Kingston and Belize; and three days should be ample to New Orleans, seven to New York, and eight to Boston. A glance at a map will show that the course as well as the distance between Livingston and New York is much in favor of that route over the better-known one from Aspinwall to the metropolis; and when to this saving of time and avoidance of the dangers of navigation is added the greater facilities for raising and shipping fruit which Livingston is now developing, there is great probability that New Orleans will not long be allowed to absorb all the bananas, plantains, and pines, or England all the coffee and mahogany, shipped at Livingston.

The natural advantages of a port and the conveniences of trade between that and other countries are of small moment if there is nothing beyond the port; and one must look well into the interior of the country to see its poverty or richness. Before crossing the republic, the fruit-lands of Livingston are worthy of exploration. The little plantations at Cocali, on the coast northward, and those along the banks of the Rio Dulce, are easily seen, and in their present condition offer nothing new or especially interesting. Bananas and plantains are almost the only product of commercial importance; for the pines grow wild, cassava, bread-fruit, mangoes, and sapotes are not exported, and the coconut is native on the shores.

No systematic cultivation is known in this region, and the crops grow very much as they did in the Garden of Eden. Plantation-work consists of clearing the land of forest (which is done in January and February), allowing the felled trees to dry, burning in May, and planting in June. No plough ever furrows the rich ground, and the hoe is sufficient for the planter’s needs, while most handy for the laborers. As may be supposed, the labor of keeping the crops clear of weeds is considerable, but not so great as on our Northern farms; for although the vegetable growth is very rapid, the country is as yet free from foreign weeds. With us the most rapidly growing and pernicious weeds have all been imported; and on the Hawaiian Islands the vegetable growths that have laid waste thousands of acres of the best pasturage are the lantana, verbena, and indigo, not one of them indigenous. In the course of years cultivation may bring these agricultural curses; but at present the Guatemalan planter in Livingston has only palms, canes, ferns, ginger, and other easily eradicated plants to contend with.

Indian corn (maiz) is planted in slight holes made with a stick and covered with the foot, and seed planted on Thursday has been found four inches high on the following Monday. The stalks are sometimes seventeen feet high, and average three ears each; only ninety days are required to mature the crop, which is gathered three times each year. Upland rice is scattered broadcast on the soil, and the straw grows six feet high, with generous heads, yielding the finest rice known; two crops can be raised each year. Sugar-cane has been found to yield three tons of sugar per acre for twenty years without replanting,—a result unknown in any other sugar-country. At present there are no mills in eastern Guatemala, and only enough cane is planted to supply the demand for eating, or rather chewing.

Bananas have within the last ten years become very common all over the United States, and every one is familiar with the imported varieties; but few are aware that the varieties grown in the tropics exceed two hundred, many of them too delicate to bear transportation, and as far superior to the common sorts as a choice table-apple surpasses the cider-apple of our New England pastures. The kinds of banana most raised near Livingston are the same as those of Aspinwall; but the quality is superior. Plantains are grown even more commonly than bananas, and the domestic consumption is much greater. Among Northern fruit-dealers the banana and plantain are frequently confounded; but they are as different as pears and apples. To grow either, simply requires planting of suckers, which in nine months should bear a bunch of fruit. The stem is now cut down, and from its base sprout several suckers, all over three being removed for planting elsewhere. It is only necessary to remove the finished stem and extra suckers to insure crops for a long series of years. No attempt has been made to use the valuable fibre, of which there is an average of three pounds to a stalk.

When we turn from what is done here to the consideration of what may be, the interest vastly increases; and to this end let the reader join us in an exploration of one of the rivers flowing from a valley of great extent and unrivalled fertility, but covered with forest, and unknown save to the mahogany-cutters and an occasional huntsman. The Rio Chocon is almost unnoticed on the maps, and its source unknown; but it probably rises in the Santa Cruz mountains.

In the middle of October, 1883, the “Progreso” was manned and provisioned, and in the early afternoon we were on board waiting for the sea-breeze to help us up the river. The light wind served to carry us across the Rio Dulce, but no more; and anchoring, we sent three men ashore to lay in a supply of plantains, bananas, coconuts, and sugar-cane. Travelling in the tropics is usually far from luxurious; and our present outfit was no exception to the rule. Our captain had provided a Jamaica negro for cook, Santiago, a half-breed, for montero, or guide in the forest, and our crew consisted of Guillermo, an attractive looking but bad boy, who was always singing about his corazon (heart), Francisco, and two other men, whose exact ethnological classification was a puzzle. Our cook, his oil-stove and canned provisions filled the little cabin; but the cock-pit was large, and Frank shared with me one side, while the captain occupied the other, and at night we had a canvas awning over the whole. Folding-chairs served for beds as well, and our traps were put into the capital water-proof baskets called petácas.

Later than usual the breeze freshened, and we were sailing apparently for the spur of San Gil, which stretches northward right across the river. As we advanced, the walls opened, and we entered a gorge far finer than that of the Saguenay; for the savage cliffs of the wild Canadian stream are here replaced by white limestone precipices jealously covered with palms and vines, until only here and there could the rock be seen under or through its richly colored mantle. The river is deep, in places eighteen fathoms, and, except in the overhanging trees, there was no place to land on either side for some distance.

Frank shot at a fine pelican, but only broke a wing; and although he pursued the wounded bird rapidly in a little cayuco that we had in tow, he did not gain on the powerful swimmer until a shot from the “Progreso” killed the fugitive, whose remains measured seven feet across the wings. Other birds tempted us, but the fast-waning daylight warned us against delay; and as darkness fell upon us with tropical rapidity, we came to the lake-like Golfete, nine miles from Livingston, and anchored for the night off Cayo Paloma (Dove Island), the only inhabited spot on the river. Our crew went ashore for shelter, and we retired under our substantial awning, which protected us from the rain which fell in torrents during the night. We had found no mosquitoes at Livingston, and there were none here; so our sleep was not broken until our boys came on board before daybreak. Where we had entered this beautiful lake we strangers did not know; and even when the direction was ascertained, the opening of the river was invisible. Coconut-palms and bananas will give a charm to any landscape; yet the little Cayo Paloma hardly needed them, so beautiful was it in itself.

Grand San Gil brushed the clouds from his forehead and looked down smilingly upon us in promise of a fair day as we sailed up the Golfete. A short league brought us to a curious limestone rock on the northern shore,—a regular cube, rising from deep water, and capped with a pyramid of foliage. So unusual a formation could hardly have failed to attract the aboriginal mind; and there may be on the summit some remains,—a sacrificial altar, or stele. We did not go near enough to see any way of access; but the branches seem to hang low enough on one side to promise an entrance to an active climber, and we determined to try it some other day when we had more time.[4]

If the entrance to the Rio Dulce was well concealed, that to the Rio Chocon was still harder to find; and but for the rock island, one might try several apparent openings in the hedge-like border of the stream before entering the canal that sweeps in a semicircle into the actual river. Two alligators sat, like the porters at an Egyptian palace, opposite each other at the entrance, but dropped incontinently into the stream before our rifles were ready,—giving us an unpleasant reminder of what we might expect should we take a bath in the cool river. From animal to vegetable was but a glance; and the musky odor of the reptiles faded into the fragrance of a large purple passion-flower, which hung so low that we slipped into the cayuco, Frank and I, and paddled from bank to bank in the little mahogany dug-out, pulling down branches and vines, shaking out lizards and beetles, while humming-birds of almost every bright color, and butterflies of hues seldom seen in cooler climates, would hardly leave the fragrant flowers we gathered. Nothing could be seen beyond the river, for we were in a green lane bordered by all the tropics can produce of vegetable life; and as the day wore on we felt the weariness of seeing. A little white passion-flower (P. Brighami), with curiously clipped leaves, three kinds of morning-glory, a crimson abutilon, and a host of plants whose family alone was known to us, had been consigned to the plant-press. At first there were no palms; but as we ascended the stream, which was in flood, the banks at last appeared, growing gradually higher, and only on solid ground could the palms find foothold. The cohune (Attalea cohune), with its long clusters of hard oily nuts, came first; then a small pinnate-leaved, graceful, but unknown species; then an astrocarya, with dreadful spines and hard but edible nuts; and finally, on the rocky banks, slender, long-stemmed species, and a climbing palm that, like the rattan, attained a length of several hundred feet. Our first glimpse of the family in full force was at the junction of the two mouths of the Chocon. Here there is an enlargement of the river into a lagoon, and the eastern branch looks as large and easily navigable as that we had entered. At another time we found this was the case. Bambus bent their graceful stems in clusters over the water, and here and there tall reeds in blossom waved their light plumes against the dark-green trees behind them.

With the drift floating down stream we noticed queer green things which were evidently vegetable; but what else? At last we came to some sapoton-trees (Pachira); and it was their fruit, now ripening,—like in size and appearance to a husked coconut,—that furnished our puzzle. The fruits split while on the tree, and drop the nuts, which are about as large as a hen’s egg, into the water, where they soon germinate, and float about with expanded cotyledons until caught on some shoal, or at the bank, where they take root.

Not once all day did we see a place to land; indeed, until we had ascended the river several miles there was no land, so high was the flood. Dense foliage, suitably defended with spines of palm and the no less unpleasant thorns of the guilandina and sarsaparilla, hid what might be disagreeable of animal life along shore; and as we could not land, neither could we plunge into the cool river,—that was already engaged by the alligators.

As the sun dropped behind the trees we made fast to a large post in midstream, starting a whole family of little leaf-nosed bats out of a woodpecker’s hole in this dead tree; and as our comida was being laid, I explored more carefully this curious mooring. Water-logged and stranded on the bottom, some twenty feet below us, it was a perfect image of life in death; for every part above the water was covered with a luxuriant growth not its own, and yet perfectly in place. On one side clung three different orchids in seed, a cluster of peperomias in blossom, and a fine cereus, while mosses and ferns quite covered the interstices. We did not at that time know the naughty habits of the bright little bats,[5] or we should not have slept so quietly; as it was, the mosquitoes were very thick, and only our veils protected us.

It was a strange bed-chamber. The river, black beneath and around us, was silent enough; for the current hardly rippled against our boat, no wind moved the leaves, and only our own voices broke the stillness while we waited for sleep. Suddenly a sound between a shriek and a roar burst almost over our heads. “Tigre,” muttered Frank as he felt for his rifle. It was only a lion-bird; but its terrible cry was repeated until it seemed to awake all the nocturnal noises of the forests that stretched for fifty miles around us. Howling monkeys (Mycetes ursinus), a shrill water-bird, hooting owls, were all easily distinguished by our montero; and we slept more tranquilly after his explanation, even though we thought we felt the rough back of an alligator scrape the bottom of our boat. I have heard the real tiger’s howl in the Sumatran jungle; but it was not so terrible as this wretched bird, nor are the tropical nocturnal noises so loud and various in any other place where I have been.

So far the country through which we passed was worthless for agricultural purposes; but early the next morning we came to an elevated limestone ridge, and beyond this outwork the banks grew sensibly higher, until they were some twelve feet above the present high water. With the higher banks appeared the iguanas; and I made my first shot,—a large female,— which was picked up, while three others fell into the water and sank before we could reach them. It was some time before I learned to distinguish these reptiles; for they are nearly of the color of the branches on which they bask, and until they move, are to the unpractised eye only a part of the bewildering foliage. I did not like to be told where to look, so before the day was half gone I could see an iguana as soon as a native.

A mouth like a toad’s, green, glittering eyes, a large pendulous dewlap, a row of lancet-shaped spines down the back, slender claws, and a long, pointed tail, certainly are not features to make the iguana an attractive pet; and yet it is gentle, easily tamed, and there are people who enjoy its company. Let not the Northern ladies shudder as they look on this picture; for do they not know, are there not among their number those who fondle and kiss(!) even the deformed pugs and lap-dogs? Unlike the worthless curs, the iguana is a most excellent food-animal; its delicate white meat is not unlike chicken, and the eggs—of which the female lays five or six dozen—are all yolk, and very delicious.[6] Being good swimmers, they drop from their perches over the river when alarmed, and after a fall sometimes of sixty to eighty feet the splash is suggestive of broken ribs, or at least a total loss of wind; but they scramble nimbly up the banks under the overhanging shrubs, and are lost in the forest. Like the chameleon, they change color, and from green of various hues become greenish gray when taken from the trees. We had much less difficulty than Columbus and his companions experienced in adding these “serpentes” to our cosmopolitan bill of fare.

In the afternoon a boom across the river showed the neighborhood of mahogany-cutters, and a short row above this brought us to the head of navigation for our large boat, and we made fast to a tree on the right bank, where there was no clearing nor any easy way to land, although we could see that the banks were some ten feet above the water, and steep. Leaving the “Progreso” in the cook’s charge, we continued up stream in the little cayuco until we broke a paddle and had to return,—not, however, until we had made two landings.

Once up the steep and slippery bank, we found the land level, and in the dense forest there was no undergrowth. It always seems odd to a stranger in the tropics,—this entire absence of sod; but so dense is the upper foliage that there is no chance for small plants below, except such as can, like the sarsaparilla, climb up into the light above, or orchids, like the vanilla, which cling to, if they do not draw a part of their sustenance from, the tree-stems. The cohune palm (Attalea cohune, Martius.) was abundant, and by its presence confirmed the testimony of the dark chocolate soil to the exceeding fertility of the land. This palm seems to have three names applied to as many stages of growth. When young and stemless, it is manàca; in middle age, when the bases of the old leaves still cling to the trunk, it is cohune; and when age removes these scales, the smooth stem is corozo. I have never seen the manàca in flower or fruit, but I believe the three are but one species. Other palms were intermingled with these,—some in blossom, some in fruit,—but none so common nor so large, both in stem and leaf. Later on we shall see a picture of the cohune and its very valuable fruit.

In one place along the bank I measured fourteen feet of soil of the best quality; nor was this surprising, since the valley through which the Rio Chocon flows is a catch-basin for the detritus of the limestone ranges of the Sarstun and Santa Cruz mountains, and its form guards against torrential floods which might wash away the rich deposit. When the summer rains flood the banks, as we found later, the water subsides in a few hours, owing to the wide-open lower course of the river.

A gigantic ceiba-tree (Eriodendron) stood not far from the river, and two of its great buttresses enclosed a semicircle thirty feet in diameter, while the projections themselves were not half a foot thick. Trees of very various kinds throw out these supports. I have even seen a goyava (Psidium), which usually has a rather slender trunk, expand most astonishingly into these buttresses when growing in a rich loose soil. It will, not unnaturally, occur to the reader that this must greatly increase the difficulty of felling such trees in clearing land. The difficulty is met by the woodmen in this way. A platform—called, strangely enough, a “barbecue”—is built of slim poles, often to a height of fifteen feet; and balanced on these frail supports, the cutter swings his long-handled axe. Of course he leaves a stump as high as his barbecue; but the ants (comajen) soon reduce this to dust. I have since then watched the cutters, and have wondered how they so speedily fell (they call it “fall”) a hard-wood tree, with no better vantage than two poles for their bare feet to cling to.

All through the forest there was a close, damp feeling, and in some places there was little light. We saw sarsaparilla, india-rubber, vanilla, and cacao growing wild, and every step brought some new thing to view; but it was less oppressive on the river, where there was sky above us of the true blue,—so much better to our tastes than the green canopy that met our eyes as we looked up on land. While on the river, we saw some curious long-legged spiders, seemingly plastered against the white limestone; and they were very unwilling to move their legs, which were two inches long. The vejucos from the over-hanging branches were very interesting, as these long, slender rootlets, if rootlets they be, hung sometimes a hundred feet, ending close to the water, but not touching it except in flood-time, nor do they, like subterranean roots, have branches or fibrous ends, although sometimes they seem to be unravelled into separate strands, like a cord whose form they imitate and whose use they usurp. We often pulled them and shook the branches from which they spring, without detaching them. The water was now clear and cool, and everything was enticing us to loiter; but the day was closing, and comida awaiting us on the “Progreso.”

The moon that night was full; and with no mosquitoes in the air, we hardly cared to creep under our toldo. The light filtered through the palm-leaves and sparkled on the black river as it glided around the bend. We could see but a few rods either up or down stream, and we almost wondered how we came there, and should we ever get away. Far in the distance the howls of the monkeys and the cries of the night-birds broke the stillness around us; but we slept unconscious of the shower that poured on our toldo before morning.

A very bright, warm morning in the middle of October is not unpleasant in the temperate zone; but here it seemed almost too warm to be seasonable, although the thermometer persisted in indicating 83°. Five of us were in our little cayuco at early dawn on our way down stream. The cayuco was not especially crank, but it was loaded to the water’s edge with five solid men; and as my hands grasped the gunwales, my fingers dipped in water on both sides. It was impossible for me to restrain the attempt to balance, which of course kept the cayuco in a constant quiver, alike unpleasant to myself and my companions. Add to this the consciousness that alligators were ready for us if we did upset, and it will be supposed that the voyage was not altogether agreeable.

We landed at last, and had a hard scramble up the steep, muddy bank, as many of the palms were armed with spines like needles (Acrocomia sp.), and there was little else to catch by. I was on the watch for snakes, and had my machete in my hand; but the first living denizen of the forest that met me was a fine blue butterfly (Morpho), nearly eight inches across. I could not, and Guillermo would not, catch it, because he said it was mala por los ojos (bad for the eyes). It was a “sight for sair e’en.” I found this curious superstition about butterflies common all through the country, and I confess that following their brilliantly colored wings in their rapid flight, under a blazing sun, does give one’s eyes a very tired feeling that may explain the origin of the popular belief. I will not compel any one to follow me through the forest, nor up the steep limestone ridges where the corroded rock was worn into fantastic forms and partly covered with begonias, lycopodiums, and other plants. We found several circular valleys among those ridges drained by sink-holes, and often I heard water running beneath my feet. In some places were little wells, like the cenotes of Yucatan, containing fish, which pass from one to another by underground aqueducts. Again and again I mistook for serpents the huge, green, scaly creepers that flattened themselves against the trees or swung from the branches. Sluggish and insignificant centipedes were not uncommon on the trees; but nothing except tracks of wild hogs, peccaries, jaguars, and tapirs indicated that the forest was the resort of troublesome animals. The entire absence of any fallen or decaying trees or dead branches was a marked feature of this forest. The insects had eaten all this unpleasant matter; and in one place we saw a cavity as large as a barrel, where the ants had eaten a palm-stump, leaving only the fibrous roots to keep the earth in place about the large hole.

Towards noon the air, loaded with moisture and unmoved by any wind in the forest, became almost unbearable, and we were parched with thirst. Santiago came to our aid; and selecting a rough-looking vine, of which we could not see the leaves, cut from it a length of some three feet, and from this trickled a tumblerful of clear, cool, tasteless water. This vejuco de agua was as large as a man’s wrist, of tender substance and very porous. The mozos declared that if the vejuco was cut only once, the juice would all run up from the pendent end; so it was necessary to cut at once above, and block its retreat. On the palm-trees were often found clusters of nuts of various sizes, some with such hard shells that even the parrots must have been baffled. We cracked several kinds, and found them more woody and less oily than the coconut. Several mahogany-trees came in our way, and they impressed me more than the sequoias of California or the banians and baobabs of India. Rising with a straight and uniform stem far above the surrounding trees, they then spread their dense foliage like a massive oak above the tree-top plane. Rosewood, palo de mulatto, sapodilla, ironwood, and many other kinds were recognized, and our exploration ended for the day with a bath on board the boat, in which we dashed the cool river water over each other. The air was 86°, while the water was 78°. Our men who had been sent up stream to build a champa, or native house, returned to us at sundown in true monkey style, swinging down on to the boat from the branches of the tree overhanging the “Progreso.” The absence of mosquitoes puzzled us, as it had the night before.