CHAPTER X.TO TRINIDAD—BOCA DE MONOS—GULF OF PARIA—PORT OF SPAIN—SAVANNA—BOTANIC GARDENS—A HINDOO VILLAGE—STAPLES—A CACAO PLANTATION—THE BLUE BASIN—FALLS OF MARACAS—THE PITCH LAKE—START FOR THE ORINOCO.
TO TRINIDAD—BOCA DE MONOS—GULF OF PARIA—PORT OF SPAIN—SAVANNA—BOTANIC GARDENS—A HINDOO VILLAGE—STAPLES—A CACAO PLANTATION—THE BLUE BASIN—FALLS OF MARACAS—THE PITCH LAKE—START FOR THE ORINOCO.
AS Tobago and Trinidad are little more than eighteen miles apart where nearest, we were soon coasting down the latter island. The scenery was bold and picturesque, and the richly clad mountains were of a deep green, flushed in spots, with the crimson canopies of the “bois immortelle.” Fertile valleys gently opened to the sea, which here dashed angrily against the caverned limestone walls, and there rippled to the feet of the cocoa-nut palms which encircled the bays.
On reaching the “Boca de Monos”—monkey’s mouth—the mountains of Cumaná on the mainland of South America loomed up before us. Stretching far out into the sea, these mountains resemble islands similar to those which form the different entrances to the Gulf of Paria, and so near do they appear that it is hard to believe that they are really part of the mainland. As so often happens, whether travelling by sea, lake, or river, the finest scenery is sure to present itself at dinner time. I regret to say that, inour case, enthusiasm was damped by the thought that the soup was getting cold, and that probably the “pepper-pot” would be finished before we got through the “mouth.” The scene was striking, as must be the case where wild woodland, reaching to the water, and bold mountain cliffs combine with steeply rising islands, fringed with palms and mangroves, and covered with a thick vegetation wherever a plant can cling. As if the passage was not narrow enough, a rocky islet, tufted with cactus and draped with euphorbias and cistus, stood in the way; but we slipped past it, and soon sailed into the broad gulf. On we went, past wooded islets crowned with white houses, to which the Trinidadians retire in hot weather, and at last anchored off Port of Spain at a long distance from shore.
The view from the water can hardly be called picturesque, the flat shores stretching on either side of the town in a long line hardly above the level of the sea. But the town itself is prettily situated in a profusion of foliage trees and feathery palms, which half conceal the white houses and graceful church towers. Higher up lies a green savanna, with the handsome “Queen’s House” on its outskirts, and close behind rise the forest hills of Montserrat.
At a short distance from the wharf, the main street is entered. A broad shady avenue runs up its centre, terminating with the mosque-like Roman Catholic Cathedral. Half way up, a break in the avenue is caused by Marine Square, with a fountain in the middle, and two of its angles occupied by boarding-houses. The nearest of these is known as Emma Clark’s, and is supposed to have the best accommodationin the town. Here, we accordingly entered, and were received by the hostess, a Creole lady, of ultra Junoesque proportions, and of renowned verbosity. Good-tempered beyond measure when not annoyed, but terrible in her wrath when aroused. I shall never forget her sublime indignation and torrent of words once, when one of her guests had the temerity to ask for an extra pillow. He did not get it, nor did he even repeat the request. Altogether, Miss Emma did not treat us so badly. Certainly, some people did say that her food, though good, was very limited as to quantity, that the wine and beer she supplied were execrable, that the solitary bath-room might have been kept cleaner, and that the apartments might have contained a little more furniture. But then somebody is always sure to grumble about something, and those who were not satisfied had the option of leaving—only there was nowhere else to go. What a benefit it would be to travellers, and probably to the entire West Indies, if the Government—Home or Colonial—were to erect suitable hotels in the different islands, and lease them to competent persons who would render a sojourn among them more attractive than at present!
The town of Port of Spain is not very interesting. Stores and shops are good, and Brunswick Square is adorned with a handsome cathedral and a curious old Government building. Beyond the latter are the new Court Houses, of massive and striking design, and large and expensive enough to satisfy the requirements of the entire West Indies. It is a handsome town, and with that all has been said. Its chief features, irrespective of Emma Clark, are buzzards[22]and smells. Of the birds there are an immense number; they line the roofs of the houses, perch on the fountains and wade in the basins, blink at you from the trees, and refuse to get out of your way in the streets. Alive, the noisome creatures sweep close to your face when you look from a verandah; and dead, they greet your nostrils in your walk, as they generally choose the centre of a road as a suitable place to expire, and where they fall, there they lie.
In smells, Port of Spain vies with St. Pierre. Our rooms were sometimes unbearable from the odour of salt fish, raw onions, potatoes, and coffee, which ascended from the provision stores underneath, and equalled in intensity the fumes from the small courtyard in which a cow, goats, pigs, a sheep, puppies, naked black children, and parrots wandered at liberty. Often did we exclaim with Mrs. Partington, “How flagrant it is!” Perhaps these odours account for the number of chemists’ and druggists’ shops that exist in Port of Spain. But the outskirts of the town are fresh and bright. Pretty houses and lovely gardens line the approaches to the park-like savanna. The only blot on the fair scene, is an unsightly building—originally erected for the Duke of Edinburgh—which stands in a conspicuous position, unrelieved by a tree or flower.
On approaching Queen’s House, which is situated in the Botanical Gardens, the eye rests on, what to me, was the most charming sight in or around Port of Spain. Grand clumps of the most magnificent bamboos here line the roadside. Splendid ceibas, tamarinds, and samans are dotted about close by, butto my mind, could not compare with the bamboos, whose feathery arches and drooping boughs seemed like a “forest fit to fringe fairy land.” The gardens disappointed me, perhaps from over-expectation. Unlike those of Martinique, nature has not here granted a picturesque situation. Art has only partially succeeded in rendering the grounds attractive. There are many beautiful varieties of palms, deep-green nutmeg groves, towering erythrinas, ceibas, and various rare shrubs and trees, but there is something wanting to make up an effective whole. The gardens are of small extent and are deficient in any leading feature of special interest. There are no fountains, no pieces of water, no falls, no rockeries, and the only flower-garden proper is a small one under the windows of Queen’s House. Great care and attention are bestowed on the gardens, and in the nurseries I saw some rare orchids, luxuriant ferns, and many species of begonias, caladiums, and morantas. I was also shown some Liberian coffee trees, whose berries were far larger than the common. Formerly, there was a small Zoological collection here, but that is of the past.
The drive round the savanna in the cool evening is a very pleasant one. Here a black game of cricket is going on, amid much laughter and noise; there a white one is being conducted, in a very sedate and orderly fashion. Near the ugly Prince’s building is a croquet lawn, and close to the opposite Grand Stand an impromptu race has been organized. Moon-eyed Chinese trot along, with a basket of vegetables slung at one end of a long bamboo and a bundle of clean clothes at the other. Delicate-looking cattle arebeing led to water by still more delicate-looking Indian coolies, and scattered over the grass are brilliant patches of colour, caused by the gay robes of Hindoo women, whose arms and ancles, heavily hung with bangles, glitter brightly as they milk soft-eyed cows, to the music of laughing babies riding astride their hips.
Coolie immigration from India has been very successful in Trinidad and Demerara, and speaks well for the system of labour which has been adopted in those places. And, certainly, the coolies have no cause for complaint. From the time they leave India until they return there—that is if they choose to return—every suitable provision is made for their comfort. Unlike the Chinese, whose only object is to make money and get back to the Celestial Empire as soon as possible, the Indian coolies become attached to their new home, and in Trinidad a great number—nearly three thousand—have obtained grants of land instead of “return” passages, and have settled down as colonists. Many of them possess sugar estates, and one owns several good race-horses.
Hindoo villages are seen in many parts of the island, and near Port of Spain, on the road to St. James’s Barracks, is a coolie village, so oriental in its character, even to its native priests, charmers, and prayer-house, that, if an aeronaut suddenly descended there, he might readily imagine himself near Calcutta.
From the moment a stranger sets foot in Trinidad, he recognises that he is in a flourishing island; and the more he sees and hears of it, the more convinced does he become of its prosperous future. In the large and busytown, he can form some estimate of its resources, but, when he visits the interior and more distant regions, the fertility of the soil speaks for itself. To use one of Jerrold’s witticisms, the land is so fertile “that, if you tickle it with a hoe, it smiles with a flower.” Though sugar is the chief produce, there are other staples to which Trinidad directs her attention in a greater degree every year. The chief of these is cacao, which is a product continually increasing in value, and which is admirably adapted to the soil. Apart from the ease with which it is cultivated and prepared, a cacao plantation is a very desirable one, on account of its beauty. It has none of the monotonous stretches of a sugar plantation, as cacao has to be protected from the sun.
In some picturesque valley, or on undulating slopes, with a forest background, and probably with a glorious sea view from a neighbouring hill, you see a dwarf forest whose trees are about the size of apple-trees, and on whose stems and red-brown branches grow hundreds of pods like great golden lemons. Through this forest, run rows of “bois immortelles”—Madres del cacao—tall, elm-like trees, with bright flame-coloured canopies which afford a complete shade. On an eminence stands the white house of the planter, and near it a few rustic cottages and provision grounds; there is no tall smoking chimney, no din of machinery, no mingling of negro and molasses, all is cool and quiet, and you feel that, out of the few agricultural pursuits in the tropics, that of cacao-growing, must be the pleasantest.
Around Port of Spain the absence of bird life makes a sad void in nature; one misses the humming-birds,which in Martinique dart from every shrub, and even visit the balcony-flowers in the town. Even at a distance inland, it is only occasionally that the yellow “sucriers” are met with, or that the amusing, glossy brown “trembleurs” are seen bowing and scraping to one another in their usual polite fashion, but in some other islands these birds are very common. The “Wild Birds’ Protection Ordinance,” which was passed in 1875, has hardly had time to bear fruit as yet, but before long the feathered tribe may once again abound. Especially rare is that most beautiful of all humming-birds, the “Tufted Coquette,”—Lophornis ornatus—and once the species was as numerous as the “Ruby-crested,”[23]the “Savanna Sapphire,”[24]and the “Snowy-throated Emeralds,”[25]which are still abundant in Trinidad. Some lovely specimens of the above-named were offered me for sale, and I doubt whether I could have refused them, even without the assurance that they all came from the “Main.” I must have made a mistake in thinking that the “Snowy-throated Emerald” was peculiar to Trinidad!
From Port of Spain there are many delightful excursions to be made. There is the Blue Basin, at the head of the Diegomartin Valley, and above it is the Signal Station, from whence the land and coast views are very beautiful. Then there is the celebrated Maracas waterfall, the road to which affords an opportunity of seeing the most picturesque plain, forest, and river scenery in the island. Besides the mud volcanoes, there is also that natural phenomenon, the Pitch Lakeof La Brea. A weird, uncanny, intensely hot locality is that in which this strange lagoon is situated. The lake itself, which is nearly three miles in circumference, is surrounded by wood and jungle, growing luxuriantly from the pitchy soil. Out of the black sea rise little green oases covered with flowering shrubs, and occasionally lines of grass streak the surface. In the asphalte, which is hard in some places and soft and sticky in others, are numerous cracks and channels, often filled with clear brown water. Here and there a massive tree trunk or tapering pole protrudes through the pitch, like the hull and masts of some wrecked vessel sinking gradually out of sight.
Charles Kingsley has already fully described the sights and wonders of Trinidad, and since “At Last” was written the face of the country has little altered. Civilization of late has progressed, a railroad and coast steamers now connect different parts of the island, plantations have increased in number, and trade is augmenting annually. But Trinidad is still in its infancy, as by far the greater part of the island is still unreclaimed and unopened forest.
When Trinidad is traversed by proper roads, it is hardly too much to say that her prosperity will out-rival that of Jamaica in her palmiest days. On this subject a good authority has recently said:
“Unfortunately, the same conditions of soil, &c., which render Trinidad a very productive country, make the construction of roads, which are essential to the prosperity and advancement of a country, very difficult and expensive, and the peculiar conditions of the colonial community allow of little interest being manifested in the well-being of the island, beyond theimmediate concerns of the moment. Thus it is that our highways, such as they are, are mostly very narrow, devoid of footwalks, and for many weary miles without a single tree which might afford shelter to man or beast, who are thus exposed to the fierce rays of a blazing tropical sun, the direct effects of which are heightened by the scarcely less pernicious ones of reflection and radiation from all the surfaces around. The correction of these and other evils can hardly be expected, unless there should arise a spirit of enlightened public feeling which at the present time does not exhibit itself.”
Let us hope that the writer is too severe on the community of Trinidad, and that the road-making difficulty will soon be overcome. I ought to add that in the neighbourhood of the capital the roads are remarkably good, but glaring.
From Trinidad I proceeded to Demerara, and there found, as I stated in the preface, that the Government was about to send an expedition to Roraima, and with great kindness allowed me to accompany it. As it was not to start until the end of February, I determined to return to Trinidad, and from thence ascend the Orinoco. In the next chapter I must describe that trip.