DEPARTURE
FROM CARIPE. MOUNTAIN AND
The days we passed at the Capuchin convent in the mountains of
Caripe, glided swiftly away, though our manner of living was simple
and uniform. From sunrise to nightfall we traversed the forests and
neighbouring mountains, to collect plants. When the winter rains
prevented us from undertaking distant excursions, we visited the
huts of the Indians, the conuco of the community, or those
assemblies in which the alcaldes every evening arrange the labours
of the succeeding day. We returned to the monastery only when the
sound of the bell called us to the refectory to share the repasts
of the missionaries. Sometimes, very early in the morning, we
followed them to the church, to attend the doctrina, that is to
say, the religious instruction of the Indians. It was rather a
difficult task to explain dogmas to the neophytes, especially those
who had but a very imperfect knowledge of the Spanish language. On
the other hand, the monks are as yet almost totally ignorant of the
language of the Chaymas; and the resemblance of sounds confuses the
poor Indians and suggests to them the most whimsical ideas. Of this
I may cite an example. I saw a missionary labouring earnestly to
prove that infierno, hell, and invierno, winter, were not one and
the same thing; but as different as heat and cold. The Chaymas are
acquainted with no other winter than the season of rains; a 535x2312f nd
consequently they imagined the Hell of the whites to be a place
where the wicked are exposed to frequent showers. The missionary
harangued to no purpose: it was impossible to efface the first
impression produced by the analogy between the two consonants. He
could not separate in the minds of the neophytes the ideas of rain
and hell; invierno and infierno.
After passing almost the whole day in the open air, we employed our
evenings, at the convent, in making notes, drying our plants, and
sketching those that appeared to form new genera. Unfortunately the
misty atmosphere of a valley, where the surrounding forests fill
the air with an enormous quantity of vapour, was unfavourable to
astronomical observations. I spent a part of the nights waiting to
take advantage of the moment when some star should be visible
between the clouds, near its passage over the meridian. I often
shivered with cold, though the thermometer only sunk to 16 degrees,
which is the temperature of the day in our climates towards the end
of September. The instruments remained set up in the court of the
convent for several hours, yet I was almost always disappointed in
my expectations. Some good observations of Fomalhaut and of Deneb
have given 10 degrees 10 minutes 14 seconds as the latitude of
Caripe; which proves that the position indicated in the maps of
Caulin is 18 minutes wrong, and in that of Arrowsmith 14 minutes.
Observations of corresponding altitudes of the sun having given me
the true time, within about 2 seconds, I was enabled to determine
the magnetic variation with precision, at noon. It was, on the 20th
of September, 1799, 3 degrees 15 minutes 30 seconds north-east;
consequently
0 degrees 58 minutes 15 seconds less than at
If we attend to the influence of the horary variations, which in
these countries do not in general exceed 8 minutes, we shall find,
that at considerable distances the variation changes less rapidly
than is usually supposed. The dip of the needle was 42.75 degrees,
centesimal division, and the number of oscillations, expressing the
intensity of the magnetic forces, rose to 229 in ten minutes.
The vexation of seeing the stars disappear in a misty sky was the
only
disappointment we felt in the
this spot presents a character at once wild and tranquil, gloomy
and attractive. In the solitude of these mountains we are perhaps
less struck by the new impressions we receive at every step, than
with the marks of resemblance we trace in climates the most remote
from each other. The hills by which the convent is backed, are
crowned with palm-trees and arborescent ferns. In the evenings,
when the sky denotes rain, the air resounds with the monotonous
howling of the alouate apes, which resembles the distant sound of
wind when it shakes the forest. Yet amid these strange sounds,
these wild forms of plants, and these prodigies of a new world,
nature everywhere speaks to man in a voice familiar to him. The
turf that overspreads the soil: the old moss and fern that cover
the roots of the trees; the torrents that gush down the sloping
banks of the calcareous rocks; in fine, the harmonious accordance
of tints reflected by the waters, the verdure, and the sky;
everything recalls to the traveller, sensations which he has
already felt.
The beauties of this mountain scenery so much engaged us, that we
were very tardy in observing the embarrassment felt by our kind
entertainers the monks. They had but a slender provision of wine
and wheaten bread; and although in those high regions both are
considered as belonging merely to the luxuries of the table, yet we
saw with regret, that our hosts abstained from them on our account.
Our portion of bread had already been diminished three-fourths, yet
violent rains still obliged us to delay our departure for two days.
How long did this delay appear! It made us dread the sound of the
bell that summoned us to the refectory.
We departed at length on the 22nd of September, followed by four
mules, laden with our instruments and plants. We had to descend the
north-east slope of the calcareous Alps of New Andalusia, which we
have called the great chain of the Brigantine and the Cocollar. The
mean elevation of this chain scarcely exceeds six or seven hundred
toises: in respect to height and geological constitution, we may
compare it to the chain of the Jura. Notwithstanding the
inconsiderable
elevation of the mountains of
extremely difficult and dangerous in the direction of Cariaco. The
Cerro of Santa Maria, which the missionaries ascend in their
journey
from
difficulties it presents to travellers. On comparing these
mountains
with the Andes of Peru, the Pyrenees, and the
we successively visited, it has more than once occurred to us, that
the less lofty summits are sometimes the most inaccessible.
On
leaving the
north-east of the convent. The road led us along a continual ascent
through a vast savannah, as far as the table-land of Guardia de San
Augustin. We there halted to wait for the Indian who carried the
barometer. We found ourselves to be at 533 toises of absolute
elevation, or a little higher than the bottom of the cavern of
Guacharo. The savannahs or natural meadows, which yield excellent
pasture for the cows of the convent, are totally devoid of trees or
shrubs. It is the domain of the monocotyledonous plants; for amidst
the gramina only a few Maguey* plants rise here and there (* Agave
Americana.); their flowery stalks being more than twenty-six feet
high. Having reached the table-land of Guardia, we appeared to be
transported to the bed of an old lake, levelled by the
long-continued abode of the waters. We seemed to trace the
sinuosities of the ancient shore in the tongues of land which jut
out from the craggy rock, and even in the distribution of the
vegetation. The bottom of the basin is a savannah, while its banks
are covered with trees of full growth. This is probably the most
elevated
valley in the provinces of
cannot but regret, that a spot favoured by so temperate a climate,
and which without doubt would be fit for the culture of corn, is
totally uninhabited.
From the table-land of Guardia we continued to descend, till we
reached
the Indian
a slope extremely slippery and steep, to which the missionaries had
given the name of Baxada del Purgatorio, or Descent of Purgatory.
It is a rock of schistose sandstone, decomposed, covered with clay,
the talus of which appears frightfully steep, from the effect of a
very common optical illusion. When we look down from the top to the
bottom of the hill the road seems inclined more than 60 degrees.
The mules in going down draw their hind legs near to their fore
legs, and lowering their cruppers, let themselves slide at a
venture. The rider runs no risk, provided he slacken the bridle,
thereby leaving the animal quite free in his movements. From this
point we perceived towards the left the great pyramid of Guacharo.
The appearance of this calcareous peak is very picturesque, but we
soon lost sight of it, on entering the thick forest, known by the
name of the Montana de Santa Maria. We descended without
intermission for seven hours. It is difficult to conceive a more
tremendous descent; it is absolutely a road of steps, a kind of
ravine, in which, during the rainy season, impetuous torrents dash
from rock to rock. The steps are from two to three feet high, and
the beasts of burden, after measuring with their eyes the space
necessary to let their load pass between the trunks of the trees,
leap from one rock to another. Afraid of missing their mark, we saw
them stop a few minutes to scan the ground, and bring together
their four feet like wild goats. If the animal does not reach the
nearest block of stone, he sinks half his depth into the soft
ochreous clay, that fills up the interstices of the rock. When the
blocks are wanting, enormous roots serve as supports for the feet
of men and beasts. Some of these roots are twenty inches thick, and
they often branch out from the trunks of the trees much above the
level of the soil. The Creoles have sufficient confidence in the
address and instinct of the mules, to remain in their saddles
during this long and dangerous descent. Fearing fatigue less than
they did, and being accustomed to travel slowly for the purpose of
gathering plants and examining the nature of the rocks, we
preferred going down on foot; and, indeed, the care which our
chronometers demanded, left us no liberty of choice.
The forest that covers the steep flank of the mountain of Santa
Maria, is one of the thickest I ever saw. The trees are of
stupendous height and size. Under their bushy, deep green foliage,
there reigns continually a kind of dim daylight, a peculiar sort of
obscurity, of which our forests of pines, oaks, and beech-trees,
convey no idea. Notwithstanding its elevated temperature, it is
difficult to believe that the air can dissolve the quantity of
water exhaled from the surface of the soil, the foliage of the
trees, and their trunks: the latter are covered with a drapery of
orchideae, peperomia, and other succulent plants. With the aromatic
odour of the flowers, the fruit, and even the wood, is mingled that
which we perceive in autumn in misty weather. Here, as in the
forests of the Orinoco, fixing our eyes on the top of the trees, we
discerned streams of vapour, whenever a solar ray penetrated, and
traversed the dense atmosphere. Our guides pointed out to us among
those majestic trees, the height of which exceeded 120 or 130 feet,
the curucay of Terecen. It yields a whitish liquid, and very
odoriferous resin, which was formerly employed by the Cumanagoto
and Tagiri Indians, to perfume their idols. The young branches have
an agreeable taste, though somewhat astringent. Next to the curucay
and enormous trunks of hymenaea, (the diameter of which was more
than nine or ten feet), the trees which most excited our attention
were the dragon's blood (Croton sanguifluum), the purple-brown
juice of which flows down a whitish bark; the calahuala fern,
different from that of Peru, but almost equally medicinal;* (* The
calahuala of Caripe is the Polypodium crassifolium; that of Peru,
the use of which has been so much extended by Messrs. Ruiz and
Pavon, comes from the Aspidium coriaceum, Willd. (Tectaria
calahuala, Cav.) In commerce the diaphoretic roots of the
Polypodium crassifolium, and of the Acrostichum huascaro, are mixed
with those of the calahuala or Aspidium coriaceum.) and the
palm-trees, irasse, macanilla, corozo, and praga.* (* Aiphanes
praga.) The last yields a very savoury palm-cabbage, which we had
sometimes eaten at the convent of Caripe. These palms with pinnated
and thorny leaves formed a pleasing contrast to the fern-trees. One
of the latter, the Cyathea speciosa,* grows to the height of more
than thirty-five feet, a prodigious size for plants of this family.
(* Possibly a hemitelia of Robert Brown. The trunk alone is from 22
to 24 feet long. This and the Cyathea excelsa of the Mauritius, are
the most majestic of all the fern-trees described by botanists. The
total number of these gigantic cryptogamous plants amounts at
present to 25 species, that of the palm-trees to 80. With the
cyathea grow, on the mountain of Santa Maria, Rhexia juniperina,
Chiococca racemosa, and Commelina spicata.) We discovered here, and
in the valley of Caripe, five new kinds of arborescent ferns.* (*
Meniscium arborescens, Aspidium caducum, A. rostratum, Cyathea
villosa, and C. speciosa.) In the time of Linnaeus, botanists knew
no more than four on both continents.
We observed that the fern-trees are in general much more rare than
the palm-trees. Nature has confined them to temperate, moist, and
shady places. They shun the direct rays of the sun, and while the
pumos, the corypha of the steppes and other palms of America,
flourish on the barren and burning plains, these ferns with
arborescent trunks, which at a distance look like palm-trees,
preserve the character and habits of cryptogamous plants. They love
solitary places, little light, moist, temperate and stagnant air.
If they sometimes descend towards the sea-coast, it is only under
cover of a thick shade. The old trunks of the cyathea and the
meniscium are covered with a carbonaceous powder, which, probably
being deprived of hydrogen, has a metallic lustre like plumbago. No
other plant presents this phenomenon; for the trunks of the
dicotyledons, in spite of the heat of the climate, and the
intensity of the light, are less burnt within the tropics than in
the temperate zone. It may be said that the trunks of the ferns,
which, like the monocotyledons, are enlarged by the remains of the
petioles, decay from the circumference to the centre; and that,
deprived of the cortical organs through which the elaborated juices
descend to the roots, they are burnt more easily by the action of
the oxygen of the atmosphere. I brought to Europe some powders with
metallic lustre, taken from very old trunks of Meniscium and
Aspidium.
In proportion as we descended the mountain of Santa Maria, we saw
the arborescent ferns diminish, and the number of palm-trees
increase. The beautiful large-winged butterflies (nymphales), which
fly at a prodigious height, became more common. Everything denoted
our approach to the coast, and to a zone in which the mean
temperature of the day is from 28 to 30 degrees.
The weather was cloudy, and led us to fear one of those heavy
rains, during which from 1 to 1.3 inches of water sometimes falls
in a day. The sun at times illumined the tops of the trees; and,
though sheltered from its rays, we felt an oppressive heat. Thunder
rolled at a distance; the clouds seemed suspended on the top of the
lofty mountains of the Guacharo; and the plaintive howling of the
araguatoes, which we had so often heard at Caripe, denoted the
proximity of the storm. We now for the first time had a near view
of these howling apes. They are of the family of the alouates,* (*
Stentor, Geoffroy.) the different species of which have long been
confounded one with another. The small sapajous of America, which
imitate in whistling the tones of the passeres, have the bone of
the tongue thin and simple, but the apes of large size, as the
alouates and marimondes,* (* Ateles, Geoffroy.) have the tongue
placed on a large bony drum. Their superior larynx has six pouches,
in which the voice loses itself; and two of which, shaped like
pigeons' nests, resemble the inferior larynx of birds. The air
driven with force into the bony drum produces that mournful sound
which characterises the araguatoes. I sketched on the spot these
organs, which are imperfectly known to anatomists, and published
the description of them on my return to Europe.
The araguato, which the Tamanac Indians call aravata,* (* In the
writings of the early Spanish missionaries, this monkey is
described by the names of aranata and araguato. In both names we
easily discover the same root. The v has been transformed into g
and n. The name of arabata, which Gumilla gives to the howling apes
of the Lower Orinoco, and which Geoffroy thinks belongs to the S.
straminea of Great Paria, is the same Tamanac word aravata. This
identity of names need not surprise us. The language of the Chayma
Indians of Cumana is one of the numerous branches of the Tamanac
language, and the latter is connected with the Caribbee language of
the Lower Orinoco.) and the Maypures marave, resembles a young
bear.* (* Alouate ourse (Simia ursina).) It is three feet long,
reckoning from the top of the head (which is small and very
pyramidal) to the beginning of the prehensile tail. Its fur is
bushy, and of a reddish brown; the breast and belly are covered
with fine hair, and not bare as in the mono colorado, or alouate
roux of Buffon, which we carefully examined in going from
Carthagena to Santa Fe de Bogota. The face of the araguato is of a
blackish blue, and is covered with a fine and wrinkled skin: its
beard is pretty long; and, notwithstanding the direction of the
facial line, the angle of which is only thirty degrees, the
araguato has, in the expression of the countenance, as much
resemblance to man as the marimonde (S. belzebuth, Bresson) and the
capuchin of the Orinoco (S. chiropotes). Among thousands of
araguatoes which we observed in the provinces of Cumana, Caracas,
and Guiana, we never saw any change in the reddish brown fur of the
back and shoulders, whether we examined individuals or whole
troops. It appeared to me in general, that variety of colour is
less frequent among monkeys than naturalists suppose.
The araguato of Caripe is a new species of the genus Stentor, which
I have above described. It differs equally from the ouarine (S.
guariba) and the alouate roux (S. seniculus, old man of the woods).
Its eye, voice, and gait, denote melancholy. I have seen young
araguatoes brought up in Indian huts. They never play like the
little sagoins, and their gravity was described with much
simplicity by Lopez de Gomara, in the beginning of the sixteenth
century. "The Aranata de los Cumaneses," says this author, "has the
face of a man, the beard of a goat, and a grave demeanour (honrado
gesto.)" Monkeys are more melancholy in proportion as they have
more resemblance to man. Their sprightliness diminishes, as their
intellectual faculties appear to increase.
We stopped to observe some howling monkeys, which, to the number of
thirty or forty, crossed the road, passing in a file from one tree
to another over the horizontal and intersecting branches. While we
were observing their movements, we saw a troop of Indians going
towards the mountains of Caripe. They were without clothing, as the
natives of this country generally are. The women, laden with rather
heavy burdens, closed the march. The men were all armed; and even
the youngest boys had bows and arrows. They moved on in silence,
with their eyes fixed on the ground. We endeavoured to learn from
them whether we were yet far from the Mission of Santa Cruz, where
we intended passing the night. We were overcome with fatigue, and
suffered from thirst. The heat increased as the storm drew near,
and we had not met with a single spring on the way. The words si,
patre; no, patre; which the Indians continually repeated, led us to
think they understood a little Spanish. In the eyes of a native
every white man is a monk, a padre; for in the Missions the colour
of the skin characterizes the monk, more than the colour of the
garment. In vain we questioned them respecting the length of the
way: they answered, as if by chance, si and no, without our being
able to attach any precise sense to their replies. This made us the
more impatient, as their smiles and gestures indicated their wish
to direct us; and the forest seemed at every step to become thicker
and thicker. At length we separated from the Indians; our guides
were able to follow us only at a distance, because the beasts of
burden fell at every step in the ravines.
After journeying for several hours, continually descending on
blocks of scattered rock, we found ourselves unexpectedly at the
outlet of the forest of Santa Maria. A savannah, the verdure of
which had been renewed by the winter rains, stretched before us
farther than the eye could reach. On the left we discovered a
narrow valley, extending as far as the mountains of the Guacharo,
and covered with a thick forest. Looking downward, the eye rested
on the tops of the trees, which, at eight hundred feet below the
road, formed a carpet of verdure of a dark and uniform tint. The
openings in the forest appeared like vast funnels, in which we
could distinguish by their elegant forms and pinnated leaves, the
Praga and Irasse palms. But what renders this spot eminently
picturesque, is the aspect of the Sierra del Guacharo. Its northern
slope, in the direction of the gulf of Cariaco, is abrupt. It
presents a wall of rock, an almost vertical profile, exceeding 3000
feet in height. The vegetation which covers this wall is so scanty,
that the eye can follow the lines of the calcareous strata. The
summit of the Sierra is flat, and it is only at its eastern
extremity, that the majestic peak of the Guacharo rises like an
inclined pyramid, its form resembles that of the needles and horns*
of the Alps. (* The Shreckhorner, the Finsteraarhorn, etc.)
The savannah we crossed to the Indian village of Santa Cruz is
composed of several smooth plateaux, lying above each other like
terraces. This geological phenomenon, which is repeated in every
climate, seems to indicate a long abode of the waters in basins
that have poured them from one to the other. The calcareous rock is
no longer visible, but is covered with a thick layer of mould. The
last time we saw it in the forest of Santa Maria it was slightly
porous, and looked more like the limestone of Cumanacoa than that
of Caripe. We there found brown iron-ore disseminated in patches,
and if we were not deceived in our observation, a Cornu-ammonis,
which we could not succeed in our attempt to detach. It was seven
inches in diameter. This fact is the more important, as in this
part of America we have never seen ammonites. The Mission of Santa
Cruz is situated in the midst of the plain. We reached it towards
the evening, suffering much from thirst, having travelled nearly
eight hours without finding water. The thermometer kept at 26
degrees; accordingly we were not more than 190 toises above the
level of the sea.
We passed the night in one of those ajupas called King's houses,
which, as I have already said, serve as tambos or caravanserais to
travellers. The rains prevented any observations of the stars; and
the next day, the 23rd of September, we continued our descent
towards the gulf of Cariaco. Beyond Santa Cruz a thick forest again
appears; and in it we found, under tufts of melastomas, a beautiful
fern, with osmundia leaves, which forms a new genus of the order of
polypodiaceous plants.* (* Polybotya.)
Having reached the mission of Catuaro, we were desirous of
continuing our journey eastward by Santa Rosalia, Casanay, San
Josef, Carupano, Rio Carives, and the Montana of Paria; but we
learnt with great regret, that torrents of rain had rendered the
roads impassable, and that we should run the risk of losing the
plants we had already gathered. A rich planter of cacao-trees was
to accompany us from Santa Rosalia to the port of Carupano; but
when the time of departure approached, we were informed that his
affairs had called him to Cumana. We resolved in consequence to
embark at Cariaco, and to return directly by the gulf, instead of
passing between the island of Margareta and the isthmus of Araya.
The Mission of Catuaro is situated on a very wild spot. Trees of
full growth still surround the church, and the tigers come by night
to devour the poultry and swine belonging to the Indians. We lodged
at the dwelling of the priest, a monk of the congregation of the
Observance, to whom the Capuchins had confided the Mission, because
priests of their own community were wanting.
At this Mission we met Don Alexandro Mexia, the corregidor of the
district, an amiable and well-educated man. He gave us three
Indians, who, armed with their machetes, were to precede us, and
cut our way through the forest. In this country, so little
frequented, the power of vegetation is such at the period of the
great rains, that a man on horseback can with difficulty make his
way through narrow paths, covered with lianas and intertwining
branches. To our great annoyance, the missionary of Catuaro
insisted on conducting us to Cariaco; and we could not decline the
proposal. The movement for independence, which had nearly broken
out at Caracas in 1798, had been preceded and followed by great
agitation among the slaves at Coro, Maracaybo, and Cariaco. At the
last of these places an unfortunate negro had been condemned to
die, and our host, the vicar of Catuaro, was going thither to offer
him spiritual comfort. During our journey we could not escape
conversations, in which the missionary pertinaciously insisted on
the necessity of the slave-trade, on the innate wickedness of the
blacks, and the benefit they derived from their state of slavery
among the Christians! The mildness of Spanish legislation, compared
with the Black Code of most other nations that have possessions in
either of the Indies, cannot be denied. But such is the state of
the negroes, that justice, far from efficaciously protecting them
during their lives, cannot even punish acts of barbarity which
cause their death.
The road we took across the forest of Catuaro resembled the descent
of the mountain Santa Maria; here also, the most difficult and
dangerous places have fanciful names. We walked as in a narrow
furrow, scooped out by torrents, and filled with fine tenacious
clay. The mules lowered their cruppers and slid down the steepest
slopes. This descent is called Saca Manteca.* (* Or the
Butter-Slope. Manteca in Spanish signifies butter.) There is no
danger in the descent, owing to the great address of the mules of
this country. The clay, which renders the soil so slippery, is
produced by the numerous layers of sandstone and schistose clay
crossing the bluish grey alpine limestone. This last disappears as
we draw nearer to Cariaco. When we reached the mountain of Meapira,
we found it formed in great part of a white limestone, filled with
fossil remains, and from the grains of quartz agglutinated in the
mass, it appeared to belong to the great formation of the sea-coast
breccias. We descended this mountain on the strata of the rock, the
section of which forms steps of unequal height. Farther on, going
out of the forest, we reached the hill of Buenavista,* (* Mountain
of the Fine Prospect.) well deserving the name it bears; since it
commands a view of the town of Cariaco, situated in the midst of a
vast plain filled with plantations, huts, and scattered groups of
cocoa-palms. To the west of Cariaco extends the wide gulf; which a
wall of rock separates from the ocean: and towards the east are
seen, like bluish clouds, the high mountains of Paria and Areo.
This is one of the most extensive and magnificent prospects that
can be enjoyed on the coast of New Andalusia. In the town of
Cariaco we found a great part of the inhabitants suffering from
intermittent fever; a disease which in autumn assumes a formidable
character. When we consider the extreme fertility of the
surrounding plains, their moisture, and the mass of vegetation with
which they are covered, we may easily conceive why, amidst so much
decomposition of organic matter, the inhabitants do not enjoy that
salubrity of air which characterizes the climate of Cumana.
The chain of calcareous mountains of the Brigantine and the
Cocollar sends off a considerable branch to the north, which joins
the primitive mountains of the coast. This branch bears the name of
Sierra de Meapire; but towards the town of Cariaco it is called
Cerro Grande de Curiaco. Its mean height did not appear to be more
than 150 or 200 toises. It was composed, where I could examine it,
of the calcareous breccias of the sea-coast. Marly and calcareous
beds alternate with other beds containing grains of quartz. It is a
very striking phenomenon for those who study the physical aspect of
a country, to see a transverse ridge connect at right angles two
parallel ridges, of which one, the more southern, is composed of
secondary rocks, and the other, the more northern, of primitive
rocks. The latter presents, nearly as far as the meridian of
Carupano, only mica-slate; but to the east of this point, where it
communicates by a transverse ridge (the Sierra de Meapire) with the
limestone range, it contains lamellar gypsum, compact limestone,
and other rocks of secondary formation. It might be supposed that
the southern ridge has transferred these rocks to the northern
chain.
When standing on the summit of the Cerro del Meapire, we see the
mountain currents flow on one side to the gulf of Paria, and on the
other to the gulf of Cariaco. East and west of the ridge there are
low and marshy grounds, spreading out without interruption; and if
it be admitted that both gulfs owe their origin to the sinking of
the earth, and to rents caused by earthquakes, we must suppose that
the Cerro de Meapire has resisted the convulsive movements of the
globe, and hindered the waters of the gulf of Paria from uniting
with those of the gulf of Cariaco. But for this rocky dyke, the
isthmus itself in all probability would have had no existence; and
from the castle of Araya as far as Cape Paria, the whole mass of
the mountains of the coast would have formed a narrow island,
parallel to the island of Santa Margareta, and four times as long.
Not only do the inspection of the ground, and considerations
deduced from its relievo, confirm these opinions; but a mere glance
of the configuration of the coasts, and a geological map of the
country, would suggest the same ideas. It would appear that the
island of Margareta has been heretofore attached to the coast-chain
of Araya by the peninsula of Chacopata and the Caribbee islands,
Lobo and Coche, in the same manner as this chain is still connected
with that of the Cocollar and Caripe by the ridge of Meapire.
At present we perceive that the humid plains which stretch east and
west of the ridge, and which are improperly called the valleys San
Bonifacio and Cariaco, are enlarging by gaining on the sea. The
waters are receding, and these changes of the shore are very
remarkable, more particularly on the coast of Cumana. If the level
of the soil seem to indicate that the two gulfs of Cariaco and
Paria formerly occupied a much more considerable space, we cannot
doubt that at present the land is progressively extending. Near
Cumana, a battery, called La Boca, was built in 1791 on the very
margin of the sea; in 1799 we saw it very far inland. At the mouth
of the Rio Neveri, near the Morro of Nueva Barcelona, the retreat
of the waters is still more rapid. This local phenomenon is
probably assignable to accumulations of sand, the progress of which
has not yet been sufficiently examined. Descending the Sierra de
Meapire, which forms the isthmus between the plains of San
Bonifacio and Cariaco, we find towards the east the great lake of
Putacuao, which communicates with the river Areo, and is four or
five leagues in diameter. The mountainous lands that surround this
basin are known only to the natives. There are found those great
boa serpents known to the Chayma Indians by the name of guainas,
and to which they fabulously attribute a sting under the tail.
Descending the Sierra de Meapire to the west, we find at first a
hollow ground (tierra hueca) which, during the great earthquakes of
1766, threw out asphaltum enveloped in viscous petroleum. Farther
on, a numberless quantity of sulphureous thermal springs* are seen
issuing from the soil (* El Llano de Aguas calientes,
east-north-east of Cariaco, at the distance of two leagues.); and
at length we reach the borders of the lake of Campoma, the
exhalations from which contribute to the insalubrity of the climate
of Cariaco. The natives believe that the hollow is formed by the
engulfing of the hot springs; and, judging from the sound heard
under the hoofs of the horses, we must conclude that the
subterranean cavities are continued from west to east nearly as far
as Casanay, a length of three or four thousand toises. A little
river, the Rio Azul, runs through these plains which are rent into
crevices by earthquakes. These earthquakes have a particular centre
of action, and seldom extend as far as Cumana. The waters of the
Rio Azul are cold and limpid; they rise on the western declivity of
the mountain of Meapire, and it is believed that they are augmented
by infiltrations from the lake Putacuao, situated on the other side
of the chain. The little river, together with the sulphureous hot
springs, fall into the Laguna de Campoma. This is a name given to a
great lagoon, which is divided in dry weather into three basins
situated north-west of the town of Cariaco, near the extremity of
the gulf. Fetid exhalations arise continually from the stagnant
water of this lagoon. The smell of sulphuretted hydrogen is mingled
with that of putrid fishes and rotting plants.
Miasms are formed in the valley of Cariaco, as in the Campagna of
Rome; but the hot climate of the tropics increases their
deleterious energy. These miasms are probably ternary or quaternary
combinations of azote, phosphorus, hydrogen, carbon, and sulphur.
The situation of the lagoon of Campoma renders the north-west wind,
which blows frequently after sunset, very pernicious to the
inhabitants of the little town of Cariaco. Its influence can be the
less doubted, as intermitting fevers are observed to degenerate
into typhoid fevers, in proportion as we approach the lagoon, which
is the principal focus of putrid miasms. Whole families of free
negroes, who have small plantations on the northern coast of the
gulf of Cariaco, languish in their hammocks from the beginning of
the rainy season. These intermittent fevers assume a dangerous
character, when persons, debilitated by long labour and copious
perspiration, expose themselves to the fine rains, which frequently
fall as evening advances. Nevertheless, the men of colour, and
particularly the Creole negroes, resist much better than any other
race, the influence of the climate. Lemonade and infusions of
Scoparia dulcis are given to the sick; but the cuspare, which is
the cinchona of Angostura, is seldom used.
It is generally observed, that in these epidemics of the town of
Cariaco the mortality is less considerable than might be supposed.
Intermitting fevers, when they attack the same individual during
several successive years, enfeeble the constitution; but this state
of debility, so common on the unhealthy coasts, does not cause
death. What is remarkable enough, is the belief which prevails here
as in the Campagna of Rome, that the air has become progressively
more vitiated in proportion as a greater number of acres have been
cultivated. The miasms exhaled from these plains have, however,
nothing in common with those which arise from a forest when the
trees are cut down, and the sun heats a thick layer of dead leaves.
Near Cariaco the country is but thinly wooded. Can it be supposed
that the mould, fresh stirred and moistened by rains, alters and
vitiates the atmosphere more than the thick wood of plants which
covers an uncultivated soil? To local causes are joined other
causes less problematic. The neighbouring shores of the sea are
covered with mangroves, avicennias, and other shrubs with
astringent bark. All the inhabitants of the tropics are aware of
the noxious exhalations of these plants; and they dread them the
more, as their roots and stocks are not always under water, but
alternately wetted and exposed to the heat of the sun.* The
mangroves produce miasms, because they contain vegeto-animal matter
combined with tannin. (* The following is a list of the social
plants that cover those sandy plains on the sea-side, and
characterize the vegetation of Cumana and the gulf of Cariaco.
Rhizophora mangle, Avicennia nitida, Gomphrena flava, G. brachiata,
Sesuvium portulacastrum (vidrio), Talinum cuspidatum (vicho), T.
cumanense, Portulacca pilosa (zargasso), P. lanuginosa, Illecebrum
maritimum, Atriplex cristata, Heliotropium viride, H. latifolium,
Verbena cuneata, Mollugo verticillata, Euphorbia maritima,
Convolvulus cumanensis.)
The town of Cariaco has been repeatedly sacked in former times by
the Caribs. Its population has augmented rapidly since the
provincial authorities, in spite of prohibitory orders from the
court of Madrid have often favoured the trade with foreign
colonies. The population amounted, in 1800, to more than 6000
souls. The inhabitants are active in the cultivation of cotton,
which is of a very fine quality. The capsules of the cotton-tree,
when separated from the woolly substance, are carefully burnt; as
those husks if thrown into the river, and exposed to putrefaction,
yield noxious exhalations. The culture of the cacao-tree has of
late considerably diminished. This valuable tree bears only after
eight or ten years. Its fruit keeps very badly in the warehouses,
and becomes mouldy at the expiration of a year, notwithstanding all
the precautions employed for drying it.
It is only in the interior of the province, to the east of the
Sierra de Meapire, that new plantations of the cacao-tree are seen.
They become there the more productive, as the lands, newly cleared
and surrounded by forests, are in contact with an atmosphere damp,
stagnant, and loaded with mephitic exhalations. We there see
fathers of families, attached to the old habits of the colonists,
slowly amass a little fortune for themselves and their children.
Thirty thousand cacao-trees will secure competence to a family for
a generation and a half. If the culture of cotton and coffee have
led to the diminution of cacao in the province of Caracas and in
the small valley of Cariaco, it must be admitted that this last
branch of colonial industry has in general increased in the
interior of the provinces of New Barcelona and Cumana. The causes
of the progressive movement of the cacao-tree from west to east may
be easily conceived. The province of Caracas has been from a remote
period cultivated: and, in the torrid zone, in proportion as a
country has been cleared, it becomes drier and more exposed to the
winds. These physical changes have been adverse to the propagation
of cacao-trees, the plantations of which, diminishing in the
province of Caracas, have accumulated eastward on a newly-cleared
and virgin soil. The cacao of Cumana is infinitely superior to that
of Guayaquil. The best is produced in the valley of San Bonifacio;
as the best cacao of New Barcelona, Caracas, and Guatimala, is that
of Capiriqual, Uritucu, and Soconusco. Since the island of Trinidad
has become an English colony, the whole of the eastern extremity of
the province of Cumana, especially the coast of Paria, and the gulf
of the same name, have changed their appearance. Foreigners have
settled there, and have introduced the cultivation of the
coffee-tree, the cotton-tree, and the sugar-cane of Otaheite. The
population has greatly increased at Carupano, in the beautiful
valley of Rio Caribe, at Guira, and at the new town of Punta di
Piedra, built opposite Spanish Harbour, in the island of Trinidad.
The soil is so fertile in the Golfo Triste, that maize yields two
harvests in the year, and produces three hundred and eighty fold
the quantity sown.
Early in the morning we embarked in a sort of narrow canoe, called
a lancha, in hopes of crossing the gulf of Cariaco during the day.
The motion of the waters resembles that of our great lakes, when
they are agitated by the winds. From the embarcadero to Cumana the
distance is only twelve nautical leagues. On quitting the little
town of Cariaco, we proceeded westward along the river of
Carenicuar, which, in a straight line like an artificial canal,
runs through gardens and plantations of cotton-trees. On the banks
of the river of Cariaco we saw the Indian women washing their linen
with the fruit of the parapara (Sapindus saponaria, or soap-berry),
an operation said to be very injurious to the linen. The bark of
the fruit produces a strong lather; and the fruit is so elastic
that if thrown on a stone it rebounds three or four times to the
height of seven or eight feet. Being a spherical form, it is
employed in making rosaries.
After we embarked we had to contend against contrary winds. The
rain fell in torrents, and the thunder rolled very near. Swarms of
flamingoes, egrets, and cormorants filled the air, seeking the
shore, whilst the alcatras, a large species of pelican, alone
continued peaceably to fish in the middle of the gulf. The gulf of
Cariaco is almost everywhere forty-five or fifty fathoms deep; but
at its eastern extremity, near Curaguaca, along an extent of five
leagues, the lead does not indicate more than three or four
fathoms. Here is found the Baxo de la Cotua, a sand-bank, which at
low-water appears like a small island. The canoes which carry
provisions to Cumana sometimes ground on this bank; but always
without danger, because the sea is never rough or heavy. We crossed
that part of the gulf where hot springs gush from the bottom of the
sea. It was flood-tide, so that the change of temperature was not
very perceptible: besides, our canoe drove too much towards the
southern shore. It may be supposed that strata of water must be
found of different temperatures, according to the greater or less
depth, and according as the mingling of the hot waters with those
of the gulf is accelerated by the winds and currents. The existence
of these hot springs, which we were assured raise the temperature
of the sea through an extent of ten or twelve thousand square
toises, is a very remarkable phenomenon. (* In the island of
Guadaloupe, there is a fountain of boiling water, which rushes out
on the beach. Hot-water springs rise from the bottom of the sea in
the gulf of Naples, and near the island of Palma, in the
archipelago of the Canary Islands.) Proceeding from the promontory
of Paria westward, by Irapa, Aguas Calientes, the gulf of Cariaco,
the Brigantine, and the valley of Aragua, as far as the snowy
mountains of Merida, a continued band of thermal waters is found in
an extent of 150 leagues.
Adverse winds and rainy weather forced us to go on shore at
Pericantral, a small farm on the south side of the gulf. The whole
of this coast, though covered with beautiful vegetation, is almost
wholly uncultivated. There are scarcely seven hundred inhabitants:
and, excepting in the village of Mariguitar, we saw only
plantations of cocoa-trees, which are the olives of the country.
This palm occupies on both continents a zone, of which the mean
temperature of the year is not below 20 degrees.* (* The cocoa-tree
grows in the northern hemisphere from the equator to latitude 28
degrees. Near the equator we find it from the plains to the height
of 700 toises above the level of the sea.) It is, like the
chamaerops of the basin of the Mediterranean, a true palm-tree of
the coast. It prefers salt to fresh water; and flourishes less
inland, where the air is not loaded with saline particles, than on
the shore. When cocoa-trees are planted in Terra Firma, or in the
Missions of the Orinoco, at a distance from the sea, a considerable
quantity of salt, sometimes as much as half a bushel, is thrown
into the hole which receives the nut. Among the plants cultivated
by man, the sugar-cane, the plantain, the mammee-apple, and
alligator-pear (Laurus persea), alone have the property of the
cocoa-tree; that of being watered equally well with fresh and salt
water. This circumstance is favourable to their migrations; and if
the sugarcane of the sea-shore yield a syrup that is a little
brackish, it is believed at the same time to be better fitted for
the distillation of spirit than the juice produced from the canes
in inland situations.
The cocoa-tree, in the other parts of America, is in general
cultivated around farm-houses, and the fruit is eaten; in the gulf
of Cariaco, it forms extensive plantations. In a fertile and moist
ground, the tree begins to bear fruit abundantly in the fourth
year; but in dry soils it bears only at the expiration of ten
years. The duration of the tree does not in general exceed eighty
or a hundred years; and its mean height at that age is from seventy
to eighty feet. This rapid growth is so much the more remarkable,
as other palm-trees, for instance, the moriche,* (* Mauritia
flexuosa.) and the palm of Sombrero,* (* Corypha tectorum.) the
longevity of which is very great, frequently do not attain a
greater height than fourteen or eighteen feet in the space of sixty
years. In the first thirty or forty years, a cocoa-tree of the gulf
of Cariaco bears every lunation a cluster of ten or fourteen nuts,
all of which, however, do not ripen. It may be reckoned that, on an
average, a tree produces annually a hundred nuts, which yield eight
flascos* of oil. (One flasco contains 70 or 80 cubic inches, Paris
measure.) In Provence, an olive-tree thirty years old yields twenty
pounds, or seven flascos of oil, so that it produces something less
than a cocoa-tree. There are in the gulf of Cariaco plantations
(haciendas) of eight or nine thousand cocoa-trees. They resemble,
in their picturesque appearance, those fine plantations of
date-trees near Elche, in Murcia, where, over the superficies of
one square league, there may be found upwards of 70,000 palms. The
cocoa-tree bears fruit in abundance till it is thirty or forty
years old; after that age the produce diminishes, and a trunk a
hundred years old, without being altogether barren, yields very
little. In the town of Cumana there is prepared a great quantity of
cocoa-nut oil, which is limpid, without smell, and very fit for
burning. The trade in this oil is not less active than that on the
coast of Africa for palm-oil, which is obtained from the Elais
guineensis, and is used as food. I have often seen canoes arrive at
Cumana laden with 3000 cocoa-nuts.
We did not quit the farm of Pericantral till after sunset. The
south coast of the gulf presents a most fertile aspect, while the
northern coast is naked, dry, and rocky. In spite of this aridity,
and the scarcity of rain, of which sometimes none falls for the
space of fifteen months,* the peninsula of Araya, like the desert
of Canound in India, produces patillas, or water-melons, weighing
from fifty to seventy pounds. (* The rains appear to have been more
frequent at the beginning of the 16th century. At any rate, the
canon of Granada (Peter Martyr d'Anghiera), speaking in the year
1574, of the salt-works of Araya, or of Haraia, described in the
fifth chapter of this work, mentions showers (cadentes imbres) as a
very common phenomenon. The same author, who died in 1526, affirms
that the Indians wrought the salt-works before the arrival of the
Spaniards. They dried the salt in the form of bricks; and our
writer even then discussed the geological question, whether the
clayey soil of Haraia contained salt-springs, or whether it had
been impregnated with salt by the periodical inundations of the
ocean for ages.) In the torrid zone, the vapours contained by the
air form about nine-tenths of the quantity necessary to its
saturation: and vegetation is maintained by the property which the
leaves possess of attracting the water dissolved in the atmosphere.
At sunrise, we saw the Zamuro vultures,* (* Vultur aura.) in flocks
of forty or fifty, perched on the cocoa-trees. These birds range
themselves in files to roost together like fowls. They go to roost
long before sunset, and do not awake till after the sun is above
the horizon. This sluggishness seems as if it were shared in those
climates by the trees with pinnate leaves. The mimosas and the
tamarinds close their leaves, in a clear and serene sky,
twenty-five or thirty-five minutes before sunset, and unfold them
in the morning when the solar disk has been visible for an equal
space of time. As I noticed pretty regularly the rising and setting
of the sun, for the purpose of observing the effect of the mirage,
or of the terrestrial refractions, I was enabled to give continued
attention to the phenomena of the sleep of plants. I found them the
same in the steppes, where no irregularity of the ground
interrupted the view of the horizon. It appears, that, accustomed
during the day to an extreme brilliancy of light, the sensitive and
other leguminous plants with thin and delicate leaves are affected
in the evening by the smallest decline in the intensity of the
sun's rays; so that for vegetation, night begins there, as with us,
before the total disappearance of the solar disk. But why, in a
zone where there is scarcely any twilight, do not the first rays of
the sun stimulate the leaves with the more strength, as the absence
of light must have rendered them more susceptible? Does the
humidity deposited on the parenchyma by the cooling of the leaves,
which is the effect of the nocturnal radiation, prevent the action
of the first rays of the sun? In our climates, the leguminous
plants with irritable leaves awake during the twilight of the
morning, before the sun appears.
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