Pictures of life in Mexico/Volume 2/Chapter 24
CHAPTER XXIV.
SEA-PORTS.
The ports of Mexico as a whole, are low and unhealthy in situation, and but indifferently adapted to their uses. Few persons but those well inured to the climate, whose business or connections imperatively demand their presence, will remain in them on any terms. So fatal to human life are the hot, marshy breezes constantly afloat in their neighbourhood, that the most accustomed inhabitants are often stricken with fever, followed by speedy death; and all who have the means in their power are happy to take refuge, during the hot season, in the more favoured districts at a distance above them—where the burning sunshine is tempered by the clear air of the hills, and the atmosphere is uncharged by the poisonous particles generated in the vapours of the tropics.
Some portions of the country round Vera Cruz—ascending as they do with the most singular varieties of aspect to the table-land of Perote—are exceedingly rich in vegetable growth and forest trees. Cotton of the finest quality is grown on numerous flat plains; sarsaparilla-root springs up in the declivities of the rocks and mountains; and mezquite trees, with their glutinous pods, may be discovered in the verdant hollows. The pimento-myrtle grows in rich profusion in the forests; cocoa-nut trees are to be found on the open lands; and tobacco is cultivated in considerable quantities in the southern valleys. The odoriferous vanilla clings to the roots of woodland trees and the jalapæ-convolvulus plants rear their lovely heads in the neighbourhood of some of the villages. The sugar-cane grows in perfection on numerous and highly productive plantations. The scenery of the country in different districts, moreover, is so completely varied, that a traveller may pass from the heated shores of the Gulf of Mexico to mountains whose tops are covered with snow, within the short space of four-and-twenty hours.
Vera Cruz in itself, affords but insufficient harbourage to vessels; nevertheless its port is the most used of any belonging to the republic. It is more like some point in a channel where it is just possible for ships to remain on emergency than a well-appointed harbour; and the anchorage is insecure and uncertain. Northern winds (los nortes) frequently expend their violence upon it for days; driving the vessels ashore and damaging the protecting mole of the port. The place is well fortified. The Island of Sacrificios beside which foreign ships of war anchor, is three miles away, and they can only pass through a very narrow channel commanded by the guns of the fort. The point of land opposite the mole of Vera Cruz (between which projections merchant ships only can anchor, the passage being not more than seven hundred yards wide) is the island of St. Juan de Ulloa, and it is almost entirely taken up by a huge fortress. The Spaniards formerly considered this fortification impregnable, and although a portion of it was blown up by the French in 1839, it still retains its strength and cost the Americans a vast amount of trouble in the recent war. On the north-west point of the land at a considerable elevation a brilliant and commanding revolving light is stationed,—often serving to remind a stranger from Europe of similar well-remembered beacons on his native coasts.
The rainy season here commences in June, and frequently continues to the end of September. The heat prevailing at this period, and for some time before and after, is insufferable, and awfully pernicious: nor is this the worst; there are a number of large swamps in the neighbourhood of the city, and the suffocating vapours arising from them are even more productive of fever than the heat.
The present city of Vera Cruz does not occupy the same site as the town founded by the first Spanish discoverers; the latter being about six miles distant. The houses of Vera Cruz are lofty and tolerably cleanly; and there are many handsome buildings. The streets are spacious, and, considering the country, are maintained in something resembling a good condition. There is no lack of prosperous inhabitants; the store-keepers and others contriving to realize a huge profit on their dealings—and many of their habitations are romantic and beautiful. This, however, is only one side of the picture: the neighbourhood immediately adjoining the south side is most forlorn and miserable. Houses and churches are lying in ruins; weeds and parasite plants have overgrown what once were pleasant terraces; and faded and shrunken foliage droops neglectfully over the scene. Fields that ought to be cultivated are covered with rubbish or untended aloe plants; stagnant pools have formed themselves in the various hollows; and tribes of large and bloated insects buzz about your head in the air. It is, all things considered, one of the most unenviable spots in all Mexico to remain in, even for a short time—to say nothing of living there.
The commerce of the port in some articles is considerable. Great quantities of the scented vanilla are transported thence; and half a million of arrobas of sugar (an arroba is 25 lbs.) have passed the harbour in one year. Almost all European merchandise enters the country by Vera Cruz or Tampico. A stagecoach, or diligence, runs occasionally from this city to the capital; but it is often more unsafe to travel in it than with a caravan so frequently is it stopped and plundered by bands of ladrones.
The harbour of Tampico is nearly as unhealthy as that of Vera Cruz and more incommodious. There is a bar at the entrance of Boca del Rio, and another at Brazo de Santiago. It is most suitable for brigs and comparatively small vessels, though some of the rivers which flow into it are navigable. The country round Tampico is very fresh and inviting, immediately after the rainy season. There are a number of most picturesque haciendas (farm-houses) at a little distance over the mountains. The road, as you proceed, becomes exceedingly rocky and precipitous; and in some districts the atmosphere is so arid, that animal matter has a tendency to shrink and dry on exposure to it. Nearer the port, however, numerous forests of fine oak trees are to be found; and groves of iron-wood and fustic meet the eye in every direction.
The port of Matamoras is no less than forty miles distant from the town, which contains the custom-house. There are two harbours, one formed by the Rio Bravo del Norte, called Brazo de Santiago, and the other, Boca del Rio: the last-named being nine miles south of the former. Both are obstructed by bars which are impassable during a strong gale. The water of the Brazo is generally about ten feet over the bar; and that of Boca del Rio about six feet. As vessels cannot come up the river to the town, in one harbour they unload by means of lighters; and in the other they land their goods on the river banks. The tide has but little fluctuation. The anchorage is tolerable; but there is little security for ships during the fierce winds of August and September. There is no lighthouse; and the pilots of vessels judge of their proximity to the port by the discoloration of the water—a very dangerous and uncertain token during the hours of darkness.
Acapulco is one of the chief Mexican ports on the Pacific. It is so secure and spacious that five hundred ships can lie at anchor within it readily. The larger portion of the town is on the sea-shore, being shut in by lofty hills on almost every side: no wholesome breezes from the interior therefore can approach it, and it is in consequence excessively hot and unhealthy. The noxious vapours from the south-east brood perpetually over the town and port, so that at no period has it been a well-inhabited district. The land also is exceedingly unproductive, insomuch that the few residents are indebted to inland natives for their meanest articles of consumption. It is said that a fair was formerly held here, on the arrival of certain vessels from China; but this is now abolished. Its chief commercial intercourse, at this time, is with Manilla. There is an island on the south coast, with canals on either side many fathoms deep, which form the two mouths of the harbour. The castle and fort of San Diego, mounted with artillery, is situated on a promontory jutting far out upon the sea, within the distance of a musket-shot.
San Blas and Mazatlan are the remaining of principal harbours and the accommodation at both is of a very inferior description. Mazatlan is the chief calling-point on voyages from China and the Sandwich Islands to Europe and America. It is further distinguished by two different characteristics; first, that its coasts abound with particularly fine oysters and shell-fish, which the natives roast and pickle; and secondly, that its inhabitants, though their number is only five thousand, are composed of an unaccountably strange medley of different races and colours.
The republic of Mexico imposes more enormous dues and charges upon commerce and shipping than any country in the world.
Pilotage-money is exacted from foreign shipping, whether the vessel needs or takes up a pilot, or not.
Ship-papers are immediately handed, on arrival, to a custom-house officer, who gives the captain an acknowledgment for them. The charge for ballast (which is a monopoly in the hands of barge proprietors) is shamefully exorbitant, and presses very heavily on ship-owners and others. No foreign ship is allowed to supply itself with ballast by means of its own boats, on any account.
Assistance given to vessels in distress is too frequently charged for at an enormous rate; and on the west coast of Mexico especially, accidents are often occurring from the scarcity, or total want, of either light-houses, buoys, or moorings. As much as from seventy-five to a hundred pounds, English money, is frequently paid by a foreign vessel for the three items of pilotage, bill of health, and tonnage duty.The custom-house officers in Mexico are quite as insolent as such officials usually are in other countries; with the addition that they are far more open to bribery and corruption, and are not even then to be depended on by their employers.
An amusing custom-house incident was once related to me, as having happened during the occupation of the country by the Spaniards, many years ago.
A party of Spanish merchants were on their way from the city of Mexico to Vera Cruz, with the intention of embarking at that port on a return voyage to Europe. They had been successful in their commercial transactions, and were journeying to the eastward much richer men than, many months before, they had entered the country by the same route. Pleasant images of their cherished Spain, and the friends they had there left behind, thronged upon their minds; and it is not strange, as they proceeded in anticipation of soon returning thither, that lively exclamations and cheery jests—such dignified humour as a Spaniard may be supposed to countenance on joyous occasions—should have been exchanged among them. Animated conversation and hopeful expectation, therefore, quickened their eager footsteps, and kept time with the tinkling of their mules bells as they hastened on.
There was one man of the troop, however—a certain Don Surillo—who appeared to take but little interest in the self-satisfied demonstrations of his comrades; in fact, he seemed to regard the company generally with something like contempt. As he happened to be a paunchy, mean-looking personage, this conduct produced some astonishment in the minds of his fellow-travellers. They could not make it out at all! That this man should affect to be so reserved and haughty, when they were evidently disposed to unbend a little to each other—it was a perfect mystery! However, as he persevered in his demeanour, they became inclined to regard him—in spite of his appearance—as a superior kind of person, gifted with an unusually strong mind and great intelligence. Nevertheless, two or three members of the party determined to keep their eye upon him, and paid him the utmost attention accordingly. They listened attentively for any tokens of conversation on his part; watching him keenly for any signs of abating rigour in his eye or the corners of his mouth —in vain. They questioned him of his intentions and destination—nothing could they learn: of his friends and kindred—there was no reply. The Spaniards are universally a grave people; but this man was awfully grave: his aspect was heavy and portentous as though the cares of nothing less than an empire weighed upon his brow.
There was one circumstance about this strong-minded personage however that they could not avoid noticing for it was repeated on all occasions. Wherever they happened to halt on their journey—whether it was at a painted hotel or a roadside hut, a despicable rancho or a common fonda—he invariably ordered, for his own refreshment, turkey—always turkey. It was amusing to note the gusto and luscious longing with which the grave man smacked his lips over his favourite bird—to see how he yearned towards his one weakness, on all occasions, and in the most difficult circumstances, was ludicrous in the extreme. They had at last discovered the keynote of his character—the secret spring which animated him. It was turkey! Turkey roasted, turkey stewed, turkey boiled;—he lived only for turkey! Its yielding fibres and succulent juices possessed him as with one idea.
The grave man had some singularly shaped packages, too in his possession beside his complement of baggage; packages which had caused considerable speculation among his companions. They were not round neither were they oval nor were they quite square; but they were made of wicker-work externally at least, and they had a slight canvass covering. What could they contain? Not merchandize or gold—they were too light; not provisions—for he never opened them; not wine—for they were not secure; not clothing—for his apparel was in a box by itself: yet he strapped them to the back of a mule with great care. At length, one of the most curious of his fellow-travellers took advantage of his absence at a meal, to raise the canvass covering of one of the packages; he uplifted the lid, with some trouble, and looked within. There was nothing. He lifted up the cover of the other, raised the lid, and peeped into that. After all his conjectures and anticipations, he was grieved to find that both the bulky hampers contained—nothing.On the following morning they reached Vera Cruz in safety; and as every member of the party was anxious to take ship immediately—as well to avoid the risk of remaining on that feverish coast as to return to Europe forthwith—they agreed, if possible, to sail all together, in a Spanish vessel then lying in the harbour. The grave man was one of the number, and it was remarked, as the time for embarkation approached, that he was unusually active and business-like in making-his preparations.
The day at last arrived, when the company of merchants were to pass the custom-house with their goods; every man was there with his permit, his bales, his trunks, and his boxes, not excepting Don Surillo himself. The officers, attended by other officials with lances and swords, overhauled the bales and thoroughly ransacked the boxes. The report was made; all was right: there was nothing contraband. They were free of the port, after paying certain duties; and might take possession of their berths in the ship immediately.
Suddenly it was discovered that the grave Don has absented himself, though his goods have been examined too. Mysterious man! Presently he appears carrying the mysterious packages in his hand; and advancing courteously to the chief officer, he whispers something in his ear. The official, however, evidently mistrusts him, and disregards his representations. The Don persists in urging his request, and endeavours to soothe the suspicions of the officer by the most earnest appeals and solemn assurances. His comrades are only able to hear these words of the colloquy,—"I wish my friends to know nothing about it." Believing he had gained his point, he glides past the official and his satellites, and blandly attempts to make good his exit, packages in hand. But the officer arrests his progress with a loud "Ave Maria! Stop that man!" an attendant soldier rushes quickly after him; and by way of effectually preventing his further progress, buries the sharp end of his long lance in the middle of one of the mysterious hampers.
This is no sooner done, than the most dismal screams and cries issue from beneath the wicker-work, interspersed with groans and chuckles! The soldier, horror stricken, in vain endeavours to draw out his lance from the struggling mass. The soldier pulls and swears, the grave man raves and tugs at the soldier's arm, the spectators are all astonishment, and the officer darts wildly to the rescue. Meantime, the place resounds with horrid screams, short breathings and hoarse chuckles.
"Dios Mario! Pablo! I will not have them meddled with!" exclaims Don Surillo.
"I insist on examining these hampers," replies the officer.
The hampers are examined accordingly; and on opening the wicker-work he straightway produces—the bleeding body of a newly killed turkey, spitted as neatly on the end of the lance as if it had been before a fire! Then he draws out another turkey—alive, but pierced through the wing; a third takes the opportunity of leaping forth, though with hobbling gait, and shelters itself behind the booted feet of the soldiers; while a fourth is forcibly kept down by the officer, in its attempts to force its passage through the wicker-work to the light of day!
No words can adequately describe the rage and indignation of the grave man at this exhibition; for it was touching him upon a tender point. The gaping astonishment of the soldier on perceiving the novel application of his weapon, the struggles of the chief official to preserve his dignity, and the unrestrained laughter of the merchants and bystanders, combined to make the whole scene irresistibly ludicrous.
The soldiers at the custom-house made an excellent dinner that day on the spitted turkeys. As to Don Surillo, though he recovered the greater part of his seagoing treasures, he never would forgive the people at the port, nor his friends, for their enjoyment of the affair. Yet during the voyage often did he console himself with his favourite dish; still did the unctuous moisture trickle from his lips in its presence; still the burden of his contemplations was turkey ever—always turkey.