LETTER V.

Dominican Republic.

VALLEY OF THE ISABELLA--CUSTOMS OF THE NATIVES--CHAPTER ON SNAKES--A CALL FOR DINNER.

“Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime; Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime; Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine, And all save the spirit of man is divine?”--BYRON.

There had been one or two invigorating showers previous to our ride down the valley of the Isabella, and so there remained a great deal of slippery clay along the narrow pathways, which paths lay usually on the very verge of some mountain slope, embankment, or more exciting precipice. To have come off with only one or two bones broken, I should have been perfectly satisfied.

We forded the river with impunity, crossed and recrossed it again, and finally came to as level a bottom plain as wheel ever rolled on. The valley of the Isabella is as handsome as a park.

The river itself is not so large as Longfellow’s “Beautiful River,” but it is much more deserving the name. Apropos, every old homestead has its particular title, such as the “Mocking-Bird,” “Humming-Bird,” “Crebahunda,” and a variety of others for which there is no adequate translation. The legends attending them are frequently the most exquisite.

Considering, therefore, the remarkable history, exquisite legends, and extraordinary traditions of the country, I am bound to say, should there be sufficient emigration in this direction to produce a poet of the Hiawatha school, I should be sorry for the laurels of Mr. Longfellow. There are one or two parts of “Hiawatha,” however, for which I hope to retain a relish.

The houses and cultivation along our way are in keeping with the _estancias_ before described. The men are comparatively neat in appearance, find them where you will. The women are frequently good-looking, but seldom spirited. The prevailing question seems to be, How low in the neck can their dresses be worn? and the answer is, Very low indeed! White Swiss is worn as dress, and when seen on a handsome woman is like Balm of Gilead to the wounded eye. The wife does not usually eat at the table with her husband. She sees that his baths are ready, and at times even that his horse is fed, and at meal-times either takes her plate on her lap or awaits the second table. This is not from want of respect on the part of either; it is their stupid custom. Should “los Americanos” ever run a stage-coach up this valley, and two or three of these fellows have to climb on top for the sake of giving one lady an inside seat, they will comprehend somewhat better for whose convenience the world was made.

_June 14th._--Señor Pastorisa fell ill to-day, and is now lying in a hammock. This gives me an opportunity to extol the hammock, which is too excellent a thing to pass unnoticed. It consists mainly of a net-work of grass, netted something like a seine, twice the length of a person or more, and fastened at the ends with cords sufficiently strong to hold the weight of any one. These cords are tied to the limb of a tree or the rafters of a house, and there you swing as happy as any baby ever rocked in a tree-top. It is sufficiently light to be carried in saddle-bag, and is altogether indispensable.

The señor’s fever is also my excuse for pencilling down notes more minutely than I otherwise should. I can, of course, give you a description of but few things singly. The palm-tree ought to be one. This remarkable tree grows without a limb, smooth and regular as a barber-pole, from forty to sixty feet high. At this point it turns suddenly green, and puts out two or three shoots. Around these grow its berries, which are used for fattening pork. Each of these shoots furnishes monthly a rare peel or skin, which is used for covering houses, for packing tobacco, and for making bath-tubs, trays, and other articles of household furniture. The body of the tree is used for weather-boarding. It rives like a lath, the inside being pithy, somewhat like an elder. Its leaves are twelve feet long, and bend over as gracefully as an arch. In the centre of the top springs out a single blade, like the staff of a parasol. This was made (one would think) for mocking-birds to dance on. The most useful tree in the world, its usefulness is excelled by its own beauty.

The valley of the Isabella is a grove of palms.

* * * * *

One cannot but remark how preposterous are the snake stories which the vulgar relate respecting the West Indies and tropics generally. The world does not contain another thing so brazenly destitute of the least common sense. In all this rambling through the woods, over the hills, and along the streams, the most harmful thing I have seen is a honey-bee--not even a dead garter-snake!

While on board a vessel off the coast one day, a sailor threw overboard a hook and line, and in the course of time caught a young shark. It was as wicked a little thing as I ever saw, and strong as a new-born giant. The sailor struck it over the head with a stick, when it snapped the hook and flounced around the vessel. In short, he killed it, and proceeded to dress it for breakfast.

“Going to eat a shark?” I inquired.

“Why not?”

“Good heavens! I thought they were the worst things in the world.”

“You eat duck,” said he; “what’s nastier than a duck? Shark’s clean--swims in a clean sea.”

I afterwards tasted a piece: it was coarse, and the idea that its mother might some day eat me, made the thing disgusting; but it learned me a lesson I shall not very soon forget. An Irishman is afraid to go to America on account of its frogs; a Frenchman makes a dish of them. One man eats rats, and another cats.

Now, to suppose there were no reptiles whatever in the country, or none peculiar to its bays and inlets, would be simply absurd; and when we get to the coast, I should be sorry to miss seeing some lazy old crocodile sunning in the sand. Should it have seven heads, however, I shall very likely catch it, and send it straight to Barnum; but if not, why, as Banks would the Union, let the snaky thing slide.

Your “Allergater in de brake” song may do for the Southern States, with their rhythmetical-and-stolen-from-the-African-coast slaves; but to apply it to this country would disgrace the most idiotic “What-is-it” ever imported. Of naturally wild quadruped animals there is not so much as a squirrel. Birds are without number.

* * * * *

Stanley is himself again! One and a half hours’ ride, two fords of the river, (rising,) and we are at the mouth of the famous Isabella. The river is here, but the town of Isabella has passed away forever. The delta is covered with mahogany timbers; two schooners stand out in the distance awaiting to transport them to Europe; and with these exceptions--and with these alone, unless it be the absence of the Indians--were Columbus to arrive here again to-day, he would not find a particle more of improvement than was found here over three centuries and a half ago. A boat load of oarsmen coming down the river, the captain leading in a song, and all hands joining in the chorus; a splash is heard on the other side of the water, as if broken by a fish or clumsy sea-turtle; but except these sounds a death-like stillness pervades the entire valley.

To get a better view, you must cross the promontory (the northernmost point of the island) to where Columbus first landed. From thence you see the Haytien frontier stretching away in the dim blue distance, and the scene is enchantment.

Over the rocks we go, led on by a Spaniard on a little bay mule, that climbs over the cliffs with an agility creditable even for a mountain goat. The señor’s horse falters. One misstep, and they both go to eternity!

We are on the beach. My zeal to commemorate the landing of Columbus by gathering a few tiny tinted shells reconciles the señor to sit in the sun and hold my horse for a minute; but I have no doubt he had rather see me as expert at gathering peas or picking up potatoes. “Ah! H.,” says he, “leave off writing books and gathering shells; get married, and come to farming.” So I will--all but the married.

But you will want to know what, after all, is the matter with the port. It is shallow. Vessels of a hundred tons burthen cannot get within as many rods of a harbor. In fact, the only question is, why a man of Columbus’ sense ever stopped there at all. It is not worth the pen and ink it would take to describe it.

CALLED AT THE FIRST HOUSE FOR DINNER.

“Come, let the fatted calf be slain,” was complied with to the very letter, except that in this instance it happened to be a _goat_. Nevertheless, it was worth the return of any prodigal son.

The largest “señorita” had a dress to make up. It was a piece of light blue delaine, and to her, no doubt, was “superb.” She left off assisting the old patriarch in dressing the goat, walked to the pitcher, took the cocoanut dipper, and filled her mouth with water until her cheeks swelled out like a porpoise’s. She then deliberately spirted it into her hands; and this was her mode of washing! She then spreads out her dry-goods, admires them a while, folds them up again, and lays them aside.

The four, and even six year old, running about the place, were as innocent of even a shirt as any son of Adam at his coming into the world.

We look out into the open, slab-sided kitchen, and see old and young sitting around on the dirt floor, enjoying a meal of fresh goat, winter squash, and plantain stewed together.

Our dinner is over; we bid these folks good-bye, and pronounce them the happiest set of miserably contented mortals the sun ever shone upon. Man needs excitement; he prays for ease.

We return to Pastorisa Place to spend the Sabbath. Two or three days of rest, and we start fresh again for Porto Cabello.

So ends the week--one at least in my life for which it was worth the trouble to have lived.