The Capitals of Spanish AmericaCurtis, William Eleroy
History
The Capitals of Spanish America
Curtis, William Eleroy
Capitals (Cities) -- Latin America; Cities and towns -- Latin America; Latin America -- Description and travel
But in the mornings and the evenings, when the air is cool, Limon is a
busy place. Dwarfish engines with long trains of cars wind down from the
interior, laden with coffee and bananas. Half-naked roustabouts file
back and forth across the gangplanks, loading steamers for Liverpool,
New York, and New Orleans. The coffee is allowed to accumulate in the
warehouses until the vessels come, but the bananas must not be picked
till the last moment, at telegraphic notice, the morning the steamer
sails. Trains of cars are sent to the side-tracks of every plantation,
and are loaded with the half-ripe fruit still glistening with the dew.
There are often as many as fifty thousand bunches on a single steamer,
representing six million bananas, but they are so perishable that more
than half the cargo goes overboard before its destination is reached.
The shipments of bananas from Costa Rica are something new in trade.
Only a few years since all our supply came from Honduras and the West
Indies, but the development of the plantations around Limon has given
that port almost a monopoly. This is due to the construction of a
railway seventy miles into the interior, intended to connect the capital
of the country and its populous valley with the Atlantic Ocean. The road
was begun by the Government, but before its completion passed into the
hands of Minor C. Keith, of Brooklyn, who has a perpetual lease, and is
attempting to extend it to San José, from and to which freight is
transported in ox-carts, a distance of thirty miles.
[Illustration: RUBBER-TREES.]
Along the track many plantations have been opened in the jungle, and
produce prolifically. Numbers of the settlers are from the United
States, from the South particularly, and it being the fashion to
christen the plantations, the traveller finds over the entrances
sign-boards that bear familiar names. Over the gate-way to one of the
finest haciendas, as they are called, is the inscription “Johnny Reb’s
Last Ditch,” a forlorn and almost hopeless ex-Confederate having drifted
there, after much buffeting by fortune, and taken up Government land, on
which he now is in a fair way to make a fortune.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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