A Glimpse of Caracas

1896

What Correspondent Saw in Venezuela's Capital

Comparatively few of the men here ever venture into the street unarmed, writes a Caracas correspondent of the New York Herald. There are laws prohibiting the carrying of concealed weapons, but they are never observed. One of the professors in the university here assures me that he is convinced that every one of the students who attends his lectures has a revolver in his hip pocket. Weapons are often worn as much for ornaments as for protection or aggression. The caballero with silver spurs and gay trappings who prances about on a frisky mule or Peruvian horse is not fully equipped without a brace of revolvers. The humbler fellows who trudge the country lanes afoot or on burros' backs take special pride in the knives they carry in fancy sheaths at their waists, and which are equally available for cutting food or enemies. The far-famed machete is so long that the most convenient way to carry it is in the hand. It is the most terrible weapon in war and is used for every possible purpose in times of peace, opening virgin forests, cutting down trees, digging and building.

Human life is held very cheap in Venezuela, except by the law of the land in dealing with murderers. There is no capital punishment here, and a man who is caught red-handed in crime knows that the heaviest sentence that could be imposed on him is ten years' imprisonment. The worst cases, I am told, are sent to a prison in the marshy districts near the western frontier, where the man who survives his term is a phenomenon, and where two years is as much as most men can endure. Stabbing and shooting affrays are very common and rarely receive more attention than half a dozen lines in the local papers, in which sympathy is expressed for the relatives of the deceased.

The proportion of men that one sees in the streets of Caracas who are minus an arm or a leg is greater by far than it was in the United States at the close of the Civil War. Comparatively few of the cripples here were maimed in battle during the revolutions, most of them having been hurt in private brawls.

The Vargas Hospital, in Caracas, is a large institution, admirably located on a hillside and excellently managed. No public building in Venezuela is complete without a statue, and as one enters the main door of the hospital one sees in the central patio a statue of Vargas, who was, I believe, President of the Republic at the time the hospital was founded. There are ten wards for women, all opening on a long courtyard to the left of the entrance, and as many for men on the other side.

The tiny hack horses of Caracas are mainly skin and bones, and the drivers, like their prototypes all over the world, show them very little consideration. Besides the little native horses one sees in the streets many Peruvian horses, which are one size larger and are excellent for riding, and big American horses in swell carriages. Burros far outnumber the horses, and mules are very common.

Teams of oxen are used to haul the heavy wagons, and cows are driven by milkmen from door to door with their calves by their sides. Most of the calves have their muzzles tied in rags to prevent them from getting any milk before all the customers have been supplied. It is also a common thing to see a boy driving a flock of turkeys through the main streets, usually in the direction of the markets. In the corrals are usually many live animals that have been brought in from the country and left for sale — deer and wild pigs, with bristles like porcupines, predominating.

About the market place are kept the skins of huge snakes and wild animals, for which fancy prices are asked if they are in reasonably good condition. The prettiest fur is that of the leopard-tigre they call it here. The tigre is very ferocious and is dreaded by all who have occasion to travel. The puma, which is dignified by the name of lion, is far less common, and about equally dangerous to meet.

I fancy that the supply of dogs has always been large in Caracas, as the Cathedral here has an odd functionary called a perero, or dog boy. The office dogs bark to the colonial dogs, and the present occupant is an urchin with a black face, very bright eyes and a beautiful set of teeth. In the street he looks like any other little fellow who does not keep his face particularly clean, but in the Cathedral he is quite imposing in his long gown of dark purplish blue and his big white collar. He carries in his hand a stout whip, with a long, knotted lash, and he walks about with all the pride of a recruit in the army carrying a gun for the first time. He is quite expert, and loud yelps occasionally prove that his whip hurts.

Broncho Busting Near Its End

1921

Said There Will Be No More Wild Horses in Rocky Mountain States

CIVILIZATION SPELLS FINISH

Ranches Are Being Fenced and No More Do Wild Horses Range the Plains of Wyoming and Adjacent States

Denver, Colo. — Broncho busters of the northern Rocky Mountain states are about to go out of business, according to reports from officials of wild West and frontier shows. The reason is there aren't any wild horses to bust. At least not around Wyoming and this part of the country.

But down in Arizona they have wild horses to eat. There are 10,000 of them. They belong to the San Carlos Indians, who have a reservation not far from Globe. But there isn't much chance of getting the Arizona ponies for the broncho busters of Wyoming, for the Indians won't give them up.

Growing Shorter

The day of the wild herd of horses roaming the plains of Wyoming and adjacent states has been growing rapidly shorter with the encouragement of civilization. More and more ranches are being fenced in, herds of cattle are reduced or confined, and to make the matter worse for the existence of the wild steeds, oil drilling camps have been extended over wide areas of Wyoming, northwestern Colorado and Utah.

But down on the San Carlos Indian reservation there are 10,000 wild steeds, roaming at will over the fields, destroying mile after mile of grazing land which might be put into good use for cattle, and turning green grass of the prairie into a scrawny covering for their bones which hardly makes even a decent meal for an Indian.

The cattlemen have tried to buy them, but the Indians wouldn't listen. The government, through A. H. Symonds, Indian agent, ordered to purchase them at about $6 a head, invest the money in cattle and save the meat from the horses, giving it back to the Indians for winter food.

Horses Are Worthless

But the Indians would have none of it. The horses are worthless, even for hides. They cannot be domesticated and the meat isn't much of a delicacy, but the Indians insist on their age-old prerogative to have their herds out on the open prairie even as their fathers did. The Indians also have about 2,000 wild burros which they say they will keep.

"And when an Indian makes up his mind," Symonds says, "you've got to have patience to get him to change it. They are proud of the horses and burros for some reason, and although some of their leaders have tried to persuade them to accept the offers made, so far they have refused to sell."