April i, 1905.] 



THE INDIA RUBBER \A^ORLD 



223 



NICOLAS SUAREZ, A SOUTH AMERICAN RUBBER BARON, 



By Charles Johnson Post. 



ALMOST in the very heart of unexplored South America, 

 at the upper end of the Fallsof the Madeira — by the side 

 of the " Cachuela Esperanza,"* in fact — there stands a 

 little marble shaft enclosed by a rusty and broken iron 

 fence. The space within is overgrown with weeds and creepers 

 that, in these tropics, spring up in a night, and between the 

 cracks of the poorly laid cement lizards dart in and out. Some- 

 where hidden in the growth about the base is the inscription : 

 " In loving memory of the wife of Nicolas Suarez." 

 It stands alone on a little rocky eminence above the cataract, 

 and within the roar of its beaten waters. It is pathetic in its 

 desolation ; it looks shabby, and seems neglected ; but when 

 you realize that it has meant 

 the labor of scores of Indians 

 (or many months dragging the 

 great weight of the marble 

 blocks around the eighteen 

 portages of the falls, that the 

 nearest outpost of civilization 

 is a thousand miles away, and 

 that, measured by the stand- 

 ard of money alone it to-day 

 represents its weight in silver 

 bullion, then you recognize 

 the real dignity of the tribute. 

 This is the work of Nicolas 

 Suarez, the man who, starting 

 with nothing thirty years ago, 

 has made himself the largest 

 single shipper of rubber in the 

 world ; what Rockefeller is in 

 the world of oil that is Suarez 

 in rubber in Bolivia. His in- 

 come is far beyond his capa- 

 city for enjoyment, and he 

 leads the "simple life" to a 

 degree scarcely within the 

 dreams of the emotional de- 

 votees of Wagner. 



A thousand yards beyond 

 the lonely grave is a long line 

 of cabins with palm-thatched 

 roofs and cane walls. Farther 

 in the background straggle 

 the huts of the Indian work- 

 men, and on the right above NICOLAS 



the bank of the river project [Sketched at his home in Bolivia, 



the black funnels of the little river steamers that are taking 

 on their cargo of trade stufTs for the trip up among the barra- 

 cas of the little upper tributaries. Near them is the saw mill, 

 the blacksmith's shed, and the repair shops for Suarez's fleet. 

 A long line of straggling Indians are portaging Mac/tas ol rub- 

 ber to the waiting butalons below the cataract. 



This is the headquarters of Nicolas Suarez. He himself is 

 seldom there. The life of the manager, seated in an office and 

 surround ed by accounts and reports, is but little to his liking : 



* The uppermost of the long series of cataracts obstructing the river Madeira, 

 the largest tributary of the Amazon. The location of Senor Suarez is in the ex- 

 treme northeast of Bolivia— the point in that republic nearest I'ai.'i.— Thk Editor. 



generally he is off up the rivers somewhere on one of his fleet 

 of lanchas and in active command of some enterprise. He be- 

 gan in that way, carrying his goods on his back or wielding a 

 paddle, and now, when his business has grown so that twenty 

 bookkeepers are needed to attend to his accounts at Esperanza 

 alone, and he has managers up and down all of the rivers of the 

 interior, besides his own houses in Manaos, Paid, and London, 

 he still finds his relaxation and enjoyment in attending to the 

 small details that gave him his start. But if some large ques- 

 tion in the business arises it is he himself who decides it, and it 

 is on these occasions that his genius for control and organiza- 

 tion are manifested. In appearance he is a stockily built man 



of perhaps five feet five or six 

 in height ; a square head and 

 a strong jaw accent his per- 

 sonality ; his hair is thick and 

 bristly, slightly tinged with 

 grey, and a long heavy mous- 

 tache projects on either side 

 of his head like the long horns 

 of a plains steer. A slouch 

 hat, a white cotton shirt that 

 is seldom decorated with a 

 collar save for some fiesta, 

 white cotton trousers, and a 

 cheap seersucker coat are his 

 usual attire. On occasion he 

 can go barefoot as readily as 

 an Indian. 



He was born in Bolivia, of 

 Bolivian parents, and speaks 

 only Spanish and the varying 

 dialects of the savages that he 

 has acquired in his trading 

 among them. Twice he has 

 been to London, where he 

 established one of his brothers 

 as the agent for the house of 

 Suarez y Hermanos — the offi- 

 cial name of his business. He 

 did not care for London. Nei- 

 ther the food nor the customs 

 of civilization appealed to him. 

 He prefers the chalona (frozen 

 mutton), chuno (frozen pota- 

 SUAREZ. \.of:%), chargiti (the jerked beef 



for THE India Rleber World.] ^f ^^e pampas), and the Vts- 



cocha or double baked bread that is used on the river expedi- 

 tions. The hard life and the simple fare are his by preference. 

 His wealth that places every luxury within his reach means 

 nothing to him — it is merely a matter of books and figures. 



He is of uncertain age ; you would readily believe that he was 

 but 45, and you would not be surprised to know that he was 60. 

 He was born in the little frontier village of Reyes, just beyond 

 the eastern foothills of the Andes, and in a country that was in- 

 fested with the Guarayasand Paquayguarras, hostile and treach- 

 erous barbaros. Those were in the days when there was no 

 currency in the country; all trade was by barter. Ouina (the 

 quinine bark) was the great staple, and the enormously rich 



