IV 



THE SPANISH MAIN 



THE Spanish Main is so bound up with the old 

 romance of bloodshed and loot, of sunken galleons 

 and of British piracy, so pregnant with memories 

 of Westward Ho / and Roderick Random, that to 

 discourse in cold blood of its sea-fishing possi- 

 bilities is enough to make those old neglected 

 ghosts rise from their cerements. All the same, 

 one of my fondest memories of Cartagena will 

 always be the bucketful of snapper and yellowtail 

 that, in company with the Captain and Captain 

 Benson, the well-known travel lecturer, I caught 

 on the wharf, my old trout-rod bending gaily every 

 few moments as each fish tried hard to break the 

 gut collar and escape beneath the piles. 



Yet Cartagena is worth more attention than 

 that bestowed on the fishes of its docks. To get to 

 it, steamers are compelled to make a long detour 

 round an island, giving passengers the impression 

 that the steamer is not going to call at the port at 

 all. The reason for this roundabout approach is 

 that, at some period in the eighteenth century, the 

 citizens, weary of having their city ravaged alter- 

 nately by English and French pirates, blocked up 

 the proper entrance to the harbour, and the barri- 

 cades have never been removed. This adds, if I 

 remember right, an hour to the journey from the 

 outer sea, and I should imagine that the Colombian 



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