Nature and Art, December 1, 1866.] 
THE PITCH LAKE. 
205 
towards the sea, and for the most part throw out a 
sort of buttress, with a sloping side seaward, which 
lessens the abruptness of the meeting between land 
and water, without taking away the idea of grandeur 
which is conveyed by the height of the mountains 
themselves. The aspect is beyond question bold, 
and as one sails along the coast, and looks in vain 
for some opening, unguarded by either nature or art, 
he is reminded of the description given by 
Hollinshed, of Lundy, which is “ so immured with 
rocks, and impaled with beetle-browed cliffs, that 
there is no entrance but for friends.” As soon, 
however, as the north-west corner has been reached, 
and the Gulf of Paria entered through either of 
the Bocas — the Boca de Monas, or Apes Channel, 
is the narrowest and most dangerous, but the most 
beautiful — the character of the scenei-y is altered. 
The hills retreat into the back ground, and gradually 
give way, even inland, to lower and more culti- 
vable ground. One of the most magnificent bays 
in the world, both for size and beauty, lies stretched 
out before the sight, rivers and mountain streams 
are there, running down to the sea, amid the most 
luxuriant jflants and trees that the tropics can 
show ; the undulating ground prevents the idea of 
monotony from entering, and the eye is prevented 
from wearying with the continued contemplation 
of so much natural beauty, not only by the varying 
tints and forms of these beauties themselves, but 
by the relief afforded by the deep blue sea which, 
unsullied here by the earth-laden currents of the 
Oronoque, ripples quietly and peacefully upon the 
margin of the land. In this bay is Port of Spain, 
the chief town of the island, and one of the finest 
in the West Indies, shut in at the back by a range 
of hills, thickly wooded with all kinds of trees. A 
description of the bay and its beauties could not 
be adequately made either by pen or pencil ; but it 
is sufficient for the present purpose, which is to 
establish a contrast between the Paradisaical ap- 
pearance of the upper part of the Gulf with the 
Tartarean gloom of the memento mori at the lower 
part, to say that neither the Bay of Naples, nor 
Dublin Bay, nor any of the beautiful spots which 
nature has delighted to adorn in other parts of the 
West Indies, nor any other place at home or 
abroad, can compare for loveliness with the bay in 
which Port of Spain lies. It is beauty paramount. 
Mona Point is the northern limit of this bay, and 
Cape la Brea is its southern boundary, the distance 
between the two headlands in a straight line being 
thirty-five miles. As the traveller goes by sea from 
Port of Spain towards La Brea, he sees a different and 
less beautiful coast than that he is leaving behind. 
The land is lower and less attractive, but still so 
' beloved of nature that were it not for the super- 
magnificence of the neighbouring part, it would be 
reckoned grand, and absolutely is higher in the 
scale than the finest parts of some of the other 
islands, e.g., Barbados. In this district lies the 
plain of Carapiquaine, backed by the yet more- 
fertile and well-cultivated plain of the Caroni. 
A course south and by west from Port of Spain 
will, in the course of a morning, bring the traveller 
off the southern point of the bay — Cape la Brea. 
For several miles before coming to it the land is low, 
flat, and thickly wooded ; mangrove bushes push 
out into the sea, and there are other tokens of 
shallows and of a shelving shore. The Cape itself 
is the head of a small promontory, which juts about 
two miles into the sea, and contains the site of the 
Pitch Lake. Within a quarter of a mile from the 
shore there is good anchorage, and water deep 
enough for a ship of the line ; but inside of that the 
water shoals rapidly, and, especially when there is 
more north than usual in the wind, causes a heavy 
surf to roll. At a distance of six miles from the 
land a bituminous smell, which grows stronger and 
stronger the nearer one approaches, indicates the 
neighbourhood of the Pitch Lake and its belong- 
ings. Among the latter is a submarine spring, 
which manifests itself at a short distance south of 
the Cape, not always active, but when in motion 
throwing up large quantities of petroleum and 
bitumen. Forty miles further south ai’e several 
mud volcanoes, always more or less active, and in the 
Bay of Mayaro, in the eastern side of the island, is 
another submarine volcano ; but neither the former 
nor the latter can be said to be in any way con- 
nected with the Pitch Lake, excepting so far as 
they are all the outcome of some hidden cause 
beneath the surface. 
After getting through the surf, which at times is 
a very ti-oublesome operation, the traveller lands 
upon what is no more nor less than an asphalte beach. 
Large lumps of solid pitch crop out here and there 
through the earth and cinders which loosely clothe 
the ground, and the roadway and all the parts ex- 
posed to friction show a surface as black and grimy as 
the floor of a coal-yard. The eye cannot fail to be 
impressed with the richness of the vegetation, and 
the deep tints of the green on all the plants. This 
richness is due to some cause originating in the 
pitch, whether it operate through the medium of 
the atmosphere or of the soil, and is not apparent 
only, as some have suggested, in consequence of the 
contrast presented by the black ground in which 
the vegetation flourishes. The soil itself is as light 
in character as it is dark in colour, and seems to 
have but little affection for its bed, seeing that it 
is driven hither and thither by any wind that blows, 
producing a parched sensation in the throat and 
mouth, and tilling all the pores of the skin and all 
one’s clothes with an unpleasant impalpable powder. 
Trees are plentiful, and shrubs and quickly-growing 
plants abound ; the land, as has been stated, is 
generally low and flattish, but rises gradually as 
the traveller goes inland, until it attains a height 
at the Pitch Lake of eighty feet above the level of 
the sea. 
A mile along the dusty pitch-road, which now 
and then is quite bereft of covering, and shows the 
solid slabs of friable asphalte underneath, brings the 
traveller to the Pitch Lake itself. Here the smell 
is overpoweringly strong ; having, in addition to 
the concentrated essence of pitch, a sulphureous 
flavour, which clings to the olfactory nerves for 
some time after they have ceased to be exposed to 
