A Visit to the South Side of Guatemala by J. B. Stuyvesant

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Tacoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jul 15, 1915

A Visit to the South Side of Guatemala

By J. B. Stuyvesant

J. B. STUYVESANT

We recently received a letter from an old neighbor in Lamar, Mo. (our old home), stating that he thought we had been killed in the earthquake which destroyed Cartago, Costa Rica, some years ago, as he knew we had lived there for a time. This thought may have been due to the fact that we have had no report in the REVIEW for a very long time. Therefore, since we have also been urged to write a report of our recent trip through the southwestern part of this republic, we take this opportunity of letting all our friends know that we are still among the living, for which we thank God.

With the threefold object of getting acquainted with the richest and most populous part of our field, distributing our Spanish translation of the REVIEW AND HERALD War Extra, and testing the territory on book sales, we left Guatemala City, Friday, December 11, with a steamer trunk and a large grip full of books, and two large grain sacks full of papers in rolls.

On leaving the capital, which has an altitude of 4,775 feet, the railroad makes a rapid descent to Escuintla, forty-seven miles to the south, with an altitude of but 1,108 feet. For a few miles we travel across a gently sloping plain, when suddenly we are confronted with a deep depression, and we seem about to plunge over the high bluff to the deep valley below. But our train swings off to one side, and we begin to wind our way down and around many short curves to the lower level.

Soon we cross the upper end of the beautiful little Amatitlan Lake, on a long embankment and bridge, then follow its winding shore for four or five miles, filled with admiration for this gem of beauty, whose waters reflect the rugged mountains which shut it in, and which slope to the water's edge. From its western shore Mt. Agua rises to an altitude of 12,300 feet, towering in grandeur like a mighty sentinel keeping vigil over the many cities and towns visible from its summit, from which, we are told, both the Atlantic and the Pacific Ocean may be seen in clear weather.

Here, they tell us, we are in an old crater, and as we smell the sulphur and see the steam rising from the various hot springs, which issue from the slopes and find their way into the lagoon, we are prepared to believe it true. Several old volcanic mountains are near this spot.

The lake soon narrows down to a small stream running between fields of sugar cane in the narrow valley. We continue to follow its leading for a little while, when suddenly a magnificent view presents itself. We have come forth from the deep valley in the heart of the mighty hills, and are starting down the steep southern slope of the Sierras. On the west, near by and towering high above us, is the familiar Mt. Agua, from whose high summit there is a steep slope of about 11,000 feet to the wide plains below, which in their turn drop gently off to the sea, about thirty miles to the south, and extend farther than the eye can see to the west.

Behind us on the highlands all is dry and dusty, for it is the dry season; but below, all is a rich tropical green. To the west of Agua we see the old volcanoes (now inactive), Fuego and Acatenango, rising to 12,600 and 12,900 feet, and beyond them Atitlan reaches up to 11,600 feet, while still beyond, Mts. San Pedro, San Tomas, Zumil, Santa Maria (the terrible destroyer of 1902), Tajumulco, and Tacana wait to greet our vision as we journey westward to the Mexican boundary.

About 2 P. M. we reach the station for Santa Lucia, where all is hot and dusty. Two Indian women take our heavy grips on their heads and deliver them in the town about two miles distant, for the sum of four pecos (about twelve cents gold), while we are given one of the most violent shakings that we ever enjoyed in a coach, as we travel over the rocky road.

We are to spend the Sabbath in this town, and are met by our only native brother, who, while visiting here, is trying to interest some friends in the truth. We are soon out in town with the papers. In the evening we have a small meeting in a private house, and the next night another in the same house, which is followed by one in the house where we stay, lasting till late at night. Several Catholics are present, and also a few Protestants.

(To be continued)