A little geography may not be amiss here. A glance at the map will show that the city of BogotÁ is situated upon a vast plateau, at an altitude of about 8,500 feet above sea-level, 4 degrees from the equator, and 75 degrees to the west of Greenwich. Its position in the continent is central. It is perched like a nest high up in the mountains. To reach the ocean, and thus the outer world, the inhabitants of BogotÁ are even now still compelled to have recourse to quite primitive methods; true, there are some apologies for railways starting northward, southward and westward, but in some cases their impetus ends as soon as they reach the end of the plain, and in others long before attaining that distance. Once the railway journey finished—which does not exceed two or three hours on any of the lines—the traveller has to content himself with the ancient and slow method of riding, mostly mule riding. The ground is so broken and the roads are so bad that horses could not cross them as safely as that thoughtful, meditative, and much-maligned animal the mule. After covering a distance of some ninety to one hundred miles westward, the traveller reaches the town of Honda, which lies on the Magdalena River. Here steam-boats are to be found, stern-wheeled, shallow-bottomed, drawing no more than from 2½ to 3 feet, in which, within four or five days, he makes the journey down to the sea-coast.

The map of the country would seem to show that the easiest way from the capital to the ocean would be towards the Pacific, and as the crow flies such is the case; but between BogotÁ and the Pacific Ocean the Andes, at some period of their youth, must have frolicked and gambolled amongst themselves and lost their way home, so that they now form the most rugged country imaginable. Geographers, with that thirst for classification that afflicts—or should I rather say animates?—men of science, speak of two or three chains of mountains. The average man, however, who has to travel over that country, conceives his task as corresponding to a start made from one end of a huge comb, following the developments of it from the root to the point of each tooth until Providence and Nature take pity on him, and land him, so to speak, on the sea-shore.

BogotÁ is no thoroughfare. When you get there, there you are, and if you go there, it is because you were bent on it; it is not like other towns that may be on the road to somewhere else, so that travellers may chance to find themselves there.

The plateau of BogotÁ proper was formerly—no one knows how many centuries or thousands of years ago—a lake of about eighty square miles encased between the surrounding mountains. The waters of the lake broke through the barrier of mountains towards the south, draining it, and leaving the plateau dry, save for some small lakes that dot it here and there, and a few rivers of no great importance. I could not help thinking that this immense lake thus held aloft upon that mighty pedestal at such an altitude formed a sort of gigantic goblet such as is rarely seen under the sun. The river that marks the course through which the waters are supposed to have been drained drags its sluggish waves meandering in many turns and twists from north to south along the plain, and gives a sudden leap of 750 feet through the open gap on the mountain-side, forming those magnificent waterfalls called the Tequendama. The river plunges headlong, as if to make up for its previous semi-stagnant condition; it disappears between two mighty walls of stone, polished as if chiselled by the hand of man; it roars with a deafening sound; its waters appear, as they curl over the abyss, white as the wool of a lamb, and their consistency conveys the impression of wool rather than that of snow. The morning sun plays upon the mass of waters, and crowns it with a halo of rainbows varying in size. On the borders of the river, at the place where the cataract springs, are to be seen evergreens and pine-trees, and other such plants belonging to the temperate or cold zones; down below, where the water falls, and the river reappears like a dying stream following its course in the lower valley, palm-trees and tropical vegetation are to be seen, and birds of variegated plumage, parrots, cockatoos, parroquets and others, fly like living arrows from the sunlight, and plunge into the mist with piercing shrieks amidst the deafening roar of the cataract.

As we journeyed on in the cool night air, it seemed to me that the whole country—north, south, east and west—lay at my feet, and to the mind’s eye it appeared with its vast interminable plains to the east crossed by numberless rivers, the mountain region to the north on the western side of the Magdalena Valley, the broad plains in the Lower Magdalena, and the rugged mountainous district of Antioquia on the western side of the river, and then mountains and more mountains towards the Pacific Ocean.

Surely, if a journey in these days presents such difficulties, the first journey undertaken by the conquerors who discovered the plateau of BogotÁ, may be held for a feat worthy of those men who, whatever their faults, were brave among the bravest.

Towards the east of the Magdalena River, on the coast of the Atlantic, the city of Santa Marta had been founded somewhere in 1530. News of the vast empire alleged to exist in the interior of the country had reached the founders of the town, and they soon decided to conquer that region about which such marvels were told. In the month of August, 1536, an expedition of 700 soldiers, infantry, and 80 horse left Santa Marta to penetrate into the heart of the continent, confident in their courage, and lusting for gold and adventure. This part of the expedition marched by land, and 200 more men journeyed in boats along the river Magdalena.

A full narrative of their adventures would be long. They met foes large and small, from poisonous reptiles and the numerous insects which made life a burden, to tigers and alligators: add to these fevers and illnesses absolutely unknown to them. It is said that one man, whilst sleeping in camp with all his companions, was snatched from his hammock by a famished tiger. At times the rank and file seemed ripe for mutiny, but the captain was a man of iron. His name was Gonzalo JimÉnez de Quesada. Though himself sore smitten by some disease peculiar to the locality, he kept the lead, and dragged the rest in his train. Praise is likewise due to the chaplain of the expedition, Domingo de las Casas, who stoutly supported the commander. This friar was a kinsman of that other friar BartolomÉ de las Casas, whose unwearying efforts in behalf of the native races won for him the well-deserved name of ‘Protector of the Indians.’

After a while the boats and the shores of the great river were abandoned, and the men found themselves in a mountainous country where the temperature became more tolerable and pleasant as they climbed higher. Finally, their eyes beheld the Empire of the Chibchas. What a joy—after toil and suffering which had lasted over seventeen months, when only 160 of the original expedition were left—to gaze upon a land where cultivated fields were seen in all directions, and the hearth-smoke rising from the houses to heaven! This was the land of the Chibchas, who formed an empire second only to that of the Incas of Peru and the Aztecs of Mexico. They had a religion—by no means a bad one as religions went amongst the American aborigines—they had their code of laws, their division of time, their rules and codes in all matters appertaining to family life and administration of government; they tilled the soil, they believed in the immortality of the soul, they reverenced their dead, and practised barter according to well-defined laws.

The thousands and thousands of soldiers which the Zipa or King of the Chibchas could bring against the Spaniards were overawed rather than overcome by force. The greater sagacity of the Spaniards, coupled with their courage, soon made them masters of the land. JimÉnez de Quesada founded the city of BogotÁ in 1537. He chose a spot on the plains which suited him—where the city now stands—and, clad in full armour, surrounded by his companions and by a large crowd of Indians, plucked some grass from the ground, and, unsheathing his sword, declared that he took possession of the land for the greater glory of God as the property of his King and master, Charles V. of Spain. Then turning, with a fierce glance, to those who surrounded him, he challenged one and all to single combat should they dare to dispute his action. Naturally, no dispute arose, and so the title was acquired. They had their own peculiar ways, those old Spanish conquerors! A similar method was followed by NuÑez de Balboa, when, in the name of his King and master, he took possession of the Pacific Ocean with whatever lands and islands might border on it, stepping into the waters clad in full armour, holding the flag of Spain in his left hand, and his trusty Toledo blade—la de Juanes—in his right.

To speak of this conquest of the Chibcha Empire recalls the fact that the land of BogotÁ was really the land of El Dorado. El Dorado in Spanish means the gilt one, the man covered with gold, and all chroniclers and historians of the early period are agreed as to the origin of the tradition.

The King of the Chibchas, amongst whom power and property passed by law of inheritance from uncle to nephew, was called the Zipa. His power as a monarch was absolute, but to attain the dignity of what we should nowadays call Crown Prince, and to become in due course King, it was not enough to be a nephew, or even to be the right nephew. The prospective heir to the throne had to qualify himself by passing through an ordeal which Princes of other nations and other times would certainly find most obnoxious. He had to live in a cave for six years, fasting the whole time, with limited rations, barely enough to sustain life. No meat or salt were to be eaten during the whole time. He must see no one, with the exception of his male servants, nor was he even allowed to gaze upon the sun. Only after sunset and before sunrise might he issue from his cave. After this ordeal he was qualified, but should he have so much as cast his eyes upon a woman during that period, his rights to the throne were lost. The consecration, so to speak, of the Zipa took the form of a most elaborate ceremony. The prospective Zipa would betake himself—being carried upon a special sort of frame so arranged that twenty men standing under it could lift it upon their shoulders—to one of the five sacred lakes that still exist in the plateau, generally to the lake of Guatavita. There, stripped naked, his body was smeared with a resinous substance, upon which gold-dust was sprinkled in large quantities. Naturally, after this process the man appeared like unto a very statue of gold. Two other high dignitaries or chiefs, called Caciques, as nude as the Zipa, would go with him upon a raft of twisted reeds and slowly paddle into the centre of the lake. All round the shore was a dense crowd, burning a species of aromatic herb which produced clouds of smoke. On every hand was heard the sound of music, or, rather, of noises representing the music customary at all ceremonies. On the raft, at the feet of the Zipa, lay a huge pile of gold and emeralds. Each of his companions, too, had gold and emeralds, wherewith to propitiate the god in whose honour the ceremony was performed. One of the chiefs in the raft would raise a white flag and wave it. The noise on the shores became deafening, whilst the gilded Zipa threw into the lake all the gold and all the emeralds; then his companions would follow his example. When all the gold and emeralds on the raft had been cast into the lake, the people ashore also made their offerings of gold. Thus, after six years’ fasting, the Zipa was (so to put it) anointed or qualified for kingship. On reaching the land the period of abstinence came to an end, and now that the Zipa was full-fledged Crown Prince, or Zipa (if his predecessor should have chanced to die), his first act was to get gloriously drunk.

From the early days of the conquest, efforts were made to drain the five lakes, from which numerous samples of gold idols and roughly-worked gold have been recovered. Even recently a company was formed in England for that purpose. The tradition in this case being so universal, it seems rational to assume that vast treasures must lie at the bottom of these lakes, because the Chibchas were an ancient race, and their ceremonies must have been repeated during centuries. The country also is rich in emeralds and in gold—hence the belief in the large amount of treasure to be obtained from those lakes whose waters look so placid.

Some years ago in BogotÁ an enthusiast, who sought to form a company for the purpose of draining one of the lakes, carried about with him a few samples of gold, idols and suchlike, which, so he said, had been brought to light by a man whom he named, a good diver, who plunged five times into the lake, and after each plunge brought up one of the specimens exhibited. He argued thus: The bottom of the lake must be practically studded with gold, since Mr. X. succeeded each time. There are millions in the lake, and all that is needed is a little money to drain it.

The argument seemed so strong, and the gold gleamed so bright in his hands, that he obtained numerous subscribers, until he had the misfortune to come across one of those sceptics impervious to reason, who, after listening to him, replied: ‘Yes, I have no doubt that there must be millions in the lake, since X. at each plunge brought out a bit of gold like those you show me; but what I cannot for the life of me understand is why he is not still plunging—it seems so easy!’ The tale went round the town, and the lake was not drained, nor has it been up to the present.

This gilding of the man is the germ of the legend of El Dorado, which has cost so much blood, and in search of which so many thousands and thousands of men have wandered during past centuries in all possible directions on their bootless quest.