The Volcanoes of Ecuador.--Western
Cordillera.--Chimborazo.--Iliniza.--Corazon.--Pichincha.--Descent
into its Crater.
Coming up from Peru through the cinchona forests of Loja, and over the
barren hills of Assuay, the traveler reaches Riobamba, seated on the
threshold of magnificence--like Damascus, an oasis in a sandy plain,
but, unlike the Queen of the East, surrounded with a splendid retinue of
snowy peaks that look like icebergs floating in a sea of clouds.
On our left is the most sublime spectacle in the New World. It is a
majestic pile of snow, its clear outline on the deep blue sky describing
the profile of a lion in repose. At noon the vertical sun, and the
profusion of light reflected from the glittering surface, will not allow
a shadow to be cast on any part, so that you can easily fancy the figure
is cut out of a mountain of spotless marble. This is Chimborazo--yet not
the whole of it--you see but a third of the great giant. His feet are as
eternally green as his head is everlastingly white; but they are far
away beneath the bananas and cocoa-palms of the Pacific coast.
Rousseau was disappointed when he first saw the sea; and the first
glimpse of Niagara often fails to meet one's expectations. But
Chimborazo is sure of a worshiper the moment its overwhelming grandeur
breaks upon the traveler. You feel that you are in the presence-chamber
of the monarch of the Andes. There is sublimity in his kingly look, of
which the ocean might be proud.
"All that expands the spirit, yet appals,
Gathers around this summit, as if to show
How earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below."
Well do we remember our disappointment as we stood before that wonder of
the world--St. Peter's. We mounted the pyramid of steps and looked up,
but were not overcome by the magnificence. We read in our guide-book
that the edifice covers eight acres, and to the tip-top of the cross is
almost five hundred feet; that it took three hundred and fifty years and
twelve successive artists to finish it, and an expenditure of
$50,000,000, and now costs $30,000 per annum to keep it in repair; still
we did not appreciate its greatness. We pushed aside the curtain and
walked in--walked a day's journey across the transept and up and down
the everlasting nave, and yet continued heterodox. We tried hard to
believe it was very vast and sublime, and knew we ought to feel its
grandeur, but somehow we did not. Then we sat down by the Holy of
Holies, and there we were startled into a better judgment by the
astounding fact that the Cathedral of St. Paul--the largest edifice in
Great Britain--could stand upright, spire, dome, body, and all, inside
of St. Peter's! that the letters of the inscription which run around the
_base_ of the dome, though apparently but an inch, are in reality six
feet high! Then, for the first time, the scales fell from our eyes; the
giant building began to grow; higher and higher still it rose, longer
and deeper it expanded, yet in perfect proportions; the colossal
structure, now a living temple, put on its beautiful garments and the
robe of majesty. And that dome! the longer we looked at it the vaster it
grew, till finally it seemed to be a temple not made with hands; the
spacious canopy became the firmament; the mosaic figures of cherubim and
seraphim were endowed with life; and as we fixed our eyes on the zenith
where the Almighty is represented in glory, we thought we had the vision
of Stephen. Long we gazed upward into this heaven of man's creation, and
gazed again till we were lost in wonder.
But the traveler needs no such steps to lift him up to the grand
conception of the divine Architect as he beholds the great white dome of
Chimborazo. It looks lofty from the very first. Now and then an expanse
of thin, sky-like vapor would cut the mountain in twain, and the dome,
islanded in the deep blue of the upper regions, seemed to belong more to
heaven than to earth. We knew that Chimborazo was more than twice the
altitude of Etna. We could almost see the great Humboldt struggling up
the mountain's side till he looked like a black speck moving over the
mighty white, but giving up in despair four thousand feet below the
summit. We see the intrepid Bolivar mounting still higher; but the hero
of Spanish-American independence returns a defeated man. Last of all
comes the philosophic Boussingault, and attains the prodigious elevation
of nineteen thousand six hundred feet--the highest point reached by man
without the aid of a balloon; but the dome remains unsullied by his
foot. Yet none of these facts increase our admiration. The mountain has
a tongue which speaks louder than all mathematical calculations.
There must be something singularly sublime about Chimborazo, for the
spectator at Riobamba is already nine thousand feet high, and the
mountain is not so elevated above him as Mont Blanc above the vale of
Chamounî, when, in reality, that culminating point of Europe would not
reach up even to the snow-limit of Chimborazo by two thousand feet.[69]
It is only while sailing on the Pacific that one sees Chimborazo in its
complete proportions. Its very magnitude diminishes the impression of
awe and wonder, for the Andes on which it rests are heaved to such a
vast altitude above the sea, that the relative elevation of its summit
becomes reduced by comparison with the surrounding mountains. Its
altitude is 21,420 feet, or forty-five times the height of Strasburg
Cathedral; or, to state it otherwise, the fall of one pound from the top
of Chimborazo would raise the temperature of water 30°. One fourth of
this is perpetually covered with snow, so that its ancient name,
Chimpurazu--the mountain of snow--is very appropriate.[70] It is a
stirring thought that this mountain, now mantled with snow, once gleamed
with volcanic fires. There is a hot spring on the north side, and an
immense amount of débris covers the slope below the snow-limit,
consisting chiefly of fine-grained, iron-stained trachyte and coarse
porphyroid gray trachyte; very rarely a dark vitreous trachyte.
Chimborazo is very likely not a solid mountain: trachytic volcanoes are
supposed to be full of cavities. Bouguer found it made the plumb-line
deviate 7" or 8".
[Footnote 69: But Chimborazo is steeper than the Alp-king; and steepness
is a quality more quickly appreciated than mere massiveness. "Mont Blanc
(says a writer in _Frazer's Magazine_) is scarcely admired, because he
is built with a certain regard to stability; but the apparently reckless
architecture of the Matterhorn brings the traveler fairly on his knees,
with a respect akin to that felt for the leaning tower of Pisa, or the
soaring pinnacles of Antwerp."]
[Footnote 70: "White Mountain" is the natural and almost uniform name of
the highest mountains in all countries: thus Himalaya, Mont Blanc,
Hocmus, Sierra Nevada, Ben Nevis, Snowdon, Lebanon, White Mountains of
United States, Chimborazo, and Illimani.]
The valleys which furrow the flank of Chimborazo are in keeping with its
colossal size. Narrower, but deeper than those of the Alps, the mind
swoons and sinks in the effort to comprehend their grim majesty. The
mountain appears to have been broken to pieces like so much thin crust,
and the strata thrown on their vertical edges, revealing deep, dark
chasms, that seem to lead to the confines of the lower world. The
deepest valley in Europe, that of the Ordesa in the Pyrenees, is 3200
feet deep; but here are rents in the side of Chimborazo in which
Vesuvius could be put away out of sight. As you look down into the
fathomless fissure, you see a white fleck rising out of the gulf, and
expanding as it mounts, till the wings of the condor, fifteen feet in
spread, glitter in the sun as the proud bird fearlessly wheels over the
dizzy chasm, and then, ascending above your head, sails over the dome of
Chimborazo.[71] Could the condor speak, what a glowing description could
he give of the landscape beneath him when his horizon is a thousand
miles in diameter. If
"Twelve fair counties saw the blaze from Malvern's lonely height,"
what must be the panorama from a height fifteen times higher!
[Footnote 71: Humboldt's statement that the condor flies higher than
Chimborazo has been questioned; but we have seen numbers hovering at
least a thousand feet above the summit of Pichincha. Baron Müller, in
his ascent of Orizaba, saw two falcons flying at the height of full
18,000 feet; Dr. Hooker found crows and ravens on the Himalayas at
16,500 feet; and flocks of wild geese are said to fly over the peak of
Kintschinghow, 22,756 feet.]
Chimborazo was long supposed to be the tallest mountain on the globe,
but its supremacy has been supplanted by Mount Everest in Asia, and
Aconcagua in Chile.[72] In mountain gloom and glory, however, it still
stands unrivaled. The Alps have the avalanche, "the thunderbolt of
snow," and the glaciers, those icy Niagaras so beautiful and grand. Here
they are wanting.[73] The monarch of the Andes sits motionless in calm
serenity and unbroken silence. The silence is absolute and actually
oppressive. The road from Guayaquil to Quito crosses Chimborazo at the
elevation of fourteen thousand feet. Save the rush of the trade wind in
the afternoon, as it sweeps over the Andes, not a sound is audible; not
the hum of an insect, nor the chirp of a bird, nor the roar of the puma,
nor the music of running waters. Mid-ocean is never so silent. You can
almost hear the globe turning on its axis. There was a time when the
monarch deigned to speak, and spoke with a voice of thunder, for the
lava on its sides is an evidence of volcanic activity. But ever since
the morning stars sang together over man's creation, Chimbo has sat in
sullen silence, satisfied to look "from his throne of clouds o'er half
the world." There is something very suggestive in this silence of
Chimborazo. It was once full of noise and fury; it is now a _completed_
mountain, and thunders no more. How silent was Jesus, a completed
character! The reason we are so noisy is that we are so full of wants;
we are _unfinished_ characters. Had we perfect fullness of all things,
the beatitude of being without a want, we should lapse into the eternal
silence of God.
[Footnote 72: Mount Everest is 29,000 feet, and Aconcagua 23,200.
Schlagintweit enumerates thirteen Himalayan summits over 25,000 feet,
and forty-six above 20,000. We have little confidence in the estimates
of the Bolivian mountains. Chimborazo has nearly the same latitude and
altitude as the loftiest peak in Africa, Kilima Njaro.]
[Footnote 73: Humboldt ascribes the absence of glaciers in the Andes to
the extreme steepness of the sides, and the excessive dryness of the
air. Dr. Loomis, above quoted, mentions indications of glacial
action--moraines, and polished and striated rocks--on the crest of the
Cordillera, between Peru and Bolivia, lat. 21° S.]
Chimborazo is a leader of a long train of ambitious crags and peaks; but
as he who comes after the king must not expect to be noticed, we will
only take a glimpse of these lesser lights as we pass up the Western
Cordillera, and then down the Eastern.
The first after leaving the monarch is Caraguairazo. The Indians call it
"the wife of Chimborazo." They are separated only by a very narrow
valley. One hundred and seventy years ago the top of this mountain fell
in, and torrents of mud flowed out containing multitudes of fishes. It
is now over seventeen thousand feet high, and is one of the most Alpine
of the Quitonian volcanoes, having sharp pinnacles instead of the smooth
trachytic domes--usually double domes--so characteristic of the Andean
summits. And now we pass in rapid succession numerous picturesque
mountains, some of them extinct volcanoes, as Iliniza, presenting two
pyramidal peaks, the highest seventeen thousand feet above the sea, and
Corazon, so named from its heart-shaped summit, till we reach Pichincha,
whose smoking crater is only five miles distant in a straight line from
the city of Quito, or eleven by the traveled route.
The crown of this mountain presents three groups of rocky peaks. The
most westerly one is called Rucu-Pichincha, and alone manifests
activity. To the northeast of Rucu is Guagua-Pichincha, a ruined flue of
the same fiery furnace; and between the two is Cundur-guachana.[74]
Pichincha is the only volcano in Ecuador which has not a true
cone-crater. Some violent eruption beyond the reach of history or
tradition has formed an enormous funnel-shaped basin 2500 feet deep,[75]
1500 in diameter at the bottom, and expanding upward to a width of three
fourths of a mile. It is the _deepest_ crater on the globe. That of
Kilauea is 600 feet; Orizaba, 500; Etna, 300; Hecla, 100. Vesuvius is a
portable furnace in comparison. The abyss is girt with a ragged wall of
dark trachyte, which rises on the inside at various angles between 45°
and perpendicularity. As we know of but one American besides the members
of our expedition (Mr. Farrand, a photographer) who has succeeded in
entering the crater of this interesting volcano, we will give a brief
sketch of our visit.
[Footnote 74: Pichincha, in the Inca language, signifies "the boiling
mountain;" Rucu means old; Guagua, young; and Cundur-guachana, the
condor's nest.]
[Footnote 75: More accurately, 2527 feet; Wisse and Moreno made it
2460.]
[Illustration: Crater of Pichincha.]
Leaving Quito in the afternoon by the old arched gateway at the foot of
Panecillo, and crossing a spur of the mountain, we stopped for the night
at the Jesuit hacienda, situated in the beautiful valley of Lloa, but
nearly ruined by the earthquake of 1859. On the damp walls of this
monastery, perched 10,268 feet above the ocean, we found several old
paintings, among them a copy of the _Visitation_ by Rubens. The sunset
views in this heart of the Andes were surpassingly beautiful. Mounting
our horses at break of day, and taking an Indian guide, we ascended
rapidly, by a narrow and difficult path, through the forest that belts
the volcano, up to the height of 12,000 feet, emerging gradually into a
thicket of stunted bushes, and then entered the dreary paramo. Splendid
was the view of the Eastern Cordillera. At least six dazzling white
volcanoes were in sight just across the Valley of Quito, among them
table-topped Cayambi, majestic Antisana, and princely Cotopaxi, whose
tapering summit is a mile above the clouds. Toiling upward, we reached
the base of the cone, where vegetation ceased entirely; and, tying our
horses to some huge rocks that had fallen from the mural cliff above,
started off on hands and feet for the crater. The cone is deeply covered
with sand and cinders for about two hundred feet, and the sides are
inclined at an angle of about 35°. At ten o'clock we reached the brim of
the crater, and the great gulf burst suddenly into view. We can never
forget the impression made upon us by the sight. We speak of many things
here below as awful, but that word has its full meaning when carried to
the top of Pichincha. There you see a frightful opening in the earth's
crust nearly a mile in width and half a mile deep, and from the dark
abyss comes rolling up a cloud of sulphurous vapors. Monte Somma in the
time of Strabo was a miniature; but this crater is on the top of a
mountain four times the height of the Italian volcano. Imagination finds
it difficult to conceive a spectacle of more fearful grandeur or such
solemn magnificence. It well accords with Milton's picture of the
bottomless pit. The united effect of the silence and solitude of the
place, the great depth of the cavity, the dark precipitous sides, and
the column of smoke standing over an unseen crevice, was to us more
impressive than thundering Cotopaxi or fiery Vesuvius. Humboldt,
after standing on this same brink, exclaimed, "I have never beheld a
grander or more remarkable picture than that presented by this volcano;"
and La Condamine compared it to "the Chaos of the poets." Below us are
the smouldering fires which may any moment spring forth into a
conflagration; around us are black, ragged cliffs--fit boundary for this
gateway to the infernal regions. They look as if they had just been
dragged up from the central furnace of the earth. Life seems to have
fled in terror from the vicinity; even lichens, the children of the bare
rocks, refuse to clothe the scathed and beetling crags. For some
moments, made mute by the dreadful sight, we stood like statues on the
rim of the mighty caldron, with our eyes riveted on the abyss below,
lost in contemplating that which can not be described. The panorama from
this lofty summit is more pleasing, but equally sublime. Toward the
rising sun is the long range of the Eastern Cordillera, hiding from our
view the great valley of the Amazon. To right and left are the peaks of
another procession of august mountains from Cotocachí to Chimborazo. We
are surrounded by the great patriarchs of the Andes, and their speaker,
Cotopaxi, ever and anon sends his muttering voice over the land. The
view westward is like looking down from a balloon. Those parallel ridges
of the mountain chain, dropping one behind the other, are the gigantic
staircase by which the ice-crowned Chimborazo steps down to the sea. A
white sea of clouds covers the peaceful Pacific and the lower parts of
the coast. But the vapory ocean, curling into the ravines, beautifully
represents little coves and bays, leaving islands and promontories like
a true ocean on a broken shore. We seem raised above the earth, which
lies like an opened map below us; we can look down on the upper surface
of the clouds, and, were it night, down too upon the lightnings.
The crater of Pichincha has a sharp, serrated edge, which, happily for
Quito, is broken down on the west side, so that in the next eruption the
volcano will doubtless pour its contents into the wilds of Esmeraldas.
The highest pinnacle is 15,827 feet; so that the mountain just enters
the region of perpetual winter. Water boils at 185°. The summit is
generally bare, though snow is always found in the clefts of the rocks.
It is not compact or crystalline, but resembles a conglomerate of little
hailstones.[76] Out of the mingled snow and pumice-dust rise a few
delicate flowers, particularly the violet _Sida Pichinchensis_, the same
which we had observed on the side of Chimborazo. Think of gay flowers a
thousand feet higher than the top of Mont Blanc!
[Footnote 76: The snow on the top of Mont Blanc is like dry dust; in
Lapland, in open places, it consists of hexagonal crystals, and is
called by the inhabitants "sand-snow." The French and Spanish
mathematicians, Bouguer, La Condamine, and Ulloa, in their story of
ascending Pichincha, give a long and dreadful account of their
sufferings from cold and rarefied air: "whilst eating, every one was
obliged to keep his plate over a chafing-dish of coals, to prevent his
food from freezing." The traveler nowadays finds only a chilling wind.
This rise of temperature, coupled with the fact that La Condamine
(1745), Humboldt (1802), Boussingault (1831), and Wisse (1863) give to
Quito a decreasing altitude, inclines us to believe, with Boussingault,
that the Andes are sinking. Since the activity of the volcano in 1868,
the summit has been so warm that the snow has totally disappeared.
Ice-cream has in consequence risen in price in Quito, as snow must be
brought from Sincholagua, four days' journey.]
The first to reach the brink of the crater were the French Academicians
in 1742. Sixty years after, Humboldt stood on the summit. But it was not
till 1844 that any one dared to enter the crater. This was accomplished
by Garcia Moreno, now President of Ecuador, and Sebastian Wisse, a
French engineer. Humboldt pronounced the bottom of the crater
"inaccessible, from its great depth and precipitous descent." We found
it accessible, but exceedingly perilous. The moment we prepared to
descend our guide ran away. We went on without him, but when halfway
down were stopped by a precipice.
On the 22d of October, 1867, we returned to Pichincha with another
guide, and entered the crater by a different route. Manuel, our Indian,
led us to the south side, and over the brink we went. We were not long
in realizing the danger of the undertaking. Here the snow concealed an
ugly fissure or covered a treacherous rock (for nearly all the rocks are
crumbling); there we must cross a mass of loose sand moving like a
glacier down the almost vertical side of the crater; and on every hand
rocks were giving way, and, gathering momentum at each revolution, went
thundering down, leaping over precipices, and jostling other rocks,
which joined in the race, till they all struck the bottom with a deep
rumbling sound, shivered like so many bombshells into a thousand pieces,
and telling us what would be our fate it we made a single misstep. We
followed our Indian in single file, keeping close together, that the
stones set free by those in the rear might not dash those below from
their feet; feeling our way with the greatest caution, clinging with our
hands to snow, sand, rock, tufts of grass, or any thing that would hold
for a moment; now leaping over a chasm, now letting ourselves down from
rock to rock; at times paralyzed with fear, and always with death
staring us in the face; thus we scrambled for two hours and a half, till
we reached the bottom of the crater.
Here we found a deeply-furrowed plain, strewn with ragged rocks, and
containing a few patches of vegetation, with half a dozen species of
flowers. In the centre is an irregular heap of stones, two hundred and
sixty feet high by eight hundred in diameter. This is the cone of
eruption--its sides and summit covered with an imposing group of vents,
seventy in number, all lined with sulphur and exhaling steam, black
smoke, and sulphurous gas. The temperature of the vapor just within the
fumarole is 184°, water boiling beside it at 189°. The central vent, or
chimney, gives forth a sound like the violent bubbling of boiling water.
As we sat on this fiery mount, surrounded by a circular rampart of
rocks, and looked up at the immense towers of dark dolerite which ran up
almost vertically to the height of twenty-five hundred feet above us,
musing over the tremendous force which fashioned this awful
amphitheatre--spacious enough for all the gods of Tartarus to hold high
carnival--the clouds which hung in the thin air around the crest of the
crater pealed forth thunder after thunder, which, reverberating from
precipice to precipice, were answered by the crash of rocks let loose by
the storm, till the whole mountain seemed to tremble like a leaf. Such
acoustics, mingled with the flash of lightning and the smell of
brimstone, made us believe that we had fairly got into the realm of
Pluto. It is the spot where Dante's _Inferno_ ought to be read.
Finishing our observations, and warming our dinner over the steaming
crevices, we prepared to ascend. The escape from this horrid hole was
more perilous than the entrance, and on reaching the top we sang, with
grateful hearts, to the tune of "Old Hundred,"
"Praise God, from whom all blessings flow."
We doubt whether that famous tune and glorious doxology were ever sung
so near to heaven.
The second line,
"Praise him all creatures here below,"
had a strange meaning fifteen thousand feet high.
There have been five eruptions of Pichincha since the Conquest. The last
was in 1660; that of 1566 covered Quito three feet deep with ashes and
stones, while boiling water and bitumen descended in torrents. In 1867
the column of smoke did not rise above the crest of the crater, but the
volcano has lately been showing signs of activity, such as it has not
exhibited since the last grand eruption two centuries ago. On the 19th
of March, 1868, detonations were audible at Quito, and three days after
there were more thunderings, with a great column of vapor visible from
Chillo, twelve miles to the east. These phenomena were accompanied by an
unusual fall of rain. Since the great earthquake of August 16th,
Pichincha has continued to send forth dense columns of black smoke, and
so much fine sand that it is not possible to reach the crater. The solid
products of Pichincha since the Conquest have been chiefly pumice,
coarse-grained and granular trachyte, and reddish porphyroid trachyte.
The roads leading to Quito cut through hills of pumice-dust. On the
plain of Iñaquito and in the valley of Esmeraldas are vast erratic
blocks of trachyte, some containing twenty-five cubic yards, having
sharp angles, and in some cases a polished, unstriated surface. M. Wisse
does not consider them to have been thrown out of Pichincha, as La
Condamine and others have judged. It is true, as he says, that they
could not have come out of the present cone at a less angle than 45°,
for they would have hit the sides of the high rocky rampart and rolled
back again; and at a higher angle they would not have reached their
present location. But we see no reason why they could not be the upper
portion of the solid trachyte cone blown into the air at the great
eruption which cleared out this enormous crater. There is a _rumipamba_,
or "field of stones," around each of the Quitonian volcanoes.
Leaving Pichincha, we travel northward along the battlemented Andes,
passing by the conical mountains of Yana-urcu and Cotocachí. Yana-urcu,
or "black mountain," is a mass of calcined rocks. Cotocachí (from
_cota_? and _cachí_, salt) is always snow-clad. On its side is Cuycocha,
one of the highest lakes in the world (10,200 feet), and formed by the
subsidence of a part of the volcano.