"Amid all the wreck of empires, nothing ever spoke so forcibly
the world's mutations, as this immense forest, shrouding what was
once a great city."--STEPHENS.
At daylight on the next morning after the singular adventure recorded in
the preceding chapter, the California passengers bound eastward arrived,
and those of us bound to the westward were transshipped to the same
steamer which they had just abandoned. In less than an hour we were all
aboard, and the little river-craft was busily puffing her way toward the
fairy shores of Lake Nicaragua.
For me, however, the evergreen scenery of the tropics possessed no
charms, and its balmy air no enchantments. Sometimes, as the steamer
approached the ivy-clad banks, laden as they were with flowers of every
hue, and alive with ten thousand songsters of the richest and most
variegated plumage, my attention would be momentarily aroused, and I
enjoyed the sweet fragrance of the flowers, and the gay singing of the
birds. But my memory was busy with the past, and my imagination with the
future. With the Judge, even, I could not converse for any length of
time, without falling into a reverie by no means flattering to his
powers of conversation. About noon, however, I was fully aroused to the
beauty and sublimity of the surrounding scenery. We had just passed Fort
San Carlos, at the junction of the San Juan River with the lake, and
before us was spread out like an ocean that magnificent sheet of water.
It was dotted all over with green islands, and reminded me of the
picture drawn by Addison of the Vision of Mirza.
Here, said I to myself, is the home of the blest. These emerald islets,
fed by vernal skies, never grow sere and yellow in the autumn; never
bleak and desolate in the winter. Perpetual summer smiles above them,
and wavelets dimpled by gentle breezes forever lave their shores. Rude
storms never howl across these sleeping billows, and the azure heavens
whisper eternal peace to the lacerated heart.
Hardly had these words escaped my lips, when a loud report, like a whole
park of artillery, suddenly shook the air. It seemed to proceed from the
westward, and on turning our eyes in that direction, we beheld the true
cause of the phenomenon. Ometepe was in active eruption. It had given no
admonitory notice of the storm which had been gathering in its bosom,
but like the wrath of those dangerous men we sometimes encounter in
life, it had hidden its vengeance beneath flowery smiles, and covered
over its terrors with deceitful calm.
In a moment the whole face of nature was changed. The skies became dark
and lurid, the atmosphere heavy and sultry, and the joyous waters across
which we had been careering only a moment before with animation and
laughter, rose in tumultuous swells, like the cross-seas in the Mexican
Gulf after a tornado. Terror seized all on board the steamer, and the
passengers were clamorous to return to Fort San Carlos. But the captain
was inexorable, and seizing the wheel himself, he defied the war of the
elements, and steered the vessel on her ordinary course. This lay
directly to the south of Ometepe, and within a quarter of a mile of the
foot of the volcano.
As we approached the region of the eruption, the waters of the lake
became more and more troubled, and the air still more difficult to
respire. Pumice-stone, seemingly as light as cork, covered the surface
of the lake, and soon a terrific shower of hot ashes darkened the very
sun. Our danger at this moment was imminent in the extreme, for, laying
aside all consideration of peril from the volcano itself, it was with
great difficulty that the ashes could be swept from the deck fast enough
to prevent the woodwork from ignition. But our chief danger was still in
store for us; for just as we had arrived directly under the impending
summit, as it were, a fearful explosion took place, and threatened to
ingulf us all in ruin. The crater of the volcano, which previously had
only belched forth ashes and lava, now sent up high into the heavens a
sheet of lurid fire. It did not resemble gases in combustion, which we
denominate flame, flickering for a moment in transitory splendor, and
then dying out forever. On the contrary, it looked more like _frozen
fire_ if the expression may be allowed. It presented an appearance of
solidity that seemed to defy abrasion or demolition, and rose into the
blue sky like a marble column of lightning. It was far brighter than
ordinary flame, and cast a gloomy and peculiar shadow upon the deck of
the steamer. At the same instant the earth itself shook like a summer
reed when swept by a storm, and the water struck the sides of the vessel
like some rocky substance. Every atom of timber in her trembled and
quivered for a moment, then grew into senseless wood once more. At this
instant, the terrific cry of "Fire!" burst from a hundred tongues, and I
had but to cast my eyes toward the stern of the ship to realize the new
peril at hand. The attention of the passengers was now equally divided
between the burning ship and the belching volcano. The alternative of a
death by flame, or by burial in the lake was presented to each of us.
In a few moments more the captain, crew, and passengers, including
seventeen ladies, were engaged hand to hand with the enemy nearest to
us. Buckets, pumps, and even hats, were used to draw up water from the
lake and pass to those hardy spirits that dared to press closest to the
flames. But I perceived at once that all would prove unavailing. The
fire gained upon the combatants every moment, and a general retreat took
place toward the stem of the steamer. Fully satisfied what would be the
fate of those who remained upon the ship, I commenced preparing to
throw myself into the water, and for that purpose was about tearing one
of the cabin doors from its hinges, when the Judge came up, and accosted
me.
He was perfectly calm; nor could I, after the closest scrutiny of his
features, detect either excitement, impatience, or alarm. In
astonishment I exclaimed:
"Sir, death is at the doors! Prepare to escape from the burning ship."
"There is no danger," he replied calmly; "and even if there were, what
is this thing that we call _death_, that we should fear it? Compose
yourself, young man; there is as yet no danger. I have been forewarned
of this scene, and not a soul of us shall perish."
Regarding him as a madman, I tore the door from its hinges with the
strength of despair, and rushing to the side of the ship, was in the
very act of plunging overboard, when a united shriek of all the
passengers rose upon my ear, and I paused involuntarily to ascertain the
new cause of alarm. Scarcely did I have time to cast one look at the
mountain, ere I discovered that the flames had all been extinguished at
its crater, and that the air was darkened by a mass of vapor, rendering
the sunlight a mockery and a shadow. But this eclipse was our
redemption. The next moment a sheet of cool water fell upon the ship,
and in such incredible masses, that many articles were washed overboard,
and the door I held closely in my hands was borne away by the flood. The
fire was completely extinguished, and, ere we knew it, the danger over.
Greatly puzzled how to account for the strange turn in our affairs, I
was ready at the moment to attribute it to Judge E----, and I had almost
settled the question that he was a necromancer, when he approached me,
and putting an open volume in my hand, which I ascertained was a
"History of the Republic of Guatemala," I read the following incident:
Nor is it true that volcanoes discharge only fire and molten lava
from their craters. On the contrary, they frequently shower down
water in almost incredible quantities, and cause oftentimes as
much mischief by floods as they do by flames. An instance of this
kind occurred in the year 1542, which completely demolished one
half the buildings in the city of Guatemala. It was chiefly owing
to this cause that the site of the city was changed; the ancient
site being abandoned, and the present locality selected for the
capital.[A-109]
[Footnote A-109: Thompson's History of Guatemala, p. 238.]
Six months after the events recorded above, I dismounted from my mule
near the old _cabilda_ in the modern village of Palenque. During that
interval I had met with the usual fortune of those who travel alone in
the interior of the Spanish-American States. The war of castes was at
its height, and the cry of _Carrera_ and _Morazan_ greeted the ear of
the stranger at almost every turn of the road. Morazan represented the
aristocratic idea, still prevalent amongst the better classes in Central
America; whilst Carrera, on the other hand, professed the wildest
liberty and the extremest democracy. The first carried in his train the
wealth, official power, and refinement of the country; the latter drew
after him that huge old giant, _Plebs._, who in days gone by has pulled
down so many thrones, built the groundwork of so many republics, and
then, by fire and sword and barbarian ignorance, laid their trophies in
the dust. My sense and sympathy took different directions. Reason led me
to the side of Morazan; but early prejudices carried me over to Carrera.
Very soon, however, I was taught the lesson, that power in the hands of
the rabble is the greatest curse with which a country can be afflicted,
and that a _paper constitution_ never yet made men free. I found out,
too, that the entire population was a rabble and that it made but little
difference which hero was in the ascendant. The plunder of the
laboring-classes was equally the object of both, and anarchy the fate of
the country, no matter who held the reins. Civil wars have corrupted the
whole population. The men are all _bravos_, and the women coquettes. The
fireside virtues are unknown. It will be generations before those
pseudo-republicans will learn that there can be no true patriotism where
there is no country; there can be no country where there are no homes;
there can be no home where woman rules not from the throne of Virtue
with the sceptre of Love!
I had been robbed eighteen times in six months; taken prisoner four
times by each party; sent in chains to the city of Guatemala, twice by
Carrera, and once by Morazan as a spy; and condemned to be shot as a
traitor by both chieftains. In each instance I owed my liberation to the
American Consul-General, who, having heard the object with which I
visited the country, determined that it should not be thwarted by these
intestine broils.
Finally, as announced above, I reached the present termination of my
journey, and immediately commenced preparations to explore the famous
ruins in the neighborhood. The first want of a traveler, no matter
whither he roams, is a guide; and I immediately called at the redstone
residence of the Alcalde, and mentioned to him my name, the purport of
my visit to Central America, and the object of my present call upon him.
Eying me closely from head to foot, he asked me if I had any money
("Tiene V. dinero?")
"Si, senor."
"Cuanto?"
"Poco mas de quinientos pesos."
"Bien; sientase."
So I took a seat upon a shuck-bottom stool, and awaited the next move of
the high dignitary. Without responding directly to my application for a
guide, he suddenly turned the conversation, and demanded if I was
acquainted with Senor Catherwood or _el gobernador_. (I afterwards
learned that Mr. Stephens was always called Governor by the native
population in the vicinity of Palenque.) I responded in the negative. He
then informed me that these gentlemen had sent him a copy of their work
on Chiapas, and at the same time a large volume, that had been recently
translated into Spanish by a member of the Spanish Academy, named Don
Donoso Cortes, which he placed in my hands.
My astonishment can be better imagined than described, when, on turning
to the title-page, I ascertained that the book was called "_Nature's
Divine Revelations_. By A. J. DAVIS. _Traducido, etc._"
Observing my surprise, the Alcalde demanded if I knew the author.
"Most assuredly," said I; "he is my----" But I must not anticipate.
After assuring me that he regarded the work as the greatest book in the
world, next to the Bible and Don Quixote, and that he fully believed
every line in it, _including the preface_, he abruptly left the room,
and went into the court-yard behind the house.
I had scarcely time to take a survey of the ill-furnished apartment,
when he returned, leading in by a rope, made of horsehair, called a
"larriete," a youth whose arms were pinioned behind him, and whose
features wore the most remarkable expression I ever beheld.
Amazed, I demanded who this young man was, and why he had been
introduced to my notice. He replied, without noticing in the slightest
degree my surprise, that _Pio_--for that was his name--was the best
guide to the ruins that the village afforded; that he was taken prisoner
a few months before from a marauding party of _Caribs_ (here the young
man gave a low, peculiar whistle and a negative shake of the head), and
that if his escape could be prevented by me, he would be found to be
invaluable.
I then asked Pio if he understood the Spanish language, but he evinced
no comprehension of what I said. The Alcalde remarked that the _mozo_
was very cunning, and understood a great deal more than he pretended;
that he was by law his (the Alcalde's) slave, being a Carib by birth,
and uninstructed totally in religious exercises; in fact, that he was a
neophyte, and had been placed in his hands by the Padre to teach the
rudiments of Christianity.
I next demanded of Pio if he was willing to conduct me to the ruins. A
gleam of joy at once illuminated his features, and, throwing himself at
my feet, he gazed upward into my face with all the simplicity of a
child.
But I did not fail to notice the peculiar posture he assumed whilst
sitting. It was not that of the American Indian, who carelessly lolls
upon the ground, nor that of the Hottentot, who sits flatly, with his
knees upraised. On the contrary, the attitude was precisely the same as
that sculptured on the _basso-rilievos_ at Uxmal, Palenque, and
throughout the region of Central American ruins. I had first observed it
in the Aztec children exhibited a few years ago throughout the United
States. The weight of the body seemed to be thrown on the inside of the
thighs, and the feet turned outward, but drawn up closely to the body.
No sooner did I notice this circumstance than I requested Pio to rise,
which he did. Then, pretending suddenly to change my mind, I requested
him to be seated again. This I did to ascertain if the first attitude
was accidental. But on resuming his seat, he settled down with great
ease and celerity into the self-same position, and I felt assured that I
was not mistaken. It would have required the united certificates of all
the population in the village, after that, to convince me that Pio was a
Carib. But aside from this circumstance, which might by possibility have
been accidental, neither the color, expression, nor structure of his
face indicated Caribbean descent. On the contrary, the head was smaller,
the hair finer, the complexion several shades lighter, and the facial
angle totally different. There was a much closer resemblance to Jew than
to Gentile; indeed, the peculiar curve of the nose, and the Syrian leer
of the eye, disclosed an Israelitish ancestry rather than an American.
Having settled these points in my own mind very rapidly, the Alcalde and
I next chaffered a few moments over the price to be paid for Pio's
services. This was soon satisfactorily arranged, and the boy was
delivered into my charge. But before doing so formally, the Alcalde
declared that I must never release him whilst in the woods or amongst
the ruins, or else he would escape, and fly back to his barbarian
friends, and the Holy Apostolic Church would lose a convert. He also
added, by way of epilogue, that if I permitted him to get away, his
price was _cien pesos_ (one hundred dollars).
The next two hours were devoted to preparations for a life in the
forest. I obtained the services of two additional persons; one to cook
and the other to assist in clearing away rubbish and stones from the
ruins.
Mounting my mule, already heavily laden with provisions, mosquito bars,
bedding, cooking utensils, etc., we turned our faces toward the
southeast, and left the modern village of Palenque. For the first mile I
obeyed strictly the injunctions of the Alcalde, and held Pio tightly by
the rope. But shortly afterwards we crossed a rapid stream, and on
mounting the opposite bank, we entered a dense forest. The trees were of
a gigantic size, very lofty, and covered from trunk to top with
parasites of every conceivable kind. The undergrowth was luxuriant, and
in a few moments we found ourselves buried in a tomb of tropical
vegetation. The light of the sun never penetrates those realms of
perpetual shadow, and the atmosphere seems to take a shade from the
pervading gloom. Occasionally a bright-plumed songster would start up
and dart through the inaccessible foliage, but more frequently we
disturbed snakes and lizards in our journey.
After traversing several hundred yards of this primeval forest I called
a halt, and drew Pio close up to the side of my mule. Then, taking him
by the shoulder, I wheeled him round quickly, and drawing a large knife
which I had purchased to cut away the thick foliage in my exploration, I
deliberately severed the cords from his hands, and set him free. Instead
of bounding off like a startled deer, as my attendants expected to see
him do, he seized my hand, pressed it respectfully between his own,
raised the back of it to his forehead, and then imprinted a kiss betwixt
the thumb and forefinger. Immediately afterward, he began to whistle in
a sweet low tone, and taking the lead of the party, conducted us rapidly
into the heart of the forest.
We had proceeded about seven or eight miles, crossing two or three small
rivers in our way, when the guide suddenly throw up his hands, and
pointing to a huge pile of rubbish and ruins in the distance, exclaimed
"_El Palacio_!"
This was the first indication he had as yet given of his ability to
speak or to understand the Spanish, or, indeed, any tongue, and I was
congratulating myself upon the discovery, when he subsided into a
painful silence, interrupted only by an occasional whistle, nor would he
make any intelligible reply to the simplest question.
We pushed on rapidly, and in a few moments more I stood upon the summit
of the pyramidal structure, upon which, as a base, the ruins known as
_El Palacio_ are situated.
These ruins have been so frequently described, that I deem it
unnecessary to enter into any detailed account of them; especially as by
doing so but little progress would be made with the more important
portions of this narrative. If, therefore, the reader be curious to get
a more particular insight into the form, size, and appearance of these
curious remains, let him consult the splendidly illuminated pages of Del
Rio, Waldeck, and Dupaix. Nor should Stephens and Catherwood be
neglected; for though their explorations are less scientific and
thorough than either of the others, yet being more modern, they will
prove not less interesting.
# # # # #
Several months had now elapsed since I swung my hammock in one of the
corridors of the old palace. The rainy season had vanished, and the hot
weather once more set in for the summer. Still I worked on. I took
accurate and correct drawings of every engraved entablature I could
discover. With the assistance of my taciturn guide, nothing seemed to
escape me. Certain am I that I was enabled to copy _basso-rilievos_
never seen by any of the great travelers whose works I had read; for
Pio seemed to know by intuition exactly where they were to be found. My
collection was far more complete than Mr. Catherwood's, and more
faithful to the original than Lord Kingsborough's. Pio leaned over my
shoulder whilst I was engaged in drawing, and if I committed the
slightest error his quick glance detected it at once, and a short, rough
whistle recalled my pencil back to its duty.
Finally, I completed the last drawing I intended to make, and commenced
preparations to leave my quarters, and select others affording greater
facilities for the study of the various problems connected with these
mysterious hieroglyphics. I felt fully sensible of the immense toil
before me, but having determined long since to devote my whole life to
the task of interpreting these silent historians of buried realms, hope
gave me strength to venture upon the work, and the first step toward it
had just been successfully accomplished.
But what were paintings, and drawings, and sketches, without some key to
the system of hieroglyphs, or some clue to the labyrinth, into which I
had entered? For hours I sat and gazed at the voiceless signs before me,
dreaming of Champollion, and the _Rosetta Stone_, and vainly hoping that
some unheard-of miracle would be wrought in my favor, by which a single
letter might be interpreted. But the longer I gazed, the darker became
the enigma, and the more difficult seemed its solution.
I had not even the foundation, upon which Dr. Young, and Lepsius, and De
Lacy, and Champollion commenced. There were no living Copts, who spoke a
dialect of the dead tongue in which the historian had engraved his
annals. There were no descendants of the extinct nations, whose sole
memorials were the crumbling ruins before me. Time had left no teacher
whose lessons might result in success. Tradition even, with her
uncertain light, threw no flickering glare around, by which the groping
archæologist might weave an imaginary tale of the past.
"Chaos of ruins, who shall trace the void,
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light,
And say, '_Here was_, _or is_,' where all is doubly night?"