range, as its name implies, through which we had to pass to get to the
Cañadas, and the stony path, though a well defined one, meanders on,
not at a very steep incline, past rough hillocks where here and there
pumice stone appears. Gradually the heath, which was just coming
into flower, and in a few weeks would be covered with its rather
insignificant little white or pinkish blossoms, becomes interspersed
with _codeso_, _Adenocarpus viscosus_, with its peculiar flat spreading
growth and tiny leaves of a soft bluish-green. During all the long
ascent there is no sign of the Peak; the path lies so immediately
beneath the dividing range that it is not until the Portillo itself
is reached, that it suddenly bursts into view. It is a grand scene
which lies before one. The foreground of rocky ground is interspersed
with great bushes of _retama_ (_Sparto-cytisus nubigens_), a species
of broom said to be peculiar to this district. In growth it somewhat
resembles _Spartium junceum_, commonly known in England as Spanish
broom, but is more stubby and perhaps not so graceful. When in flower
in May its sweet scent is so powerful that not only does it fill the
whole air in this mountain district, but sailors are said to smell it
miles out at sea. Our guides told us some bushes had white flowers and
others white tinged with rose colour. At this season large patches of
thawing snow take the place of flowers, but the bushes of _retama_ can
be seen piercing the Peak’s dense mantle of snow up to a height of
quite 10,000 feet.
I had been told that all the beauty of the Peak was lost when seen from
so near, that the beautiful pyramid of rock and snow which rises some
12,000 feet and stands towering above the valley of Orotava would look
like a mere hill when seen rising from the moat of fine sand, which is
what the Cañadas most resemble, that in fact, all enchantment would
be gone. One writer even has gone so far as to call the Peak an ugly
cinder-heap when seen from the Cañadas on the other side, and to say
they found themselves “in a lifeless, soundless world, burnt out, dead,
the very abomination of desolation, where once raged a fiery inferno
over a lake of boiling lava.” I cannot help thinking that the writer of
the above must have been travelling under adverse circumstances; it is
curious how being overtired, wet and cold will make one find no beauty
in a scene, which others, who like ourselves have seen it in glorious
sunshine, will describe as one of the most beautiful sights in the
world.
The path just beyond the Portillo (7150 ft.) divides, and those who
propose to ascend the Peak follow the track up the side of the Montaña
Blanca, a snow-clad hump at the east base of the Peak. The cone itself
is locally called Lomo Tiezo, and rises at an angle of 28°. The stone
hut at the Alta Vista (10,702 ft.) is where many a weary traveller
spends the night, before ascending the final 1400 ft. on foot, as the
mules are left at the hut. No doubt in clear weather the traveller
is well repaid, and the scene is well described as follows by Mr.
Samler Brown: “Those who cannot ascend the mountain would probably
greatly help their imagination by looking at a lunar crater through a
telescope. The surroundings are the essence of desolation and ruin.
On one side the rounded summit of the Montaña Blanca, on the other
the threatening craters of the Pico Viejo and of Chahorra, the latter
three-quarters of a mile in diameter, 10,500 ft. high, once a boiling
cauldron and even now ready to burst into furious life at any moment.
Below, the once circular basin of the Cañadas, seamed with streams of
lava and surrounded by its jagged and many-coloured walls. Around, a
number of volcanoes, standing, as Piazzi Smyth says, like fish on their
tails with widely gaping mouths. On the upper slopes the pine forests
and far beneath the sea, with the Six Satellites (the islands of La
Palma, Gomera, Hierro, Grand Canary, Fuerteventura and Lanzarote)
floating in the distance, the enormous horizon giving the impression
that the looker-on is in a sort of well rather than on a height which,
taken in relation to its surroundings is second to none in the world.”
To attain the rude little shrine at the Fortaleza where a rest was to
be taken, the path leads down into the Cañadas itself. A stretch of
fine yellow sand, like the sand of the Sahara, thoroughly sun-baked,
proved too great a temptation to one of the mules, and regardless of
its rider and luncheon-basket, it enjoyed a good roll in the soft warm
bed--luckily with no untoward results. After a welcome rest in the
grateful shade of a _retama_ bush, we turned our backs to the Peak and
left this beautiful solitary scene. The island of La Palma seemed to
be floating in the sky; the line of the horizon dividing sea and sky
appeared to be all out of place, in fact it seems to be a weird uncanny
world in these parts, and though to-day the Peak may be standing calm
and serene, bathed in sunshine and clad in snow, still it reminds one
of the death and destruction it has caused by fire and flood, and who
knows when it may some day awake from its long sleep and shake the
whole island to its foundations.
It is an accepted theory that the Cañadas themselves were originally an
immense crater, the second largest in the world, and during a period of
activity they threw up the Peak which became the new crater. Probably
during this process the Cañadas themselves subsided, and left the wall
of rock which appears to form a perfect protection to the Valley of
Orotava in case the Peak should some day again spout forth burning lava.
It was in the early winter of 1909 that the inhabitants of Teneriffe
were reminded that their volcano was not dead. For nearly a year
previously frequent slight shocks of earthquake had warned geological
experts that some upheaval was to be expected, which in November were
followed by loud detonations, each one shaking the houses in Orotava.
One of the inhabitants has described the sensation as one of curious
instability, that the houses felt as though they were built on a
foundation of jelly. An entirely new crater opened twenty miles from
the Peak, and though so far distant from Orotava, the flashes of light
were distinctly visible above the lower mountains on the south side
of the Peak. Very little damage seems to have been done, as luckily
there were no villages near enough to be annihilated by the streams of
lava, but most exaggerated reports of the eruptions were circulated
in Europe, and it is even said that a message was sent to the Spanish
Government asking for men-of-war to be sent at once to take away the
inhabitants as the island was sinking into the sea! Many geological
authorities have given it as their opinion that it is most unlikely
that there will be another eruption in less than another hundred years,
which is consoling and reassuring.
As the paths were dry we were able to return by a different route,
which though rather longer is far more beautiful, and to those who
prefer walking to riding downhill is highly to be recommended. The
mules appear to be more sure-footed in the stony paths and once the
region of the Monte Verde begins again and the path is smooth their
unshod feet get no hold, and in wet weather the path is a mere “mud
slide” and should not be attempted. It was a beautiful walk along the
crest of the range; the Peak was lost to sight but the valley below lay
filled with drifting patches of light mist, through which could just
be seen the Villa bathed in the afternoon light, and above, all was
clear. Pedro Gil, and the Montaña Blanca beyond, glowed in a red light,
and right away in the distance the mountains round La Laguna were just
visible.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO A SPANISH VILLA]
From La Corona the view is perhaps at its best. On the left the
pine woods above Icod de los Vinos stretch away into the distance
to the extreme west of the island, and on the right the valley of
Orotava lies spread out like a map. Just below La Corona one gets
back into cultivated regions and the sight of a country-woman with
the usual burden on her head reminded us how many hours it was since
we had seen a sign of life--not, indeed, since we had passed the two
charcoal-burners in the early morning who had given such welcome news
of clear weather ahead. Icod el Alto, with the roughest village street
it has ever been my fate to encounter, was soon left behind, and the
mules trudged wearily down as steep a path as we had met with anywhere,
to Realejo Bajo and back to civilisation and the prosaic. A rickety
little victoria with three lean but gallant little horses took us home
exactly twelve hours from the time we started. We had not meant to
break records, and on the homeward path had certainly taken things
easily--the ride from Realejo Alto to the Cañadas was exactly four
hours, one hour’s rest, five hours’ ride down, partly walking, and two
hours’ driving--and we were neither wet through nor so tired that we
were ill for a week. I had heard a good description of mule riding by
some one who was consulted as to whether it was very tiring, and his
answer was, “It is not _riding_, you just sit, and leave the rest to
the mule and Providence!”
IV
TENERIFFE (_continued_)
I know nothing more enjoyable than a ramble along the coast or up one
of the many _barrancos_ in the neighbourhood of Orotava. I had always
heard that the Canary Islands were rich in native plants, but I hardly
realised that almost each separate _barranco_ (literally meaning a
mountain torrent, but now applied to any ravine or deep gully) would
have its own special treasures, and that the cliffs by the sea are so
rich in vegetation that in many places they look like the most perfect
examples of rock gardens.
One of the best walks is up the steep little path, hardly more than
a goats’ track, which leads from the Barranco Martinez to the cliffs
below the terrace of La Paz. It is possible to wander for miles in this
direction; occasionally, it is true, the spell of enchantment in the
way of plant collecting will be broken by the path suddenly coming to
vast stretches of banana cultivation, but luckily there is still a good
deal of unbroken ground, and the path leads back again to the verge of
the cliffs and inaccessible places. There are so many plants that will
be strangers to the newcomer that it is hard to know which to mention
and which to leave out, as far be it from me to pretend to give a full
list of Canary plants, and the longer I stayed in the islands the less
surprised I was to hear that a learned botanist had been four years
collecting material for a full and complete account of the flora of
the Canaries, and that still his work was not completed. I think the
first place must be given to _Euphorbia canariensis_ as one of the most
conspicuous and ornamental of the cliff plants. Great clumps of this
“candelabra plant,” as the English have christened it (or _cardon_ in
Spanish), are so characteristic that it will always be associated in
my mind with the cliffs of Teneriffe. Its great square fluted columns
may rise to 10 or 12 ft. leafless, but bearing near the top a reddish
fruit or flower, and having vicious-looking hooks down the edges of its
stout branches. If you gash one of the columns with a knife out spurts
its sticky, milky juice, which if not really poisonous is a strong
irritant, and there is a legend that the Guanches used it to stupefy
fish, but precisely in what manner I never ascertained. One feature
of the cliff vegetation cannot fail to strike every one, and that is
the soft bluish-green of nearly all the plants. The prickly pears, as
both the Cactuses are commonly called, _Opuntia Dillenii_ and _Opuntia
coccinellifera_--the latter especially appears to have been introduced
for the cultivation of cochineal, and has remained as a weed--the sow
thistles (_Sonchus_), _Kleinias_, _Artemerias_, and nearly all the
succulent plants have grey-green colouring, which is in such beautiful
contrast to the dark cliffs. The overhanging cliffs just below La Paz
are of most beautiful formation and colouring, in places a deep brick
red colour, owing to a deposit of yellow ochre, and in others a tawny
yellow, and so deep are the hollows in the volcanic rocks and the air
chambers exposed by the inroads of the sea that they have been made
into dwellings. Apparently more than one family and all their goods
and chattels are ensconced in the recesses of the rocks, and here they
live a real open air life, free from house tax or any burden in the way
of repairs to their dwellings. The best of water-supplies is close at
hand, indeed the stream which gushes out of the rock provides drinking
water for the whole town, and when I was told that one of these
cave-dwellers was a harmless lunatic, I thought there was a good deal
of method in his madness when I remembered the vile-smelling, stuffy
cottages that most of the poor inhabit.
_Senecio Kleinia_, or _Kleinia neriifolia_, has the habit of a
miniature dragon tree, its gouty-forked branches having tufts of
blue-green leaves. It remains a shrubby plant about 5 ft. high, and
_Plocama pendula_, with its light weeping form and lovely green colour,
makes a charming contrast to the stiff growth of the Euphorbias
and Kleinias, and all three are so thoroughly typical of the cliff
vegetation that they will probably be the first to attract the
attention of the newcomer. _Artemesia canariensis_ (Canary wormwood)
is easily recognised by its whitish leaf and very strong aromatic
scent, which is far from pleasant when crushed. The native Lavender and
various Chrysanthemums, the parents probably of the so-called “Paris
Daisy” in cultivation, are common weeds, but in March and April, the
months of wild flowers, many more interesting treasures may be found,
and while sitting on the rocks, within reach of one’s hand a bunch
of flowers or low-growing shrubs may be collected, all probably new
to a traveller from northern climes. On the shady damp side of many a
miniature _barranco_ or crevasse will be seen nestling in the shadow of
the rocks which protect them from the salt spray, broad patches of the
wild _Cineraria tussilaginis_, in every shade of soft lilac, prettier
by far than any of the cultivated hybrids. In one inaccessible spot
they were interspersed with a yellow Ranunculus, and close by was one
of the many sow-thistles with its showy yellow flowers. On some of the
steep slopes, too steep happily for the cultivation of the everlasting
banana, the great flower stems of the _Agave rigida_ rear their proud
heads twenty feet in the air, and are the remains of a plantation of
these agaves, which was originally made with a view to cultivating them
in order to extract fibre from their leaves. This variety is the true
_Sisal_ from the Bahamas, botanically known as var. _sisalana_, and
the rapidity with which it increases once the plants are old enough to
bloom may be imagined when it is said that from one single flower-spike
will drop 2000 new plants. Like many other agricultural experiments
in this island, fibre extraction was abandoned, but I heard of some
attempt being made to revive it in the arid island of Lanzarote. Among
the beautiful strata of rock, besides the Euphorbias and prickly pears,
are to be found many low-growing spreading bushes of the succulent,
_Salsola oppositæ folia_, _Ruba fruticosa_, a white-flowering little
_Micromeria_, _Spergularia fimbriata_, whose bright mauve flowers would
be considered a most valuable addition to a so-called “rock garden” in
England, and the low-growing violet-blue _Echium violaceum_, which is
a dreaded weed in Australia, where the seed was probably accidentally
introduced. I often used to think when rambling over this natural rock
garden what lessons might be learnt by studying rock formation before
attempting to lay out in England one of those feeble imitations of
Nature which usually result in lamentable failure, not only in failure
to please the eye, but failure to cultivate the plants through not
providing them with suitable positions.
Those who have a steady head and do not mind scrambling down steep
narrow paths can get right down on to the rugged rocks, and when a high
sea is running the spray dashes high on to the cliffs, and one sits in
a haze of white mist wondering how any vegetation can stand the salt
spray. The small lilac _Statice pectinata_ grew and flourished in such
surroundings, reminding one that in England statices are generally
called Sea Lavenders because the native English Statice, _S. Limonium_,
grows on marsh land. The miniature-flowered heath-like _Frankenia
ericifolia_ was also at home amid the spray.
As the path in our wanderings frequently led us back among large farms
or _fincas_ entirely devoted to the cultivation of bananas, it may be
of interest to mention something of the history of this most lucrative
industry. It used to go to my heart to see charming pieces of broken
ground being ruthlessly stripped of their natural vegetation, old
gnarled and twisted fig trees cut down, and an army of men set to work
to break up the soil ready for planting. In most cases the top soil is
removed, and the soft earth-stone underneath is broken up and the top
soil replaced; but the system appears to differ according to the nature
of the soil. Walls are constructed for the protection of the plants,
or in order to terrace the land and get the level necessary for the
system of irrigation concrete channels being made for the water. So
the initial outlay of bringing land into cultivation is heavy, but then
the reward reaped is almost beyond the dreams of avarice. Good land
with water used to fetch over £40 an acre per annum--indeed, I have
even heard of as high a price as £60 having been obtained; that, even
if true, was exceptional; but perhaps nowhere else in the world is land
let for agricultural purposes at such a rate. Land, however good, which
was not irrigated, was only fetching £4 to £6 an acre, and though I
was never able to ascertain exactly how much per acre the water would
cost, there is no doubt the rate is a very high one; so the rent is not
all profit to the landlord. The life of a banana plantation averages
from twelve to fourteen years, but for eighteen months no return is
obtained, except from the potato crop which is planted in between the
young plants, or, rather, the old stumps, from which a young sucker
will spring up and bear fruit. That shoot will again be cut down, and
by that time several suckers will spring up, about three being left as
a rule on a plant, which will each bear fruit in nine or ten months.
An acre of land in full bearing will produce over 2000 bunches, which
have to be gathered, carted, and carefully packed for export.
Much of the labour on the plantations is done by women, and long
processions of them make their way to the packing-houses, bearing the
immense bunches of green fruit on their heads. Bare-footed, sturdy,
handsome girls many of them, with curiously deep voices in which
they chant with a sing-song note as they trip along with a splendid
upright carriage. Unfortunately their song is instantly broken when
they catch sight of a foreigner, and a chorus of _Peni, peni, peni_,
either getting louder and louder if no attention is paid to the demand,
or turned to a bleating whine for _una perrita_ (a little penny),
accompanied frequently by a volley of stones. Foreigners complain
bitterly of this begging, but they have brought it on themselves by
throwing coins to children as they drive along the road. Or when a
crowd of urchins collects, as if to reward them for their bright black
eyes and pretty faces, which many of them have, a shower of coppers is
thrown to them, so it is small wonder that a race has grown up whose
earliest instinct teaches it to beg, and I feel sure that _Peni_ is
often the first word that a toddling child is taught.
The packing-houses are also a blot on the landscape, sometimes great
unsightly sheds tacked on to what has once been the summer residence
of an old Spanish family, and here crowds of men, women and girls are
wrapping up the bunches, which are shipped in wooden crates by the
thousand, and tens or even hundreds of thousands, I should imagine,
judging by the endless procession of carts drawn by immense bullocks
which wend their way down to the mole, when a steamer comes in to take
a whole cargo of the fruit to England. I used often to wonder that it
was possible to find such an unlimited market for bananas when one
thinks that Grand Canary ships as many as Teneriffe, and they have a
formidable rival also in Jamaica. It is to be hoped that the trade
will not be overdone and the markets fall, or that a blight will not
come on the plants, and that the Islands will not again suffer from
the ruin which followed the cochineal boom. Bananas are said to have
been introduced to the Canaries from the Gulf of Guinea, but that was
not their real home, and no one knows how they were originally brought
from the Far East. From the Canaries they were sent to the West Indian
Islands in 1516, and on from there to Central America. Oviedo, writing
about the natural history of the West Indies, mentions having seen
bananas growing in the orchard of a monastery at Las Palmas in 1520.
The botanical name of the Banana, _Musa sapientum_, was given in the
old belief that it was the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and
evil. The variety now under cultivation is _Musa Cavendishii_, the
least tropical and most suitable for cool climates. Locally they are
called _Plátano_, a corruption of the original name _Plántano_, from
plantain in English, under which name they are always known in the
East. Though the plant has been known in the islands for nearly four
centuries, it was of no use as a crop before the water which is so
absolutely necessary for its cultivation was brought down from the
mountains. Some residents--those, I noticed, who did not own banana
plantations--lament that the excessive irrigation has made the climate
of Orotava damper than it used to be, but if the cultivation has
brought about a climatic change, it has also brought about a financial
change in the fortunes of the farmers and landlords, and many an
enterprising man, who a few years ago was just a working _medianero_,
satisfied with his potato or tomato crop, has little by little built
up a very substantial fortune.
A _medianero_ is a tenant or bailiff who cultivates the ground and
receives a share of the profits. The contract between the landlord
and the _medianero_ varies a good deal on different estates, and the
system is rather complicated, but as a rule he provides his tenant
with a house rent free, pays for half the seed of a cereal, potato or
vegetable crop, but none of the labour for cultivation, and the profits
made on the crop are equally divided. Sometimes, especially in the
case of banana cultivation, the proprietor pays for half the labour of
planting and gathering the crop for sending to market, but never for
any of the intermediate labour. The landlord provides the all-important
water-supply, but all the labour of irrigation has to be done by the
_medianero_, who also pays a share of taxes. The loss of a crop through
blight or a storm is equally shared. The trouble of the system, which
in some ways seems a good one, must come in over the division of the
profits, as either the honesty of the tenant must be implicitly trusted
or an overseer must be present when the crop is gathered to see that
the landlord gets his true _medias_.