THE VOLCANOES.
[Illustration: AGUA FROM SANTA MARIA.]
On the afternoon of the 8th of January we started with all our men and
mules, carrying bed, tent, canteen, and provisions, for the Indian
village of Santa Maria, about three leagues distant on the slope of the
volcano.
Our road lay through the streets of the old town, past ruined churches
and half-neglected convent-gardens, then through an alameda with a
beautiful avenue of ficus trees whose branches met overhead, to a
picturesque old fountain at the southern outskirts of the town, where
the country people were resting and watering their beasts. Here we,
too, came to a halt, more to gratify the social instincts of our mules
than for any other reason.
After leaving the fountain we began the very gradual ascent of the
lower slope of the mountain, and at each turn in the road our eyes
were charmed by lovely glimpses over coffee fincas and gardens full of
flowers and flowering trees to the white walls and church towers of the
old town below us slightly veiled in a summer mist.
[Illustration: ANTIGUA. A RUINED CHURCH.]
We passed a village with a massive white church and stone-flagged
plaza, and then on again through Indian gardens of coffee-trees and
bananas and great spreading Jocote trees, bare of leaves, but laden
with the yellow and crimson fruit with which the Indian flavours his
favourite intoxicating chicha.
As we slowly rode into Santa Maria the shadows of evening were falling,
and out of the great stillness the sound of bells ringing the "oracion"
rose from the distant villages of the plain, bringing with it that
indescribably peaceful mood which penetrates the soul of the wanderer
in whatever clime, when the labour of the day is done and he hears
the call of the faithful to prayer. Passing through a miserably dirty
village street, we entered by a pretentious gate into the great bare
plaza. A huge ugly church faced us, and to the left stretched the
long low cabildo. The other two sides of the plaza were intended to
be closed in by high walls, and by the gateway through which we had
entered; but these were additions which the Indian mind clearly deemed
superfluous, for the gateway was without a gate, half the west wall had
fallen down, and the south wall had not been built. Outside this great
square the town was almost wholly composed of thatch-roofed native huts.
The life of the village centered round the fountain which stood in
the middle of the plaza. Here party after party of women with babies
slung on their backs or astride on their hips, and strings of children
running at their heels, came to fill their "tinajas" and carry home the
water for the night's consumption. The habit of carrying heavy burdens
on their heads gives them a good bearing and a free gait, which is the
only attraction they possess, for a dirtier or more hideously ugly
female population it would be difficult to find. There is, however,
this to be said for them, that they were sober and could attend to
their household duties, whilst the men almost without exception were
drunk with chicha; and my husband and Gorgonio, both of whom had been
here several times before, assured me that they had always found them
in the same condition.
The Alcalde at Antigua had kindly recommended us by letter to the
ladino "Secretario" of the village (the official appointed by the
government to keep the Indian Alcalde and his subordinates in the
straight path), who showed us every possible attention, placed the
Sala Municipal entirely at our disposal, and, most important of all,
promised us that Indian carriers should be ready to accompany us on the
morrow.
The Cabildo was really a sound good building, and the apartment
allotted to us was sumptuously furnished with two or three large
tables, a cupboard containing the Municipal papers, several chairs of
doubtful strength, and a strong box holding the public monies. We
considered ourselves vastly well accommodated, with plenty of room to
stretch out our beds, and a table upon which to eat the supper which
our men were preparing for us over a fire they had made in the plaza.
The only person who looked unhappy was the old Indian who had charge
of the public treasure; he glanced at us askance and every few minutes
would enter the room and walk up to the chest to see that it was all
right, until finally he spread his mat right across the doorway, so
that no one could enter, and lay down to sleep. We were glad to turn
in ourselves and to close the windows and doors, which shielded us
from the unpleasantly close proximity of a party of travelling Indian
merchants who had taken up their quarters for the night in the verandah.
It was in the early glimmer of dawn when we were awakened by the
movements of our neighbours, who shouldered their cacastes and set out
thus betimes on their journey. So, following their good example, we
folded up our beds and prepared for an early start, hoping to reach
the summit of Agua by noon. But, as usual, the cargadores who had been
summoned by the public crier the night before failed to appear--some
sent excuses, some arrived late, and others did not come at all, and
nearly all the precious cool hours of the morning had slipped away
before the Secretario had caught the truants, who were already half
drunk, and the burdens had been arranged to suit their tastes. The
tent-poles were vehemently protested against by the man selected to
carry them, and I must own that my sympathies were with him, for he was
a diminutive specimen of a race short in stature, and the tent-poles
were five feet long. I longed to be able to sketch our cargadores as
they shouldered their loads and trotted off up the mountain, each with
his head tied up in a dirty red handkerchief, his long knife or machete
in hand, and a packet of tortillas and a gourd full of chicha made fast
to his cargo.
It is a long gradual ascent of about 5000 feet to the summit. The path
has been well made and nowhere are the grades uncomfortably steep. The
day was lovely, in the open places a cool breeze fanned us, and in
the shelter of the woods no breeze was needed for the temperature was
perfect.
At first our path lay through scrubby woods of recent growth, and then
through cornfields and through peach-orchards with the trees in full
bloom, and higher still we rode through patches of potatoes planted
beneath the shade of the forest trees. Elder bushes full of powdery
white blossoms reminded us of home; on either side of the way the banks
were bordered by masses of flowers and ferns and charming green things
of various kinds. There were great natural plantations of sunflowers
and scarlet salvias, wild geraniums, fuchsias, and cranes' bills, and
other innumerable small and bright blossoms nestled away amongst the
ferns and foliage.
The many windings of the path brought us continually in sight of
charming bits of scenery. Sometimes the mass of Fuego loomed up in
front of us, framed by branches of trees and exhibiting the usual
display of varying cloud effects, then again the eye rested on the
glistening white houses of Antigua, and as we rose higher other and
more distant towns and villages came into view.
The path would have indeed been good but for the activity of the
"taltusas" or gophers (_Geomys hispidius_), who had so undermined it
as to make it positively dangerous. Into the numerous hidden pitfalls
horse and mules continually floundered with much discomfort and some
danger to the riders. Twice I saw our boy Caralampio pitched right
over his mule's head, the mule losing both his fore legs in a burrow,
but luckily both boy and mule escaped unhurt. My mule, with singular
cleverness and care, avoided every hole and suspicious-looking place,
whilst the horse, with equally exceptional stupidity, floundered into
them all. On one occasion, choosing for the performance the steepest
and narrowest place in the path, right on the edge of a precipice, he
managed, first to lose his fore legs in a burrow, and nearly to crush
his rider's leg against a projecting rock, then in struggling out to
lose both his hind legs in another burrow, and to finish up by falling
over backwards. My mule, who was following close behind, seeing horse
and rider rolling down the hill together, whipped suddenly round, and
started off at a more lively pace than I was accustomed to. Luckily
Gorgonio, ever on the alert, caught at her bridle as she passed him,
and no more damage was done beyond the breaking of the bit. My husband
was soon on his feet again unhurt, and so was the horse, and we were
all heartily thankful to have escaped what might so easily have been a
serious accident.
We next passed through a belt of large velvety-leaved trees
(_Cheirostemon platanoides_); when we were rather more than halfway to
the summit, deciduous trees and flowering shrubs came to an end, and
we found ourselves amongst rough grass and pine-trees in the region
of frost. Here, along the shady side of the path, one could see small
cave-like recesses cut in the hillside, which have a curious origin.
The sloping surface of the soil is saturated with moisture slowly
draining down the mountain-side, continually renewed by the clouds
and mist which are ever gathering round the summit; every night this
moisture is congealed into myriads of minute elongated crystals, which
are so closely mixed with the disintegrated surface of the soil, that
they almost escape notice. This mixture of earth and ice the Indians
scoop out of these shady nooks and make into packages weighing about
170 lbs. each, neatly wrapped up in the coarse mountain grass, and
one of these heavy packages an Indian will carry on his back for sale
in Antigua or Escuintla; but now the manufacture of artificial ice
is putting an end to his trade, and in another generation it will be
extinct. In order to collect a sufficient quantity of this ice the
Indians have to begin their work before sunrise, for although the sun
does not actually shine on these hidden beds of crystals, the warmth of
the day considerably diminishes the supply.
Our road zigzagged up the N.E. side of the mountain, and shortly after
entering this region of frost we were enveloped in a cloud of mist,
which shrouded us until the sun set. All the beauty went out of the
evening; the air grew cold and damp, and as we neared the top, the
altitude took effect on my lungs. Although I would have preferred to
trust to my own feet on the difficult and almost dangerous path, I was
wholly unable to do so, and had to sit my panting mule until we reached
the lip of the crater, where I was obliged to dismount and scramble
down on foot to the level ground at the bottom. With the exception of
the one break in the rim through which we had clambered, the rugged
and precipitous sides of the crater rose to a height of 300 feet all
around us, and it would be difficult to imagine a gloomier or more
inhospitable scene than this great dreary grass-grown bowl presented to
our eyes in the waning light.
The Indians soon heaped together a good supply of pine logs and
lighted large fires. The tent was hastily put up, and we worked hard
to make ourselves comfortable before dark. The task was, however, only
half-completed when the sun set, and the great black pall of night
covered us, bringing a darkness that could be felt, which the fires
seemed only to intensify. However, half an hour later the mist cleared
away, and one by one the stars came out, clear and sparkling in the
blue-black sky. Venus and a young crescent moon hung for a brief moment
very near together on the edge of the crater and then left the black
abyss colder and darker than before.
Hoping to divert my thoughts from this heavy darkness, which oppressed
me almost to the point of physical pain, I turned my attention to
the fire and my duties as cook. But here I met with an unexpected
difficulty, for owing to the altitude everything boiled at a
ridiculously low temperature, and the curried fowl I put on to cook
spluttered and frizzled long before it was half-heated through; and
although I put it back time after time, owing to the rapidity with
which it boiled on the underside and cooled down on the upperside, we
got no more than a comfortless and half-cold supper after all. Supper
over, there was nothing left to do but to go to bed, and wrapping
ourselves in all the rugs and coats we possessed, we tried to forget
the cold and general discomfort in sleep, but our efforts were in vain.
The temperature fell lower and lower, icy gusts of wind flew shuddering
past the tent, shaking the canvas and stretching every rope, leaving
an oppressive stillness behind almost more alarming than the blasts
themselves. At such moments one's nerves, already at full tension,
became unmanageable, and one's mind conjured up fantastical pictures
and forebodings of danger from the treacherous nature of the mountain
to whose mercies we had confided ourselves: a mountain which I knew
well enough, in the daytime, had not been in eruption within the memory
of man. But perhaps the most uncomfortable feeling of all was the
difficulty in breathing, and the unusual gasping sensation following
the least change of position.
The Indians' habit of early rising was on this occasion a source of joy
to me, and long before daylight the terrible freezing monotony of the
night was broken by the sound of voices and the heaping together of the
smouldering logs; it was a moment of joy when Gorgonio appeared with
hot coffee and bread.
We were anxious to lose none of the beauty of the sunrise, and as
soon as possible we began to climb the rough sides of the crater, a
task involving many pauses and great expenditure of breath; indeed
so painful was the effort to expand one's lungs, that at times one
felt inclined to give up all further exertion. Gradually, however,
the strain relaxed, and by the time we had reached the ridge we
breathed normally, inhaling refreshing draughts of the purest and most
invigorating air, and feeling fit for any further amount of scrambling.
Arduous as was the task of ascending to the rim of the crater it was
as nothing compared with the difficulty now before me of attempting
to describe the beauty of the scene on which we gazed. The world lay
still asleep, but just stirring to shake off the blue-grey robe of
night which had thrown its soft misty folds over lakes and valleys. A
magnificent panorama of mountain-peaks floated out of the mist, east
and west and north, whilst to the south a grey hazy plain stretched
away until it was lost in the mists of the ocean. Following the line
of the coast the great bulwark of volcanic cones stood shoulder to
shoulder, and in the far east we could just catch the faint red light
from the active crater of Izalco in Salvador reflected on the morning
sky. One by one the lofty peaks caught a pink glow from the coming
sun, and as the mists rolled away we could see the pretty lake of
Amatitlan nestled amongst the hills and the sleeping hamlets dotted
over the plains. Very near to us on the west towered the beautiful
volcano of Fuego, still clothed in the softest blue mist. As the sun
rose clear and bright we beheld a sight so interesting and beautiful
that it alone would have repaid us for the miseries of the night, for
at that moment a ghost-like shadowy dark blue mountain rose high above
all the others, and as we gazed wondering what this spectral visitor
might mean, we saw that it was the shadow of Agua itself projected
on the atmosphere, which moved as the sun rose higher and gradually
sank until it lay a clear-cut black triangle against the slopes of
Fuego. It was an entrancingly beautiful sight, and strange as it was
beautiful. As the sun rose higher in the heavens and warmed the air we
lay resting and basking in its light on soft beds of grass, marvelling
in careless fashion over the wonderful changes we had witnessed, the
contrast between the profoundly dark and tragic night and the laughing
merry day, and we rejoiced that we had come to see the varying moods of
nature at such an altitude.
Then we had a glorious scramble right round the edge of the crater, the
highest point of which, as measured by Dr. Sapper, is 12,140 feet above
sea-level; at last, regretfully tearing ourselves away from scenes of
so much loveliness, we plunged down again to where our tent stood in
the sunless crater in the middle of a grassy plain about one hundred
and fifty yards across. Here we found Gorgonio occupied in thawing the
coffee, which had frozen solid in the bottle since our early breakfast
time. We were soon _en route_ for Santa Maria, and I noticed a certain
readiness amongst the Indians as well as our own men to escape from the
crater, where we had passed so gloomy a night. Mindful of the holes
and pitfalls in the path, we preferred to risk nothing, and walk the
six miles to the village. On our way down we passed some of the Indian
ice-gatherers staggering under their heavy burdens. It was past noon
when we arrived at Santa Maria, and after a few hours' rest we mounted
our mules and rode on in the cool of the afternoon, and reached Antigua
before dark.
[Illustration: INDIANS FROM JOCOTENANGO, ON THE MESETA, VOLCAN DE
FUEGO. Jan. 1882.]
NOTE (by A. P. M.).--I had made two ascents of Agua previous to the
expedition just described by my wife. The first was in January 1881,
when I walked from Santa Maria to the crater and back in the day (for
the mule-path had not yet been made), arriving at the summit at about
10 o'clock; on the way up I had passed through a belt of cloud which
thickened and spread until the whole country seemed to be covered up
with it. The sun was shining in a brilliantly blue sky overhead, and
the top of the mountain stood out perfectly clear, like an island in a
silver sea. It was an exquisitely beautiful sight looking down on the
great mass of sunlit billows stretching to the horizon, but it was not
what I had come to see, so after waiting for four hours I packed up my
camera and compass and marched down again.
On New Year's day, 1882, I climbed up Agua again, and as it was
fortunately a clear day I took a round of angles and some photographs.
During the next few days I made the acquaintance of Dr. Otto Stoll, who
was then practicing medicine in Antigua, and collecting the valuable
notes on the Indian languages which he has since published, and, to my
great delight, I learnt that he wished to make the ascent of Fuego; so
we arranged to start the very next day for the village of Alotenango.
On the 7th January we left that village about 7 o'clock in the morning
with seven Mozos, carrying food, clothing, and my camp-bed, and rode
for an hour towards the mountains, when we dismounted and sent back
our mules. The first two hours' climb was not so very steep, but it
was tiring work walking over the loose mould and dry leaves under the
thick forest. At 10 A.M. we stopped an hour for breakfast. Dr. Stoll
was in very bad training, as he had been suffering from fever, and
it needed all his pluck to face the hill at all. Then we recommenced
our climb under shadow of the forest by a steep path cut through the
undergrowth. At the height of about 9500 feet we, for the first time
since starting, got a sight of the peak rising on the other side of
a deep ravine. The whole of the slope on which we looked was bare
of vegetation, and presented to the eye nothing but desolate slopes
of ashes and scoriæ broken higher up with patches of burnt rock; we
scrambled on through the thick undergrowth, often with loose earth
under foot, and by degrees the vegetation changed and we got amongst
the pine-trees. At about 11,200 feet we came to a spot where the
earth had been levelled for a few yards by the Indians, and there we
determined to pass the night. I put up my bed, and the Mozos arranged a
fence of pine-boughs to break the force of the wind, and collected wood
for a fire. As we were all snug by about half-past four, I scrambled up
a little higher to see what sort of view I could get of the Meseta and
cone for a photograph, and then returned and watched the reflection of
the sunset over the more distant peaks and against the perfect cone of
Agua. It was a most beautiful sight, but the cold which followed the
sunset soon took all our attention, and when I had turned into bed I
had on three jerseys, two flannel shirts, and a loose knitted waistcoat
under my cloth clothes, and my rug double all over; yet I felt the
cold intensely, and poor Stoll, who was even better wrapped up than I
was, was shivering, so we pulled down the waterproof sheet which we
had rigged overhead and put it over both of us; still I was frequently
awakened by the cold, and Stoll got, I fear, no sleep at all. The Mozos
rolled up in their ponchos, with their toes to the fire, seemed to
endure the cold much better than we did. We turned out of our shelter
at about half-past four in the morning, and felt all the better after
drinking hot coffee; we then sat for an hour watching a most beautiful
dawn and sunrise. At the opposite side of the valley rose the Volcano
of Agua, sloping on one side to the plain of Antigua, and on the other
in a long unbroken sweep to the sea, more than forty miles away. Peak
after peak stood out against the red light into the far distance, and
on the right the low coast-line and the sea showed up very clearly.
As soon as the sun was up we started for the summit. I stopped on the
way to get a photograph of the cone, which lay to the left of us as we
ascended; but the clouds came over just as I was ready, and I had to
give it up. A little over 12,000 feet we left the scraggy pine-trees
and arrived at the northern end of a cinder ridge, called the Meseta,
which is at the summit of the slope we had been climbing. To the north
of us, on the other side of a deep rift, rose the distant cone of
Acatenango, the highest of the three peaks of the mountain, covered
with sparsely scattered pine-trees almost to the top; to the south,
half a mile distant at the other end of the Meseta, rose the active
cone of Fuego.
[Illustration: THE FIRE PEAK AND MESETA.]
West from the Meseta was a most lovely view over a wooded valley,
broken by cultivation, and dotted with villages to the slopes of
Atitlan, the nearest to us of the long line of volcanoes which follows
the coast-line and sweep in long wooded stretches to the sea. On
the land side the slope of Atitlan dipped into the great lake which
sparkled below us in the sunlight. Beyond the lake ridge after ridge
rose abruptly in the distance. The wind came bitterly cold over us as
we stopped to look at the view, and every now and again the clouds
shut everything from our sight; the Mozos huddled together under tufts
of coarse grass, and, as we had been warned, refused to go any further.
So we set out along the cinder ridge of the Meseta alone; it was just
broad enough to walk along in safety, but a fall on the east side would
have sent one headlong down a precipice, or on the west side sliding
down steep cinder slopes, broken by smoking holes like half-formed
craters, into the black forest-covered gullies below.
[Illustration: PEAK OF ACATENANGO, FROM THE MESETA.]
In a very high wind it would be impassable; as it was I only lost first
one and then the other of my (double) Terai felt hats, whirled off
my head by the sudden gusts. At the end of this ridge we came to the
actual cone, more than 400 feet high, formed of small loose cinders
and scoriæ, as steep as the roof of a house. It was a terribly hard
pull up. With the help of a strong stick, and often by using my hands
and with many rests on the way, I at last reached some lava rocks
where there was good foothold. Stoll was so weak from his fever that
two or three times he told me that he must give up, but when he saw me
getting on in front of him he plucked up courage and came on again. I
had thought the ridge of rocks was round the crater itself, but after
scrambling up them I found that there was still 40 or 50 feet above
me of steep cinder slope, which luckily proved to be harder and gave
better foothold than what we had already passed. Up this I climbed,
and at the very top of the peak looked over into the crater on the
sea-side. It was a hole about a hundred feet deep, almost surrounded
by broken jagged and smoking rocks covered with sulphurous deposit and
falling away on the further side to greater depths which projecting
walls of rock hid from my view. I went back down to the ridge of rocks
I had passed and shouted encouragement to Stoll, who was pluckily
struggling on. Fortunately for me I suffered from none of the headache
and heart-beating which had troubled me on the top of Agua the week
before. Perhaps the most curious thing about the mountain is the fact
that it rises quite regularly and gradually to a sharp point, on which
the two of us could sit and get an uninterrupted view all round.
Once at the top Stoll was more venturesome than I, and induced me to
follow him round the smoking edge of the crater to a projecting rock,
a few yards to the left, but we did not greatly improve our view. The
fumes from the crater were not very pleasant, but luckily the wind was
in our favour. After a short rest on the summit we returned to the
Meseta, shooting down the cinder slope as if it were snow, somewhat to
the damage of our boots.
We got back to our camping-place about 11 o'clock, and after a good
breakfast, started for the descent, and reached Alotenango between 4
and 5 o'clock in the afternoon.