From the time we left Graciosa the sky remained so consistently hazy that despite the height of the mountains of Gran Canaria we did not make out the island until the evening of the 18th. It is the granary of the archipelago of the Fortunate Islands and, remarkably for an area outside the Tropics, there are two wheat harvests a year, one in February, the other in June. Gran Canaria has never been visited before by a geologist, yet it is worth observing because its mountains differ entirely from those of Lanzarote and Tenerife.
On the morning of the 19th of June we caught sight of the point of Naga, but the Pico de Teide remained invisible. Land stood out vaguely because a thick fog effaced the details. As we approached the natural bay of Santa Cruz we watched the mist, driven by wind, draw near. The sea was very rough, as it usually is in this place. After much sounding we anchored. The fog was so thick that visibility was limited to a few cables’ length. Just as we were about to fire the customary salute the fog suddenly dissipated and the Pico de Teide appeared in a clearing above the clouds, illuminated by the first rays of sun, which had not reached us yet. We rushed to the bow of the corvette not to miss this marvellous spectacle, but at that very same moment we saw four English warships hove to near our stern, not far out in the open sea. We had passed them closely by in the thick fog that had prevented us from seeing the peak, and had thus been saved from the danger of being sent back to Europe. It would have been distressing for naturalists to have seen the Tenerife coasts from far off and not to have been able to land on soil crushed by volcanoes. We quickly weighed anchor and the Pizarro approached the fort as closely as possible to be under its protection. Here, two years before in an attempted landing, Admiral Nelson lost his arm to a cannon-ball. The English ships left the bay; a few days earlier they had chased the packet-boat Alcudia, which had left La Coruña just before we did. It had been forced into Las Palmas harbour, and several passengers were captured while being transferred to Santa Cruz in a launch.
The location of the town of Santa Cruz is similar to La Guaira, the busiest port in the province of Caracas. The heat is excessive in both places, but Santa Cruz is sadder. On a deserted sandy beach, houses of a dazzling white with flat roofs and windows without panes lie close to a rocky cliff stripped of vegetation. A fine stone quay and public walk planted with poplars are the only attraction in that monotonous picture. From Santa Cruz the peak seems far less picturesque than it does from the port of Orotava. There a smiling and richly cultivated plain contrasts with the wild appearance of the volcano. From the groves of palm and banana trees on the shore to the region of strawberry trees, laurels and pine the volcanic rock is covered with luxuriant vegetation. It is easy to see why the inhabitants of the beautiful climates of Greece and Italy thought they had discovered one of the Fortunate Isles on the western part of Tenerife. The eastern Santa Cruz side is everywhere marked with sterility.
After answering tiresome questions about political events from those who came on board, we landed. The boat was straightaway sent back to the ship in case the surf, which in this bay is dangerous, should crush it against the wharf. Our attention was first caught by a tall woman, of a brownish complexion and badly dressed, called the capitana. She was followed by several other women, equally badly dressed. They tried to board the Pizarro but were refused. In this harbour, frequented by Europeans, licentiousness seems to be quite ordered. The capitana is chosen by her companions, she ensures that no injuries are done to sailors, and then sends them back on board at the right time. Officers seek her out if they think one of their crew might be hiding on land to desert later.
When we stepped into the streets of Santa Cruz the heat was suffocating, though the thermometer recorded only 25 °C. After breathing sea air for such a long time one suffers on land, not because the air contains more oxygen at sea but because it is less charged with the gases emanating from rotting animal and vegetable substances.
Santa Cruz, the Añaza of the Guanches, is a pretty town of some 8,000 people. I was not struck by the vast number of monks that travellers always find in the Spanish possessions, nor shall I bother to describe the churches, the Dominican library with its meagre 200 tomes; nor the quay where people meet in the evening to enjoy the fresh air, nor the famous 30-foot-high monument in Cararra marble dedicated to Our Lady of Candelaria in memory of the virgin’s miraculous appearance in 1392 in Chimisay, near Güimar. The port of Santa Cruz is in fact a great caravanserai on the route to America and India. Every traveller who writes his adventures begins by describing Madeira and Tenerife, though the natural history of these islands remains quite unknown.
The recommendations from the Madrid Court assured us that we were always well received in all the Spanish possessions. The Captain-General immediately gave us permission to visit the island. Colonel Armiaga, in command of an infantry regiment, warmly welcomed us to his house. We did not tire of admiring the banana trees, the papaw trees, the Poinciana pulcherrima and other plants usually seen only in greenhouses.
Although the captain of the Pizarro had orders to remain long enough at Tenerife to allow us to climb the peak, snow permitting, he let us know that the English ships’ blockade meant that we could not count on a stay of more than four or five days. So we hurried to the port of Orotova on the western slope of the volcano where we hoped to find guides. Nobody in Santa Cruz had ever climbed to the summit of the mountain.
On the 20th of June, before sunrise, we set off for the Villa de Laguna, some 350 toises13 above Santa Cruz harbour. The narrow and tortuous path leading to La Laguna climbs along a torrent, which in the rainy season turns into fine cascades. Near the town we met some white camels, barely laden. These animals are mainly used to transport goods from the customs house to the merchants. Camels are not numerous in Tenerife, while in Lanzarote and Fuerteventura there are thousands.
As we approached La Laguna the air cooled. This sensation delighted us as we found the air in Santa Cruz asphyxiating. As we tend to feel disagreeable sensations more strongly, we felt the change in temperature more as we returned from La Laguna to the port, as if we were approaching the mouth of a furnace.
The perpetual cool that prevails in La Laguna makes the city the favourite home for the inhabitants of the Canaries. The residential capital of Tenerife is magnificently placed in a small plain surrounded by gardens at the foot of a hill crowned with laurel, myrtle and strawberry trees. It would be a mistake to rely on some travellers who believe the town lies by a lake. The rain sometimes forms an enormous sheet of water, and a geologist who sees the past rather than the present state of nature in everything would not doubt that the whole plain was once a great lake, now dried up. La Laguna has fallen from its opulence since the erupting volcano destroyed the port of Garachico and Santa Cruz became the trading centre of the island. It has no more than 9,000 inhabitants, with nearly 400 monks distributed in six convents, though some travellers insist half the population wear cassocks. Numerous windmills surround the city, a sign that wheat is cultivated in this high country. The Guanches called wheat at Tenerife tano, at Lanzarote triffa; barley in Gran Canaria was called aramotanoque, and at Lanzarote tamosen. The flour of roasted barley (gofio) and goat’s milk constituted the main food of these people about whose origins so many systematic fables have been written.
Many chapels, called ermitas by the Spaniards, surround La Laguna. Built on hillocks among evergreen trees, these chapels add a picturesque effect to the countryside. The interior of the town does not correspond at all to its outskirts. The houses are solid, but very ancient, and the streets sad. A botanist should not complain of the age of these houses for the roofs and walls are covered with Sempervivum canariensis and the pretty trichomanes, mentioned by every traveller. The plants are watered by the abundant mists.
The ground of the island rises to form an amphitheatre and, as in Peru and Mexico, contains in miniature all the possible climates, from African heat to alpine cold.14 The mean temperatures of Santa Cruz, the port of Orotava, Orotava itself and La Laguna form a descending series. In southern Europe the change of seasons is too strongly felt to offer the same advantages. Tenerife on the other hand, on the threshold of the Tropics and a few days’ journey from Spain, benefits from a good part of what nature has lavished in the Tropics. Its flora include the beautiful and imposing bananas and palms. He who is able to feel nature’s beauty finds in this precious island a far more effective remedy than the climate. Nowhere else in the world seems more appropriate to dissipate melancholy and restore peace to troubled minds than Tenerife and Madeira. These effects are due not only to the magnificent situation and to the purity of air, but above all to the absence of slavery, which so deeply revolts us in all those places where Europeans have brought what they call their ‘enlightenment’ and their ‘commerce’ to their colonies.
The valley of Tacoronte leads one into a delicious country glowingly spoken of by all travellers. In the Tropics I found places where nature is more grand and richer in its varieties; but after crossing the Orinoco, the Peruvian cordilleras and the valleys of Mexico I admit that I have never seen a more attractive, more harmonious view in the distribution of greenery and rocks than the western coast of Tenerife.
The sea coast is fringed with date and coconut palms; above them groups of banana trees stand out from the dragon trees whose trunks are often rightly compared to snakes’ bodies. The hills are covered in vines, which grow over high stakes. Orange trees loaded with blossom, myrtle and cypress surround chapels raised devotedly by the islanders on cleared hilltops. Land is divided by hedges made of agave and cactus. Innumerable cryptogamous plants, predominantly fern, cover the walls moistened by small clear-water springs. In winter when the volcano is covered with snow and ice this place enjoys an eternal spring. In summer, as the evening falls, a sea breeze freshens the air. The coastal population is very dense and appears to be even greater because the houses and gardens are scattered, increasing the picturesque aspect. Unhappily, the wealth of the inhabitants does not correspond with hard work or with nature’s richness. Those who work the land are not its owners; the fruit of their labour belongs to the nobility and the feudal system that for so long was the shame of Europe and still prevents the people’s progress here.
On our way to the port of Orotava we passed through the pretty villages of Matanza and Victoria. These names are found together in all the Spanish colonies and contrast in an ugly way with the peaceful feelings those countries inspire. Matanza signifies slaughter, and the word alone recalls the price at which victory was won. In the New World it generally indicates the defeat of the Indians; at Tenerife the village of Matanza was built in a place where the Spaniards were defeated by the Guanches, who were soon sold as slaves in Europe.15
By the morning of the 21st of June we were on our way to the volcano’s summit. The day was not fine and the peak’s summit, generally visible from Orotava from sunrise to ten at night, was covered in cloud. What links an excursion to the peak with similar ones to Chamonix or Etna is that one is obliged to follow guides, and sees only what has already been seen and described by previous travellers.
From a distance Villa de la Orotava pleases because of the many streams running down the main streets. The Agua Mansa spring, trapped in two large reservoirs, turns several mills and is then released in the nearby vineyards. The climate in the town is even more refreshing than in the port as a strong wind always blows from ten in the morning onwards. Because of the altitude water evaporates in the air and frequently precipitates to make the climate misty. The town lies 160 toises above sea-level; which is 200 toises lower than La Laguna; it was noted that plants flower a month later here.
Orotava, the ancient Taoro of the Guanches, lies on an abrupt slope of a hill. The streets seemed deserted; the houses solidly built but melancholic; they nearly all belong to a nobility accused of being too proud, presumptuously calling itself the Twelve Houses. We passed along a high aqueduct lined with luxuriant fern, and visited many gardens where northern European fruit trees grow along with orange, pomegranate and date trees. Even though we knew about Franqui’s dragon tree16 from previous travellers, its enormous thickness amazed us. We were told that this tree, mentioned in several ancient documents, served as a boundary mark and already in the fifteenth century was as enormous as it is today. We calculated its height to be about 50 to 60 feet; its circumference a little above its roots measured 45 feet. The trunk is divided into many branches, which rise up in the form of a chandelier and end in tufts of leaves similar to the Mexican yucca.
This tree, which grows only in cultivated areas in the Canaries, Madeira and Porto Santo, presents a curious phenomenon in plant migration. In Africa it has never been found in a wild state, and its country of origin is East India. How has this tree become acclimatized in Tenerife? Did the Guanches have contact with nations originally from Asia?
From Orotava, along a narrow and stony path through a beautiful chestnut forest (el monte de castaños), we reached an area covered with brambles, laurels and arboreal heaths. The trunks of the latter grow to an extraordinary size and their mass of flowers contrasts agreeably with the abundant Hypericum canariensis. We stopped under a solitary pine to fill up with water. This place commanded a magnificent panorama over the sea and the western part of the island.
We continued to climb from this pine to the crater of the volcano without crossing one valley, for the ravines do not merit this name. To the eyes of a geologist the whole of the island is one mountain whose oval base is prolonged to the north-east and in which several systems of volcanic rock, formed in different periods, may be distinguished.
Above the region of arborescent heaths, called Monte Verde, lies the region of ferns. Nowhere else have I seen such a profusion of pteris, blechnum and asplenium. The roots of the Pteris aquilina serve as food for the inhabitants of Palma and Gomera; they grate it to a powder and mix in a bit of barley flour, which when boiled is called gofio. The use of such a primitive food is proof of the misery of the peasants of the Canary Islands. Monte Verde is scored by several small and arid ravines. Above the zone of ferns we reached a juniper and pine wood, severely punished by storms.
We spent nearly two and a half hours crossing this plain, which is nothing but an immense sea of sand. Despite the altitude the thermometer indicated 13.8 °C in the evening, 3.7 °C higher than at noon. We suffered continuously from the pumice-stone dust. In the midst of this plain are tufts of broom, Spartium nubigenum. This beautiful shrub grows to a height of some 9 feet and is covered with aromatic flowers with which the goat hunters we met in our path decorated their hats. The dark, chestnut-coloured goats of the peak are supposed to be very tasty as they eat the leaves of this plant, and have run wild in these wastes from time immemorial.
As far as the rock of Gayta, that is, up to the beginning of the great retama plain, the Tenerife peak is covered in beautiful vegetation, with no traces of recent devastations. But hardly have you entered the plain littered with pumice-stone than the countryside changes dramatically; at every step you trip over enormous obsidian blocks thrown down by the volcano. Everything here betrays a deep solitude. A few goats and rabbits are the only signs of life in this high plain. From up here the island becomes an immense heap of burned matter surrounded by a narrow fringe of vegetation.
Above the region of Spartium nubigenum we passed through narrow defiles and small, old ravines cut by rainwater to a higher plateau and then on to the place where we intended to spend the night, some 1,530 toises above the coast. This place is called Estancia de los Ingleses (English Halt) because most of the travellers who have scaled the peak have been English. Two protruding rocks form a kind of cave, which offers shelter from the wind. This point, higher than the summit of Canigou, can be reached on mule: many a curious traveller hoping to reach the crater’s edge from Orotava have had to wait here. Despite it being summer and there being a blue African sky above us that night we froze; the thermometer dropped to 5 °C. Our guides lit a bonfire with dried retama branches. Without a tent or coats, we had to lie down on calcinated scree, and the flames and smoke that the wind drove ceaselessly towards us made it an extremely uncomfortable night. We had never spent a night so high up and I had no idea that we would soon live in cities higher than the summit of this volcano. The further the temperature plummeted, the thicker the clouds round the peak grew. A strong north wind dissipated them; at intervals the moon appeared, its white disk shining against a blue backdrop. With the volcano in sight, that night scene was truly majestic. Suddenly the peak would disappear completely in the mist, then it would reappear worryingly close, casting its shadow over the clouds below us like some monstrous pyramid.
Around three in the morning, lit by the dismal light of a few pine torches, we set off for the summit of the Piton. We began the ascent from the northern side, which is extremely steep. After two hours we reached a small plateau, named Alta Vista because of its height. The neveros, those natives who collect ice and snow to sell in the nearby towns, reach as far as this point. Their mules, better trained to climb than those hired by travellers, reach Alta Vista. The neveros then have to carry the collected snow on their shoulders as they go down. Beyond this point the malpaís begins. This term, in use in Mexico, Peru and all places where there are volcanoes, refers to regions stripped of vegetation and covered in lava fragments.
We turned to the right to visit the ice cave situated at 1,728 toises, just under the perpetual snow altitude limit. During winter the grotto fills with ice and snow and, as the sun’s rays do not penetrate its interior, summer heat is unable to melt the frozen water.
Day was breaking when we left the ice cave. A layer of white fleecy cloud blocked out the lower regions of the surrounding islands. The clouds were spread out so uniformly and in such a flat way that they looked like an immense plain covered in snow. The colossal pyramid of the peak, the volcanic summits of Lanzarote, Fuerteventura and La Palma stuck up like reefs above a sea of fog. Their dark colour contrasted vividly with the whiteness of the clouds.
We were forced to cut our own track across the malpaís. The slope is very steep, and the volcanic blocks slipped under our feet. The rubble on the peak’s summit has sharp edges and leaves gaps into which explorers risk falling up to their waists. Unfortunately the laziness and bad temper of our guides made this ascent more difficult. They were despairingly phlegmatic. The night before they had tried to convince us not to pass beyond the limit of the rocks. Every ten minutes they would sit down to rest; they threw away pieces of obsidian and pumice-stone that we had carefully collected. Finally we realized that none of them had ever visited the volcano’s summit before.
After three hours’ walking we reached a small plain called La Rambleta at the far end of the malpaís; from its centre rises the Piton or Sugar Loaf. From the Orotava side this mountain resembles those pyramids with steps found in Féjoun or Mexico. Here we found the air holes that locals call the Nostrils of the Peak (Narices del Pico). Hot watery vapours seep out at regular intervals from cracks in the rock, and the thermometer marked 43.2 °C. I cannot, however, accept the daring hypothesis which states that the Nostrils of the Peak are vents of an immense apparatus of distillation whose lower part is situated below sea-level. Since we have been studying volcanoes with more care, and since innate love for all that is marvellous is less common in geological books, doubts have been expressed about these constant and direct links between sea water and volcanic fire. There is a far simpler explanation of this phenomenon. The peak is covered with snow part of the year; we found snow still around on the Rambleta plain. This led us to conclude that the Tenerife peak, like the Andes and Manila islands’ volcanoes, are filled with filtered water. The watery vapours emitted by the Nostrils and cracks of the crater are those same waters heated.
We had yet to climb the steepest part of the mountain, the Piton, which forms the summit. The slope of this small cone, covered with volcanic ashes and fragments of pumice-stone, is so steep that it would have been impossible to reach the top had we not been able to follow an old lava current that seemed to have flowed down from the crater and whose remains have defied the ravages of time. The debris forms a wall of scoria, which reaches into the loose ash. We climbed to the Piton by clinging to this sharp-edged scoria, which, worn down by the weather, often broke off in our hands. It took us half an hour to reach the top, though it was only some 90 toises above us.
When we reached the Piton’s summit we were surprised to find that there was barely enough room to sit down comfortably. We faced a small circular wall of porphyritic lava, with a base of pitchstone, which prevented us from seeing the interior of the crater called La Caldera or the Cauldron. The wind blew so hard from the west that we could scarcely stand on our feet. It was eight in the morning and we were frozen though the temperature was just above freezing-point. We had become accustomed to heat, and the dry wind increased the sensation of cold.
The brink of the crater does not resemble any of the other volcanoes I have visited, such as Vesuvius, Jorullo or Pichincha. On the peak the wall, which surrounds the crater like a parapet, is so high that it would not let you reach La Caldera were it not for a breach on the eastern side caused by a very ancient lava overflow. We climbed down through this gap to the bottom of the elliptical funnel.
The external edges of La Caldera are almost perpendicular, rather like the Somma seen from the Atrio del Cavallo. We got to the bottom of the crater following a trail of broken lava from the eastern breach of the wall. We only felt the heat above the crevices, which exhaled watery vapours with a strange buzzing sound. Some of these crevices can be found on the outside of the crater, on the external parapet that surrounds it. A thermometer placed inside one of them rose suddenly from 68 °C to 75 °C. This would have risen higher, but we had to pull the thermometer out to prevent our hands from being burned. It might be thought that these vapours, which escape in puffs of air, contain muriatic or sulphuric acids, but when condensed they had no particular taste. Experiments showed that these chimneys exhale pure water only.
While on the spot I sketched a view17 of the crater’s interior edge as it is seen on the descent through the eastern wall’s breach. Nothing is more striking than the superimposition of these lava strata, which reveals similar sinuosities to the calcareous rock of the Alps. These enormous ledges, sometimes horizontal and sometimes sloping or undulating, reminded us that long ago the entire mass had flowed, and that a combination of disruptive causes determined a particular flow. The crest of the wall exhibits the same strange ramifications we find in coke. The northern edge is the highest. Towards the southwest the wall has considerably subsided and an enormous amount of scoria seems glued to the outer edge. On the west the rock is perforated, and through a wide opening you can see the sea and horizon. Perhaps the force of the steam broke through here just when the lava overflowed from the crater.
The bottom of the crater is reached with danger. In a volcano such as Vesuvius, whose main activity is directed towards the summit, the depth of the crater varies with each eruption, but at the Tenerife peak the depth appears to have remained unchanged for a long time. Judging from what I could see, the actual site of the crater is properly speaking a solfatara; an area for interesting but not striking observations. The majesty of the site is due more to its height above sea-level, to the profound silence of these elevated regions, and to the immense space over which the eye ranges from the mountain’s summit.
A journey to the Tenerife volcano’s summit is not solely interesting for the amount of phenomena available for scientific research but far more for the picturesque beauties offered to those who keenly feel the splendours of nature. It is a hard task to describe these sensations for they work on us so much more powerfully the more they are vague. When a traveller must describe the highest peaks, the river cataracts, the tortuous Andes valleys, he risks tiring his readers with the monotonous expression of his admiration. It seems better suited to my intentions in this narrative of my journey to evoke the particular character of each zone. We get to know the features of each region better the more we indicate its varying characteristics by comparing it with others. This method enables us to discover the sources of the pleasures conferred by the great picture of nature.
Travellers know by experience that views from the summits of high mountains are neither as beautiful, picturesque, nor as varied as those from the heights of Vesuvius, Righi or the Puy-de-Dôme. Colossal mountains such as Chimborazo, Antisana or Monte Rosa compose such a huge mass that the richly cultivated plains are seen only at a great distance where a bluish and watery tint spreads over the landscape. The Tenerife peak, due to its narrow shape and local position, combines the advantages of the less high summits with those of the very high. From its top we can see not only the sea to the horizon, but also the forests of Tenerife and the inhabited coastal strips, which seem so close that their shapes and tones stand out in beautiful contrasts. It could be said that the volcano crushes the little island that serves as its base, and that it shoots up from the depths of the seas to a height three times higher than cloud level in summer.
Seated on the crater’s external edge we turned our eyes towards the north-east where the coasts are decorated with villages and hamlets. At our feet masses of mist, continually tossed about by the winds, changed shape all the time. A uniform layer of cloud between us and the lower regions of the island had been pierced here and there by wind currents sent up from the heated earth. The Orotava bay, its vessels at anchor, the gardens and vineyards round the town, appeared in an opening that seemed to enlarge all the time. From these solitary regions our eyes dived down to the inhabited world below; we enjoyed the striking contrasts between the peak’s arid slopes, its steep sides covered with scoriae, its elevated plains devoid of vegetation, and the smiling spectacle of the cultivated land below. We saw how plants were distributed according to the decreasing temperatures of altitudes. Below the peak lichens begin to cover the scorious and polished lava; a violet (Viola cheiranthifolia) similar to the Viola decumbens climbs the volcano’s slopes up to 1,740 toises above all other herbaceous plants. Tufts of flowering broom decorate the valleys hollowed out by the torrents and blocked by the effects of lateral eruptions. Below the retama lies the region of ferns, and then the arborescent heaths. Laurel, rhamnus and strawberry-tree woods grow between the scrub and the rising ground planted with vines and fruit trees. A rich green carpet extends from the plain of brooms and the zone of alpine plants to groups of date palms and banana trees whose feet are bathed by the ocean.
The apparent proximity of the hamlets, vineyards and coastal gardens from the summit is increased by the surprising transparency of the air. Despite the great distance we could not only pick out the houses, the tree trunks and the sails on the vessels, but also the vivid colouring of the plain’s rich vegetation. The Pico de Teide is not situated in the Tropics, but the dryness of the air, which rises continuously above the neighbouring African plains and is rapidly blown over by the eastern winds, gives the atmosphere of the Canary Islands a transparency which not only surpasses that of the air around Naples and Sicily, but also of the air around Quito and Peru. This transparency may be one of the main reasons for the beauty of tropical scenery; it heightens the splendours of the vegetation’s colouring, and contributes to the magical effects of its harmonies and contrasts. If the light tires the eyes during part of the day, the inhabitant of these southern regions has his compensation in a moral enjoyment, for a lucid clarity of mind corresponds to the surrounding transparency of the air.
Despite the heat the traveller feels under his feet on the brink of the crater, the cone of ashes remains covered with snow for several months. The cold, angry wind, which had been blowing since dawn, forced us to seek shelter at the foot of the Piton. Our hands and feet were frozen, while our boots were burned by the ground we walked on. In a few minutes we reached the foot of the Sugar Loaf, which we had so laboriously climbed; our speed of descent was in part involuntary as we slipped down on the ashes. We reluctantly abandoned that solitary place where nature had magnificently displayed herself before us. We deluded ourselves that we might again visit the Canary Islands, but this, like many other plans, has never been carried out.
We crossed the malpaís slowly; for it is hard to walk securely on lava fragments. Nearer the Station of the Rocks the path down was extremely difficult; the short thick grass was so slippery that we were constantly forced to lean our bodies backwards in order not to fall. In the sandy plain of retama the thermometer rose to 22.5 °C; this heat seemed suffocating after the cold we had suffered on the summit. We had no more water; our guides had not only secretly drunk our small supply of malmsey wine but had also broken our water jugs.
In the beautiful region of the arborescent erica and fern we at last enjoyed some cool breezes, and we were wrapped in thick clouds, stationary at some 600 toises above sea-level.
Near the town of Orotava we came across great flocks of canaries. These birds, well known in Europe, were in general uniformly green; some had a yellowish tinge on their backs; their song was the same as that of the domesticated canary. It has been noted that those canaries captured in the island of Gran Canaria, and in the islet of Monte Clara, near Lanzarote, have a louder, more harmonious call. In every zone, among birds of the same species, each flock has its peculiar call. The yellow canaries are a variety now breeding in Europe; those we saw in cages had been bought at Cádiz and other Spanish ports. But the bird from the Canary Islands that has the most agreeable song is unknown in Europe. It is the capirote, which has never been tamed, so much does he love his freedom. I have enjoyed his sweet and melodious warbling in a garden in Orotava, but have never seen him close enough to judge what family he belongs to. As for the parrots supposedly seen during Captain Cook’s stay at Tenerife, they never existed but in the narratives of some travellers who have copied from each other.
Towards sunset we reached the port of Orotava where we received the unexpected news that the Pizarro was not to sail until the 24th or 25th. Had we been warned of this delay we would have prolonged our stay on the peak, or made another journey to the volcano of Chahorra. The following day we visited the outskirts of Orotava and enjoyed the pleasant company that Cologan’s house offered. We noticed that Tenerife had attractions not only for those who busy themselves with natural history; we found in Orotava several people who had a taste for literature and music, bringing their European sophistication with them to these distant islands. In this respect, with the exception of Havana, the Canary Islands bore no resemblance to any other Spanish colonies.
On the eve of Saint John’s Day we were present at a country party in Little’s garden. This gentleman, who greatly helped the Canarians during the last wheat famine, has cultivated a hill covered with volcanic debris. In this delicious place he has installed an English garden from which there is a magnificent view of the peak, of the villages along the coast, and of the island of Las Palmas on the edge of the great ocean. That view can only be compared to the views of Genoa and Naples bays; but Orotava is far superior to both in terms of the grandeur of its masses and the richness of its vegetation. As night fell the volcano’s slopes presented us with a wonderful spectacle. Following a custom introduced by the Spaniards, though it dates back to remotest times, the shepherds lit the fires of Saint John. The scattered masses of fire and columns of smoke driven by the wind stood out from the deep green of the forests lining the peak. The shepherds’ distant yells of joy were the only sounds that broke the silence of that night in those solitary places.18
Before we leave the Old World to cross over into the New there is a subject I must speak about because it belongs to the history of man, and to those fatal revolutions that have made whole tribes disappear from the earth. We ask in Cuba, in Santo Domingo and in Jamaica, where are the primitive inhabitants of these countries? We ask at Tenerife, what has become of the Guanches whose mummies alone, buried in caves, have escaped destruction? In the fifteenth century almost all the mercantile nations, especially the Spaniards and the Portuguese, sought slaves on the Canary Islands, as later they did on the Guinea coast. Christianity, which originally favoured the freedom of mankind, served later as a pretext for European cupidity.
A short time after the discovery of America, when Spain was at the zenith of her glory, the gentle character of the Guanches was the fashionable topic, just as in our times we praise the Arcadian innocence of the Tahitians. In both these pictures the colouring is more vivid than true. When nations are mentally exhausted and see the seeds of depravity in their refinements, the idea that in some distant region infant societies enjoy pure and perpetual happiness pleases them.