Part 6
Those who are interested in relics should visit Socorro, about an hour distant from Guimar, the original home of the miraculous image of the Virgin de Candelaria. So celebrated was this image that nearly a whole book on the subject has been issued by the Hakluyt Society, edited and translated from old documents by Sir Clement Markham. The image is supposed to have been found in about the year 1400, by some shepherds, standing upright on a stone in a dry deserted spot near the sandy beach. A cross was afterwards erected by Christians when the Spaniards occupied the island to mark the spot, and in front of it was built the small hermitage called El Socorro. One shepherd saw what he supposed to be a woman carrying a child standing in his path, and as the law in those days forbad a man to speak to a woman alone in a solitary place, on pain of death, he made signs to her to move away in order that he and his sheep might pass. No notice being taken and no reply made, he took up a stone in order to hurl it at the supposed woman, but his arm became instantly stiff, and he could not move it. His companion, though filled with fear, sought to ascertain whether she was a living woman, and tried to cut one of her fingers, but only cut his own, and did not even mark the finger of the image. These accordingly were the two first miracles of the sacred figure.
These shepherds related their experiences to the Lord of Guimar, who after being shown the stiff arm and cut fingers of the men, summoned his councillors to consult as to what had best be done. Accompanied by his followers and guided by the shepherds, he came to the spot and ordered the shepherds to lift the figure, as it apparently was no living thing, and to remove it to his house. On approaching the image to carry out their Lord’s orders, the stiff arm of the one and the cut fingers of the other instantly became cured. The Lord and his followers were so struck with the strange and splendid dress of the woman, who was now invested as well with supernatural powers, that they lost their first terror. Determined to do honour to so strange a guest within his dominions, the Lord of Guimar raised the image in his arms and transported it to his own house.
Unbelievers say that the image was merely the figure-head of a ship which was washed up on the beach, but the faithful maintain that so beautiful was the image, so gorgeous its apparel and so brilliant the gold with which it was gilded, that it was the work of no human hands, and contact with the sea would have destroyed the brilliancy of its colouring.
The Lord of Guimar sent the news of the wonderful discovery to the other chiefs in the island, offering that the image, evidently endowed with supernatural and healing powers, should spend half the year within the territory of the Lord of Taoro. This offer was declined, but the chief came with many followers to see the new wonder, which was set up on the altar in a cave and guarded with great care. For some forty years the image remained in the care of infidels, who regarded it with great awe, and then it fell to the lot of a boy named Auton, who had been converted to Christianity by the Spaniards, to enlighten the natives as to the nature of their treasure. On being shown the figure he instantly recognised it as being a representation of the Virgin, and after having prayed before it, he instructed the natives in the story of the Virgin Mary. The boy was in return made sacristan of the image and it was guarded day and night. At certain intervals visions of processions on the beach were seen and remains of wax candles were found, and a shower of wax upon the beach was supposed to have been sent to provide wax for candles to be burnt in honour of Our Lady of Candelaria.
The neighbouring islands soon heard tales of the holy relic and the inhabitants came to visit it. For several centuries wonderful miracles were at different times ascribed to it, and it continued to be regarded with the deepest reverence, though the housing and care of the image was the cause of various feuds, and on one occasion it was stolen and carried away to Fuerteventura, but was returned.
Unfortunately, during a great storm in 1826, the holy relic was swept away into the sea, and thus was the original Virgin de Candelaria lost, and though a new image was made and blessed by the Pope it has never been regarded with quite the same awe and reverence, though many pilgrims visit the church on August 15, the feast of Candelaria, and again on February 2.
VIII
GRAND CANARY
I have noticed that there is always a certain amount of jealousy existing between the inhabitants of a group of islands. In old days they were of course absolutely unknown to each other, and even spoke such a different language that they had some difficulty in making themselves understood. Though such is naturally not the case to-day when in a few hours the little Interinsular steamers cross from one island to another, still in Teneriffe you are apt to be told there is nothing to be seen in Grand Canary, or if you happen to visit Las Palmas first you will probably be told you are wasting your time in proposing to spend some weeks or months in Teneriffe or in even contemplating a flying visit to the other islands.
It was with a feeling of great curiosity that I watched our approach to Grand Canary, as one evening late in May our steamer crept round the isthmus known as La Isleta and glided into the harbour of Puerto de la Luz. Many towns look their best from the sea and this is perhaps especially true of Las Palmas. The sun was setting behind the low hills which rise above the long line of sand dunes, dotted with tamarisks, running between the port and the isleta, and in the evening light the town itself, some three miles away, looked far from unattractive, its cathedral towers rising above the palm trees on the shore.
On landing the illusion is soon destroyed; the dust, which is the curse of Las Palmas, was being blown gaily along by the north-east wind, which seems to blow perpetually, and the steam tram which connects the port and the town was grinding along, emitting showers of black smoke, and I began to think the writer was not far wrong who said Las Palmas was “a place of barbed wire and cinders.”
Most travellers’ destination is the hotel at Santa Catalina, lying midway between the port and the town, and here many of them remain for the rest of their stay, not being tempted ever to set foot outside the pleasant grounds and comfortable hotel, except possibly to play a game of golf on the links above, which are a great attraction and boon to those who are spending the winter basking in the sunshine in search of health.
The island appears to have altered its name from Canaria to Gran Canaria because of the stout resistance offered by the natives, who called themselves Canarios, to the Spanish invasion. The original name is said to have had some connection with the breed of large dogs peculiar to the island, though none appear to exist now. As regards the shape of the island the following is a very good description: “The form of the island is nearly circular, and greatly resembles a saucerful of mud turned upside down, with the sides furrowed by long and deep ravines. The highest point is a swelling upland known as Los Pechos, 6401 ft.” I own that as I approached the island there was a curious sense of something lacking, something missing, and then I realised that we were no longer to live under the shadow of the Peak, that an occasional distant glimpse is all we should see of the great mountain which we had grown to look on as a friend.
The nearest object of interest to the hotel is the Santa Catalina fountain, where in August 1492, after praying in the chapel, Christopher Columbus filled his water-barrels with a store of water which was to last him until the New World was sighted. Columbus on each of his expeditions touched at the Canaries; but at the very outset of his first voyage, one of his ships having lost her rudder and suffered other damage in storms encountered on the way, Columbus cruised for three weeks among the islands in search of another vessel to replace his _caravel_. Though he heard rumours of three Portuguese _caravels_ hovering off the coast of Ferro (now called Hierro) three days’ calm detained him, and by the time he reached the neighbourhood where the ships had been seen, they had vanished, and repairing his rudder as best he could he started in search of an unknown land, eventually reaching one of the Bahama group. Columbus’ next visit to the Canaries was on his second voyage of discovery, when he again called at the islands, this time taking wood, water, live stock, plants and seeds to be propagated in Hispaniola, where he had already been so struck with the beautiful and varied vegetation. In the town of Las Palmas an old house is pointed out as the house where Christopher Columbus died; but I am afraid, if we are to believe historians, this is merely a flight of the imagination. In Washington Irving’s “Life of Columbus” we are told that he died at Seville surrounded by devoted friends, and a note says: “The body of Columbus was first deposited in the convent of St. Francisco, and his obsequies were celebrated with funereal pomp in the parochial church of Santa Maria de la Antigua, in Valladolid. His remains were transported in 1513 to the Carthusian convent of Las Cuevas, in Seville. In the year 1536 the bodies of Columbus and his son Diego were removed to Hispaniola and interred by the side of the grand altar of the cathedral of the city of San Domingo. But even here they did not rest in quiet; for on the cession of Hispaniola to the French in 1795 they were again disinterred, and conveyed by the Spaniards with great pomp and ceremony to the cathedral of Havanna in Cuba, where they remain at present.”
One of the easiest expeditions from Las Palmas is along the main road to the south of the island, either driving or by motor. Long stretches of banana fields provide the fruit for the English market, which finds its way daily on to the mole: and in spring hundreds of carts, with potato-boxes labelled “Covent Garden,” come from the same district. A little way before reaching the village of Tinama, which is built amid desolate surroundings of lava and black cinders, the road passes through a tunnel, which must have been somewhat of an undertaking to bore, and then a vast bed of lava crosses the road. Here some huge clumps of _Euphorbia canariensis_ show that this plant is not peculiar to any one island, but is equally at home on any bed of lava or cliff.
Telde, famous for its oranges--said to be the best in the world--is not a very interesting town; but from a little distance, combined with the almost adjoining village of Los Llanos, its Moorish dome amid groves of palm trees, and scattered groups of white houses, make it unlike most other Canary towns. The celebrated orange groves are some distance off, and it is feared that so little care is taken of the trees that the disease and blight which have ravaged nearly all the groves in the archipelago will soon attack these. The disease could be kept at bay by insecticides and combined effort, but it is no use for one grower to wage war against the pest, if his neighbour calmly allows it to get ahead in his groves, though the excellence of the oranges makes it seem as if they deserved more care. If disaster overtakes the banana trade--and already I heard whispers of grumbling at the absurd price of land, and rumours of as good land and plenty of water to be had on the West Coast of Africa, where labour is half the price--possibly orange-growing may be taken up by men who have learnt their experience in Florida, and by careful cultivation another golden harvest may be reaped.
The ultimate destination of most travellers in this direction is the Montaña de las Cuatro Puertas (the Mountain of the Four Doors), which is a most curious and interesting example of a native place of worship. The Canarios seem to have been especially fond of cave-dwellings, which are very common in Grand Canary, though they are by no means unknown in the other islands; and it is no unusual thing to find districts where a scanty population is troglodytic in habit, living entirely in cave-dwellings scooped out of the soft sandstone rock. Some families have quite a good-sized though strange home, and besides rooms with whitewashed walls are stables for goats or mules. One writer says: “The hall-mark of gentility in troglodyte circles is the possession _of a door_. This shows that the family pays house tax, which is not levied upon those who live the simpler life, and are content with an old sack hanging across the open doorway.”
Webb and Berthelot, in their “Histoire Naturelle,” seem to have been much struck by these cave-dwellings, and the following account appears in their description of the Ciudad de las Palmas: “The slopes above the town on the west are pierced by grottoes inhabited by families of artisans; narrow paths have been made in the face of the cliffs by which to get to these excavations. After sunset, when the mountain is in deep shadow, the troglodyte quarter begins to light up, and all these aerial lights, which shine for a moment and then instantly disappear, produce the most curious effect.” The “Mountain of the Four Doors” is of much larger dimensions than any ordinary cave-dwelling, as the whole mountain appears to have been excavated, and would certainly have made a very draughty dwelling, as the four entrances which give the mountain its name are only separated by columns, thus allowing free entrance to the wind. The sacred hill is said to have been partly occupied by embalmers of the dead, the mummies being eventually removed to the burial cave on one side. Another side of the hill was the residence of the _Faycans_, or priests, who conducted the funeral ceremony; and there were the consecrated virgins, or _harimaguedas_, who were here kept in the strictest seclusion for years, employed in the gruesome occupation of sewing the goat-skins for wrapping up the mummies. The Canarios appear to have regarded a shelf in the burial cave running north and south as being the most honourable position, and on these they placed the bodies of highest rank, judging from the mummies found on them, as the leather is often richly embroidered, and the greatest care was taken in embalming the bodies. The inferiors were laid east and west. Any one who is interested in the study of the Canary mummies will find much to interest them in the Museum in Las Palmas, which is said to be richer in remains of aboriginals than any other museum in the world. Here may be seen rows of mummies in glass cases, some curious pottery, and the _Pintaderas_, or dyes, which were used to stamp designs on the skin or leather.
In the same museum the sight of the fearsome “devil-fish,” in the room devoted to local fishes, must, I think, have made many visitors from Orotava shudder to think of the light-hearted way in which they had gaily bathed on the Martianez beach--an amusement I often considered dangerous from the strength of the breakers and the strong undercurrent; but when added to this I was assured the monster, which is said to embrace its victims and carry them away under water after the manner of the octopus, was “not uncommon round the Canaries,” I was thankful to think I had never indulged in bathing.
IX
GRAND CANARY (_continued_)
Many of the residents of Las Palmas move to the Monte for the summer, but even in late spring most people are glad to get away from the town and the white dust, which by then is lying ankle deep on the roads. Monte is the only other place which the ordinary traveller will care to stay in, as the native inns in Grand Canary bear a bad reputation for discomfort and dirt, and the Monte makes a good centre for expeditions, besides being an entire change of air and scene.
The last part of the drive up from the town which is only some six or seven miles, affords good views of the lie of the land and makes one realise the immense length of the _barrancos_ in this island. It appears never to be safe to assert the name of a _barranco_, as it is not uncommon for one ravine to have four or five different names in the course of its wanderings towards the sea. The great _barranco_ one looks down into from the road beyond Tafira is called at this point the Barranco del Dragonal.
A century ago this district was a mere expanse of cinders interspersed with the usual Canary plants which find a home in the most desolate of lava beds. Clumps of Euphorbias and its two inseparable companions, the miniature dragon tree, _Senecio Kleinia_, and the graceful _Plocama pendula_ broke the monotony of the grey lava. Now the scene has changed and this once desolate region has been transformed into one of the most fertile districts of the island. On the terraced slopes vines flourish, whose grapes produce the best red Canary wine. Footpaths bordered with flowers lead through these countless acres of vineyards, recalling the fashion in Teneriffe of the flower borders, _passeios_, which lead through many of the banana plantations, showing that the owner of the land still had some soul for gardening and a love of flowers, as he spared a strip of the precious soil for flowers. Many an alley in early winter is gay with rows of poinsettias feeding and flourishing on the water and guano which is given to the crop with a lavish hand, or rows of scarlet and white geraniums flank rose trees, interspersed here and there with great clumps of white lilies. The country in late spring is fragrant and gay from the bushes of Spanish broom (_Spartium junceum_) which edge the lanes; their yellow blossoms are in charming contrast to the soft grey-green of the old agaves, which make such excellent hedges.
Just behind the Monte lies the great basin of the Caldera. It is best seen from the Pico de Bandama, a hill 1840 ft., which not only commands an excellent view of the crater, but of all the country round. The Gran Caldera de Bandama, a vast complete basin with no outlet, is over a mile across and 1000 ft. deep, and consequently is one of the most perfect craters in the world. The walls are formed of rocks and here and there vivid bits of colouring speak for themselves of its origin, and round the edge are layers of cinders. It is to be hoped that it will not some day come to life again and throw up a peak, as the basin of the Cañadas is supposed to have thrown up the great cone of the Peak of Teneriffe. It looks peaceable enough to-day, a mule track leading down into it. At the bottom of the crater vines are cultivated, and a farmer calmly lives on what was once a boiling cauldron.
The vines seem to thrive in the volcanic soil, their roots go down deep in search of damper loam below, and this possibly helps to keep them free of disease, though in spring the effect of the tender green shoots with their long twining tendrils is sadly spoilt when, just as they are coming into flower, the mandate goes forth to dust the growth with sulphur. The men and women, who for the past weeks have been busy gathering in the potato crop, are now employed in sulphur dusting. For two months or more whole families are engaged with the potato harvest; the rows are either ploughed up with a primeval-looking plough, or hoed with the broad native hoe, which does duty for spade or fork in this country, and then the potatoes are collected with great rapidity, even the smallest member of the family helping, sorted and packed in deal boxes holding each some 60 or 70 lb., with a layer of palm fibre on the top, and shipped to England. It is well known that Canary new potatoes do not command a very good price in the English market, and I often wondered whether it is not the kind which is at fault. Kidney potatoes, which are regarded in England as the best for new potatoes, are hardly ever grown, the Spaniards regarding them with horror and loathing, and though English seed is imported annually, the result to my mind seemed unsatisfactory, as I never came across any young potatoes worthy of the name “new potatoes.” Possibly the soil and climate are unsuited, and there is a tendency I was told in all varieties to excessive growth, and no doubt the green peas and broad beans, which are most suited to English soil, often here grow to mammoth proportions, giving a poor result as a crop, and it is only experience which proves which are the varieties best suited to the climate and soil. The peas which are grown from seed ripened in the island degenerate to tasteless, colourless specimens, producing tiny pods, with at the outside three peas in them, and the French beans have the same lack of flavour when grown from native seed.
Potatoes and tomatoes are both unfortunately liable to disease, and in some seasons the whole crop is lost. The same disease appears to affect both crops. Dr. Morris, when he visited the islands, thought seriously of the outlook, unless systematic action was taken. He says: “There is a remedy if carefully applied and the crop superintended, but the islanders seem to regard the trouble with strange indifference, and go on the plan of ‘If one crop fails, then plant another.’”
The volcanic soil appears to suit cultivated garden plants, as well as vines, bananas and potatoes, and the gardens in the neighbourhood of Telde are a blaze of colour and have a wonderful wealth of bloom in May, which is essentially the “flower month” in all the islands. Earlier in the winter it is true the creepers will have been at their best, and by now the last trumpet-shaped blooms will have fallen from that most gorgeous of all creepers, _Bignonia venusta_, and the colour will have faded from the bougainvilleas, red, purple, or lilac, though they seem to be in almost perpetual bloom. Allemandas flourish even at this higher altitude, as does _Thumbergia grandiflora_, another tropical plant. Though its bunches of grey-blue gloxinia-like blooms are beautiful enough individually, it is sadly marred by the dead blossoms which hang on to the bitter end and are singularly ugly in death, not having the grace to drop and leave the newcomers to deck the yards of trailing branches, with which the plant will in an incredibly short time smother a garden wall or take possession of and eventually kill a neighbouring tree. Roses seem to flourish and bloom so profusely that the whole bush is covered with blossoms, and a garden of roses would well repay the little care the plants seem to require. The Spaniards prefer to prune their roses but once a year, in January, but by pruning in rotation roses could be had all the year round, and certainly half the trees should be cut in October, after the plants have sent up long straggling summer growth, and by January a fresh crop would be in flower. But the native gardener is nothing if not obstinate, and if January is the month for pruning according to his ideas, nothing will make him even make an experiment by cutting a few trees at a different season, and in this month are cut creepers, trees and shrubs, utterly regardless as to whether it is the best season or not.