Part 7
In most gardens the trees comprise several different Ficus, the Pride of India (_Melia Azedarach_), many palms, oranges, mangos and guavas, lagerstrœmias, pomegranates and daturas, while flower-beds are filled with carnations, stocks, cinerarias, hollyhocks and longiflorum lilies, all jostling each other in their struggle for room. The country people struck me as having a much greater love of flowers here than in Teneriffe, where a cared-for strip of cottage garden or row of pot plants is almost a rare sight, and roof gardening is perhaps more the fashion. Geraniums and other hanging plants tumble over the edge of the flat roof tops, looking as though they lived on air, as the boxes or tins they are grown in are out of sight. Here the humblest cottager grew carnations, fuchsias, begonias, and pelargoniums with loving care in every old tin box, or saucepan, that he could lay hands on. One reason that pot plants are scarce is the enormous cost of flower-pots, which are mostly imported, and often if I wished to buy a plant, the price was more than doubled if the precious pot was to be included in the bargain. In May, the month especially consecrated to the Virgin Mary, all her chapels and way-side shrines are kept adorned with flowers. In the larger churches the altar and steps are draped with blue and white, and piled up with great white lilies whose heavy scent mingling with the incense is almost overpowering, but in the humbler shrines the offerings are merely the contributions of posies of mixed flowers, placed there probably by many a woman who is called after Our Lady. I was always struck by the number of way-side crosses and tiny shrines in many of which a lamp shines nightly, and yet I cannot say the people seemed to be either reverent or deeply religious, and I was never able to obtain an explanation of the crosses one came across in unexpected places, even in the branches of trees in the garden. At first I thought they must be votive offerings in memory of an escape from danger, possibly a child who had fallen from the tree and escaped unhurt, but the gardener merely said it was _costumbre_, the custom of the country, and offered no further information. On May 3, the Fiesta de la Cruz, every cross, however humble, is decked with a garland of flowers, which often hangs there until the feast comes round again, and in front of many of the crosses a lamp is lighted on this one night in the year.
On holidays and Sundays the women, especially those who are on their way to Mass, wore their white cashmere mantillas, and I inquired whether this also had any connection with “Our Lady’s” month of May, but I was told in old days they were the almost universal head-dress, a fashion which unfortunately is fast dying out. This appeared to be the only distinctively local feature of their dress, and the usual head-dress of the women and children, with bright-coloured handkerchiefs folded closely round the forehead and knotted in the nape of the neck, is common to all the islands. When the family is in mourning even the smallest member of the household wears a black handkerchief matching its bright black eyes, but the day I fear is fast approaching when battered straw hats will take their place, not the jaunty little round hats with black-bound brims, which every country woman wears to act as a pad for the load she carries on her head. For generations the women have carried water-pots and baskets which many an English working man would consider a crushing load, and no one can fail to admire their splendid carriage and upright bearing, as they stride along never even steadying their load with one hand. The only peculiarity of the men’s dress is their blanket cloaks; in some of the islands they are made of _mantas_ woven from native wool, but as often as not an imported blanket is used, gathered into a leather or black velvet collar at the neck. On a chilly evening in a mountain village every man and boy is closely wrapped in his _manta_, often it must be owned in an indescribable state of filth. At night they do duty as a blanket on the bed, and in the day are dragged through dust or mud, but cleanliness is not regarded in Spanish cottages, where chickens, goats, and sometimes a pig all seem to share the common living-room.
I fear the few model dwellings which the tourist is invited to inspect at Atalaya (the Watch Tower) are not true samples of the average cottage or cave-dwelling. Atalaya was formerly a native stronghold, and one can quite imagine what formidable resistance the invaders must have met with from these primitive fortresses. The narrow ledges cut in the face of the cliffs made the approach to them almost inaccessible except to the Canarios, who appear to have been as agile as goats, and from the narrow openings showers of missiles could be hurled at the attackers. Atalaya at the present time is the home of the pottery makers. They fashion the local clay into pots with a round stone in just as primitive a way as did the ancient Canarios. They seem to live a life apart, and are regarded with suspicion by their neighbours, who rarely intermarry with them. The whole colony are inveterate beggars, old and young alike, but as tourists invade their domain in order to say they have seen “the most perfect collection of troglodyte dwellings in the Archipelago,” and request them to mould pots for their edification, it is perhaps not surprising that they expect some reward.
X
GRAND CANARY (_continued_)
Those who do not mind a long day and really early start can see a good deal of the country and make some very beautiful expeditions without facing the terrors of the native inn. When even our guide-book--and the writer of a guide-book is surely bound to make the best of things--warns the traveller that the “accommodation is poor,” or that “arrangements can be made to secure beds,” every one knows what to expect. So a long day, however tiring, is preferable, if it is possible to return the same night.
A drive of two hours leads to San Mateo, where good accommodation would be a great boon, as it is a great centre for expeditions, besides being beautifully situated near chestnut and pine woods. A rough mule track leads in something under three hours to the Cruz de Tejeda, which is about the finest excursion in the island. Good walkers will probably prefer to trust their own legs rather than the mule’s; but it is a stiff climb, as the starting-point, San Mateo, is only some 2600 ft. above the sea, while the Cruz is 5740 ft. Without descending into the deep Barranco which leads down to Tejeda itself, in clear weather the view is magnificent. That most curious isolated rock, the Roque Nublo, stands like a great pillar or obelisk, pointing straight into the heavens, rising 370 ft. above all its surroundings, and more than 6000 ft. above sea-level, and is often clearly visible from Teneriffe. The great valley of Tejeda lies stretched before the traveller, who is surely well rewarded for his climb by the splendid panorama. Deep precipitous ravines full of blue shadows lie in vast succession in front, and to the right the cultivated patches in the valley are a bright emerald green from the young corn, and over the deep blue sea beyond, towers the great Peak of Teneriffe, looking most majestic and awe-inspiring rising above the chain of high mountains which are veiled in a light, mysterious mist. Never, perhaps, is the great height of the mountain so well realised, as it stands crowning a picture which our guide-book tells us is “never to be forgotten, and second to none in Switzerland or the Alps.”
Another favourite expedition for the energetic is to the Cumbres, particularly for those who are bent on reaching the highest land in the island. The Pico de los Pechos is the highest point (6400 ft.), but the Montaña de la Cruz Santa, on the left, is generally chosen, as here parties of walkers and riders can meet, under the shadow of the Holy Cross, where, on the festivals of St. Peter and St. John, a religious _fiesta_ is held. Before the wholesale deforestation took place, this district must certainly have been much more beautiful; now it is a silent, shadowless world, a desolate region of stony ground, over which run great _barrancos_ looking like deep rents in the mountain sides. Probably no other island has suffered more cruelly from the axe of the charcoal-burner, and in the neighbourhood of Las Palmas everything has been cut which could be converted into charcoal, and nowadays that necessary article of life to the Spaniard has to be imported.
One of the most beautiful of all their native forests, the forest of Doramas, is hardly worthy of its name at the present time; scattered trees on the mountain side are all that remains of one of the most beautiful of primeval forests, which was so celebrated in the days of the Canarios. Even in 1839, when Barker Webb and Berthelot visited the forest, they lamented over the destruction of the trees, and whole stretches of country which had formerly been pine and laurel woods were only covered with native heath. The prince Doramas, who is said to have lived in a grotto in the picturesque neighbourhood of Moya, gave his name to the mountain and forest, and these travellers visited his cave, which was still regarded with great veneration on account of the tales of the heroic and brave deeds and almost superhuman strength of the prince, which had been handed down from generation to generation. They found the door, or rather entrance, to the grotto draped with garlands of _Hibalbera_ (_Ruscus androgynus_) and the scarlet-flowered _Bicacaro_ of the Guanches (_Canarina campanulata_), as the spot was then solitary and deserted. Some years before the Spanish traveller Viera had been charmed by the beauty of the forest, and a translation of passages from his work on the “General History of the Canary Islands” will show what a treasure the Spaniards have lost in allowing the destruction of the woods.
“Nature,” he says, “is here seen in all her simplicity, nowhere is she to be found in a more gay or laughing mood; the forest of Doramas is one of the most beautiful of the world’s creations from the variety of its immense straight trees, always green and scattering on all sides the wealth of their foliage. The sun has never penetrated through their dense branches, the ivy has never detached itself from their old trunks; a hundred streams of crystal water join together in torrents to water the soil which becomes richer and richer and more productive. The most beautiful spot of all in the depth of this virgin forest is called Madres de Moya; the singing of the birds is enchanting, and in every direction run paths easy of access; one might believe them to be the work of man, but they are all the more delightful because they are not. By following one of these paths one comes to the spot called by the Canarios, the Cathedral, an immense and complete dome of verdure formed by the meeting of the branches of the magnificent trees. Laurels raise their great trunks in colonnades, with their branches interlaced and bent into gigantic arcades, which produce a most marvellous effect. Advancing under their majestic shadow one discovers at every turn fresh views, and one’s imagination, carried away by the tales of the ancients, is filled with poetic impressions. These enchanted regions are well worthy of the fictions of fables, and in the enthusiasm they give birth to when wandering in their midst, the Canarios appear to have lost nothing of their celebrity; these are still the Fortunate Islands and their shady groves the Elysium of the Greeks, the wandering place of happy souls.”
The poet Cayrasco de Figueroa, who was known as the “divin Poête,” and whose tomb is to be seen in one of the side chapels of the cathedral in Las Palmas, wrote verses in praise of the forest, which he must have seen in all its glory in 1581, and some fifty years later the venerable don Christobal de la Camara, Bishop of Grand Canary, travelled all through it and wrote of “the mountain of d’Oramas as one of the marvels of Spain: the different trees growing to such a height that it is impossible to see their summit: the hand of God only could have planted them, isolated among precipices and in the midst of masses of rock. The forest is traversed by streams of water and so dense are its woods, that even in the days of greatest heat the sun can never pierce them. All I had been told beforehand of its beauties appeared fabulous, but when I had visited it myself I was convinced that I had not been told enough.”
Between 1820 and 1830 the forest seems to have suffered much. At the former date some part of the woods remained in all their pristine beauty on the Moya side and the great Til (_Laurus fœtens_) trees round Las Madres were still standing, but ten years later, when Barker Webb and his companion visited this spot again, these splendid trees were shorn of their finest branches and the devastation of the woods had begun.
Long before this date the mountain appears to have become an apple of discord. Some influential landed proprietors demanded the division of the forest, the _communes_ interfered, and eventually the question became a political one. Just as a settlement was arrived at the party in power fell and General Morales arrived on the scene, having been granted a large part of the forest by Ferdinand VII. in recognition of his services, and the deforestation of the district began in earnest, in spite of local resistance to the royal decree.
In most of the islands some old pine has been given the name of the Pino Santo, and protected by a legend of special sanctity, but perhaps the Pino Santo of Teror was the most venerated of all. The tree, old historians tell us, was of immense size and grew adjoining the Chapel of Our Lady; so close, in fact, that one of its branches served as the foundation of the belfry. The unsteadiness of this strange foundation not unnaturally hastened the destruction of the little tower, and on April 3, 1684, the sacred tree, which collapsed from its great age and weight, threatened to crush the chapel beneath. The sacred image of Our Lady of the Pine was so named because it was said to have been found in the branches of the tree. This miraculous discovery was made after the conquest in 1483. The Canarios had often observed a halo of light round the tree which they did not even dare approach, but Don Juan de Frias, bishop and conqueror, more courageous than the rest, climbed into the branches of the tree and brought down a statue of the Virgin. He is said to have found the image among thick branches and between two dragon trees, nine feet high, which were growing out of a hollow in the pine branches. The figure at once received the name of Nuestro Señora del Pino, the church, which has been built on the site of the old chapel, being dedicated to her. The spot on which stood the sacred tree is now marked with a cross, and a pine tree close by is said to be a descendant of the Pino Santo. Nor is this all the legend about this wonderful tree. A spring of healing water issued from beneath it, and here the faithful came to bathe and be healed of their ills. An avaricious priest thinking he would collect fees or alms from those who came to visit the spring, caused it to be enclosed by masonry and a door, which he kept locked, upon which the sacred spring dried up, and his schemes were defeated. Below the village to this day are some mineral springs dedicated to Our Lady of Lourdes. Who knows, possibly this is the same sacred spring which has reappeared to benefit the sick.
XI
LA PALMA
Every one agrees that La Palma is almost the most beautiful of the group of seven Fortunate Isles, so it is all the more deeply to be deplored that there is not better communication between the little port of Santa Cruz de la Palma and Teneriffe or Grand Canary. At rare intervals during the winter, especially towards sunset, the island had emerged from the clouds in which it is usually enveloped and lain dark purple against a golden sunset sky, an omen which we had learnt to dread in Orotava, finding there was great truth in the saying of the country people, “When La Palma is to be seen, rain will come before two days,” and sure enough the storm always came.
The little town of Santa Cruz, or La Ciudad as it is locally called, as if it was the only town in the world, is most picturesquely situated on steep slopes, very much resembling the situation of Funchal in Madeira on a smaller scale. Possibly in days to come La Palma may have a great future before it as a tourist resort, when the new mole fulfils the hopes of natives and their port becomes a coaling-station for larger steamers. An hotel among the pine woods would certainly be very attractive, especially in spring, when the whole island is afoam with fruit blossom. At present a bad _fonda_ is the only accommodation in Santa Cruz, and most people curtail their stay in consequence, and hurry away at the end of three days during which time the steamer has been at the neighbouring islands of Hierro and Gomera, or else they ride over to Los Llanos, spurred by the report of a very fairly comfortable inn. The island affords almost endless expeditions, especially to good walkers, as the tracks are bad and slippery for mules. Near Santa Cruz the Barranco de la Madera is the home of the Virgin de las Nieves, a very ancient and much venerated image of the Virgin, to whom the church is dedicated. Every five years this sacred figure is carried down to the sea in solemn procession, and the stone ship at the mouth of the great _barranco_, which is called after Our Lady of the Snows, is rigged and decked in gala fashion with bunting. Not only from all parts of the island, but many devout Spaniards congregate to do honour to her, and a great _fiesta_ takes place, which must be a curious and most interesting ceremony.
The Barranco del Rio is the most beautiful of all the walks in the neighbourhood. Like its namesake near Guimar in Teneriffe, it is a happy hunting-ground for the botanist, and those who have a steady head and do not mind narrow paths and precipices can wander far along through the gorge, where the beautiful rocks are clad with innumerable ferns and native plants.
In ancient days the Guanches gave the island the name of Benahoave, meaning “my country,” which sounds as though they were so proud of the island when they took possession of it, probably sailing across from Teneriffe, that they meant to stick to it. The present name first appears on the old Medici map in Florence (1351), which is said to be the oldest chart of these waters. The name is supposed to have been given to the island by an expedition composed of Florentines, Genoese and Majorcans who had visited the Canaries some ten years before. It was probably the last-named who christened the island La Palma, after the capital of Majorca, so at the time of the conquest, though the Spaniards introduced many changes in the way of laws, religion and agriculture, they did not change the European name by which the island had become known.
Webb and Berthelot when they visited the island in 1837 were loud in praise of the wealth and luxury of the vegetation, which in their opinion surpassed that of any other of the Canary group.
The island centres in the vast abyss of the Gran Caldera, which centuries ago was the boiling cauldron of a great crater. The islanders are immensely proud of their old crater, and always assert that the Peak of Teneriffe was merely thrown up by _their_ volcano in one of its most terrific upheavals. As in the other islands at a certain elevation the region of laurels and other evergreen trees, in whose shade ferns flourish, is succeeded by the mammoth heaths, and higher still come the beautiful pine woods with their slippery carpet of pine needles on which both man and beast find a difficulty in keeping a footing. On the more arid slopes of parts of the Cumbre the scattered vegetation is more suggestive of Alpine regions. The above-mentioned learned travellers attribute the presence of the immense number of apparently wild almond and other fruit trees to their having sown themselves from the original trees introduced to the island by the conquerors, who, determined to make the most of the climate and soil, set about to change the face of the land. The natural vegetation receded to the higher regions as the lower parts became more and more cultivated with almonds, vines, oranges, lemons and bananas, which up to then had been unknown in the island. In some districts woods of chestnut trees, which were also introduced, have taken the place of the virgin forest. To these two travellers also belongs the honour and glory of having discovered the Echium peculiar to the Island, and they at once gave it its local name, _Echium pininana_, though _nana_ does not seem very appropriate to it, as it is anything but dwarf, growing to a height of 15 ft. with a dense spike of deep blue flowers. Several of the lovely Canary brooms appear to be indigenous to the island, and Professor Engler of Berlin, who visited La Palma last year, found the yellow-flowered _Cytisus stenopetalus_ in two varieties, _palmensis_ and _sericeus_, besides the graceful drooping and sweet-scented white _Cytisus filipes_ and _Retama rhodorrhizoides_, and the _Cytisus proliferus_ common to most of the islands.
Most people prefer to visit the great crater from Los Llanos, an expedition occupying three days. The journey across the Cumbres _viâ_ El Paso to Los Llanos is one of extreme beauty, as the vegetation begins very soon after leaving Santa Cruz, and at a height of only 1000 ft. the chestnut, laurel, and heath woods begin. The path winds through these enchanting woods until at a higher elevation the giant heaths alone are left. From the top of the Cumbre Nueva there is a magnificent view over the whole island, Santa Cruz nestling among the hills by the shore and in the far distance lie Teneriffe and Gomera. To the south is the old Cumbre, called Vieja in contradistinction to its newer neighbour; from one of its heights a stream of lava is said to have descended in 1585, which is probably the last occasion on which the volcano showed any activity. The dense vegetation covering some of the streams of lava speaks for itself of their great age, as it is said that not a particle of vegetation appears on lava until it has had four centuries in which to grow cold, and then the first sign of returning life is a peculiar lichen which appears on the heaps of lava. The great mountain of Timé, whose black and forbidding precipice overhangs the Barranco de las Augustias, makes many a traveller wonder who first had the courage to make a path, steep and narrow though it is, down the face of the rock. Possibly the goatherds, _pastors_, first learnt the lie of the land, swinging themselves on their _lanzas_ or long spiked poles from rock to rock with surprising agility, and then others not trained to this strange mode of progression made the paved track.