Part 28

On their arrival at Quito, they were received with splendid hospitality by Don Dioneso de Alzedo y Herrera, who provided them with apartments in the palace of the Andencia, while the clergy and the principal inhabitants vied with each other in their attention and civilities. Among the many remarkable natural curiosities observed by our traveller during his journey is a species of cane, from thirty-five to fifty feet in height, and about six inches in diameter. “From the time of their first appearance till they attain their full perfection, when they are cut down or begin to dry, most of the tubes contain a quantity of water; but with this remarkable difference, that at full moon they are entirely or very nearly full, and with the decrease of the moon the water ebbs, till at the conjunction little or none is found. I have myself cut them at all seasons, so that I here advance nothing but what I know to be true from experience. I have also observed that the water during the decrease appears turbid; but about the time of the full moon it is as clear as crystal.”

The travellers had spent one whole year in reaching Quito, and the first few days after their arrival were necessarily devoted to rest and an exchange of civilities with the inhabitants. They then commenced their operations with measuring a piece of ground, which was to be the base of the whole work, and in this the remainder of the year 1736 was consumed. The plain of Yaruqui, selected for this purpose, is situated one thousand four hundred and ninety-four feet lower than Quito, and is four leagues to the north-east of that city. “The quality, disposition, and lower situation, all contribute to render it less cold than Quito. Eastward it is defended by the lofty cordillera of Guamani and Pambamarca, and westward by that of Pichincha. The soil is entirely sand; so that besides the heat naturally resulting from the direct rays of the sun, it is increased by the rays being reverberated by the two cordilleras: hence it is also exposed to violent tempests of thunder, lightning, and rain. But being quite open towards the north and south, such dreadful whirlwinds form here that the whole interval is filled with columns of sand, carried up by the rapidity and gyrations of violent eddy winds, which sometimes produce fatal consequences; one melancholy instance happened while we were there—an Indian, being caught in one of these blasts, died on the spot. It is not indeed at all strange that the quantity of sand in one of these columns should totally stop all respiration in any living creature who has the misfortune of being involved in it.”

The daily labour of the whole party was measuring the length of this plain in a horizontal direction, while the inequalities of the ground were at the same time corrected by means of a level. They commenced their task early in the morning, and, unless when interrupted by bad weather, or the too intense heat of the sun at noon, continued actively employed until the evening. The plain of Cazambe had first been made choice of; but after a short trial, during which M. Couplet, one of the French academicians, died suddenly, this position was abandoned. It was now determined, therefore, to continue the series of triangles to the south of Quito, and the whole company dividing itself into two parties, the one to which Don George Juan was attached proceeded to the mountain of Pambamarca, while Ulloa, La Condamine, and Bouguer climbed up to the highest summit of Pichincha. “Our first scheme,” says Ulloa, “for shelter and lodging in these uncomfortable regions, was to pitch a field-tent for each company; but on Pichincha this could not be done, from the narrowness of the summit, and we were obliged to be contented with a hut, so small that we could hardly all creep into it. Nor will this appear strange if the reader considers the bad disposition and smallness of the place, it being one of the loftiest crags of a rocky mountain, one hundred toises above the highest part of the desert of Pichincha. Such was the situation of our mansion, which, like all the other adjacent parts, soon became covered with ice and snow. The ascent up this stupendous rock, from the base, or the place where the mules could come to our habitation, was so craggy as only to be climbed on foot, and to perform it cost us four hours’ continual labour and pain, from the violent efforts of the body, and the subtilty of the air—the latter being such as to render respiration difficult. It was my misfortune, when I climbed something above half-way, to be so overcome that I fell down, and remained a long time without sense or motion, and, I was told, with all the appearances of death in my face. Nor was I able to proceed after coming to myself, but was obliged to return to the foot of the rock, where our servants and instruments remained. The next day I renewed the attempt of climbing the rock, though probably I should have had no better success than before, had not some Indians assisted me in the most steep and difficult places.”

The picture which Ulloa has given of their extraordinary manner of living would lose so much of its interest by being transferred into any other language than his own, that I cannot resist the temptation to continue the narrative in his words: “We generally kept within one hut,” says he; “indeed, we were obliged to do this, both on account of the intenseness of the cold, the violence of the wind, and our being continually involved in so thick a fog that an object at six or eight paces was hardly discernible. When the fog cleared up, the clouds, by their gravity, moved nearer to the surface of the earth, and on all sides surrounded the mountain to a vast distance; representing the sea, with our rock like an island in the centre of it. When this happened, we heard the horrid noises of the tempests, which then discharged themselves on Quito and the neighbouring country. We saw the lightning issue from the clouds, and heard the thunders roll far beneath us; and while the lower parts were involved in tempests of thunder and rain, we enjoyed a delightful serenity; the wind was abated, the sky clear, and the enlivening rays of the sun moderated the severity of the cold. But our circumstances were very different when the clouds arose; their thickness rendered respiration difficult; the snow and hail fell continually; and the wind returned with all its violence; so that it was impossible entirely to overcome the fears of being, together with our hut, blown down the precipice on whose edge it was built, or of being buried under it by the daily accumulation of ice and snow.

“The wind was often so violent in these regions, that its velocity dazzled the sight, while our fears were increased by the dreadful concussions of the precipice, and by the fall of enormous fragments of rocks. These crashes were the more alarming, as no other noises are heard in these deserts; and during the night our rest, which we so greatly wanted, was frequently disturbed by such sudden sounds. When the weather was any thing fair with us, and the clouds gathered about some of the other mountains which had a connexion with our observations, so that we could not make all the use we desired of this interval of good weather, we left our huts to exercise ourselves, in order to keep us warm. Sometimes we descended to some small distance; and at other times amused ourselves with rolling large fragments of rocks down the precipices, and these many times required the joint strength of us all, though we oftentimes saw the same performed by the mere force of the wind. But we always took care in our excursions not to go so far but that, on the least appearance of the clouds gathering about our cottage, which often happened very suddenly, we could regain our shelter. The door of our hut was fastened with thongs of leather, and on the inside not the smallest crevice was left unstopped; besides which it was very compactly covered with straw. But notwithstanding all our care, the wind penetrated through. The days were often little better than the nights, and all the light we enjoyed was that of a lamp or two, which we kept burning that we might distinguish one another, and improve our time as much as possible in reading. Though our hut was small and crowded with inhabitants, besides the heat of the lamps, yet the intenseness of the cold was such, that every one of us was obliged to have a chafing-dish of coals. These precautions would have rendered the rigour of the climate supportable, had not the imminent danger of perishing by being blown down the precipices roused us, every time it snowed, to encounter the severity of the outward air, and sally out with shovels to free the roof of the hut from the masses of snow that were gathering on it. Nor would it, without this precaution, have been able to support the weight. We were not indeed without servants and Indians, but they were so benumbed with cold, that it was with great difficulty we could get them out of a small tent, where they kept a continual fire; so that all we could obtain from them was to take their turns in this labour,—and even then they went very unwillingly about it, and consequently performed it slowly.

“It may easily be conceived what we suffered from the asperity of such a climate. Our feet were swelled, and so tender that we could not even bear the heat, and walking was attended with great pain. Our hands were covered with chilblains, our lips swelled and chopped, so that every motion, speaking and the like, drew blood; consequently we were obliged to observe a strict taciturnity, and were but little disposed to laugh—an extension of the lips producing fissures, very painful for two or three days together.

“Our common food in this inhospitable region was a little boiled rice, with some flesh or fowl, which we procured from Quito; and instead of fluid water, our pot was filled with ice; we had the same resource with regard to what we drank; and while we were eating every one was obliged to keep his plate over a chafing-dish of coals, to prevent his provisions from freezing. The same was done with regard to the water. At first we imagined that drinking strong liquors would diffuse a heat through the body, and consequently render it less sensible of the painful sharpness of the cold; but, to our surprise, we found no manner of strength in them, nor were they any greater preservative against the cold than common water. For this reason, together with the apprehension that they might prove detrimental to our health, besides the danger of contracting an ill habit, we discontinued their use; having recourse to them but very seldom, and then sparingly. We frequently gave a small quantity to our Indians, together with part of the provisions which were continually sent us from Quito, besides a daily salary four times as much as they usually earn.

“But notwithstanding all these encouragements, we found it impossible to keep the Indians together. On their first feeling the rigours of the climate, their thoughts were immediately turned on deserting us. The first instance we had of this kind was so unexpected, that had not one of a better disposition than the rest staid with us, and acquainted us with their design, it might have proved of very bad consequence. The affair was this:—There being upon the top of the rock no room for pitching a tent for them, they used every evening to retire to a cave at the foot of the mountain, where, besides a natural diminution of the cold, they could keep a continual fire, and consequently enjoyed more comfortable quarters than their masters. Before they withdrew at night they fastened on the outside the door of our hut, which was so low that it was impossible to go in or out without stooping; and as every night the hail and snow which had fallen formed a wall against the door, it was the business of one or two to come up early and remove this obstruction, that when we pleased we might open the door. For though our negro servants were lodged in a little tent, their hands and feet were so covered with chilblains that they would rather have suffered themselves to be killed than move. The Indians, therefore, came constantly up to despatch this work between nine and ten in the morning; but we had not been there above four or five days when we were not a little alarmed to see ten, eleven, and twelve o’clock come without any news of our labourers; when we were relieved by the honest servant mentioned above, who had withstood the seduction of his countrymen, and informed us of the desertion of the four others. After great difficulty he opened a way for us to come out, when we all fell to clearing our habitation from the masses of snow. We then sent the Indian to the corregidor of Quito with advice of our condition, who, with equal despatch, sent others, threatening to chastise them severely if they were wanting in their duty.”

The fear of punishment, however, was insufficient to reconcile the Indians to the rigours of a mountain life, and it was found necessary to have recourse to milder regulations. On this wild rock they continued twenty-three days, without being able to complete their observations; for when one of the points on which the signals which formed the triangles for measuring the degrees of the meridian enjoyed fine weather, the others were generally hid in clouds. But at length, in the month of December, the observations on Pichincha were completed, and they proceeded to other points, where the same fatigues and privations were encountered. Only the hut was now exchanged for a field-tent, which, although in some respects more troublesome, was less inconvenient than their Pichincha hut. Nevertheless, as the tents were necessarily placed in exposed situations to serve as signals, they were frequently overthrown by the violence of the wind, which rose in those wild paramos to a pitch altogether indescribable.

Such was their manner of life from the beginning of August, 1737, to the end of July, 1739, during which space of time one of the parties occupied thirty-five deserts, and the other thirty-two. But by degrees their bodies became inured to the hardships which they endured. Habit began to reconcile them to the fearful scenery in which they existed, and every little unaccustomed comfort which accident threw in their way was magnified by their imaginations into splendid luxuries. “The diminutive cabins of the Indians,” observes Ulloa, “and the small cattle-stalls, scattered at intervals on the skirts of the mountains, where we used to lodge in our passage from one desert to another, were to us spacious palaces; mean villages appeared like magnificent cities; and the conversation of a priest and two or three of his companions charmed us like the banquet of Xenophon.”

About the end of September, 1740, while they were still busily engaged in making astronomical observations at one of the extremities of the arch of the meridian, which had been measured, Ulloa and Don George Juan were suddenly called to Lima by an order of the viceroy. War had just been declared between England and Spain, and the expedition under Lord Anson menaced the seacoasts of the Spanish possessions in South America. Ulloa and Juan were therefore commissioned to put the principal points in the neighbourhood of Lima in a state of defence; after which they obtained permission to return to Quito, to resume their scientific observations. But scarcely had they traversed the mountains, and arrived at the scene of their labours, when they were recalled to the coast, the sack of Payta by the English fleet having spread a universal panic through the country. This visit of Ulloa to Guayaquil was brief; but he had no sooner returned to Quito than he was once more ordered to repair, with George Juan, who had been detained in Guayaquil, to Lima. Here they were honoured with the command of two frigates, with orders to cruise along the coasts of Chili and the island of Juan Fernandez. The arrival of certain Spanish reinforcements at Lima at length rendered it practicable for them to return to their scientific occupations at Quito, from whence all the French academicians had departed, except Godin, in conjunction with whom they observed the comet of 1744.

They were now become impatient to revisit Europe, with the results of their labours, and embarked at Callao, on board of two French ships, which were about to sail by the way of Cape Horn, for Brest. The two ships were separated by tempests. The one in which Ulloa was embarked shortly after this fell in with two other French ships, in company with which it was attacked by two English privateers, when it with difficulty escaped, leaving its companions, with three millions of piastres, in their hands. To avoid a similar fate, they now directed their course towards the coast of North America. But on reaching the port of Louisburg, at Cape Breton, while the crew were congratulating themselves on their escape from so many dangers, they were compelled, without firing a gun, to strike to the English, who had just rendered themselves masters of that city.

Ulloa was received with distinguished humanity and politeness by Commodore Warren, the commander of the English fleet, who invited him to his table, and on his departure for England recommended him to the kind treatment of the captain of the ship in which he was to sail, with special directions that his papers should be carefully preserved. The voyage to England was long and tedious. They arrived at Portsmouth December 29, 1744. From the ship our traveller was conducted to Fareham, a pleasant village, he observes, at the extremity of Portsmouth harbour, which was appointed to be the place of his captivity, as well as of all those who had been included in the capitulation of Louisburg. Ulloa dwells with particular pleasure on the courtesy and generosity of Captain Butt, of the Sunderland (the ship in which he was conveyed to England), to all the prisoners of any rank; “whom,” says Ulloa, “he not only admitted to his table during the voyage, but prevailed on all the other officers to imitate his good example, and who seemed to vie in civilities towards us, and humanity towards the inferior sort, sparing nothing to alleviate our misfortunes. And let this remain a monument of my gratitude to such a generous set of gentlemen.”

He then proceeds to relate, that the troubled state of the country, occasioned by the wicked and insane expedition of the Pretender, together with the bad conduct of some prisoners, who, contrary to the rules of honour, abused the indulgence shown them, and violated their parole, caused the prisoners to be deprived of several privileges, and to be confined with greater strictness. He observes, however, that for his own part he was treated by the commissioners, both for French and Spanish prisoners, with such extraordinary humanity, and received so many favours, accompanied with such politeness and cordiality, that he became entirely easy under his misfortunes, the reflections on which grew every day less and less painful. “The commissary of the Spanish prisoners,” says Ulloa, “was Mr. William Rickman, under whose care, consequently, I should have been, without the circumstance of having been taken in a French ship. Yet, my being a Spaniard recommended me to his kindness, which, I with gratitude own, he carried to a very great height; and I had a large share of those acts of goodness by which he had deserved the universal acknowledgment of the Spanish nation. For, from the beginning of the war, and the taking of the Princessa, he exerted all possible care for the comfort of the prisoners: and the chief officers he even lodged at his own seat, and many others at an adjacent farm-house, called Perbrook, about a quarter of a league from Tichfield, on the London road, and about three miles from Fareham. He made public and private solicitations in their behalf: he treated all with affability, and used the greatest despatch in their several affairs; he raised charitable contributions, which were chiefly laid out in apparel for those of the lower class; and the officers he in the most genteel manner furnished with money, that they might live in tolerable decency.”

Both Mr. Brookes, commissary for the French prisoners, to which Ulloa, as taken in a French ship, belonged, and Mr. Rickman, offered to unite their interests in procuring him his papers to be returned. For this purpose a petition was addressed to the Duke of Bedford, first commissioner of the Admiralty; and “the answer,” says Ulloa, “was entirely becoming the generosity of the nation among which the chance of war had brought me.” The Duke of Bedford, and the other lords of the Admiralty, “unanimously, and with pleasure, granted the contents of my memorial; nobly adding, that they were not at war with the arts and sciences, or their professors; that the English nation cultivated them; and that it was the glory of its ministers and great men to protect and encourage them.”

Upon making application Ulloa readily obtained permission to repair to London, where, “on my first attendance,” says he, “at the office for prisoners of war, an order was shown me from my Lord Harrington, secretary of state, for bringing me to his house. This nobleman, having been ambassador for some years in Spain, among his other eminent qualifications had a great affection for the Spaniards, which he was pleased to extend to me in a most obliging reception, and assurances that nothing should be wanting in him to procure me my papers, or do me any other good offices.”

Martin Folkes, president of the Royal Society of London, now likewise interested himself in his behalf, and his papers were in consequence restored to him. By his kindness Ulloa was introduced to many distinguished literary men and other persons of rank and consideration, as well as elected a member of the Royal Society. “Actions like these,” says our traveller, “convinced me of the sincerity of the English, their candour, their benevolence, and disinterested complaisance. I observed the tempers, inclinations, particular customs, government, constitution, and policy of this praiseworthy nation, which in its economical conduct and social virtues may be a pattern to those who boast of superior talents to all the rest of mankind.”