Travels in Mexico and life among the Mexicans/Chapter 19
XIX.
POPOCATAPETL.
"I could not, ever and anon, forbear
To glance an upward look on two huge peaks,
That from some other vale peered into this."
FOUR snow-covered mountain peaks gleam in the sun in Mexico, making it famous among the countries of the world. There are but two higher on the continent of North America, for the lowest of the four reaches sixteen thousand feet.
First, nearest the Gulf of Mexico, is Orizaba, visible at sea before the coast of Mexico is discovered. This reaches an altitude of seventeen thousand three hundred feet, and is second only to the giant of all, Popocatapetl, whose hoary head is lifted up seventeen thousand eight hundred feet above the sea. Iztaccihuatl and the Volcan de Toluca next appear, each about sixteen thousand feet in height.
Far above the wall of mountains that surrounds the valley of Mexico towers the mighty Popocatapetl, visible from the city of Mexico, and one of the most beautiful objects that grace that land of glorious scenery. It is the first to greet the traveller's eye and enchain his attention as he enters the Mexican valley, the first he later seeks in the morning, the last he loves to look upon at evening time.
Though called an active volcano, it has emitted nothing but sulphur fumes, and perhaps a little smoke, within the memory of man. Yet it may be only resting, for the old historians affirm that it was active in the first years of the conquest, and its very name, Popocatapetl, signifies "the smoking mountain."
Volcanoes take their rest like human beings, and we have only to turn to the history of Vesuvius to confirm this. The formation of the volcano of Jorullo in Mexico, in 1759, is another example, when from a fertile and highly cultivated plain were thrown up six hills of fire, the central one rising to a height of sixteen hundred feet.
Until within a few years, the ascent of Popocatapetl was rendered more tedious and discouraging than at present by the long horseback ride of sixty miles necessary to be taken from Mexico as a preliminary to the actual climb up the mountain. At the present time this difficulty is obviated by the passing of a line of railroad near the actual base of the volcano, so that one can leave the city in the morning and reach the snowline before night, ascending the summit and returning the next day. This railroad, the Morelos, leaves the city at the gate of San Lazaro, near where the main sewer flows with sluggish current towards Lake Tezcoco; from the odors of which sewer, and from the congregations of filthy beggars that assemble at the arrival and departure of trains, one will understand why this suburb is named after Lazarus, king of mendicants. You may take a horse-car at the Plaza at seven in the morning, and the train at seven and a half, and at eight will find yourself rapidly whirling over the salt plains that once formed the bed of the great lake. Passing through several pueblos, we reach Amecameca, the largest town on the line, and the place at which the ascent of the volcano commences, in about two hours. The distance from the gate of San Lazaro is fifty-eight kilometres, and the fare, first-class, one dollar.
In the centre of the town is the Plaza, where a low circular wall of stone encloses a small plat planted with flowers, a round basin filled with water flowing from a fountain in the middle, and a few white stone pillars support a capital and form the entrance, above which, and shading the garden, droop dark green willows. The square surrounding this bit of verdure is large, bounded on its west side, next the railroad, by the Casa Municipal, and on the east by the cathedral, a large and well-preserved building. The streets of the town diverge from this centre, lined with low houses of stone and adobe,—mostly the latter,—roofed with rough shingles spiked on with long wooden pegs. Water from the mountains runs in little streams through the streets, and is diverted by small gutters to the houses for private use. Groups of pines rise above the houses, and all the trees are mainly of the northern zone. East of the town, and in fact all around, stretch immense fields of corn and barley, parted by hedges of maguey, and beyond them the foot-hills commence, with many a fertile tongue of land running up among them, green and golden with grain. Then they rise higher and higher, covered with black forests of pine, until the grand old mountains are fairly reached, which shake off their garments of trees, and tower above them all, brown and barren. Next comes the border of the snow-line, its white robe ragged and patched with brown on its skirts; but finally, triumphing over all below, it drapes the peaked summit in a glistening garment of spotless white.
Facing the east, Iztaccihuatl—la Mujer Blanca, "the White Woman"—lies above, and apparently nearer the town, than Popocatapetl. She covers a long portion of the ridge with her white shroud, and is really suggestive, by her shape, of a dead giantess, robed in white for her burial. Far and near, this volcano is known as the "White Woman," and from the plains of Amecameca and from the city of Mexico the resemblance to a dead woman, lying on her bier and covered with a white sheet, is most suggestive. The neck is a trifle long, and the protuberance of the breasts carried a little too far down, giving an undue prominence to the abdomen; but the dead face is perfect, and the hair streams in silvery locks from the snowy forehead back over the head and down the sides of the bier. Her feet are turned toward her companion giant, grim old Popocatapetl, and between the two lies a long, uneven ridge, mainly beneath the snow-line, brown, and for the most part treeless. Popocatapetl wears a solid crown of glittering snow,
which appears jagged and sun-bitten at about the same level as La Mujer Blanca, where his diadem loses itself in little streams, that trickle down his giant shoulders.
There is a tradition among the Indians that these two volcanoes were once living beings, in the early years of the world, in the shape of a giant and giantess. The Supreme Deity became offended at some acts of theirs, and changed them into mountains. He struck the giantess dead, and there she lies to this day, stretched silent upon her bier, robed in glistening white. The giant was merely rooted fast to the spot, where he could contemplate his loved companion; and he was wont to express his indignation and grief by fiery floods of lava tears, and by pouring forth volumes of smoke. In his agony he would shake the whole earth with his tremblings. The affrighted Indians thus recognized him as Tlaloc, the "God of Storms," and Popocatapetl, the "Hill that Smokes."
When it was known among my friends in Mexico that I was going to attempt the ascent of Popocatapetl alone, they said I could not do it; men high in authority warned me of the dangers attending such an effort. Giving heed to the warnings of my friends, I attired myself in my oldest clothes, donned a Mexican sarape and sombrero, girt myself about with a belt stuffed full of cartridges, containing a dirk and a revolver, and then set out for the station. The disguise was so complete that an acquaintance who met me in the Plaza was about to pass without a recognition. I stopped him, and then he apologized.
"O, don't mention it," said I; "but tell me, do you see about me any indications of wealth?"
"No," he replied, "I 'm blessed if I do!"
Then I allowed him to pass on. At the station, the agent made me happy by handing out a third-class ticket at sight. I then knew that I appeared like a common Mexican, and that, unless I opened my mouth, no robber would attempt to murder me with the expectation of getting anything for his pains.
In Mexico, I had been kindly furnished with a letter by General Ochoa, who owns the crater of the volcano and procures sulphur from it, to his mayor-domo, Don Domingo Zela; but Don Domingo was absent when I arrived in Amecameca, and I was thrown upon my own resources. Very fortunately, there met me, as I stepped from the cars, a volcanero, or volcano-man, one who had worked in the crater digging sulphur, who offered his services as a guide to the top. His face told me he was honest and tolerably faithful, and we closed a bargain at once,—he to furnish me his own services, three horses, and a peon, at five dollars a day. Having concluded these preliminaries, we went in search of the one man of Amecameca who spoke English. After much trouble, we finally drew up at the door of a little house where two pretty girls were sewing; and, upon learning that "papa" was out, but would be back soon, I accepted their invitation to enter. They spoke nothing but Spanish, but their father, who had lived in New Orleans thirty years before, spoke not only his native tongue, but French, English, and Mexican, or Indian. His English was, to be sure, a little the worse for his past thirty years' silence, but he patched it up with a little French, and so we hobbled on. "Im speaks," said he, "ze French besser zan ze England,"—and so he did.
Don Felipe was a medico, or doctor, in a small way, and was in great demand. He had one sovereign remedy for all complaints, which was that of Doctor Sangrado. He would draw more blood, for less money, than any physician I ever met. An Indian woman came to be bled while we were waiting for the horses, and he drew from her a pint of blood, into a cup clotted with gore, and charged her only a real, or twelve cents.
It was said to be fifteen miles from town to the rancho where we were to pass the night, and we ought to have started at noon, but it was four o'clock when we did start. There is always a vast difference, in Mexico, between the time you should leave, and the time when you do leave, always. Don Felipe insisted on accompanying me to the rancho, leaving his lucrative practice—doctors always have "lucrative practices "—to the care of his daughters, who were left alone. He was a sad-faced, quiet man, with thoughtful eyes and grizzled beard,—a grave and courtly Mexican, whose sense of duty to a chance guest impelled him to climb the mountain with him.
Leaving town, the road winds through great fields planted with corn, and soon runs at the bottom of a deep barranca, or ravine, ploughed out by the torrents that sometimes descend from the mountains. Our peon led a horse with a pack-saddle, and Don Felipe, the guide, and myself had each a small, but wiry horse, half hidden beneath a great Mexican saddle with large boot stirrups, on the pommel of which was coiled a lariat.
As we ascended, we met cattle and sheep, tended by many children in ragged garments, and donkeys and horses dragging long sticks of timber on wooden wheels a foot or two in diameter. To pass these we had to ride up the steep banks and wait. As we reached the pine trees—which do not descend in a body 
below a certain altitude—the fields improved; wheat and barley grew high and thick, as far as the eye could reach. Over to the left was a flour-mill all alone. There are no houses between the town and the crater,—"Only," says Don Felipe, solemnly, and crossing himself hastily,—"only the mountains and God!"
The pines grew more abundant, and the air was filled with their resinous odor; jays and chickadees—birds of the temperate zone—flitted from tree to tree, and reminded me of Northern woods. A high, conical hill, rising out of a great field to the right, planted with corn to the top, and with rude ruins on its summit, is called Tetepetongo, the hill of the round stones, and was formerly used as an Indian place of sacrifice,—at least so says tradition. A sister elevation a mile distant, also artificial, or artificially graded, is known as Tusantepec, As we went up among immense trees, old Popo' seemed at one time right ahead, shining golden in the setting sun; again, he was far away, and we seemed travelling from him. We went up, still up, the great trees growing greater, towering far above us, huge hemlocks and pines. A hill covered with coarse grass was on our left, and, as we reached its base, the night crept upon us silently, and wrapped us in its sable folds. We were then ten thousand feet above the sea, enclosed in a cold atmosphere, and chilled by half-congealed rain. Nothing could compare, for dreariness, with the oppressive silence of those high forests; not even a murmur of wind in the tree-tops, no bird of night to startle us with his cries,—nothing but the hoof-beats of our horses, and the crackling of twigs and branches that they stepped upon.
Don Felipe, who had ridden before me silently, wrapped in his cloak, now halted, and demanded abruptly if I was armed.
I said certainly, and asked him if he also had a pistol.
"No," said he; "the people here all know me, and know that I am poor. But you—they think, of course, that you are rich."
"But there are no people living here."
"No; but they are passing all the time, and some may have followed us from town." "But I have no money,—look at me!"
"A man can't travel without money." "Humph! yes, a little, but not enough to tempt them to kill me."
"Señor, they would kill you for a dollar! Señor, there is a black cross on the road yonder. If it were not so dark, we might see it. There, a friend of mine was killed by the bad men."
"Killed for what?"
"For nothing."
"For money?"
"Si, señor, they shot him there."
It was indeed true; for, two days later, coming down the mountain in the freshness of the morning, I saw the veritable cross, opposite a tangled thicket in a lonely pass. It was of rough wood, painted black, and with an inscription on it, desiring all who passed to offer a prayer for the soul of the murdered man. Here, Don Felipe paused a moment, crossed himself, and murmured a supplication.
I was about to tell Don Felipe that I was a dead shot, but I thought that, if I must die that night, I would at least be clear of falsehood for that day. So I jogged along in sullen silence, blaming myself for being led into such a dilemma, and blaming Don Felipe for starting so late, when he knew that we must traverse this dense wood after dark. It was now so dark that my unaccustomed eyes could see nothing but the black trunks of the pines, and I followed blindly my guide and peon, with Don Felipe behind me. Through an opening in the wood, we obtained one last glimpse of Popocatapetl, standing up like a sheeted ghost against the black sky, and then entered a portion of the forest so dense that I could only follow my peon by his white shirt, and my guide by the glinting silver of his sombrero. We rode over fallen trees, striking limbs and projecting branches, stumbling into holes, jumping gulches, climbing hills, descending hollows,—all in pitchy darkness. Suddenly, we were brought to a halt, and the peon darted into the black thicket. I clutched my revolver nervously, and settled myself firmly in the saddle, believing that some foul play was meditated, when Don Felipe told me that he was searching for the trail. The peon and volcanero held a consultation, and it was agreed to leave all to the pack-horse; and then we went on again, the peon clinging to his horse's tail,—all depending upon the instinct of that poor brute.
The Cuidado!—"Beware!"—of the guide became more frequent as the path was obstructed by fallen pines and cut by numerous gulches. A long-drawn howl swept through the black forest at intervals, which Don Felipe said was that of a coyote, or wolf; and more rarely we heard the blood-curdling cry of the puma, or mountain lion. Fortunately for travellers, but unfortunately for naturalists, these animals are exceedingly rare. One would have been enough, however, for us that night; he could have destroyed the entire party without our seeing him at all. We descended a steep ravine and climbed a high hill covered with pines, down which we went, and crossed another ravine; and about this time, when I thought it would be the proper thing to despair, we turned a clump of trees and saw a light. Soon we reached a gate, which a servant opened at our bidding, and Don Domingo, the mayor-domo, warmly welcomed us. We had been five hours in the saddle, and were so cold and stiff we could hardly get our legs together when lifted to the ground. The poor peon, who had walked and run all the way, with only a shirt on, and cotton trousers rolled up to his thighs, had to attend to the horses; though Don Felipe—true caballero that he was—allowed no one but himself to care for his.
It was nine o'clock, Don Domingo told us; we had thus passed three hours groping in the darkness of the mountain forests. Made welcome to the roughly-built house, we entered and found a roaring fire leaping up the open throat of a clay chimney. By this cheering blaze we thawed ourselves out, and by the time meat was boiled and coffee ready were in condition to enjoy them. Don Domingo, a perfect gentleman of the type so often met with in Mexico, read my letter of introduction, and told me it was not necessary to present it, as he recognized in me a friend after his own heart. He then embraced me and patted me on the back, and set out his only remaining bottle of wine. There was but one bed, and in this Don Domingo had been sleeping when we arrived; but he insisted that I should occupy it, and he and Don Felipe spread their sarapes on the floor, and were soon snoring, with their heads on their saddles. The "bed" was three or four boards, raised a foot from the floor and covered with a thin strip of straw matting. Drawing my sarape over my head, and belting my knife and revolver about me, I was soon in the land of dreams.
The rancho of Tlamacas, says Charnay, the archæologist,—who visited it, and found near it some of his most valuable pottery,—is at an elevation of 12,595 feet above the sea. It is in a valley, with high hills on all sides but the north, where the surface slopes toward the valley of Puebla, about nine leagues distant The soil is volcanic, sand and grit, supporting a growth of coarse grass and great pines hoary with moss and lichens. In about the centre of this secluded valley is the rancho, its visible portion being the house and the subliming works, where the crude sulphur brought down from the crater is purified. This is done in earthen jars, which are broken when the sulphur is sublimed.
Here, then, is a sort of half-way house for the volcaneros, and a resting-place for the mules and donkeys that transport the sulphur to the valley below. Sulphur is not the only product of the volcano; for many years the only ice used in Mexico was obtained from the ravines seaming the cone, above the snow-line. Even to this day, the city of Puebla is supplied from the mountain. The Indians ascend far above the rancho, dig out the ice, where it rests congealed the year through, and carry it on their backs to the donkey trails, where it is packed on the backs of these animals to the valleys. From the fact that the ice is imperfectly crystallized and more resembles snow, it is known as nieve, snow, and this name is yet applied to the ice-cream made in the cities. In the Plaza of Mexico you will hear, every afternoon, the cries of the boys peddling ice-cream: "Nieve! tome nieve!"
The volcano towers directly above the rancho, southeast of it, first a broad strip of pines, then black volcanic sand; then the snow-covered dome, with the black rock known as Pico del Fraile sticking up on its western ridge.
The peon had been instructed to awaken us at three o'clock in the morning, that we might get well up to the snow-line before the sun rose; but the poor fellow was worn out with cold and fatigue, and when I awoke it was five o'clock, and neither horses nor coffee were ready. The temperature was 48° Fahr. as we started, and the trees sparkling with frost; the sun peered above Malinche,—the solitary mountain that rises from the valley of Puebla,—turning it a fiery red, and bathing the whole Puebla valley in soft rosy mist, then, striking upon the cone of Popocatapetl, made it glisten like a silver dome. It was a glorious spectacle, with the sun's rays rebounding, as it were, from the silver mountain, that towered majestically so far above us into the blue ether. It nerved and braced me for a struggle that I had reason to think would be severe. For two weeks before I started, I had searched Mexico for some companion; but was successful only in developing some of the most disheartening stories of previous experiences, from the few who had ascended the volcano, that ever reached the ears of man. First, I should be robbed in Ameca, then murdered on the road up the mountain, as I passed through the forest; escaping these, I should certainly succumb to the cold at the rancho; or, if not, then I could not miss bursting a blood-vessel as I reached the crater. Of the many who had attempted the ascent few had succeeded, for they either became footsore, or fainted, or bled at the nose, eyes, and ears, or from the lungs, or mangled themselves on the frozen cone. It was a most discouraging prospect; but the trouble was with nearly all who have attempted the ascent, that they were mainly dwellers in cities, who had not often "roughed it," and who looked upon the whole trip as a glorious picnic, and prepared themselves accordingly, with great quantities of eatables and liquor. They, moreover, nearly always carried along their wives and families, and would drag these frail creatures as long as possible, and then have to take them back to the rancho. They told me I must wrap my feet with bundles of rags, to prevent them from sinking in the snow. or wear spiked sandals; but I knew it must be pretty soft snow that my feet would slump through, and so I merely strapped on my old hunting-shoes, which had assisted me in the climbing of many lesser volcanoes in the West Indies, and buckled on my canvas leggings; this was the only preparation I made for climbing. My peon furnished me with a spiked staff,—not one of those gaudy alpenstocks, such as Cook excursionists use
in scaling the mighty Alps, and then bring home and stick up in a corner to be worshipped ever after,—but one little bigger than a broomstick, with a rigid iron spike in it.
Leaving the rancho, we immediately entered the pines, and, riding through them for half a mile, struck diagonally down the side of a wide and deep barranca, and then climbed the other side in the same way; here begins the vast stretch of volcanic sand that laps the base of the cone proper. The horses sank fetlock deep, the grade was tremendous, and their labored breathing, as they stopped every rod or two to get wind, was extremely painful to witness. Owing to the rarefacation of the air, and the great labor of wading through the heavy sand, it really seemed as though the blood would gush through their red, distended nostrils. Compelled to adopt a course of short zigzags, my mozos ranged far ahead of me, and reached the rendezvous long in advance of the horses. After about two hours of this work, during which the agony of the horses seemed so great that I was only restrained from dismounting by the knowledge that I needed all my strength for the final climb, we reached a ridge of rocks. It was the first of a series that cropped up through the black, shifting sand, and ran down toward Puebla in many a fantastic shape, evidently formed by fire. On the upper rock is a cross, indicating the death of a man,—this time not on the spot, but in the crater. At this spot, La Cruz, we halted the horses, and I gladly dismounted.
The limit of vegetation[1] had been passed at a little distance above the barranca, the pines (the Pinus Montezumæ) ending there in a body, as if refusing to advance even a single straggling sentinel farther; and then came clumps of coarse grass, dwindling finally to little specks, and at last all that remained were the hardly visible blotches of moss or sphagnum; above, all was sand, to the skirts of the everlasting snow.
Here Don Felipe left me, and turned back with the horses. He had thus far come with me voluntarily and without recompense, as my compañero, but his obligation—like that of the bride who ascended Mont Blanc with her husband and wilted half-way up—did not extend beyond the snow-line. Dear Don Felipe! he embraced me as though for the last time, and his serious face assumed an even graver expression as he warned me to return immediately that I felt symptoms of giddiness. Then he turned and plodded down the mountain, as we prepared to ascend.
A sublime spectacle was opened to me as I stood by the lonely black cross, wedged into the fire-scathed rock, at this elevation of 15,000 feet. The eye ranged over a vast valley, down the ridges, above the black belt of volcanic sand, across the pines, to La Mujer Blanca, the dead White Woman, now with a wreath of cloud above her, and her snowy breasts upturned, bared to the pitiless sky. A broad table-land lies between the two volcanoes, which appears, at a lower elevation, like a narrow gap. Through this gap, which I passed the night before, runs the trail that Cortés took, when he first approached the valley of Mexico. From its western slope, the future conquerors first saw the wonderful vision that seemed to them like a picture of enchanted land. "Eight leagues from the city of Cholula," wrote Cortés, in his letters to his sovereign, "are two very lofty and remarkable mountains; in the latter part of August their summits are covered with snow; and from the highest, by night as well as by day, a volume of smoke arises, which ascends above the mountain to the clouds, as straight as an arrow. As I have desired to render your Highness a very minute account of everything in this part of the world, I wished to ascertain the cause of this phenomenon, as it appeared to me, and I despatched ten of my companions, such as I thought suitable for this purpose, with several natives of the country for guides, charging them to use every endeavor to ascend the mountain and find out the cause of that smoke. They went, and struggled with all their might to reach the summit, but were unable, on account of the great quantity of snow that lay on the mountain and the whirlwinds of ashes that swept over it, and also because they found the cold insupportable. But they reached very near the summit, and while they were there the smoke began to issue forth with so much force and noise that it seemed as if the whole sierra was crumbling to the ground; so they descended, and brought with them a considerable quantity of snow and icicles, that we might see them, as it was something quite new in this region. . . . . While on their way to the mountain, the party discovered a road, and inquired of their Indian companions where it led, who told them to Culua (Mexico), They followed this road until they began to ascend the mountain, between which and the other elevation
it passed; and from it they discovered the plains of Culua, and the great city of Temixtitan, and the lakes of that great province."[2]
The same scene of beauty that greeted the delighted eyes of the Spaniards, three hundred and sixty years ago, was unfolded to me as I stood at the foot of La Cruz, eight thousand feet above the valley of Mexico, where the glimmering towers of the city could be seen, though fifty miles away. The valley of Puebla, away to the north, lay half veiled in vapor, revealing little lakes, a village here and there, white church towers, and the varied hues of hill and vale, of wooded mountain and populous plain. Rising high above it was the extinct volcano, Malinche, or Malintzin, named by the Indians in honor of Cortés, and far away to the east the peak of Orizaba, a hundred and fifty miles distant, its snowy cone glistening like a diamond above the enveloping clouds. A glorious vision,—one that I could have looked upon for hours; but the gathering clouds of mist, rolling up from the valleys, warned me that it was dangerous to linger longer.
A wide belt of deep sand lay between us and the solid snow, flecked here and there with little drifts and straggling remnants of former storms. Through this we slowly and painfully waded, falling back at least one step in three, and breathing the first sigh of relief when finally among the snow-fields. Simultaneously with our reaching the snow, the threatening clouds gathered about us, and we were enveloped in as dense a fog as any I have ever seen on the Atlantic coast.
The real dangers to be encountered in the ascent of Popocatapetl, as enumerated by a traveller who preceded me by eighteen years, are avalanches, shifting sands, sand slides, lightning playing over the metallic sands, whirlwinds of sand, unseen chasms, and rupture of the lungs. We had passed the sands, and were now in danger only from the two last.
We were now fairly above the cloud strata and walking onward as in a dream, conscious of direction only by the steepness of the incline before us. The only guide-book that describes the ascent of the volcano warns travellers to "provide themselves with overcoats, veils, and alpenstocks, which they dive into the ashes and volcanic sand." It is not absolutely necessary to provide yourself with veils and overcoats "to dive into the volcanic sand," but you must have blue goggles, to prevent the effects of the strong reflection of the sun's rays from this glaring surface of snow. A person with a delicate complexion might also feel the need of a green veil, and the mozo should carry for him an overcoat or extra wraps. In the language of a correspondent of a New York paper, writing from Mexico at the time of my ascent, I went up "alone, with three Indian guides." Well, so I did; at least, there was no gente de razon, or white man, along with me. There was my peon, in cotton shirt and pants, with only a remnant of a sarape over his shoulders, and only his sandals strapped to his bare feet. He carried my tourograph, or camera, and a canteen of "nourishment," besides the provisions. Then, there was my "guide," now degenerated into a mere compañero, or companion, who knew nothing, as I later ascertained, of the mountain; and the real guide, an old man picked up at the rancho. He also wore cotton shirt and pants, and a broad sombrero, but had his feet swathed in strips of blanket till they looked as though he had an infliction of elephantiasis.
The peon and I soon left the others behind, and plodded on, one step after another, for hours. The snow was just right for climbing over; as there had been no recent fall, it had been softened and compacted, giving quite a good foothold. It had been gnawed by the sun till it lay in great cakes, tilted up edgewise, forming a labyrinth of passages, through which we slowly picked our way.
Such terrible stories had been told me of the sufferings endured by mountain climbers up this cone of snow, that I had prepared myself to meet and overcome obstacles requiring almost superhuman strength and endurance. I had resolved to go on, step by step, taking my time, shedding my last drop of blood, if necessary; but to reach the summit by all means. So I took it serenely, following close after my peon, treading where he trod, and letting him take off the wire edge of the trail. He seemed to like that. It showed I had confidence in him, and so I had,—confidence that if he fell into a hole and disappeared, I should not follow suit. Half-way up, perhaps, my "guides" cried out, "Señor, we can't go any farther, we are lost." We were surrounded by mist that obscured everything more than ten feet away from us; but I could not see how we could get lost, when, if we went up far enough, we should reach the crater brim; or, if low enough, we should come out on the belt of ashes; and so I told them. My peon also was of my opinion; and, as we combined had the food, drink, instruments, and pistols, I did not care whether the others came on or not. In Mexico, I had procured a double-handful of the famous coca leaves,—the stay and stimulant of the Indians of the Peruvian Andes,—and to these may be attributed, possibly, the fact that I made the ascent without fatigue. Whatever the reason, I went on, calmly chewing my cud of coca leaves; up, up, surmounting one snowy barrier after another, for four hours or more, until my faithful servant turned and said, "Señor, aqui esta el crater!"—"Here is the crater!"
Reaching the place where he stood, I suddenly came upon a black and yawning gulf, which even the dense mist could not conceal. Here, for the first time, there darted through my temples a severe pain, which remained for hours, even till I had descended to the rancho. Overcome by conflicting emotions, and needing no longer any further stimulus, I sank upon the crater's brim, breathless and panting from excitement. Then I rose exultingly, and discharged the six chambers of my revolver into the air, creating such a concussion in the crater that great stones rattled down its perpendicular sides, and the reverberation nearly deafened us. From "crag to crag" leaped the volumes of sound, like peals of thunder, and finally died away in receding murmurs, as though retreating farther and farther into the entrails of old Tlaloc, the god of storms, whose brow I now stood upon, at a height of nearly eighteen thousand feet above the sea.
The lip of the crater is a narrow rim of sand, lying above the black abyss and at the edge of the sea of snow, like the coral ledge composing an atoll of the southern seas. Its highest point is at the west, its lowest at the east, and the crater has somewhat the shape of an ellipse, four or five thousand feet in its longer diameter and over one thousand feet deep. The snow stopped abruptly at this wreath of sand, rising to a height of from six to eight feet, and curling over it, but prevented from advancing farther by the heat from the crater. "Thus far and no farther!" the heated breath of Tlaloc's vitals belched in the face of the boreal visitor, which rested like a cloak upon his shoulders. When an opening in the clouds occurred, I descended over the brim about one hundred feet, clinging to the projections of porphyritic rock to a rocky platform, whence the laborers in the volcano were lowered to the bottom of the crater. They had not been at work for a month, and the malacate, or hoisting winch, was dismantled; but, by holding by the great beams, I could peer over the brink into the horrible pit below. Directly beneath me ascended a dense sulphur cloud, from which, and from various other vents scattered over the surface, arose the strong fumes that suggested to us the infernal regions. It is from these vents, called respiradores, that the sulphur is obtained, being sublimed upon the sides of the crater. About twenty years ago, the present owner of the volcano commenced to work this dangerous sulphur mine, removing the sulphur at a great profit. At present the only supply is that from the condensed fumes, as it is deposited; but originally there was the accumulation of centuries.
Here is the testimony of Cortés himself as to the finding of it: "As for sulphur, it has been taken out by a Spaniard, who descended seventy or eighty fathoms, by means of a rope attached to his body below his arms; from which source we have so far been enabled to obtain sufficient supplies, although it is attended with danger."
In 1625, an English traveller visited Mexico, and thus describes the volcano: "Popocatapec is one of the chief of these fiery Mountains, which signifieth a hill of smoak, for many times it casteth out smoak and fire. When Cortés passed that way, he sent ten Spaniards to view it, with many Indians to carry their victuals and guide them; but two of them went up to the top, and at length came under a great smoak, very thick; and standing there awhile the darkness vanished away, and then appeared the Vulcan and concavity, out of which the air came rebounding with a very great noise. The smoak and heat were so great that they could not abide it and were constrained to return. But they had not gone far when the Vulcan began to flash out flames of fire, ashes, and embers; yea, and at the last stones of burning fire; and if they had not chanced to find a rock under which they had shadowed themselves, undoubtedly they had there been burned. Before the coming of Cortés, for ten years' space, it had left off expelling vapour or smoak; but in the year 1540 it began again to burn, and with the horrible noise thereof the people that dwelt four leagues from it were terrified."
We are told that Humboldt was the first who reached the crater brim in modern times; and the first really scientific examination of it was in 1856, by a Mexican engineer, General Caspar Sanchez Ochoa, who made the height, by barometer, to be 19,443 feet above sea level.
The entire depth, from the malacate to the plaza horizontal, or floor of the crater, is about three hundred metres, the floor itself being about two hundred metres in circumference, and the length of the acclivity some six hundred; the interior temperature changes according to the proximity of the respiradores, or sulphur vents. There are more than sixty sulfataras, one of which is over fifty feet in circumference, and from all parts columns of smoke more or less dense, and deadly fumes, are constantly issuing forth.
Complete daylight reigns at the bottom of the crater, but all this changes very quickly when a storm, or borrasca, is coming on; then the air becomes completely darkened, and the snow drifts thickly down, only to melt as soon as it settles, the respiradores are roaring continually, the heat increases to such an extent as to become insupportable, while from the centres of the sulfataras from time to time dart out flames and burning matters. It will thus be seen that the crater is not a pleasant place to work in, and that the laborers there run great risks. It is quite difficult for General Ochoa (to whom I am indebted for the above description of the abyss) to obtain laborers, as one would naturally suppose; though there is no especial mortality among the men working at this altitude, who labor in gangs, alternate weeks, camping in the crater beneath rough sheds. A sudden storm or earthquake sometimes makes it uncomfortable for them; but these volcaneros are a hardy class of Indians, and, if well supplied with mescal and aguardiente, endure their hardships wonderfully well.
Ascending again to the brim, I pitched my camera, and awaited an opportunity to get a view of the crater; but just then a few snowflakes drifted by, and the next minute a violent gust compelled us to seek shelter beneath the ledge of snow. The storm raged furiously for over an hour, pelting us unmercifully, till we were half buried in the drifts, and threatening to materially interfere with my photographic exposures; but taking advantage of a lull in the gale I crept with my guide to what he called the highest point,—el pico,—though without getting a view of the lower regions. We were indeed above the clouds, and on the very battle-field of the aerial elements. From the dismal depths of the crater the hissing of escaping steam and booming detonations told of the activity of the internal forces, while the crashing of falling stones awoke the echoes of this great basin in deafening reverberations. At last, after more than three hours on the mountain-top, vainly looking for a clear view over the expanse below, came the time for leaving, and I prepared to descend, first however taking stock of the provisions and drinking my canteen of cold tea. Wishing to make the ascent as much a test of endurance as possible,—as it is certainly a test of lung and vital power,—I had not drunk or eaten anything since my biscuit and coffee of the morning, having accomplished the ascent in six hours, with nothing in my mouth but the coca.
If the ascent was slow and tedious, going down was exactly the reverse. Down the cone, the laborers of the last month had dug a long, straight trench, leading from the crater brim to the fields of volcanic sand, over which they used to slide the sulphur. Had they been working then I should have borrowed a petate, or mat of bulrush, and have slid down on that, as they were wont to do; but as they were not, I stood up on my broad soled shoes, and, guiding my course with my alpenstock, flew downward with the speed of the wind.
In less than ten minutes I had left the region of storms, and had emerged into one of calm, the snow-cakes spinning past me in away decidedly lively; in less than two more I had come near sliding into that zone of tropic heat we sometimes read about, for my toe caught an ice-chunk and sent me burrowing into a crevice, looking for the centre of the volcano. Fortunately, there was not room enough both for me and my clumsy shoes; so my peon pulled me out in time to prevent suffocation, and set me down in the snow to recover. Then, with long leaps, we sped down the cone and out upon the sand, and finally reached La Cruz, whence our descent to the rancho was uneventful.
Popocatapetl stands high among the volcanoes, and holds a respectable position among mountains in general. "There are no Alps," quaintly observes Friar Gage, "like unto it for Height, cold, and constant Snow that lieth upon it."
No two authorities perfectly agree as to its altitude; according to Humboldt (trigonometrical measurement) it is 17,716 feet; the French savans made it 18,362, and the Mexican geographer, Garcia Cubas, 5,400 metres; the limit of pines is placed at 12,544 feet, and that of vegetation at 12,963. At sunset of the day of our descent, Popocatapetl seemed on fire, as his peak took on a rosy glow that soon suffused the whole cone; and later, as the sun sank down, and spread its warm coloring over the eastern sky, he appeared as though encased in burnished gold; but as the glowing orb disappeared entirely, he relapsed into livid white, standing there, a mountain of marble, against a cold steel-blue sky. The Woman in White did not share in this after-glow of the sun, but remained resting without change upon her bier, a slight mist draping and giving her the pallor of a corpse.
It snowed that night at the rancho, and the next morning the whole cone was covered deep, even down among the pines. The sand-field that we had ploughed through the day before was heaped high with drifts, so that we could not have crossed it. El Pico del Fraile was hung with huge icicles, and our hut was white with snow, which dripped off as the sun came up. The day was calm and clear, the valley below was buried in a dull blue vapor, through which lakes and villages barely glimmered; and sparrows and snowbirds gathered about the door, thus completing the illusion of a northern day in spring. Finally, we filed through the valley pass, beneath the silent pines, breathing an air delicious with balsam, brisk and exhilarating, and so turned our backs, with deep regret, upon Popocatapetl, monarch by natural right of Mexico.
| 1 Popocatapetl. | 3 Nevada de Toluca. | 5 Orizaba. | |
| 2 Iztaccihuatl. | 4 Ajusco. | 6 Cofre de Perote. |
- ↑ "At the height of 14,500 feet all the Phanerogamia have vanished, and the vegetation consists merely of mosses and lichens, which cover the separate rocks as high as 14,700 feet. Botanists acquainted with the Scandinavian Alps agree, that in the vicinity of the snow limit of the extreme North the Cryptogamia are more abundantly represented, both as to number and variety, than under similar circumstances in the tropical zone. . . . . From the threshold of rigid death, as from the North Cape or the glaciers of Iceland, our eyes pass from the Arctic zone and the pine groves of the North to the gardens of the Hesperides with their golden fruit, and thence to the glowing zone where the palms and the arborescent grasses are developed."—Sartorius.
- ↑ "The Spaniards followed nearly the same track which the courier of Mexico takes on his way to Puebla, by Mecameca, which is traced on the map of the valley of Tenochtitlan."—Humboldt.