From Cunturcaga and Aroma we descended, by a zigzag route, a steep declivity of 6400 feet into the cleft-like valley of the Magdalena, the lowest part of which is 4260 feet above the sea level. Here there is an Indian village consisting of a few miserable huts, surrounded by the same species of cotton-trees (Bombax discolor), which we first observed on the banks of the Amazon. The scanty vegetation of the valley of Magdalena somewhat resembles that of the province of Jaen de Bracamoros, but we missed, with regret, the red groves of Bougainvillæa. Magdalena is one of the deepest valleys I have seen in the chain of the Andes. It is a decided cleft, running transversely from east to west, and bounded on each side by the Altos of Aroma and Guangamarca. Here recommences the same quartz formation which was so long enigmatical to me. We had previously observed it in the Paramo de Yanaguanga, between Micuipampa and Caxamarca, at an elevation of 11,722 feet, and on the western declivity of the Cordillera it attains the thickness of many thousand feet. Since Leopold von Buch has proved that the cretaceous formation is widely extended, even in the highest chains of the Andes, and on both sides of the isthmus of Panama, it may be concluded that the quartz formation, of which I have just made mention (perhaps transformed in its texture by the action of volcanic power), belongs to the free sandstone intervening between the inner chalk and the gault and greensand. From the genial valley of the Magdalena we again proceeded westward, and, for the space of two hours and a half, we ascended a steep wall of rock 5116 feet high, which rises opposite to the porphyritic groups of the Alto de Aroma. In this ascent we felt the change of temperature the more sensibly, as the rocky acclivity was frequently overhung with cold mist.
After having travelled for eighteen months without intermission, within the restricted boundaries of the interior of a mountainous country, we felt an ardent desire to enjoy a view of the open sea, a desire which was heightened by repeated disappointments. Looking from the summit of the volcano of Pichincha, over the thick forests of the Provincia de las Esmeraldas, no sea horizon is distinctly discernible owing to the great distance and the height of the point of view. It is like looking down from a balloon into empty space; the fancy divines objects which the eye cannot distinguish. Afterwards, when, between Loxa and Guancabamba, we arrived at the Paramo de Guamani (where there are many ruins of buildings of the times of the Incas), our mule-drivers confidently assured us that, beyond the plain, on the other side of the low districts of Piura and Lambajeque, we should have a view of the sea. But a thick mist overhung the plain and obscured the distant coast. We beheld only variously-shaped masses of rock, now rising like islands above the waving sea of mist, and now vanishing. It was a view similar to that which we had from the Peak of Teneriffe. We experienced a similar disappointment whilst proceeding through the Andes Pass of Guangamarca, which I am now describing. Whilst we toiled along the ridges of the mighty mountain, with expectation on the stretch, our guides, who were not very well acquainted with the way, repeatedly assured us that, after proceeding another mile, our hopes would be fulfilled. The stratum of mist, in which we were enveloped, seemed sometimes to disperse for a moment, but whenever that happened, our view was bounded by intervening heights.
The desire which we feel to behold certain objects is not excited solely by their grandeur, their beauty, or their importance. In each individual this desire is interwoven with pleasing impressions of youth, with early predilections for particular pursuits, with the inclination for travelling, and the love of an active life. In proportion as the fulfilment of a wish may have appeared improbable, its realization affords the greater pleasure. The traveller enjoys, in anticipation, the happy moment when he shall first behold the constellation of the Cross, and the Magellanic clouds circling over the South Pole; when he shall come in sight of the snow of the Chimborazo, and of the column of smoke ascending from the volcano of Quito; when, for the first time, he shall gaze on a grove of tree-ferns, or on the wide expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The days on which such wishes are fulfilled mark epochs in life, and create indelible impressions; exciting feelings which require not to be accounted for by any process of reasoning. The longing wish I felt to behold the Pacific from the lofty ridges of the Andes was mingled with recollections of the interest with which, as a boy, I had dwelt on the narrative of the adventurous expedition of Vasco Nunez de Balboa[[128]]. That happy man, whose track Pizarro followed, was the first to behold, from the heights of Quarequa, on the isthmus of Panama, the eastern part of the great “South Sea.” The reedy shores of the Caspian, viewed from the point whence I first beheld them, viz., from the Delta formed by the mouths of the Volga, cannot certainly be called picturesque, yet the delight I felt on first beholding them, was enhanced by the recollection that, in my very earliest childhood, I had been taught to observe, on the map, the form of the Asiatic inland sea. The impressions aroused within us in early childhood, or excited by the accidental circumstances of life[[129]], frequently, in after years, take a graver direction, and become stimulants to scientific labours and great enterprises.
After passing over many undulations of ground, on the rugged mountain ridges, we at length reached the highest point of the Alto de Guangamarca. The sky, which had so long been obscured, now suddenly brightened. A sharp south-west breeze dispersed the veil of mist; and the dark blue canopy of heaven was seen between the narrow lines of the highest feathery clouds. The whole western declivity of the Cordillera (adjacent to Chorillos and Cascas), covered with huge blocks of quartz 13 or 15 feet long; and the plains of Chala and Molinos, as far as the sea coast near Truxillo, lay extended before our eyes, with a wonderful effect of apparent proximity. We now, for the first time, commanded a view of the Pacific. We saw it distinctly; reflecting along the line of the coast an immense mass of light, and rising in immeasurable expanse until bounded by the clearly-defined horizon. The delight which my companions, Bonpland and Carlos Montufar, shared with me in viewing this prospect, caused us to forget to open the barometer on the Alto de Guangamarca. According to a calculation which we made at a place somewhat lower down (an isolated farm called the Hato de Guangamarca), the point at which we first gained a view of the ocean, must have been at no greater an elevation than between 9380 and 9600 feet.
The view of the Pacific was solemnly impressive to one, who, like myself, was greatly indebted for the formation of his mind, and the direction given to his tastes and aspirations, to one of the companions of Captain Cook. I made known the general outline of my travelling schemes to John Forster, when I had the advantage of visiting England under his guidance, now more than half a century ago. Forster’s charming pictures of Otaheite had awakened throughout Northern Europe a deep interest (mingled with a sort of romantic longing), in favour of the islands of the Pacific Ocean. At that period, when but few Europeans had been fortunate enough to visit those islands, I cherished the hope of seeing them, at least in part; for the object of my visit to Lima was twofold: first, to observe the transit of Mercury over the solar disc, and secondly, to fulfil a promise I had made to Captain Baudin, on my departure from Paris. This promise was to join him in the circumnavigatory voyage which he was to undertake as soon as the French Republic could furnish the necessary funds.
American papers circulated in the Antilles announced that the two French corvettes, Le Géographe and Le Naturaliste, were to sail round Cape Horn, and to touch at Callao de Lima. This information, which I received when in the Havannah, after having completed my Orinoco journey, caused me to relinquish my original plan of proceeding through Mexico to the Philippines. I lost no time in engaging a ship to convey me from Cuba to Carthagena de Indias. But Captain Baudin’s expedition took quite a different course from that which had been expected and announced. Instead of proceeding by the way of Cape Horn, as had been intended at the time when it was agreed that Bonpland and I should join it, the expedition sailed round the Cape of Good Hope. One of the objects of my visit to Peru, and of my last journey across the chain of the Andes, was thus thwarted; but I had the singular good fortune, at a very unfavourable season of the year, in the misty regions of Lower Peru, to enjoy a clear bright day. In Callao I observed the passage of Mercury over the sun’s disc, an observation of some importance in aiding the accurate determination of the longitude of Lima[[130]], and of the south-western part of the new continent. Thus, amidst the serious troubles and disappointments of life, there may often be found a grain of consolation.
ILLUSTRATIONS AND ADDITIONS.
[111]. p. 390—“On the Ridge of the Andes or Antis.”
The Inca Garcilaso, who was well acquainted with the native language of his country, and who loved to trace etymologies, invariably calls the chain of the Andes, “las Montañas de los Antis.” He states positively that the great mountain-chain, eastward of Cuzco, derives its name from the race of the Antis and from the province Anti, which was situated to the east of the capital of the Incas. The quaternary divisions of the Peruvian empire, according to the four cardinal points, reckoning from Cuzco, did not derive their names from the very circumstantial words (having reference to the sun) which in the Quichua language signify east, west, north, and south (intip llucsinanpata, intip yaucunanpata, intip chaututa chayananpata, intip chaupunchau chayananpata). Those divisions were named from provinces and races of people (Provincias llamadas Anti, Cunti, Chincha y Colla) situated to the east, west, north, and south, with reference to the city of Cuzco, which was the centre of the empire. The four divisions of the Inca theocracy were accordingly named Antisuyu, Cuntisuyu, Chinchasuyu, and Collasuyu; the word Suyu signifying strip or part. Notwithstanding the great distance between them, Quito belonged to Chinchasuyu; and in proportion as the Incas, by their religious wars, extended their faith, their language, and their despotic government, these Suyus acquired greater dimensions and became more unequal in magnitude. With the names of the provinces was thus associated an indication of their position; and “to name those provinces,” observes Garcilaso, “was the same as to say to the east or to the west.” (Nombrar aquellos Partidos era lo mismo que decir al Oriente, ó al Poniente.) The snow-chain of the Andes was regarded as an eastern chain. “La Provincia Anti da nombra á las Montañas de los Antis. Llamáron à la parte del Oriente Antisuyu, por la qual tambien llaman Anti á toda aquella gran Cordillera de Sierra Nevada que pasa al Oriente del Peru, por dar á entender, que está al Oriente.” (Commentarios Reales, p. i. pp. 47, 122.)[[RR]] Later writers have supposed the name of the Andes chain to be derived from the word Anta, which, in the Quichua language, signifies copper. That metal was indeed of the highest importance to a people who for their edged-tools or cutting instruments, employed not iron, but a sort of copper mixed with tin; but still the name of copper mountains would scarcely have been extended over so vast a chain. Professor Buschmann has justly observed, that the final “a” is retained in the word anta when it forms part of a compound; and Garcilaso expressly adduces as an example anta, copper, and antamarca, province of copper. Moreover in the ancient language of the Inca empire (the Quichua), words and their compounds are so simple in formation that the conversion of “a” into “i” out of the question; so that Anta, copper, and Anti or Ante (the country or an inhabitant of the Andes or the mountain-chain itself) must be regarded as words totally distinct from each other. In dictionaries of the Quichua language, with explanations in Spanish, the word Anti or Ante has the following interpretations: la tierra de los Andes;—el Indio, hombre de los Andes;—la Sierra de los Andes. The original signification or derivation of the word is buried in the darkness of past ages. Besides Antisuyu, some other compounds of which Anti or Ante forms a part, are, Anteruna (the native inhabitant of the Andes), Anteunccuy or Antionccoy (the sickness of the Andes; mal de los Andes pestifero.)
[112]. p. 390—“The Countess de Chinchon.”