The Canary Islands

by Florence Du Cane

CONVENT OF SANT AUGUSTIN, ICOD DE LOS VINOS

A long pause is necessary to rest both man and beast, as not only is the path a long and trying one, but it is possible for the sun to be so extremely hot even at that altitude that it seems to bake the steep and arid slopes of lava and volcanic sand, and the loose cinders near the end of the climb make bad going for the mules. The so-called path becomes almost invisible except to the quick eye of the mules, accustomed as they are to pick their way across these stretches of loose scoriæ. Often the question “Which is the way?” is met by the owner of the mule answering “Il mulo sabe” (the mule knows), instead of saying, “To the right” or “To the left,” and I generally found he was right.

Many people prefer the ascent to the descent, and certainly though I have nothing but praise for mules as a means of locomotion going uphill, there are moments when I preferred to trust to my own legs going down the loose cindery track.

The fact that the eastern mountain slopes are warmer and drier, as the rainfall is not so great, encourages the vegetation to rise to a much higher altitude and the barren world of lava and cinders is sooner left behind. Our old friend the Adenocarpus soon greeted us, like a pioneer of plant life, and gradually came the different regions of pine, tree heaths, laurels, and then the grassy slopes.

The gorge known as the Valle is described as “one of the most stupendous efforts of eruptive force to be seen in the world, the gap appearing to have been absolutely thrown into space.” A network of what might well be mistaken for dykes seems to cut up the surface, and the whole formation of the Valle is of great interest to geologists. To the ordinary observer it is certainly suggestive of a desolate waste, and the black hill known as the Volcan of 1705 does not help to give life to the scene. The white lichen, which is the true pioneer of plant life, is only beginning to appear, though in crevices where deep cracks in the lava have probably exposed soil below the sturdy Euphorbias are getting a hold, and a few other robust plants, such as the feathery Sonchus leptocephalus, which I have always noticed seems to revel in lava. Possibly another century may make a great difference to the scene, but certainly during the past two hundred years there has not been much sign of returning vegetation, and the fiery stream has done its work thoroughly. The relief is great at once more reaching the pine woods above Arafo, and the fatigue, not peril, of the descent being over it is pleasant to find the comfort of the well-named Buen Retiro Hotel at Guimar.

Though over a thousand feet above the sea, the situation is so sheltered that Guimar boasts of one of the best and sunniest climates in Teneriffe, the little village lying as it were in a nest among the hills. The flowery garden of the hotel tells its own tale, better than any advertisement or guide-book, and a week may be spent exploring the various barrancos in the neighbourhood, especially by botanists, or lovers of plants. The Barranco del Rio is renowned as being about the best botanical collecting ground in the island. Dr. Morris says he found there no fewer than a hundred different species of native plants, many of which he had not seen elsewhere. The dripping rocks are clothed with maiden-hair fern, and the giant buttercup, Ranunculus cortusæfolius, appears to revel in the damp and the high air. The Barranco Badajoz is perhaps wilder and more precipitous; in places the rocky walls of these gorges rise to 200 ft., and appeal immensely to those who enjoy wild scenery. The lack of a roaring river tumbling down them I never quite got over, during all my stay in Teneriffe. Perhaps in a bygone age they existed, and owing to some eruption cracks were formed and the water vanished, as the bed of the stream seems to be there, but, alas! no water or only a trickling stream. The tiniest stream has to be utilised to provide water for a village below or for irrigation purposes, and this, combined with the deforestation of the island, no doubt has helped to drain the barrancos. There is more water in the Guimar ravines than in most, and from the Barranco del Rio or the Madre del Agua I should imagine the whole water-supply of the village is derived.

Those who are interested in relics should visit Socorro, about an hour distant from Guimar, the original home of the miraculous image of the Virgin de Candelaria. So celebrated was this image that nearly a whole book on the subject has been issued by the Hakluyt Society, edited and translated from old documents by Sir Clement Markham. The image is supposed to have been found in about the year 1400, by some shepherds, standing upright on a stone in a dry deserted spot near the sandy beach. A cross was afterwards erected by Christians when the Spaniards occupied the island to mark the spot, and in front of it was built the small hermitage called El Socorro. One shepherd saw what he supposed to be a woman carrying a child standing in his path, and as the law in those days forbad a man to speak to a woman alone in a solitary place, on pain of death, he made signs to her to move away in order that he and his sheep might pass. No notice being taken and no reply made, he took up a stone in order to hurl it at the supposed woman, but his arm became instantly stiff, and he could not move it. His companion, though filled with fear, sought to ascertain whether she was a living woman, and tried to cut one of her fingers, but only cut his own, and did not even mark the finger of the image. These accordingly were the two first miracles of the sacred figure.

These shepherds related their experiences to the Lord of Guimar, who after being shown the stiff arm and cut fingers of the men, summoned his councillors to consult as to what had best be done. Accompanied by his followers and guided by the shepherds, he came to the spot and ordered the shepherds to lift the figure, as it apparently was no living thing, and to remove it to his house. On approaching the image to carry out their Lord’s orders, the stiff arm of the one and the cut fingers of the other instantly became cured. The Lord and his followers were so struck with the strange and splendid dress of the woman, who was now invested as well with supernatural powers, that they lost their first terror. Determined to do honour to so strange a guest within his dominions, the Lord of Guimar raised the image in his arms and transported it to his own house.

Unbelievers say that the image was merely the figure-head of a ship which was washed up on the beach, but the faithful maintain that so beautiful was the image, so gorgeous its apparel and so brilliant the gold with which it was gilded, that it was the work of no human hands, and contact with the sea would have destroyed the brilliancy of its colouring.