“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.”