CHAPTER XI.
Descent into the crater of Mount Ætna.—Novel site for a house.—The great chesnut tree.—Return down the mountain.—Journey to Messina.—Beauty of the scenery.—Sicilian spinners.—Extraordinary strength of the ass.—Mountain torrents.—Sights on the road.
My readers left me in the last chapter at the top of Etna, standing on the edge of the crater and looking down into that smoking gulf with feelings of wonder and awe. The situation was not without its dangers; but the sublimity and grandeur of the scene tempted me to additional hazards. I determined to go down into the crater, though I had heard of people making the same attempt, and paying for their rashness with their lives. It is natural enough that there should be such stories, but I never knew one well authenticated. In fact, the inside of the crater offers as firm footing as the outside, and the only risk is in going too far down. I ventured in, taking good care to feel the way before me with my stick, and holding on to the projecting crags in my descent. I found the surface to consist of broken rocks of lava, mingled with hard sulphurous masses, cinders, and ashes. By the time I had descended a stone’s throw, I encountered a strong smell of sulphur, which soon became overpowering, and forced me to direct my course farther to windward. I proceeded along laterally, some distance, and then struck downward again; but the sulphurous smoke steamed up so hot from all the crevices and openings around me, that I was obliged to stop for fear of suffocation.
I then seated myself for a few moments on a brimstone rock, and gazed at the strange scene around. The edge of the crater rose up like an immense wall over my head, shutting out every prospect except that of the sky, and the tremendous gulf beneath my feet was full of smoking hills and yawning chasms. There was no fear of being interrupted in this strange solitude, and notwithstanding the wild and threatening looks of this fiery region, I felt as safe as if I had been at the foot of the mountain. While sitting here, I was struck with a notion which I believe never entered a man’s head before; namely, that of building a house inside the crater! It was a Yankee notion indeed, but there is a house on the edge of Niagara falls, and I am confident that if Ætna were in the state of Massachusetts, some Yankee would have a house inside the crater, and take boarders and lodgers. There is as good a foundation within as without, and the situation would be warm and well sheltered from the violent cold winds which are almost always blowing at the top of the mountain!
After I had satisfied my curiosity by this close prospect of the mouth of the great volcano, I climbed back over the edge, and descended the cone much faster than I went up, although the descent was far more painful and hazardous than the ascent; much caution was necessary to avoid sliding from the top to the bottom. I found my companion at the foot of the cone, snuggling under the shelter of a rock, thrashing his arms, blowing his fingers, and complaining of being half frozen. I only laughed at him for not accompanying me to the top, where I told him he might have warmed himself very comfortably. As for myself, I did not feel chilled in the least, and I set off down the mountain in excellent spirits, having accomplished the main object of my journey.
There was, however, another great curiosity on the other side of the mountain, which I would not lose the sight of. This was the famous chesnut tree, called the Chesnut of the Hundred Horses, because it is so large that a hundred horses may stand inside the trunk. We accordingly struck off to the eastward along the edge of the forest. The cork and chesnut trees were very numerous in this quarter, and many of the latter were of an enormous size. When we approached the great chesnut, and the guide pointed it out to me, I took it for a group of half a dozen trees, for so it appeared. In fact, when we reached it, I could hardly persuade myself that it was a single tree. The interior of the trunk is entirely decayed; leaving nothing but five or six detached portions, which look like separate trees, but on digging to the roots, they are found united; and there is no doubt the whole formerly composed a solid trunk. There is no bark on the inside, and the tree has been in this decayed state for a century or more. Its age no one can tell. I looked upon its enormous size with astonishment. It is about 200 feet in circumference; so that the interior might contain a large house, and leave much vacant space besides. It was not the season for fruit, but I remarked to the guide that if the nuts bore any proportion to the tree, they must be bigger than cocoanuts. I did not learn, however, that the fruit is larger than that of other chesnut trees in this quarter. The European chesnuts, I must observe, are three times as large as the American, but they are not so sweet, and are hardly ever eaten raw.
There are several other chesnut trees of enormous size upon the mountain. The surprising fertility of the soil which produces this gigantic vegetation is owing to the ashes thrown out by the mountain. In every part where the surface has not been covered by the lava and sand, the growth of the trees and vegetables is most luxuriant. The ashes have been found to contain abundance of nitre, which, when combined with the soil in a proper quantity, is known to be of wonderful efficacy in quickening the growth of plants.
I could have spent a month upon the mountain with great satisfaction, exploring its wonders and curiosities, but having so long a journey before me, I found myself obliged to leave it without visiting a great many interesting spots. I should, in particular, have been pleased to pass some time in the queer little village high up the mountain. The inhabitants are certainly a strange sort of people, and must have some very odd notions of the rest of the world, which it would be amusing to know. I shall certainly visit Ætna again, when a chance offers.
I returned to Catania, where I staid two or three days, and then set out for Messina. Having been informed that there was a good road the whole distance, instead of a rambling mule-track like that from Syracuse, I ventured on this part of the journey alone, with a good stout mule, which I bought for the purpose. The road ran along the seashore at the foot of the mountain, and I was more and more struck with the beauty and grandeur of the scenery. The slopes of the mountain were covered with villages, gardens, and groves of orange, olive, cherry, almond and fig trees; the great white cap of Ætna everywhere towering over all. The houses along the road were painted with huge staring figures in bright colors, like landscape paper-hangings. The fields, as usual, were divided by walls of black lava, and long-horned oxen were ploughing in them. Droves of donkeys were going to the city with loads of dry vinestalks for the bakers’ ovens, and others bore casks of wine, long and shaped like eel-pots, slung over their backs. I met also wagons loaded with lemons, as our countrymen cart their potatoes to market. In the walls along the road, at almost every step, were niches containing pictures of the virgin, to which the people paid their adorations. As I proceeded further, I came to huge rocky cliffs overhanging the road, and all overgrown with the prickly pear. Herds of goats were clambering up and down the steep precipices, and browsing among the rocks. Sometimes the road passed along the side of a mountainous crag overhanging the sea, with a parapet on one side, over which I looked down a fearful depth, and saw the ocean dashing under my feet. In other places the road was cut through a solid rock.
Everywhere the prospect offered the most enchanting scenery. In some places the slope of the mountain was cut into terraces, which looked like tiers of gardens piled one upon another. The vineyards did not look so blooming as most of the other cultivated grounds, for the vines were not yet in leaf; the peasants were hoeing round them and setting the props. The road passed through a great many villages, and in all, the streets were full of women. Many of them carried jugs of water on their heads, and others sat before the doors spinning tow. They use only a spindle and distaff; they hold the distaff in the left hand, give the spindle a twirl with the right, and let it swing in the air, the spinner drawing out the tow as it flies round. The thread is then wound up on the spindle, and another twirl given to it. In this manner they are accustomed to run about the streets and spin, which I think may fairly be called spinning street-yarn.