Again, you reach the edge of a cliff, through the deep, narrow valley between which and the cliff opposite pours a furious torrent, which, resounding louder and louder as it is approached, now drowns all other sounds in its despotic roar. But, fearful as it looks, it must be crossed. Some of these torrents are spanned by bridges; but most of them are so impetuous, especially in the rainy season, that bridges even of stone would be undermined, and those of timber would be swept away like wisps of straw. You must now trust to the sagacity of your mules or horses. You descend the precipitous side of the cliff, seeming to yourself as if about to fall headlong into the torrent; but after a painful and perilous jaunt, you reach its level. Its roar now confuses and nearly stuns you. Each side is more or less precipitous, and you seem at the mercy of the furious tide, while jutting rocks above seem just ready to be loosened by some convulsion, and to crush you with their merciless weight: meantime, your horse stands unmoved by the peril before or above him, apparently deaf to the noise of the torrent, and quietly surveys the rapids, as if to select the safest point to cross. Disturb him not. He takes his time, and places one foot and then another in the torrent. As he reaches the main current, he trembles, not with fear, but with the effort to keep himself from being swept against the rocks. He may be able to keep his footing and to walk across, though panting and shaking at every step; or the stream may be so deep that he is forced to swim. If so, he bears up manfully (if one may say so) against the rushing force, and at last scrambles up the least steep peak of the opposite bank, bearing you more dizzy than he is. But the bank itself is only the foot of a ridge as precipitous as that which you descended to reach the stream. Quietly, patiently, surely the horse ascends. A sudden misstep or unwary slip among the loose stones of the path would send you far backward into the torrent which you have just escaped. This very seldom happens, for the horses and mules have been well trained for the service. In all the perils, the horse or mule is a safer guide than you. Give him a free rein, and he will bear you up the hardest, roughest, steepest places.
You are now high among the Andes, far above every sign of tropical vegetation; and, although hourly you are approaching the equatorial line, yet hourly also it is growing colder. Look up! A snowy peak rises directly before you, and seems to challenge you with its refulgent, inaccessible majesty. The sight at first almost appals, but fascinates. The feeling of fear soon surrenders to absorbing enjoyment of the sublimity of the scene. The more you look, the more you desire to look. There stands the mountain, a single glance at which repays all the fatigue and danger of the road;—there it stands, as high above the Pacific Ocean as if Vesuvius should be piled upon itself again, and again, and yet again. Clear snow covers it with a robe of dazzling light.
The snowy peak, though it seems so near in the pure atmosphere, is a weary distance off. As you advance slowly and laboriously upward, the wind blows almost like a hurricane. You can hardly breast its force. It grows colder and colder. Here, on the equator, man may freeze to death. Bear a stout heart and a firm face against the cold and the wind.
Now it is too steep even for the horses and mules of the Andes. You are ascending toward the snowy peak whose alluring brightness has charmed the long way, since you saw it first. Dismount and climb as you can among the rocks. The glittering snow is near. You pant as if you might soon lose all power to breathe again; yet, press on, and now touch at last the pure, bright, equatorial snow.
Would you now reach the very summit which shines far, far above you, arrayed in glowing white. That you cannot do. Angels descending on ministries of grace may touch that snowy mountain top, but mortal feet it never felt. That radiant peak is sacred from bold endeavor and the assaults of battle. War's gory feet never climbed so far. War's flaming torch never stained that pure and snowy light. Swords never flashed among those white defiles. Angels of peace guard the tops of the Andes. There is truce to all the rage of earth. During the middle ages, an interval in every week was sacred from the assaults of foes. It was called the Truce of God. Not for three days, but for countless ages, from the birth of time to the final consummation, on these snowy summits of the Andes shines in pure white the Holy Truce of God.
In Italy and Sicily, an ethereal veil, a pale, blue gossamer, spreads over the scenery, as if each object had caught some delicate reflection from the blue heavens above; and the golden illumination of this misty veil causes the peculiar charm of Italian sunsets. This effect is generally wanting in the scenery of the Andes near the equator, though among the mountains more remote, a similar effect is sometimes seen. Among the Andes of the equatorial region, so pure is the air, that the farthest objects visible are exactly defined. The curves and angles of distant cliffs are as clearly seen as those of masses of rock at one's side. Hardly a ray of light is so refracted as to disturb the perfect shape and color of any object in the horizon. The splendor of the sun brings out the true colors of everything within the range of sight; and so various are these colors, and so diversified are the groupings of ridges and valleys, in the scenery of the Andes of the equator, that the pure developing and defining light and the clear air of that region produce effects as enchanting as the transforming light and the soft veiling air of Italy. At sunrise and at sunset, indeed, but especially at sunset, a rosy light tinges the snowy summits of the far-off mountains, but those near shine with pure white, like mountains of silver. The hue of every precious stone is found in the colors of the Andes. Even the crevices on the rocky sides of the mountains without verdure seem when the sun shines upon them to be filled and overflowing with warm hues, varying from the softest lilac to the deep, rich, pervading purple which the artist loves to revel in. Each of the Andes, besides his emerald or pearly crown, seems also to wear, like the high priest of old, a jewelled breastplate, reflecting on earth the glory of the skies.
The table lands of the Andes, especially when seen from above, resemble the rolling prairies of western North America. Both have the same beautiful and various undulations, though those of the table lands are bolder. The prairies are far more extensive; though, often, the table lands present as broad a horizon of gently curving land. These table lands in some places extend like vast halls between widely separate but parallel chains of the Andes—again, like broad corridors along a line of ridges—again, like wide landings to gigantic stairs, of which the stone steps are mountains—again, they expand in hollows surrounded by hills, like lakes of land. Here is one large enough for several small farms only—there, many towns and rural estates are found on the same table land. Here is one which you may traverse in an hour—there is one which may be several days' journey across.
The agricultural wealth of the Andes is mainly concentrated in these table lands, in these millions of rolling acres. The table lands are above the region of forests. About the watercourses, on the farms, and in the towns, a few trees may be found—sometimes avenues of them laid out with care and beauty; and the fruit trees of the temperate zone may here be cultivated; but the great forests of the tropical level and the pines of the mountains are absent.
The Paramos are sandy plains, in fact, mountain deserts, in the dry season liable to great droughts, and in the wet season to fearful snowstorms. The armies of Independence, during the wars between Spain and South America, suffered terrible hardships and exposures in the Paramos. The Pampas are wide and level plains, not so high as the table lands, where graze innumerable herds of wild cattle. They are beyond the ranges of mountains, in the more central parts of South America. There are none west of the Andes.
The table lands complete the sublime varieties of the scenery. Their serenity enchants, as the grandeur of the mountains that rise above them exalts the mind. The works of nature are not only adapted to human need with Omniscient skill, as these fertile lands among the sterner mountains prove; but, feelings different, yet harmonious, are excited by the combinations of Infinite Power. The emotion of awe, being one of great concentration, becomes even painful, if the tension of the mind be too long sustained; and so He who tempers the ineffable splendor of His immediate presence even to the gaze of angels, with the rainbow of emerald about his throne, with the sea of crystal, the tree of life, or the gates of precious stones, also soothes the sublimity of mountains with gentle traits of scenery and soft gradations of color which give enjoyment more passive than awe, and rather captivate than overpower the eye and soul.