At nine o'clock we passed the last houses put up for our accommodation on the way; and at eleven o'clock had arrived within three miles of the object of our curiosity.
For the last hour the scenery had become more interesting; our path was skirted, occasionally, with groves and clusters of trees, and fringed with a greater variety of vegetation. Here also the smoke from the volcano was first discovered, settling in light fleecy clouds to the southwest.
Our resting place at this time was a delightful spot, commanding a full view of the wide extent of country over which we had traveled, and beyond and around it, the ocean, which, from the vast and almost undistinguished extent of its horizon, seemed literally an "illimitable sea."
The smooth greensward, under the shade of a majestic acacia, almost encircled by thickets of a younger growth, afforded a refreshing couch on which to take our luncheon. Here we saw the first bed of strawberry vines, but without finding any fruit. We tarried but a few moments, and then hurried on to the grand object before us.
The nearer we approached, the more heavy the columns of smoke appeared, and roused to intenseness our curiosity to behold their origin. Under the influence of this excitement, we hastened forward with rapid steps, regardless of the heat of a noonday sun, and the fatigue of a walk of thirty-six miles, already accomplished.
A few minutes before twelve o'clock, we came suddenly on the brink of a precipice, one hundred and fifty or two hundred feet high, covered with shrubbery and trees. Descending this by a path almost perpendicular, we crossed a plain half a mile in width, enclosed, except in the direction we were going, by the cliff behind us, and found ourselves a second time on the top of a precipice four hundred feet high, also covered with bushes and trees. This, like the former, swept off to the right and left, enclosing in a semi-circular form, a level space about a quarter of a mile broad; immediately beyond which lay the tremendous abyss of our search, emitting volumes of vapor and smoke; and laboring and groaning as if in inexpressible agony from the raging of the conflicting elements within its bosom. We stood but a moment to take this first distant glance. Then hastily descended the almost perpendicular height, and crossed the plain to the very brink of the crater.
There are scenes, to which description, and even painting can do no justice, and in conveying any adequate impression of which they must ever fail. Of such, an elegant traveler rightly says, "the height, the depth, the length, the breadth, the combined aspect, may all be correctly given, but the mind of the reader will remain untouched by the emotions of admiration and sublimity which the eye-witness experiences." That which here burst on our sight was emphatically of this kind, and to behold it without singular and deep emotion, would demand a familiarity with the more terrible phenomena of nature which few have the opportunity of acquiring. Standing at an elevation of one thousand five hundred feet, we looked into a black and horrid gulf, not less than eight miles in circumference, so directly beneath us that, in appearance, we might by a single leap have plunged into its lowest depth. The hideous immensity itself, independent of the many frightful images which it embraced, almost caused an involuntary closing of the eyes against it. But when to the sight is added the appalling effect of the various unnatural and fearful noises, the muttering and sighing, the groaning and blowing, the every agonized struggling of the mighty action within—as a whole it is too horrible! And for the first moment I felt like one of my friends, who on reaching the brink, recoiled and covered his face, exclaiming, "call it weakness, or what you please, but I cannot look again."
It was sufficient employment for the afternoon simply to sit and gaze on the scene, and though some of our party strolled about, and one or two descended a short distance into the crater, the most of our number deferred all investigation until the next morning.
From what I have already said, you will perceive that this volcano differs in one respect from most others of which we have accounts. The crater instead of being the truncated top of a mountain, distinguishable in every direction at a distance, is an immense chasm in an upland country, near the base of the mountain Monnaloa—approached not by ascending a cone, but by descending two vast terraces; and not visible from any point at a greater distance than half a mile, a circumstance, which, no doubt, from the suddenness of the arrival, adds much to the effect of a first look from the brink. It is probable that it was originally a cone, but assumed its present aspect, it may be centuries ago, from the falling in of the whole summit. Of this, the precipices we descended, which entirely encircle the crater in circumferences, of fifteen and twenty miles, give strong evidence. They have unquestionably been formed by the sinking of the mountain, whose foundations had been undermined by the devouring flames beneath. In the same manner one half of the present depth of the crater has at no very remote period been formed. About midway from the top a ledge of lava, in some places only a few feet, but in others many rods wide, extends entirely round, at least as far as an examination has been made; forming a kind of gallery—to which you can descend, in two or three places, and walk, as far as the smoke, settling at the south end, will permit. This offset bears incontestible marks of having once been the level of the fiery flood, now boiling in the bottom of the crater. A subduction of lava, by some subterraneous channel, has since taken place, and sunk the abyss many hundred feet to its present depth. The gulf below contains probably not less than sixty—fifty-six have been counted—smaller conical craters, many of which are in constant action. The tops and sides of two or three of these are covered with sulphur, of mingled shades of yellow and green, with this exception, the ledge and every thing below it are of a dismal black. The upper cliffs, on the northern and western sides, are perfectly perpendicular, and of a red color, everywhere exhibiting the scarred marks of former powerful ignition. Those on the eastern side are less precipitous, and consist of entire banks of sulphur, of a delicate and beautiful yellow. The south end is wholly obscured by smoke, which fills that part of the crater, and spreads widely over the surrounding horizon. As the darkness of night gathered round us, new and powerful effect was given to the scene. Fire after fire, which the glare of mid-day had entirely concealed, began to glimmer on the eye with the first shades of evening, and as the darkness increased, appeared in such rapid succession, as forcibly to remind me of the hasty lighting of the lamps of a city on the sudden approach of a gloomy night. Two or three of the small craters nearest to us were in full action, every moment casting out stones and ashes, and lava, with heavy detonations, while the irritated flames accompanying them, glared widely over the surrounding obscurity, against the sides of the ledge and upper cliffs, richly illuminating the volumes of smoke at the south end, and occasionally casting a bright reflection on the bosom of a passing cloud. The great seat of action, however, seemed to be at the southern and western end, where an exhibition of ever-varying fire-works was presented, surpassing in beauty and sublimity all that the ingenuity of art ever devised. Rivers of fire were seen rolling in splendid corruscation among the laboring craters, and on one side a whole lake, whose surface constantly flashed and sparkled with the agitation of contending currents.
Expressions of admiration and astonishment burst momentarily from our lips, and though greatly fatigued it was near midnight before we gave ourselves rest, often interrupted during the night, to gaze on the sight with renewed wonder and surprise.