LIST OF THE RECORDED ERUPTIONS IN CENTRAL AMERICA.
EARTHQUAKES.
I do not propose to weary my readers with a list of the three hundred earthquakes that have been thought severe enough to be recorded; but a picture of Central America would be unrecognizable without some color of the natural disturbances that are inseparably connected in the popular mind with this part of the continent.
In 1541 the capital of the kingdom of Guatemala, now Ciudad Vieja, was a young and flourishing city. Founded in July, 1524, between the mountains Agua and Fuego, in the place called Almolonga (“water-fountain”), with the proud title of “City of Saint James of the Knights of Guatemala,” it had grown to a respectable size, in spite of numerous misfortunes, to which Juarros devotes an entire chapter of his “Compendio.” An earthquake in 1526, so severe, says Bernal Diaz del Castillo, that men could not stand, seems to have frightened the population less than did an enormous lion (puma?) which descended the forest-clad slopes of Agua in 1532 and made great havoc, until a reward of twenty-five gold dollars and a hundred fanegas of wheat induced a peasant to kill the monster. Politics had, as is usually the case, made more disturbance than the forces of Nature. The Conquistador Alvarado was recently dead, his widow, Doña Beatriz de la Cueva, had claimed the government, and the obsequies of the dead and the ceremonials of the new ruler were agitating the city when the sudden and terrible destruction of both ruler and her capital came. Accounts of the catastrophe vary, as is usual with all history,—which some one has wisely called “probabilities and possibilities extracted from lies;” but from nine extant descriptions and an examination of the physical marks which three centuries have not wholly effaced, I believe the following to be a fair story of the event:—
September is always a rainy month in Guatemala, and on Thursday, the 8th, a storm began which was violent even for that place and season. Rain fell in torrents, and continued to fall all that day and Friday and Saturday. Two hours after dark on the last day a severe earthquake shock was felt, and from Hunapu, since called the Volcan de Agua, came an avalanche of water, carrying with it immense rocks and entire forests. The terror of the earthquake and the roar of the unseen torrent wrought the excitement of the inhabitants to the utmost. Soon the deluge reached the city; the streets were filled to overflowing, and the houses were beaten by the waves and battered by the great trees brought by the torrent. Among the houses most exposed was that of Doña Beatriz, the widow of the Adelantado. She was preparing for bed; but startled by the earthquake and the terrible noise, endeavored to obtain safety in a small chapel near by, and while clinging to the crucifix was killed by the fall of the chapel wall. Her house was uninjured. All through the city the loss of life was very great; six hundred Spaniards perished, and the loss of Indios and Negroes was far greater. In the morning the remains of the city hardly appeared above the trees, rocks, and mud of the avalanche. It was then that the disheartened survivors decided to remove a league eastward, to the present Antigua.
The earthquake did not destroy the city, still less was there an eruption of water from the volcano; but the crater of the long-extinct cone had been filled with the rains, and the tremor shattered the loose dam of the crater-lip and let the great body of water down the steep side of the mountain. There was water in the crater long before, and the crater to-day shows marks of the broken wall and emptied lake. The destruction of the city was considered a judgment of Heaven upon Doña Beatriz for certain impious remarks made in her bereavement, and it was with difficulty that her family were able to bury her remains in consecrated ground.
On May 23, 1575, San Salvador (Cuscatlan) was destroyed by an earthquake which also greatly damaged Antigua. Afterwards the latter city had an experience that would have discouraged the people of any Northern town, for in 1576 and 1577 it was badly shaken, and on Dec. 23, 1586, destroyed. Then it was rebuilt enough to be again shattered on Feb. 18, 1651, and again on Feb. 12, 1689, and Sept. 29, 1717. The day after this last shock Antigua was destroyed completely; but for all that, on March 4, 1751, the chronicler writes “many ruins,” and then the centre of disturbance goes southward for a while. In April, 1765, several towns were destroyed in San Salvador, and the next month many in the Department of Chiquimula in Guatemala; while during the following October the “earthquake of San Rafael” shook many Guatemaltecan towns to pieces.
On July 29, 1773, Antigua was again destroyed,—if such a thing was possible; and although her inhabitants yielded to the momentary discouragement and permitted the Government to be removed to the Valley of the Hermitage, they have never allowed the ruins to become desolate, and to-day the traveller gazes in astonishment at the shattered walls of nearly eighty churches still the ornament of the town. The Antigua that once sheltered eighty thousand inhabitants, beautiful in its situation and distinguished by its architectural display, is still attractive in its ruins; its forty thousand inhabitants go in and out under the shadow of the volcano and await the next destruction, which may come to-morrow or years hence: the lesson that is past is all forgotten. I confess myself that the ruined churches, so fresh after the sun and rains of a century have penetrated their shattered walls, inspired no apprehension of danger; they were objects of great interest rather than warning; and it was no strange thing that those born in that charming place should cling to it still.
In 1774 nearly all the towns on the Balsam Coast of San Salvador were ruined. I hope my readers understand the delicate gradation in the terms used in speaking of the misfortunes of earthquake countries. A place is “shaken,” then “shattered,” then “ruined,” and finally “destroyed” by the visit of a temblor; and it is a very nice matter to decide exactly where one term is appropriate and another not.