Nicaragua

NARRATIVE CONTINUED—ARRIVAL OF THE GENERAL IN CHIEF—THE ARMY—FIREWORKS BY DAYLIGHT—PRISONERS—INTERVIEW WITH GEN. MUNOZ—ARRIVAL OF THE CALIFORNIAN ESCORT—“PIEDRAS ANTIGUAS”—THE STONE OF THE BIG MOUTH—“EL CHIFLADOR”—OTHER ANTIQUITIES—PREPARATIONS FOR DEPARTURE—CARTS AND “CARRETEROS”—VEXATIOUS DELAYS—DEPARTURE—HOW I GOT A GOOD HORSE FOR A BAD MULE, ON THE ROAD—DISTANT VIEW OF THE LAKES—THE FREEDOM OF THE FOREST—ARRIVAL AT MASAYA—GRAND ENTREE—DESERTED PLAZA—A MILITARY EXECUTION—A “POSADA”—“HIJOS DE WASHINGTON”—DISAPPOINTED MUNICIPALITY—WE ESCAPE AN OVATION—ROAD TO NINDIRI—APOSTROPHE TO NINDIRI!—OVERTAKE THE CARTS—“ALGO FRESCO”—APPROACH THE VOLCANO OF MASAYA—THE “MAL PAIS”—LAVA FIELDS—VIEW OF THE VOLCANO—ITS ERUPTIONS—“EL INFIERNO DE MASAYA,” THE HELL OF MASAYA—OVIEDO’S ACCOUNT OF HIS VISIT TO IT IN 1529—ACTIVITY AT THAT PERIOD—THE ASCENT—THE CRATER—SUPERSTITIONS OF THE INDIANS—THE OLD WOMAN OF THE MOUNTAIN—THE DESCENT OF THE FRAY BLAS CASTILLO INTO THE CRATER.

Sunday, the day after the events recited in a previous chapter, was ushered in by a general ringing of the church bells, and a miscellaneous firing of bombas, on the part of the boys. High mass was said in “La Parroquia,” for the safe arrival of the General and his army. I now discovered the efficacy of the “banda.” Red and yellow cloth was suspended in front of all the balconies; gay curtains shaded every window; festoons of flowers hung above every door, and little flags and boughs of trees were strung in all convenient places. The decorations in the plaza were particularly profuse and fanciful. Altogether the streets looked much like those of some of our own cities, tricked out on the occasion of a political festival, or some similar occasion, when impunity is conceded to absurdity of every kind. Men, women, and children were all dressed in their best attire, and seemed to be in high spirits. There was a general reaction from the despondency which had so long afflicted the popular mind; and, as I strolled through the Jalteva, I observed that already many of the fugitive inhabitants had returned, and that the municipality began to have some semblance of life again. At about eleven o’clock messengers arrived, announcing that the General was at a “hatto,” a league from the city, waiting for the coming up of the main body of his troops. Directly I heard the roll of drums in the plaza, and shortly after saw a large cavalcade, embracing the municipal and departmental officers, and a body of several hundred of the leading inhabitants, defile past to meet and welcome the General. When they had departed, there was a lull in the city; the quiet of expectation had succeeded the bustle of preparation; and, there being nothing more to see, I went back to my quarters, and lying down in my hammock, suspended beneath the corridor of the house, where the fresh breeze circulated freely, rustling the orange leaves, took up Layard’s Nineveh, which had been published a day or two before I left the States. I read of winged bulls, priestly processions, and Arab bands, and in a state of half-consciousness was trying hard to make out something about the Yezidis, who would, nevertheless mix themselves up with the marineros of the lake, and the Naides of San Migueleto, when the discharge of a cannon, and the simultaneous clang of every bell in the city, startled me to my feet, and announced the approach of the long-expected, and long-wished-for General.

I took my place in the outer corridor, to see whatever there might be to see. The streets were lined with people, mostly women, their heads protected by gaudy rebosos; while every door, window, and balcony was occupied by the better portion of the population, dressed to the limit of their finery. The discharge of cannon continued at regular intervals, becoming more and more distinct as the guns approached, while the bells kept up an incessant and almost deafening clangor. The General, I thought, was slow in his movements, and a long time in coming; for it was full an hour before the head of the procession appeared, turning sharp around a corner near my quarters. A mass of horsemen, filling the entire street, passed along in utter confusion; but these, I soon saw, were the citizens who had gone out to act as an escort. Following these was a small detachment of lancers, who moved in entire order, and made a good appearance. After them came a party of officers, brilliantly dressed, preceded by the flag of the republic, around which the people pressed in a dense body, shouting “Viva el esclarecido General!” “Viva el Gobierno Supremo!” “Viva la Republica!” “Muerte à los enemigos del orden!” Death to the enemies of order! I had no difficulty in distinguishing amongst the fine body of men composing his staff, the erect and commanding figure of Gen. Muñoz himself. He was splendidly mounted, and wore a neat undress uniform of blue, turned up with red, and a Panama hat, covered with black oiled silk. He bowed in an easy and graceful manner, in acknowledgment of the “vivas” directed to him, and of the salutations of the señoras and señoritas in the balconies. I observed his face closely when he approached; it was animated but firm,—expressive of his true character, which is that of a humane, chivalrous, high-minded, and brave man. I then thought, and still think him the finest looking officer I ever saw.

Behind the General and his staff, was another detachment of lancers, followed by a band of music; then came the soldiers in divisions. First were the “veteranos,” or soldiers of the line, in a uniform of white pantaloons and jacket, a little black cap with a red ball perched in front, a species of network knapsack, a blanket thrown, toga-like, over one shoulder, and a musket resting on the other. This is their whole equipment; they require no tents, baggage, or provision wagons. If it rains, they throw their blankets over their shoulders and the locks of their muskets, turn their pantaloons up to their thighs; and march on. At night they roll themselves in their blankets, and lie down anywhere. A plantain and a bit of cheese, or tortilla, or a cup of tiste, constitute their simple rations, and on such fare they will march forty and fifty miles a day, through a country where an equal European or American force would not average ten. This body of “veteranos,” marched with great precision and in good order, and was followed by the new recruits, who were rather a hard looking set, dressed in every variety of costume, and not particular about keeping in line or marking step. Some wore only pantaloons and hat, the latter not always of the most classical model; some had long legs to their breeches, some short, and some none at all; but they all seemed to be in good spirits, and ready for almost any thing which might turn up. They bowed frequently, beckoned, and sometimes spoke to acquaintances amongst the spectators,—improprieties of which the “veteranos” were never guilty. In fact, the latter, who were almost entirely Indians, seemed as impassible as men of bronze. Amongst the officers in the General’s staff I observed a full-blooded negro; but his features were as regular as those of any European. He afterwards distinguished himself by his bravery and fidelity, and was promoted in consequence.

Upon the entrance of the procession into the plaza, although it was broad daylight, a series of fireworks and rockets were let off, which produced a great noise and smoke, but none of those brilliant results for which they are got up amongst us, and of which the people here seem to have no idea. The primary object appeared to be to make a great noise, and in this they were perfectly successful.

That afternoon, a division of troops, which had been sent out the previous day, to break up a party of insurgents, who had concentrated at the Indian pueblo of Diriomo, came in, having effected their object, and bringing a number of prisoners. Among them was one of Somoza’s lieutenants, who was pinioned, and marched in at the point of the bayonet. A litter followed, bearing a wounded soldier, half of whose face had been shot away in the encounter, presenting a shocking spectacle.

Before night, it became evident that a decided hand had now the control of affairs; men were despatched to bring down the boats sent for safety to “Los Cocos;” scouts detached to gather information; a new regiment of enrolled men ordered to report themselves under arms next morning; and a proclamation issued, guarantying the safety of all those arrayed against the government who should come in and surrender their arms. The patrols were doubled, and that night we were treated to an extra number of “alertas,” from watchful sentinels. In the evening a council was held, to which all the leading citizens, whatever their previous differences, were invited, and where the General himself set the example of patriotic forbearance and fraternization, by proffering his hand to men from whom he had been estranged for years. The result was auspicious, and the council resolved upon the most prompt and decided action.

Next morning, before sunrise, as I rode to take my daily bath in the lake, I saw the General in the Plaza, wrapped in his military cloak, drilling his troops in person. At eleven o’clock he paid me a formal visit, accompanied by his staff. My previous favorable impressions were more than confirmed by the interview. He spoke of the troubles in the country with the regret of a patriot, but the determination of a general, and sketched their origin, and the popular demoralization, boldly and impartially. Upon general topics he was familiar, and conversed with force and freedom. He had once been in New Orleans, where he had seen Mr. Clay, who appeared to have left a characteristic impression on his mind. I found him perfectly well acquainted with the origin and progress of the Mexican war, and with the relative parts sustained in it by the American officers. Upon the subject of British aggressions, he spoke with great bitterness, and in a manner which showed how deep and ineffaceable were the feelings of hatred which they had engendered. These aggressions, he said, made at a time when the country had begun to recover from its distractions, and when its more patriotic and intelligent citizens, before expatriating themselves in despair, were making a last effort in its behalf, and for the restoration of quiet and good government, were crimes against humanity not less than against the State. Just as the government had succeeded in reforming the army and restoring public confidence, when all its resources were wanted to carry out its new and enlightened policy, it found itself involved in a foreign controversy, shorn, on the shallowest pretexts, of half its territories, its revenues cut off, and all its energies crippled by a nation professing to be the most enlightened and philanthropic in the world! He had often felt dispirited, but had struggled on in the vague hope that the condition of the country might attract the sympathy and secure the good offices of other nations in its behalf,—as he now believed it had done those of the United States. The present disturbances, he added, had been directly charged upon the English, but however that might be, that people was directly responsible for its consequences; for the insurgents would never have dared to commit overt acts, whatever their disposition, had they not thought that the controversy with England had weakened the hands of the government, and rendered it almost powerless; and that in attacking it, they would receive some kind of countenance and support from British agents, if not from the British Government.

I am thus particular in giving the exact tenor of this conversation, as it was afterwards grossly misrepresented, and made the subject of not over-polite, but very characteristic official correspondence, on the part of the British agents.

In the afternoon of this day, the first division of our California escort, in a uniform of red shirts, and armed like brigands, made their appearance. They reported that the remainder had stopped for the night at the town of Masaya, in order to visit the extraordinary lake at that place, and would come on in the morning. The march of the General had cleared the roads, and as our arrival at the capital was anxiously expected, I determined to leave Granada at the earliest possible moment, and made my arrangements accordingly.

In the evening I visited a singular relic of antiquity, called the “piedra de la boca,” the stone of the mouth. It is planted on the corner of one of the streets leading to the Jalteva, and consists of a large and singularly carved stone, which had been brought here by a curious “marinero,” from an island in the lake. The accompanying engraving will convey a better idea of it than any description, and will explain why it bears its present name. It now projects about three feet above the ground, and is two feet broad by one and a half in thickness. I had made diligent inquiry for “piedras antiguas,” ancient stones, but got very little information concerning any,—no information, in fact, except from an old priest and some boatmen, who represented that many were to be found on the island of Ometepec, and on the large uninhabited island of Zapatero. I had, however, no time to visit them now, but made a note of them for a future occasion. At the “esquina,” or corner of the old Convent of San Francisco, was another “piedra antigua,” called “El Chiflador,” the whistler. It had been much broken, and the head and upper part of the body were entirely destroyed. The fragments which remained showed that it had been well and elaborately carved. Tradition says that, when it was perfect, its mouth was open, into which the blowing of the wind made a mournful, whistling noise, exciting suspicions that it was the incarnation of one of the ancient “demonios” of the Indians. The pious padres demolished it in consequence; but probably less on that account than because they often found offerings before it, which the superstitious Indians had deposited during the night time. Another figure stood, and probably still remains at the south-eastern corner of the great Plaza, carved in black basalt. It represents a human figure, with jaws widely distended, and protruding tongue. Upon the head is crouched the representation of some kind of wild animal, of the cat kind. It is comparatively small, but well carved, and bold and striking in its outlines. This, and “el chiflador” were brought from the island of Zapatero.

During the day, the remainder of the American division arrived at Granada. Including my own party, we mustered twenty-five strong, each man withal a walking arsenal. Two days were devoted to rest and visiting, and the morning of the third of July fixed for our departure. The evening previous, our baggage was packed in carts, and sent ahead, under the escort of a detachment of lancers.

In the inhabited parts of Nicaragua, where the country is entirely level, or but slightly undulating, carts are almost universally used for the transportation of goods and the natural products of the country. They are exceedingly rude contrivances, but seemed to meet every requisition. The body consists of a stout frame-work of wood, and the wheels, as I have already said, are solid sections, cut from some large tree of hard wood, usually the mahogany. These are not sawed, but chopped into shape, and with an eye rather to use than to symmetry or beauty. The oxen, which are compact, active, and hardy animals, are not fastened in a yoke, as with us, but to a bar passing across their foreheads, and firmly lashed to their horns. Two pairs are the usual complement of a cart, but sometimes three pairs are used. When the “carreteros” have far to go with heavy loads, an extra yoke or two is either led or driven along, to be used in case of accident, and to relieve the others when tired. Two men are attached to each carreta; one armed with his machete, or a gun, goes ahead, to clear away obstacles, and to indicate the path, for the oxen are trained to follow him; while another either walks behind or rides in the cart, and has a long pole pointed with an iron spike, with which he “touches up” the animals if they are inclined to loiter or be lazy. This kind of admonition is accompanied by shouts to them collectively or individually, for each one has a name, and with epithets more forcible than elegant. So the approach of a cart is often known while it is half a mile or more distant; not solely by the shouts and maledictions of the “carreteros,” but by the awful squeaking and shrieking of the wheels, which never fail to set the strongest nerves in a quiver. The roads in Nicaragua are lined with fragments of broken carts, here a wheel split in pieces, and there an axle broken in two. The axles are the first to fail, and therefore every cart carries two or three extra axles, in reserve for emergencies. If, however, the carretero should be unprovided, he selects the first hard wood tree of the proper size which he can find, makes a new axle, and in half an hour is on his way again. The loads which are carried in these rude vehicles are almost incredible. Twenty-five hundred pounds is the standard freight, and is carried from twenty-five to forty miles a day, depending somewhat upon the season. The morning, from three and four o’clock until eight or ten, and again in the evening from four until nine, are the usual hours for moving, for then the air is comparatively fresh and cool. Each cart carries a certain amount of “sacate” and corn for its animals, and their masters bivouac by the roadside wherever night overtakes them. The oxen are fastened to trees, the men light a fire and cook their coffee, and afterwards wrap up their heads in handkerchiefs, and if it is the dry season, swing their hammocks between two trees and go to sleep. It usually happens that two or more carts go in company, for mutual aid in case of accident, and then their encampments, upon which the traveller often comes suddenly at night, are highly picturesque. On such occasions, some swing carelessly in hammocks, others recline on the ground, and others busy themselves around the fire, while all smoke with unbroken energy. Half the night is sometimes spent in card playing, by fire light; and bursts of laughter and snatches of song startle the sleepy traveller jogging through the forests, and are answered by the growls of the wild beasts or the howls of the “mono colorado.” They are stalwart, jolly fellows, these “carreteros,” and like the “arrieros,” or muleteers of Mexico, invincibly honest. Merchants never hesitate in entrusting the most valuable goods to their care, and I believe no instance is known of their proving faithless to the trust reposed in them. On the contrary, the poor fellows, when attacked by robbers, as they sometimes are, will fight to the death in defence of their carts. Like the “marineros” on the lake, they constitute an almost distinct class of citizens, and in the city of Leon live in a certain “barrio,” or ward, that of San Juan. Some of them have a large number of oxen and carts, which they sub-let to the poorer members of the fraternity of “carreteros,” among whom exists an esprit de corps which will permit no underbidding or other irregular practices.

The morning of our departure came, and agreeably to instructions, Ben roused us at early dawn. We were individually ready to move at sunrise; for, although we only proposed to go to the city of Managua, a distance of fifty miles, the first day, we wished to take the journey leisurely, as became travellers in a new and strange country. Don Frederico, as our old friend, Monsieur Sigaud, at San Juan, had done before, smiled incredulously when we talked of an early departure; but, as the horses and mules were positively engaged to be at our door at sun-rise, and as the man who let them was a person of mark, and an old Spaniard to boot, we felt a good deal of faith in our plans. The sun rose, and after walking up and down the corridor, in heavy boots, with clanking spurs, for half an hour, with a growing conviction that we were somewhat verdant, we were called to breakfast. Don Frederico looked provokingly good-natured, and when Ben, who had been despatched to stir up the laggard “emprestador,” returned, with the news that the men had only just gone to hunt up the animals in the fields, he laughed outright, and so did we, notwithstanding our vexation. We shortly found that our escort was no better off; their horses had not yet come in. So we all went to the plaza, and sat until past nine o’clock, witnessing the drilling of the new recruits. All things must have an end, and so did our suspense. The horses finally came; and, after a world of tryings on and takings off, pulling here and padding there, the beasts were saddled, and we marched to the plaza, where, according to previous understanding, we were met by the General and his staff, and a crowd of citizens on horseback, who had gathered to escort us “with all the honors” out of the city. My young medical friend from New Haven had won the privilege of carrying the flag at the head of the cavalcade, and after him, under the marshalling of a stalwart Buckeye, who had served amongst the dragoons in the Mexican war, the “Californian division” was arranged in column with military precision. The troops were all drawn up, and presented arms as we defiled by, under a discharge from the cannon in front of the “Cuartel General.” The people lined the streets, and shouted as earnestly for “los Estados Unidos del Norte,” and its representative, as they did for the “esclarecido General,” upon his arrival a few days before.

I could not help thinking of the figure which our singular cavalcade must have cut in the eyes of an uninterested spectator, nor resist smiling at my own part in the affair. It, however, was a bona fide ceremonial, and so received and valued. As we approached the arsenal, we found its garrison on the qui vive; a little wreath of smoke shot up, and boom went the cannon there. Altogether this was more imposing than our departure from San Carlos, and not a whit less entertaining.

I was mounted on a large white mule, which the emprestador had specially recommended to me as “muy manso y comodo” very gentle and easy; but which I soon found was an old broken-winded beast, and a villanously hard traveller. The General observed that I had been taken in, and glancing round, fixed his eyes on the dashing horse of a young fellow, deputed by the government to accompany us on our march as commissary and provider. Directly he stopped short, and ordered him to dismount and change animals with me. The order was promptly obeyed,—for there was no parleying with the General; and although I thought the proceeding rather summary, I was too glad to get rid of the mule to offer the slightest objection to the arrangement. Besides, the deposed horseman should have provided us with better animals—of course he should!

Our escort accompanied us about two miles, to a point where the short cut, or mule path, to Masaya diverged from the camino real; and here, after a profusion of bows, an interminable shaking of hands, and “buenas viajes,” and “Dios guardes,” in every tone and emphasis, we separated from the crowd, and went on our way alone. The path was narrow, and led through bush and brier, under gigantic trees, draped all over with vines, down into dark ravines, where the sun’s rays never reached, over ridges covered with grass, with here and there clusters of luxuriant trees, gemmed all over with fragrant flowers, where we could catch views of the glittering lake, with its distant shores, and several islands. Thus we went, in Indian file, the red shirts and gleaming arms of the men giving life and relief to the scene, and making the noisy parrots, which fluttered beside the path, still more noisy; while brightly colored birds glanced in and out of the thick green coverts, or a startled deer bounded hurriedly before us! Altogether, the novelty, excitement, and beauty filled me with that wild delight which only the Arab feels, or the free Indian on his prairie ocean, and one hour’s enjoyment of which were “worth ten years of quiet life!” My chest expands, and every nerve becomes tense, even now, while I write, at the recollection of that glorious morning, and that march to Masaya. Occasionally we came upon a cane house, nestled in some quiet glen, or upon some beautiful slope, surrounded by palms and plantains, and fields of tobacco and maize, in the doors of which stood women and knots of frightened children, who gazed wonderingly upon our strange party. They all seemed reassured when we cried out “adios amigas!” and responded with “Dios guarde à Ustedes, caballeros!” “God preserve you, Sirs!” At about six miles from Granada, we reached the highest point of ground between that city and Masaya; one of those ridges of land which seem to radiate like the legs of a lobster from the great volcano of Momobacho, and which are, for the most part, destitute of trees. From this point we obtained our finest view of Lake Nicaragua, the river, or estuary of Tipitapa connecting it with Lake Managua, and of that lake itself, hemmed in, upon the east, by the high irregular mountains of Matagalpa and New Segovia. Between us and the lakes was a magnificent slope, leagues on leagues in extent, a sea of dense tree-tops, unrelieved, so far as the eye could discover, by a single acre of cleared or cultivated ground. Yet there were many haciendas and estates, the positions of which were indicated by wreaths of smoke rising in thin curls here and there above the trees. We dismounted, and sat for half an hour beneath a spreading tree, to enjoy the prospect, and pay our respects to the canteens of water, (diluted with brandy,) with which each man was supplied.

The path by which we journeyed had been used, from time immemorial, for mules and horses, and in many places, particularly on the declivities of the swells of land, where water had contributed its aid, it was worn deep in the soft rock and compacted earth, and so narrow as utterly to preclude all turning around after it had once been entered. Upon approaching such places, if their whole extent cannot be discovered, it is usual to halloo loudly, in order to ascertain if any one is approaching; for if horsemen meet in these places, one or the other must back out,—a process sufficiently difficult.

At about one o’clock the more frequent occurrence of cultivated grounds, of little “hattos” and cane cabins, showed that we were approaching the large Indian pueblo of Masaya. The path became broader, and showed constant use; and numerous little paths diverged in every direction. Where they joined the main road, crosses were in some cases erected, on which hung wreaths of faded flowers, perishing tokens of pious zeal. We now met and overtook numbers of Indians, singly and in groups, carrying netted sacks, filled with ears of maize, with vegetables, or meats: some had braided mats, hats of woven palm leaves, hammocks, and other articles for sale or use. They all silently gave us the road on our approach. They seldom spoke unless first addressed; but then always replied politely, sometimes adding, interrogatively, “California?” They were small, but well-formed, with features much more regular than our Indians, and of singularly mild, and expressive features, and docile manners.

The entrance to Masaya was by a long and broad street, lined on both sides by a forest of fruit-trees, beneath which were clustered the thatched cane houses of the inhabitants. We had previously waited until the rear of our party had come up, and now spurred through the streets in a solid column. As we went on, the houses became more numerous, and occasionally one of adobes, with a tiled roof, appeared amongst the frailer structures which I have described. After going nearly half a mile, we turned short to the right, and riding for a number of blocks in streets precisely resembling those of Granada, passing an abandoned convent or two, we galloped into the principal plaza. In the centre of this stood the great church, a long, heavy building, with a very fair façade and tower, and much exceeding in size any of the churches of Granada. On the sides of the plaza were several rows of fine shops, with their doors and shutters covered with tin; for more foreign goods are retailed in Masaya than in any other town in the State. Its people are regarded as the most industrious, and are celebrated throughout all Central America for the extent and variety of their manufactures. Cordage, hammocks, saddles, cotton cloth “petates” or mats, hats, shoes, in short, all the articles of common use in the country, are produced here, besides large quantities of dulces (sweetmeats and jellies,) which were, at one time, extensively exported to Peru and South America. But the shops, in consequence of the existing troubles, were shut, and the plaza was almost entirely deserted. Near the dead wall of the church a rude chair was standing; it was the fatal “banqueto,” upon which, a few days before, one of the leading “facciosos” of the city, after having been tried and condemned by a court-martial, had been shot. Near by the sod was turned up, marking the spot where the body of the executed man was buried. He had been tried at one o’clock, condemned at two, shot at three, and buried at four. Short shrift, indeed; but such is the summary process of martial law in Nicaragua, when, as in this instance, the guilt of the criminal admits neither of doubt nor extenuation. Some of our party had witnessed the execution, which they described as very impressive. It was done in sight of the entire army, from which a corporal’s guard was detached for the service. The prisoner was first taken within the church, where he confessed and received the sacrament. He was conducted to his seat by two priests, a little cross put in his hands, and a blessing invoked on his soul. Guns, in half of which only were balls, were placed in the hands of the guard, who fired at the distance of ten paces. The man fell dead at the first discharge. The example was deemed necessary, and it no doubt was so in this instance. It should, however, be observed, that no officer has established a higher character for humanity than General Muñoz, who has never stained his reputation by any of those butcheries and wanton cruelties which have been the rule, rather than the exception, in the civil wars of Spanish America.

We rode to a posada kept by an exceedingly fat and cheerful lady, who was so happy that her “pobre casa” should be honored by the “hijos de Washington,” the sons of Washington! In a few minutes, several of the alcaldes of the town came in, out of breath, and in great tribulation because they had not been apprised of our approach. They proposed even now to ring all the bells, and were urgent that we should stop the rest of the day, so as to give them an opportunity of making a demonstration commensurate to the importance of the occasion. But we pleaded haste, and promised to return soon, and thus escaped being lionized in Masaya. We had proposed to stop here several hours, and visit the remarkable volcanic lake, from which the town is supplied with water, but the delay of the morning compelled us to cut short our stay, if we would reach Managua, twelve leagues distant, that night. So we only allowed the horses to breathe awhile, and then mounted again and resumed our march. We went quite two miles from the plaza before we got fairly out of the city, which has some fifteen or eighteen thousand inhabitants, and covers full a square league.

Beyond Masaya is a broad and beautiful avenue, lined on either hand by luxuriant fields: in this respect far surpassing the country around Granada. This avenue leads to the pueblo of Nindiri, and people mounted or on foot passing to and fro, gave it an appearance of animation beyond what we had hitherto seen out of the towns. About midway between Masaya and Nindiri, the road passes over a bubble-shaped hill, raised by volcanic forces from below, the uplifted strata curving with all the regularity of the rainbow. Although it would have been easy to have passed around it, yet as the Indians before the conquest had probably gone directly over, the same path has been continued, for no better reason, ever since. It however had been much improved, and a deep notch had been cut or worn in the soft sand rock, to the depth of forty or fifty feet, resembling very much the deep cuts on the lines of some of our railroads. Upon one side, in a little nitch, stood a small cross, covered with wilted flowers. Beyond this defile, the road resumed its broad and level course, and we rode rapidly over its gravelled bed into the town of Nindiri.

Nindiri! How shall I describe thee, beautiful Nindiri, nestling beneath thy fragrant, evergreen roof of tropical trees, entwining their branches above thy smooth avenues, and weaving green domes over the simple dwellings of thy peaceful inhabitants! Thy musical name, given thee long ages ago, perhaps when Rome was young, has lost nothing of its melody; Neenda, water, and Diria, mountain, it still tells us, in an ancient and almost forgotten tongue, that thou slumberest now, as of yore, between the lake and the mountain! Amongst all the fairy scenes of quiet beauty which the eye of the traveller hath lingered upon, or the fancy has limned with her rosy-hued pencil, none can compare with thee, beautiful Nindiri, chosen alike of the mountain Fairies and forest Dryads, of the Sylphs of the lake, and the Naiads of the fountain! Nindiri!

This little Indian village far surpassed, in point of picturesque beauty, anything we had yet seen. Oranges, plantains, marañons, jocotes, nisperos, mamays, and tall palms, with their variously-colored fruits blushing brown or golden among the leaves, and here and there a low calabash tree, with its green globes strung on every limb, all clustering together, literally embowered the cane huts of the simple-minded and industrious inhabitants. Indian women, naked to the waist, sat beneath the trees spinning snow-white cotton or the fibre of the pita, (agave,) while their noisy, naked little ones tumbled joyously about on the smoothly-beaten ground, where the sunlight fell in flickering, shifting mazes, as the wind bent the branches of the trees with its unseen fingers. Quiet primitive Nindiri! seat of the ancient caziques and their barbaric courts,—even now, amidst the din of the crowded city, and the crush and conflict of struggling thousands, amidst grasping avarice and importunate penury, bold-fronted hypocrisy and heartless fashion, where virtue is modest and vice is brazen, where fire and water, and the very lightnings of heaven, are the slaves of human will, how turns the memory to thee, as to some sweet vision of the night, some dreamy Arcadia, fancy-born, and half unreal!

We rode through the arched and hedge-lined streets into a broad open plaza, in the centre of which stood a quaint old church. A few sleek cows were lying in its shade, chewing their cuds in a meditative way, and hardly opening their sleepy eyes as we trotted by. Beneath some large trees upon one side of the plaza, we descried our carts and their escort, taking what at home would be called “a nooning.” The lances of the men were stacked together, and their horses fastened with lariats to the carts, forming, with their gay trappings, a striking group, abundantly set off by the reclining figures of their riders, who had disposed themselves in attitudes expressive of the fullest abandonment to individual ease. We were not long in joining the party. The officer in command, in anticipation of our arrival, had prepared two or three jars of “algo fresco,” something fresh, delightfully compounded of water, the juice of the cocoa-nut, and of the acidulous marañon,—a delicious and refreshing beverage, to which we paid our respects in protracted draughts, not forgetting “mil gracias,” and sundry medios to a plump, laughing Indian girl who dispensed it, in snowy calabashes, to the thirsty strangers.

The only part of the road which was supposed to be frequented by the ladrones was now passed, and although the commander of the escort was very willing to proceed with the carts, I did not think it necessary, and so it was agreed that he should return. This arranged, we all mounted again, and the last we saw of our military friend was the gleaming lances of his men, and the fluttering of their little red streamers, as they galloped back through the streets of Nindiri.

Beyond the town we struck into the forest, and began to ascend one of the slopes or spurs of the volcano of Masaya. Occasional openings among the trees enabled us to catch glimpses of lake, plain, and mountain, more extended even, and more beautiful than those which we had witnessed in the morning, from the heights beyond Masaya. The road passed over fields of disintegrating pumice and lava-beds ages old, and now covered with accumulated soil and a thick forest. At the distance of about a league, however, we came to what is called the “mal pais” literally, the bad country. It was an immense field of lava, which at the last eruption of Masaya had flowed down from the volcano, for a distance of fifteen or twenty miles, in the direction of the lakes. The road crossed it on the summit of a ridge running transversely to the lava current, where the field was narrow, but spreading out on both sides to a great distance. It looked like a vast plain of cast iron, newly cooled, black and forbidding. In places it was rolled up in frowning masses, elsewhere piled one flake on the other, like the ice in the spring time, upon the shores and low islands, or in the narrow channels of our rivers. An ocean of ink, suddenly congealed during a storm, if the imagination of the reader can picture it, would better illustrate its appearance than anything else which occurs to me at this moment. Here and there great, ragged masses, fifty or a hundred feet square, had been turned completely over by the current as it flowed beneath, exhibiting upon the exposed surface a regularly striated appearance, like the curling fibre of the oak or maple. I dismounted and scrambled out amongst the crinkling fragments, but did not go far, as the sharp edges and points cut through my boots like knives. At one place I observed where the half-cooled lava had wrapped itself, layer on layer, around a large tree, which, subsequently burning out or decaying, had left a perfect cast of its trunk and principal branches, so accurate that the very roughness of the bark could still be traced. But what struck me with most surprise was the circumstance that the flood of lava had flowed over the narrow ridge where I was standing, and that a depression existed between me and the volcano whence the molten matter had come. It was clear enough that the popular adage and axiom about the indisposition of water to flow up hill, does not always apply to lava. The explanation of the phenomenon may perhaps be found in the fact that the surface of the lava cooling, is thrown off in fragments, building walls on either side, between which the lava current continues to flow, until rising high, and the vertical pressure becoming great, it breaks through the barrier, and discharges itself laterally. Or, the intermediate valley being filled by the melted substance with a rapidity which would not admit of its finding its level at once, it is easy to understand that it might discharge itself over the ridge; and the supply subsequently ceasing, the accumulated matter in the valley, spread out laterally and subside, in the manner here exhibited.

Not a tree intervened between me and the volcano, only the broad, black and rugged waste of lava. I could therefore distinctly see the mountain, and trace the ragged outlines of its ancient and principal crater. This latest discharge of lava, however, does not seem to have been made from this mouth, but from a lower elevation, upon the slope of the volcano. This elevation had a reddish, scoriaceous appearance, and its crater, one side of which had been broken down by the lava, was comparatively small. In fact there were a number of orifices, or craters, at other points, which had been the vents in previous eruptions. It was evident enough that there had been hot work here in past times, although everything looked quiet enough now.

The early chroniclers have a great deal to say about this volcano, which was called “El Infierno de Masaya,” the Hell of Masaya. Its last eruption, when the lava field which I have described was formed, occurred within the historical period, in 1670. No detailed account of it has ever been published, although there is little doubt that it was duly recorded by some of the ecclesiastics of the country, whose relations still exist amongst the archives of the Church in Spain or Italy.

Since this final eruption, the volcano has been in a dormant state. It was visited in 1840 by Mr. Stephens, who discovered no signs of activity. Yet, at the time of the Discovery, it was regarded as one of the greatest wonders of the New World. The chronicler Oviedo visited it in 1529, and has left us a very complete account of its appearance and condition at that period. He says:

Oviedo also gives us a long and entertaining account, at second hand, of the descent of the Fray Blas del Castillo into the crater of Masaya, and what befel him there. This will be found translated in another place.