Nicaragua

VISIT TO PENSACOLA—DISCOVERY OF MONUMENTS—SEARCH FOR OTHERS—SUCCESS—DEPARTURE FOR “EL ZAPATERO”—LA CARLOTA—LOS CORALES—ISLA DE LA SANTA ROSA—A NIGHT VOYAGE—ARRIVAL AT ZAPATERO—SEARCH FOR MONUMENTS—FALSE ALARM—DISCOVERY OF STATUES—INDIANS FROM OMETEPEC—A STRONG FORCE—FURTHER INVESTIGATIONS—MAD DANCE—EXTINCT CRATER AND VOLCANIC LAKE—STONE OF SACRIFICE—EL CANON—DESCRIPTION OF MONUMENTS, AND THEIR PROBABLE ORIGIN—LIFE ON THE ISLAND.

Dec. 2, 1849.—This afternoon we prevailed upon Pedro—who, with his six stout sailors, had been drunk for a week, but were now sober and anxious to lay in a new supply of reals for another debauch—to take us over to the little island of Pensacola, almost within cannon-shot of the old castle of Granada. A young fellow, whilom a sailor, but now in the Dr.’s service, on half-pay, as honorary man of all-work, averred that upon this island were “piedras antiguas” of great size, but nearly buried in the earth. It seemed strange that in all our inquiries concerning antiquities, of the padres and licenciados, indeed of the “best informed” citizens of Granada, we had not heard of the existence of these monuments. The Dr. was not a little skeptical, but experience had taught me that more information, upon these matters, was to be gathered from the bare-footed mozos than from the black-robed priests, and I was obstinate in my determination to visit Pensacola.

It was late when we started, but in less than an hour we leaped ashore upon the island. It is one of the “out-liers” of the labyrinth of small islands which internal fires long ago thrust up from the depths of the lake, around the base of the volcano of Momobacho; and its shores are lined with immense rocks, black and blistered by the heat which accompanied the ancient disruptions of which they are the evidences. In some places they are piled up in rough and frowning heaps, half shrouded by the luxuriant vines which nature trails over them, as if to disguise her own deformities. In the island of Pensacola these rocks constitute a semi-circular ridge, nearly enclosing a level space of rich soil,—a kind of amphitheatre, looking towards the west, the prospect extending beyond the beach of Granada to the ragged hills and volcanic peaks around the lake of Managua. Upon a little elevation, within this natural temple, stood an abandoned cane hut, almost hidden by a forest of luxuriant plantains, which covered the entire area with a dense shadow, here and there pierced by a ray of sunlight, falling like molten gold through narrow openings in the leafy roof.

No sooner had we landed, than our men dispersed themselves in search of the monuments, and we followed. We were not long kept in suspense; a shout of “aqui, aqui!” “here, here,” from the Dr.’s man, announced that they were found. We hurried to his side. He was right; we could distinctly make out two great blocks of stone, nearly hidden in the soil. The parts exposed, though frayed by storms, and having clearly suffered from violence, nevertheless bore evidences of having been elaborately sculptured. A demand was made for the machetes of the men; and we were not long in removing enough of the earth to discover that the supposed blocks were large and well-proportioned statues, of superior workmanship and of larger size than any which we had yet encountered. The discovery was an exciting one, and the Indian sailors were scarcely less interested than ourselves. They crouched around the figures, and speculated earnestly concerning their origin. They finally seemed to agree that the larger of the two was no other than “Montezuma.” It is a singular fact that the name and fame of the last of the Aztec emperors is cherished by all the Indian remnants from the banks of the Gila to the shores of Lake Nicaragua. Like the Pecos of New Mexico, some of the Indians of Nicaragua still indulge the belief that Montezuma will some day return, and reëstablish his ancient empire.

I was convinced that there were other monuments here, but the sun was going down, and having resolved to return the next day, I gave up the search,—not, however, without engaging Pedro to be ready, with men and tools, to return at sunrise the next morning.

Pedro, for a miracle, was true to his word (probably because he had no money wherewith to get drunk); and the dew was fresh on the leaves, the parrots chattered vociferously, and the waves toyed cheerfully with the black basaltic rocks, as we leaped ashore a second time on Pensacola. The boat was moored, coffee speedily made and despatched, and then Pedro’s crew stripped themselves naked, and made other formidable preparations for disinterring the idols. But the preparations were more formidable than the execution. They commenced very well, but long before the figures were exposed to view, they were all smitten with a desire to hunt up others,—a plausible pretext for skulking away and stretching themselves on the ground beneath the plantains. I was at one time left wholly alone; even Pedro had disappeared; but the rascals came tumbling together again when I proclaimed that the “aguardiente” was circulating. By dint of alternate persuasions and threats, we finally succeeded in getting the smaller of the two figures completely uncovered. It had evidently been purposely buried, for one of the arms had been broken in its fall into the pit which had been previously dug to receive it, and the face had been bruised and mutilated. In this way the early Catholic zealots had endeavored to destroy the superstitious attachment of the aborigines to their monuments. It was, however, satisfactory to reflect that the figures were probably, on the whole, better preserved by their long interment than if they had been suffered to remain above ground. The next difficulty was to raise the prostrate figure; but after much preparation, propping, lifting, and vociferation, we succeeded in standing it up against the side of the hole which we had dug, in such a position that my artist could proceed with his sketch. It represented a human male figure, of massive proportions, seated upon a square pedestal, its head slightly bent forward, and its hands resting on its thighs, as represented in the accompanying Plate, No. 1. Above the face rose a heavy and monstrous representation of the head of an animal, below which could be traced the folds of a serpent, the fierce head of which was sculptured, open-mouthed and with life-like accuracy, by the side of the face of the figure. The whole combination was elaborate and striking.

The stone from which the figure here described was cut, is a hard sandstone, of a reddish color; but the sculpture is bold, and the limbs, unlike those of the monoliths of Copan, are detached so far as could be done with safety, and are cut with a freedom which I have observed in no other statuary works of the American aborigines.

To enable M. to make a drawing of the monument just disclosed, and to relieve him from the annoyance of our men, I deferred proceeding with the exhumation of the remaining one until he had finished, and therefore summoned all hands to search the island for others,—stimulating their activity by the splendid offer of a reward of four reals (equivalent to two days’ wages) to any one who should make a discovery. I also joined in the search, but after wandering all over the little island, I came to the conclusion that, if there were others, of which I had little doubt, they had been successfully buried, and were past finding out, or else had been broken up and removed. So I seated myself philosophically upon a rock, and watched an army of black ants, which were defiling past, as if making a tour of the island. They formed a solid column from five to six inches wide, and marched straight on, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left, pertinaciously surmounting every obstacle which interposed. I watched them for more than half an hour, but their number seemed undiminished; thousands upon thousands hurried past, until finally, attracted by curiosity, I rose and followed the line, in order to discover the destination of the procession,—if it were an invasion, a migration, or a simple pleasure excursion. At a short distance, and under the cover of some bushes, the column mounted what appeared to be simply a large, round stone, passed over it, and continued its march.

The stone attracted my attention, and on observing it more closely, I perceived traces of sculpture. I summoned my men, and after a two hours’ trial of patience and temper, I succeeded in raising from its bed of centuries another idol of massive proportions, but differing entirely from the others, and possessing an extraordinary and forbidding aspect. (See Fig. No. 2.) The lower half had been broken off, and could not be found; what remained was simply the bust and head. The latter was disproportionately great; the eyes were large, round, and staring; the ears broad and long; and from the widely-distended mouth, the lower jaw of which was forced down by the hands of the figure, projected a tongue which reached to the breast, giving to the whole an unnatural and horrible expression. As it stood in the pit, with its monstrous head rising above the ground, with its fixed stony gaze, it seemed like some gray monster just emerging from the depths of the earth, at the bidding of the wizard-priest of an unholy religion. My men stood back, and more than one crossed himself as he muttered to his neighbor, “es el diablo!” “it is the devil!” I readily comprehended the awe with which it might be regarded by the devotees of the ancient religion, when the bloody priest daubed the lapping tongue with the yet palpitating hearts of his human victims!

It was long past noon before we commenced the task of raising the largest and by far the most interesting idol to an erect position. This was no easy undertaking. The stone, although not more than nine feet high, measured ten feet in circumference, and was of great weight. We were but eleven men all told; Pedro said it was useless to try, we might turn it over, but nothing more. Still I was determined it should be raised, not only for the purpose of observing its effect in that position, but because I was convinced that the under side must exhibit more clearly the finer details of the sculpture than the upper, which had been partially exposed above the ground. I gave each man a prodigious dram of aguardiente, which inspired corresponding courage, and after procuring an additional number of stout levers and props, we proceeded to raise the recumbent mass. Our progress was slow and difficult, the sweat rolled in streams down the glossy skins of our sailors, who—thanks to the ardiente—worked with more vigor than I thought them capable of exerting. The aguardiente was worth more than gold to me that day. The men shouted and cheered, and cried, “arriba con la niña!” “up with the baby!” But before we got it half raised, a thunder-storm, the approach of which had escaped our notice in the excitement, came upon us, as only a tropical thunder-storm knows how to come. I beat a retreat, dripping with perspiration, into the deserted hut: while the men sat coolly down and took the pelting,—they were used to it! The storm passed in due time, but the ground was saturated, and the feet sank deeply in the soft, sticky mass around the “niña.” Still, in order to save another visit in force the next day, I determined not to relinquish the task we had begun. But the difficulties were now augmented, and it was only after the most extraordinary exertions, at imminent danger of crushed limbs, that we succeeded in our object. With bleeding hands, and completely bedaubed with mud, I had at last the satisfaction to lead off in a “Viva por la niña antigua!”—“Hurrah for the old baby!” I am not quite sure but I took a drop of the aguardiente myself, while the shower was passing. Pedro and his crew responded by a “Vivan los Americanos del Norte!” which, being interpreted, meant that they “wouldn’t object to another drink.” This was given of course, whereupon Pedro insinuated that “Los Americanos son diablos!”—“The Americans are devils;” which remark, however, Pedro meant as a compliment. The figure, when erect, was truly grand. It represented a man with massive limbs, and broad, prominent chest, in a stooping or rather crouching posture, his hands resting on his thighs, just above the knees. (See Fig. No. 3.) Above his head rose the monstrous head and jaws of some animal; its fore paws were placed one upon each shoulder, and the hind ones upon the hands of the statue, as if binding them to the thighs. It might be intended, it probably was intended, to represent an alligator or some mythological or fabulous animal. Its back was covered with carved plates, like rough mail. The whole rose from a broad, square pedestal. The carving, as in the other figure, was bold and free. I never have seen a statue which conveyed so forcibly the idea of power and strength; it was a study for a Samson under the gates of Gaza, or an Atlas supporting the world. The face was mutilated and disfigured, but it still seemed to wear an expression of sternness, if not severity, which added greatly to the effect of the whole. The finer details of workmanship around the head had suffered much; and from the more decided marks of violence which the entire statue exhibits, it seems probable that it was an especial object of regard to the aborigines, and of corresponding hate to the early Christian zealots.

The sun came out brightly after the rain, and although wet and weary, and not insensible to the comforts of dry clothes and the seductions of a hammock, I could hardly tear myself away from these remarkable monuments—overturned perhaps by the hands of Gil Gonzalez himself, at the time when, in the language of the chronicler, “the great cazique Nicaragua consented to be baptized, together with nine thousand of his subjects, and thus the country became converted.” “The great idols in his sumptuous temples,” continues the historian, “were thrown down, and the cross set up in their stead.” The same authority assures us that “Nicaragua was a chief of great good wit, and though the Spanish captain was a discreet man, it puzzled him much to explain to Nicaragua why it was that so few men as the Spaniards coveted so much gold.”

M. returned the next day and completed his drawings, while I busied myself in preparing for a voyage to the great uninhabited island of Zapatero.

The T.’s had volunteered one of their bongos, one of the largest and most comfortable on the lake; and as most of this kind of unique craft are only gigantic canoes, hollowed from a single trunk of the cebia, and quite as well fitted, and just as much disposed, to sail upon their sides or bottom up as any other way, it was a gratification to know that “La Carlota” had been built with something of a keel, by a foreign shipwright, and that the prospect of being upset in the first blow was thereby diminished from three chances in four, to one in two. The voyager who has sailed on the restless lake of Nicaragua in gusty weather, with bungling sailors, can well comprehend the satisfaction with which we contemplated “La Carlota,” as she rocked gracefully at her moorings, off the old castle on the shore. She was perhaps sixty feet long, and her chopa was capable of accommodating four or five persons with lodgings,—something in the pickled mackerel order, it is true, but not uncomfortably, in the moderated views of comfort which the traveller in Central America soon comes to entertain. In front of the chopa were ten benches, for as many oarsmen, and places for setting up the masts, in case the winds should permit of their use. “La Carlota,” withal, was painted on the outside, and had a figure head; indeed, take her all in all, she looked a frigate among the numerous strange pit-pans, piraguas, and other anomalous and nameless water-craft around her. Thus far all was well. The next thing was to get a crew together; but this devolved upon the junior Mr. T. After two days of exertion, for there was a great conjunction of fiestas at the time, they were enlisted and duly paid,—everybody expects pay in advance in Central America! A fixed number of reals were counted out for the commissary department, and the patron, Juan, solemnly promised to be ready to set sail the next morning at sunrise for the island of Zapatero, the “Shoemaker,” where Manuel, who was to go along as a guide, assured us there were many frailes, friars, some kneeling, others sitting, and still others standing erect, or reclining as if in death, besides many other wonderful and curious things, among which was a deep salt lake.

The Dr. and myself completed our arrangements over night. After breakfast the next morning, which had been fixed for our departure, I proposed to go down to the lake, supposing that as Juan had promised to be ready by sunrise, we might possibly succeed in getting off by nine or ten o’clock at the furthest. The Dr., however, protested that it was useless to go down so early,—“he was not going to broil in the sun, on the open beach, all the forenoon, not he;” and he comforted us with the assurance that he had lived in the country ten years, and that if we got off before the middle of the afternoon, we might perform any surgical operation we pleased upon either one of his legs! My time was limited, and these vexatious delays almost worried me into a fever. At eleven o’clock, however, I prevailed upon the Dr., much against his will, and amidst his earnest protestations that he “knew the people, and that it was no kind of use,” to go down to the shore. There swung our bongo, precisely as we had left it the day before, and not a soul on board! The shore was covered with groups of half-naked women, seated just at the edge of the water, engaged in an operation here called washing, which consisted in dipping the articles in the water, and placing them on a rough stone, and beating them violently with a club, to the utter demolition of everything in the shape of buttons! Groups of children were paddling in little pools, or playing in the sand; sailors just arrived were landing their cargoes, carrying the bales on their shoulders through the breakers, and depositing them in creaking carts; here and there a horseman pranced along under the shadow of the trees on the shore; and amongst all, imperturbable buzzards in black, and long-legged cranes in white, walked about with prescriptive freedom! Altogether it was a singular mixture of civilized and savage life, and one not likely to be forgotten by the observant traveller.

I was, however, in no mood to enjoy the scene,—and the Dr.’s “I told you so!” as he quietly seated himself on a log in the shade, was cruelly provoking. After diligent search, we found two of our crew, with only a cloth wrapped around their loins, lying flat on the sands, their faces covered with their sombreros, and the hot sun beating down upon their naked bodies,—perfect pictures of the intensest laziness. “Where is the patron?” They simply lifted their hats, and respondedresponded, “Quien sabe?” “Who knows?” The eternal “Quien sabe,” and uttered without so much as an attempt to rise! This was unendurable; I gave them each an emphatic kick in the ribs with my rough travelling boots, which brought them to their feet in an instant, with a deprecatory exclamation of “Señor!” One was despatched to hunt up the others among the pulperias of the town, with emphatic threats of great bodily harm, if the delinquents were not produced within a given time. The second one, a strapping Mestizo, who still rubbed his side with a lugubrious expression of face, was ordered to deposit himself within short range of my formidable-looking “Colt,” with an injunction not to move unless ordered. Directly, another recreant was discovered, doing the agreeable to a plump coffee-colored washing-girl,—nothing chary of her charms, as may be inferred from the fact that excepting a cloth, none of the largest, thrown over her lap, she was au naturel. He too was ordered to take up his position beside the other prisoner, which he did with a bad grace, but greatly to the pretended satisfaction of the coffee-colored girl, who said that he was “malo,” bad, and deserved all sorts of ill. “A woman is naturally a coquette, whether in a white skin or black,” philosophized the Dr.; “that yellow thing don’t mean what she says. I’ll wager they have just agreed to get married, or what is the same thing in these countries.”

It was high noon long before we got our vagrant crew under our batteries; and conscious of their delinquencies, and not a little in awe of our pistol butts, they really exerted themselves in getting the boat ready. Half a dozen naked fellows plunged into the surf, their black bodies alternately appearing and disappearing in the waves, and towed the “Carlota” close in shore, under the lee of the old castle. The sails, our provisions, blankets, etc., were placed on board, and then we mounted on the shoulders of the strongest, and were duly deposited on the quarter-deck. The bells of the city chimed two o’clock, as we swept outside of the fort into the rough water. It was all the men could do to overcome the swell, and the sweeps bent under their vigorous strokes. Once in deep water, the waves were less violent, but they had the long, majestic roll of the ocean. Here every oarsman pulled off his breeches, his only garment, deposited his sombrero in the bottom of the boat, and lighted a cigar; they were now in full uniform, and pulled sturdily at the oars. Juan, the patron, drew off his breeches also, but, by way of maintaining the dignity of the quarter-deck, or out of respect to his passengers, he kept on his shirt, a flaming red check, and none of the longest, which, as he bestrode the tiller, fluttered famously in the wind.

One hour’s hard pulling, and we were among the islands. Here the water was still and glassy, while the waves dashed and chafed with a sullen roar against the iron shores of the outer rank, as if anxious to invade the quiet of the inner recesses,—those narrow, verdure-arched channels, broad, crystal-floored vistas, and cool, shady nooks in which graceful canoes were here and there moored.

Perhaps a more singular group of islets cannot be found in the wide world. As I have before said, they are all of volcanic origin, generally conical in shape, and seldom exceeding three or four acres in area. All are covered with a cloak of verdure, but nature is not always successful in hiding the black rocks which start out in places, as if in disdain of all concealment, and look frowningly down on the clear water, giving an air of wildness to the otherwise soft and quiet scenery of the islands. Trailing over these rocks, and dropping in festoons from the overhanging trees, their long pliant tendrils floating in the waves, are innumerable vines, with bright and fragrant flowers of red and yellow, mingled with the inverted cone of the “gloria de Nicaragua,” with its overpowering odor, with strange and nameless fruits, forming an evergreen roof, so close that even a tropical sun cannot penetrate. Many of these islands have patches of cultivated ground, and on such, generally crowning their summits, relieved by a dense green background of plantains, and surrounded by kingly palms, and the papaya with its golden fruit, are the picturesque cane huts of the inhabitants. Groups of naked, swarthy children in front,—a winding path leading beneath the great trees down to the water’s edge,—an arbor-like, miniature harbor, with a canoe lashed to the shore,—a woman naked to the waist, with a purple skirt of true Tyrian dye, for the famous murex is found on the Pacific shores of Nicaragua, her long, black, glossy hair falling over neck and breast, and reaching almost to her knees,—a flock of noisy parrots in a congressional squabble among the trees,—a swarm of parroquets scarcely less noisy,—a pair of vociferating macaws like floating fragments of a rainbow in the air,—inquisitive monkeys hanging among the vines,—active iguanas scrambling up the banks,—long-necked and long-legged cranes in deep soliloquy at the edge of the water, their white bodies standing out in strong relief against a background of rock and verdure,—a canoe glancing rapidly and noiselessly across a vista of water,—all this, with a golden sky above, the purple sides of the volcano of Momobacho overshadowing us, and the distant shores of Chontales molten in the slanting sunlight,—these were some of the elements of the scenery of the islands,—elements constantly shifting, and forming new and pleasing combinations. Seated upon the roof of the chopa, I forgot in contemplating the changing scenery the annoyances of the morning, and felt almost disposed to ask the pardon of the marineros whom I had treated so unceremoniously.

Our men, for we were now in the cool shadow of the mountain, pulled bravely at the oars, chanting a song which seems to be eminently popular amongst all classes of the people. I could not catch the whole of it, but it commenced

At the end of each stanza they gave a sharp pull at the sweeps, and shouted “hoo-pah!”—a freak which seemed to entertain them highly, although we “couldn’t exactly see the point of it.” It was nearly sunset when we arrived at Manuel’s islands; for though Manuel went with us as a guide, at the rate of three reals per day, he had, nevertheless, a house in town, not to mention a couple of islands, upon one of which was his country-seat, and upon the other his plantain walk and fruitery. His country-seat consisted of a cane hut; but he proudly pointed out to us a heap of new tiles and a pile of poles, and said he meant one day to have a palacio on Santa Rosa, for so he called his island. I did not envy him his prospective palace, but Santa Rosa was a gem. Its outer shore, fronting the turbulent water, was lined with immense rocks, within which was a barrier of large trees, draped over with vines, and completely sheltering Manuel’s hut from the winds and storms of the lake. Upon the inner side was a little, crescent-shaped harbor, in which our bongo rocked lazily to and fro. A couple of tall cocoa trees, a cluster of sugar-canes, and a few broad-leaved plants at the water’s edge, gave a tropical aspect to the islet, which looked to me, in the subdued half-light of the evening, as a very paradise for a recluse.

Juan proposed to stay here for the night, as the wind was now too violent to permit us to venture outside of the islands; besides, our improvident men had yet to lay in their supply of plantains—the staff of life to the inhabitants of Central America. A little boat was accordingly despatched to a neighboring island, for these indispensable articles, while the remainderremainder of the crew made supper for themselves. A single kettle, their machetes and fingers were their only service, but it was an effective one, and they made themselves as merry as if there was nothing in the wide world left to wish for. For ourselves, a cup of coffee and a cut of cold chicken sufficed.

The moon was nearly at her full, and the transition from day to night was so gradual as hardly to be perceived. Rosy clouds hung long in the west, changing slowly to deep purple and grey; but when the dominion of the moon came on, they lighted up again with a silver radiance. A mass, like a half transparent robe, rolled itself around the summit of the volcano; the verdure of the island looked dense and heavy upon one side, while the other was light, and relieved by glancing trunks and branches. Deep shadows fell on water, with shining strips of silver between, and except the chafing of the lake upon the outer shores, and the prolonged moan of the howling monkey, there was not a sound to disturb the silence. It is true our men talked long, but it was in a low tone, as if they feared to disturb the general quiet. They finally stretched themselves on their benches, and my companions wrapped themselves in their blankets and composed themselves for the night. I did so also, but I could not sleep; it was not the holy calm of the scene—the remembrance, of dear friends, or those dearer than friends—it was no sentimental revery, no pressure of official cares, that kept me awake that night,—but it was “las pulgas,” the fleas from Manuel’s Santa Rosa! They seemed to swarm in my clothing. I waited in vain for them to get their fill and be quiet, but they were insatiable, and almost maddened me. I got out upon the pineta, and there, under the virgin moon, carefully removed every article of my apparel, and lashed and beat it angrily over the sides, in the hope of shaking off the vipers. The irritation which they had caused was unendurable, and, overcoming all dread of alligators and fever, I got over the side, and cooled myself in the water. I did not go beneath the chopa again, but wrapped my blankets around me, and coiled myself on the pineta.

I had just fallen into a doze, when I was awakened by the clattering of oars, and found Juan, with his flaming, fluttering shirt, standing over me at the rudder. It was about two o’clock, and as the wind had abated a little, our patron seized upon the opportunity to run down to Zapatero. He had no notion, in which I agreed with him, of attempting the trip with a light boat, in the midst of the fierce northers which prevail at this season of the year. I had been a little nervous about the business from the start, for I had spent one night upon this lake which I am not likely to forget,—and had exacted a promise from the men to load in stones, at the islands, by way of ballast. They made a show of compliance, and next morning I succeeded in finding some twenty-five or thirty small stones deposited near the first mast, weighing in all, perhaps, two hundred pounds!

A short spell at the oars, and we were outside of the island. A broad bay stretched dimly inwards towards the city of Nicaragua; and directly before us, at the distance of twenty miles, rose the high, irregular island of Zapatero; beyond which a stationary mass of silvery clouds showed the position of the majestic volcanic cones of the great island of Ometepec. The wind was still strong and the waves high, and the boat tumbled about with an unsteady motion. Amidst a great deal of confusion the sails were raised—sails large enough for an Indiaman, for the marineros of Lake Nicaragua consider that everything depends on the size of the canvas. The “Carlota” was schooner-rigged, and no sooner was she brought to the wind, than her sails filled, and she literally bounded forward like a race-horse. She heeled over until her guards touched the water, precipitating the Dr., who insisted on remaining within the chopa, from one side to the other, amidst guns, books, blankets, pistols, bottles, and all the et ceteras of a semi-pleasure excursion. But, as I have said, he was a philosopher, swore a little, rubbed his shins, and braced himself crosswise. I remained outside, and hung tightly to the upper guards. The lull, if it can so be called, under which we had started, was only temporary. Before we had accomplished a tenth of the distance to the island, the wind came on to blow with all its original violence. The waters fairly boiled around us, and hissed and foamed beneath our stern. I cried to Juan, who was struggling at the rudder, to take in sail, for the canvas almost touched the water, and seemed really bursting with the strain, but he responded “too late,” and braced himself with his shoulder against the tiller, holding with both hands to the guards. I expected every moment that we would go over,—but on, onward, we seemed actually to fly. The outlines of Zapatero grew every moment more distinct, and little islands before undistinguished came into view. As we neared them, the wind lulled again, and we breathed freer when we dashed under the lee of the little island of Chancha, and threw out our anchor close to the shore. “Holy Mary,” said Juan, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, “the devils are out in the lake to-night!” We had made upwards of twenty miles in less than two hours.

I crept within the chopa, where the Dr. was rubbing his bruises with brandy, and slept until aroused by the loud barking of dogs. The sun was up; we were close to a little patch of cleared land, upon one side of which, half-hidden among the trees, was a single hut. The owner, his wife, his children, and his dogs, were down on the shores, and all seemed equally curious to know the object of our sudden visit. Juan frightened them with an account of a terrible revolution, how he was flying from the dangers of the main, and advised the islander to keep a sharp look-out for his safety. The Dr., however, delivered the poor man from his rising fears, and ordered Juan to put on his shirt and pull across the channel to Zapatero. An inviting, calm harbor was before us, but we were separated from it by a channel five hundred yards broad, through which the compressed wind forced the waters of the lake with the utmost violence. It seemed as if a great and angry river was rushing with irresistible fury past us. A high, rocky, projecting point of Zapatero in part intercepted the current below us, against which the water dashed with a force like that of the ocean, throwing the spray many feet up its rocky sides. The men hesitated in starting, but finally braced themselves in their seats, and pushed into the stream. The first shock swept us resistlessly before it, but the men pulled with all their force, under a volley of shouts from Juan, who threw up his arms and stamped on his little quarter-deck like a madman. It was his way of giving encouragement. The struggle was long and severe, and we were once so near the rocks that the recoiling spray fell on our heads; but we finally succeeded in reaching the little, sheltered bay of which I have spoken, and, amidst the screams of the thousand waterfowls which we disturbed, glided into a snug little harbor, beneath a spreading tree, the bow of our boat resting on the sandy shore. “Here at last,” cried M., and bounded ashore. I seized a pistol and sword, and followed, and leaving the Dr. and the men to prepare coffee and breakfast, started in company with Manuel to see the “frailes.” Manuel was armed with a double-barrelled gun, for this island has no inhabitants, and is proverbial for the number of its wild animals, which find a fit home in its lonely fastnesses. I carried a first-class Colt in one hand, and a short, heavy, two-edged Roman sword in the other, as well for defence as for cutting away the limbs, vines, and bushes which impede every step in a tropical forest. Manuel said it was but a few squares to the “frailes” but we walked on and on, through patches of forest and over narrow savannahs, covered with coarse, high, and tangled grass, until I got tired. Manuel looked puzzled; he did not seem to recognize the land-marks. When he had been there before, it was in the midst of the dry season, and the withered grass and underbrush, stripped of leaves, afforded no obstruction to the view. Still he kept on, but my enthusiasm, between an empty stomach and a long walk, was fast giving place to violent wrath towards Manuel, when suddenly that worthy dropped his gun, and uttering a scream, leaped high in the air, and turning, dashed past me with the speed of an antelope. I cocked my pistol, and stood on my guard, expecting that nothing less than a tiger would confront me. But I was spared the excitement of an adventure, and nothing making its appearance, I turned to look for Manuel. He was rolling in the grass like one possessed, and rubbing his feet and bare legs with a most rueful expression of face. He had trodden on a bees’ nest, and as he had taken off his breeches, to avoid soiling them, before starting, I “improved” the occasion to lecture him on the impropriety of such practices on the part of a Christian, a householder, and the father of a family. I was astonished, I said, that he, a gentleman past the middle age of life, the owner of two islands, should make such a heathen of himself as to go without his breeches. And as I have heard the special interposition of Providence urged on no more important occasions than this, at home, I felt authorized in assuring him that it was clearly a signal mark of Divine displeasure. Manuel appeared to be much edified, and as I was better protected than himself, he prevailed upon me to recover his gun, whereupon, taking another path, we pushed ahead.

After toiling for a long time, we came suddenly upon the edge of an ancient crater of great depth, at the bottom of which was a lake of yellowish green, or sulphurous color, the water of which Manuel assured me was salt. This is probably the fact, but I question much if any human being ever ventured down its rocky and precipitous sides. Manuel now seemed to recognize his position, and turning sharp to the left, we soon came to a broad, level area, covered with immense trees, and with a thick undergrowth of grass and bushes. There were here some large, irregular mounds composed of stones, which I soon discovered were artificial. Around these Manuel said the frailes were scattered, and he commenced cutting right and left with his machete. I followed his example, and had not proceeded more than five steps, when I came upon an elaborately sculptured statue, still standing erect. It was about the size of the smaller one discovered at Pensacola, but was less injured, and the face had a mild and benignant aspect. It seemed to smile on me as I tore aside the bushes which covered it, and appeared almost ready to speak. (See Monuments of Zapatero, No. 1.) In clearing further, but a few feet distant, I found another fallen figure. From Manuel’s shouts I knew that he had discovered others, and I felt assured that many more would reward a systematic investigation—and such I meant to make.

I was now anxious to return to the boat, so as to bring my entire force on the ground; and calling to Manuel, I started. Either Manuel took me a shorter path than we came, or else I was somewhat excited and didn’t mind distances; at any rate, we were there before I expected. The sailors listened curiously to our story, and Juan, like Pedro before him, whispered that “los Americanos son diablos.” He had lived, man and boy, for more than forty years within sight of the island, and had many times been blockaded by bad weather in the very harbor where we now were, and yet he had never seen, nor ever so much as heard that there were “frailes” there!

During our absence, a weather-bound canoe, with Indians from Ometepec, discovering our boat, had put in beside us. They were loaded with fruit for Granada, and “walked into” our good graces by liberal donations of papayas, marañons, oranges, pomegranates, zapotes, etc. They were small but well-built men, with more angular features than the Indians of Leon, and betraying a different stock. It will be seen, as we proceed, that they are of Mexican origin. All had their heads closely shaved, with the exception of a narrow fringe of hair around the forehead, extending from one ear to the other—a practice which has become very general among the people. I admired their well-formed limbs, and thought how serviceable half-a-dozen such stout fellows would be amongst the monuments, and incontinently invited them to accompany us, which invitation they accepted, much to my satisfaction.

Leaving a couple of men to watch the boats, I marshalled my forces, and set out for the “frailes.” We mustered twenty-four strong, a force which I assured myself was sufficient to set up once more the fallen divinities, and possibly to remove some of them. As we went along, we cleared a good path, which, before we left, began to have the appearance of a highway.

While M. commenced drawing the monument which still stood erect, I proceeded with the men to clear away the bushes and set up the others. I knew well that the only way to accomplish anything was to keep up the first excitement, which I did by liberal dispensations of aguardiente—the necessities of the case admitted of no alternative. The first monument which claimed our attention was a well-cut figure, seated crouching on the top of a high, ornamented pedestal. The hands were crossed below the knees, the head bent forward, and the eyes widely opened, as if gazing upon some object upon the ground before it. A mass of stone rose from between the shoulders, having the appearance of a conical cap when viewed from the front. (See Plate 2, No. 2.) It was cut with great boldness and freedom, from a block of basalt, and had suffered very little from the lapse of time.

A hole was dug to receive the lower end, ropes were fastened around it, our whole force was disposed to the best advantage, and at a given signal, I had the satisfaction of seeing the figure rise slowly and safely to its original position. No sooner was it secured in place, than our sailors gave a great shout, and forming a double ring around it, commenced an outrageous dance, in the pauses of which they made the old woods ring again with their favorite “hoo-pah!” I did not like to have my brandy effervesce in this manner, for I knew the excitement, once cooled, could not be revived; so I broke into the circle, and dragging out Juan by main force, led him to the next monument, which Manuel called “El Canon,” the Cannon.

It was a massive, cylindrical block of stone, about as long and twice as thick as the twin brother of the famous “peace-maker,” now in the Brooklyn navy-yard. It was encircled by raised bands, elaborately ornamented; and upon the top was the lower half of a small and neatly cut figure. In the front of the pedestal were two niches, deeply sunk, and regular in form, connected by a groove. They were evidently symbolical. Notwithstanding the excitement of the men, they looked dubiously upon this heavy mass of sculpture; but I opened another bottle of aguardiente, and taking one of the levers myself, told them to lay hold. A hole was dug, as in the former case, but we could only raise the stone by degrees, by means of thick levers. After much labor, by alternate lifting and blocking, we got it at an angle of forty-five degrees, and there it appeared determined to stay. We passed ropes around the adjacent trees, and placed falls above it, and when all was ready, and every man at his post, I gave the signal for a coup de main. The ropes creaked and tightened, every muscle swelled, but the figure did not move. It was a critical moment; the men wavered; I leaped to the ropes, and shouted at the top of my voice, “Arriba! arriba! viva Centro America!” The men seemed to catch new spirit; there was another and simultaneous effort,—the mass yielded; “poco mas, muchachos!” “a little more, boys!” and up it went, slowly, but up, up, until, tottering dangerously, it settled into its place and was secured. The men were silent for a moment, as if astonished at their own success, and then broke out in another paroxysm of ardiente and excitement. But this time each man danced on his own account, and strove to outdo his neighbor in wild gesticulation. I interfered, but they surrounded me, instead of the figure, and danced more madly than before, amidst “vivas” for North America. But the dance ended with my patience,—luckily not before. By a judicious use of aguardiente, I managed to keep up their spirits, and by four o’clock in the afternoon, we had all the monuments we could find, ten in number, securely raised and ready for the draughtsman. Besides these, we afterwards succeeded in discovering a number of others,—amounting in all to fifteen perfect, or nearly perfect ones, besides some fragments.

The men, exhausted with fatigue, disposed themselves in groups around the statues, or stretched their bodies at length amongst the bushes. Wearied myself, but with the complacency of a father contemplating his children, and without yet venturing to speculate upon our singular discoveries, I seated myself upon a broad, flat stone, artificially hollowed in the centre, and gave rein to fancy. The bushes were cleared away, and I could easily make out the positions of the ruined teocalli, and take in the whole plan of the great aboriginal temple. Over all now towered immense trees, shrouded in long robes of grey moss, which hung in masses from every limb, and swayed solemnly in the wind. I almost fancied them in mourning for the departed glories of the place. In fact, a kind of superstitious feeling, little in consonance with the severity of philosophical investigation, began to creep over me. Upon one side were steep cliffs, against which the waters of the lake chafed with a subdued roar, and upon the other was the deep, extinct crater, with its black sides and sulphurous lake; it was in truth a weird place, not unfittingly chosen by the aboriginal priesthood as the theatre of their strange and gloomy rites. While engaged in these fanciful reveries, I stretched myself, almost unconsciously, upon the stone where I was sitting. My limbs fell into place as if the stone had been made to receive them,—my head was thrown back, and my breast raised; a second, and the thought flashed across my mind with startling force—“the stone of sacrifice!” I know not whether it was the scene, or the current of my thoughts, perhaps both, but I leaped up with a feeling half of alarm. I observed the stone more closely; it was a rude block altered by art, and had beyond question been used as a stone of sacrifice. I afterwards found two others, clearly designed for the same purpose, but they had been broken.