Chapter XXII: Part 22

Near the center it contains an irregular oval lake, or collection of water, the greatest diameter of which is nearly three hundred feet. The water being white, it exhibits the appearance of a lake of milk, boiling with a perpetual discharge of large bubbles, occasioned by the development of fixed air. Toward its eastern extremity are the remaining outlets of the subterraneous fires, consisting of several apertures, from which an uninterrupted discharge of sulphurous vapors takes place. These vapors rush out with an incredible force, with violent subterraneous noises, resembling the boiling of an immense caldron in the bowels of the mountain. When at the bottom, the force of the impression made on the spectator by this grand and terrific scene, is increased by the recollection of the dangers he had to encounter in the descent; while the extent of the crater, and the remains of the former explosions, afford an indescribable enjoyment, and fill his mind with the most awful satisfaction.

The explosions of mud, called by the natives _bledeg_, are, as we have already seen, a great curiosity. This volcanic phenomenon is in the center of a limestone district, and is first discovered, on approaching it from a distance, by a large volume of smoke, which rises and disappears at intervals of a few seconds, and resembles the vapors arising from a violent surf. A dull noise, like that of thunder, is at the same time heard; and on a nearer approach, when the vision is no longer impeded by the smoke, a large hemispherical mass is observed, consisting of black earth, mixed with water, about sixteen feet in diameter, rising up to the hight of twenty or thirty feet in a perfectly regular manner, and, as it were, pushed up by a force beneath. This mass suddenly explodes with a dull noise, and scatters, in every direction, a volume of black mud. After an interval of a few seconds, the hemispherical body of earth or mud again rises and explodes. In the same manner this volcanic ebullition goes on without interruption, throwing up a globular body of mud, and dispersing it with violence through the neighboring plain. The spot where the ebullition occurs is nearly circular, and perfectly level, and is entirely covered with the earthy particles, impregnated with salt water, which are thrown up from below. The circumference may be estimated at about half a mile. In order to conduct the salt water to the circumference, small passages, or gutters, are made in the loose muddy earth, which lead it to the borders, where it is collected in holes, or salt wells, dug in the ground, for the purpose of evaporation. The mud recently thrown up, possesses a degree of heat greater than that of the surrounding atmosphere, and emits a strong, pungent and sulphurous smell. This volcanic phenomenon is situated near the center of the large plain which interrupts the series of the more considerable volcanoes, and owes its origin to the general cause of the numerous volcanic eruptions which occur in the island of Java.

The tremendous violence with which nature marks the operations of volcanoes in these regions, will be best exemplified by the following details of the extraordinary and wide-spreading phenomena which accompanied the eruption of the Tomboro mountain, in the island of Sumbawa, one of the Javanese cluster. This eruption, which happened in April, 1815, was sensibly felt over the whole of the Molucca islands, over Java, and over a considerable portion of Celebes, Sumatra and Borneo, to a circumference of a thousand statute miles from its center, by _tremulous motions_ and _loud explosions_; while, within the range of its more immediate activity, embracing a space of three hundred miles around it, it produced the most astonishing effects and excited the most alarming apprehensions. On Java, at the distance of three hundred miles, it seemed to be awfully present. The sky was overcast at noonday with a cloud of ashes; the sun was enveloped in an atmosphere, the palpable density of which it was unable to penetrate; showers of ashes covered the houses, the streets and the fields, to the depth of several inches; and, amid this darkness, explosions were heard at intervals, like the report of artillery, or the noise of distant thunder. Every one conceived, that the effects experienced might be caused by eruptions of some of the numerous volcanoes on the island; but no one could have conjectured, that the shower of ashes which darkened the air, and covered the ground of the eastern district of Java, could have proceeded from a mountain in Sumbawa, at the distance of several hundred miles.

The first explosions were heard at Java, on the evening of the fifth of April, and continued until the following day, when the sun became obscured, and appeared to be enveloped in a fog. The weather was sultry; the atmosphere close; and the pressure of the latter, added to the general stillness, seemed to forebode an earthquake. This lasted for several days, the explosions continuing, but not with so much violence as at first. On the evening of the tenth, the eruptions, however, were more loud and more frequent; ashes fell in abundance; the sun was nearly obscured; and in several parts of the island a _tremulous motion of the earth_ was felt. On the following day, the explosions were so tremendous as to shake the houses perceptibly in the more eastern districts.

In the island of Sumbawa itself, there was a great loss of lives, and the surviving inhabitants were reduced to extreme misery. It appears from the account of the rajah, who was a spectator of the eruption, that on the evening of the tenth of April, three distinct columns of flame, all apparently within the verge of the crater of the Tomboro mountain, burst forth, and, after ascending separately to a very great hight, united their tops in the air. The whole of the mountain now appeared like a body of liquid fire, extending itself in every direction. Stones and ashes were precipitated; and a whirlwind ensued, which blew down the greater part of the houses in an adjoining village. It tore up by the roots the largest trees, and carried them into the air, together with men, horses, cattle, and whatever came within its influence. The sea rose nearly twelve feet higher than usual, a phenomenon commonly attendant on earthquakes, overwhelming the plantations of rice, and sweeping away houses, with whatever came within its reach. It is calculated that full twelve thousand individuals perished. The trees and herbage of every description, along the whole of the north and west sides of the peninsula, were completely destroyed, with the exception of a high point of land near the spot where the village of Tomboro stood.

The extreme misery to which the inhabitants of the western part of the island were reduced, was dreadful to behold. The roads were strewed with dead bodies; the villages were almost entirely deserted, and the houses fallen down. The peasants wandered in all directions in search of food; and the famine became so severe, that one of the daughters of the rajah died of hunger. To judge of the violence of the eruption, it will suffice to state, that the cloud of ashes which had been carried with so much celerity as to produce utter darkness, extended, in the direction of the island of Celebes, two hundred and seventeen nautical miles from the seat of the volcano; and, in a direct line toward Java, upward of three hundred geographical miles.

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BASALTIC AND ROCKY WONDERS.

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THE GIANT’S CAUSEWAY.

This vast collection of basaltic pillars is in the vicinity of Ballimony, in the county of Antrim, Ireland. The principal, or grand causeway, (there being several less considerable and scattered fragments of a similar nature,) consists of an irregular arrangement of many hundred thousands of columns, formed of a black rock, nearly as hard as marble. The greater part of them are of a pentagonal figure, but so closely and compactly situated on their sides, though perfectly distinct from top to bottom, that scarcely anything can be introduced between them. These columns are of an unequal hight and breadth: several of the most elevated, visible above the surface of the strand, and at the foot of the impending angular precipice, are of the hight of about twenty feet, which they do not exceed, at least not any of the principal arrangement. How deeply they are fixed in the strand, has never yet been ascertained.

This grand arrangement extends nearly two hundred yards, as it is visible at low water; but how far beyond is uncertain: from its declining appearance, however, at low water, it is probable that it does not reach beneath the water as far as it is seen above. The breadth of the principal causeway, which runs out in one continued range of columns, is in general from twenty to thirty feet: in some parts it may, for a short distance, be nearly forty. From this account are excluded the broken and scattered pieces of the same kind of construction, which are detached from the sides of the grand causeway, as they do not appear to have ever been contiguous to the principal arrangement, although they have been frequently comprehended in the width, which has led to such wild and dissimilar representations of this causeway, in the different accounts that have been given. Its highest part is the narrowest, at the very spot of the impending cliff, whence the whole projects; and there, for about the same space in length, its width is not more than from twelve to fifteen feet. The columns of this narrow part incline from a perpendicular a little to the westward, and form a slope on their tops, by the unequal hight of their sides; and in this way a gradual ascent is made at the foot of the cliff, from the head of one column to the next above, to the top of the great causeway, which, at the distance of about eighteen feet from the cliff, obtains a perpendicular position, and lowering from its general hight, widens to between twenty and thirty feet, being for nearly three hundred feet always above the water. The tops of the columns being, throughout this length, nearly of an equal hight, form a grand and singular parade, which may be walked on, somewhat inclining to the water’s edge. But from the high-water mark, as it is perpetually washed by the beating surges at every return of the tide, the platform lowers considerably, becoming more and more uneven, so as not to be walked on but with the greatest care. At the distance of a hundred and fifty yards from the cliffs, it turns a little to the east for the space of twenty or thirty yards, and then sinks into the sea. The figure of these columns is, with few exceptions, pentagonal, or composed of five sides; and the spectator must look very narrowly indeed to find any of a different construction, having three, four or six sides. What is very extraordinary, and particularly curious is, that there are not two columns in ten thousand to be found, which either have their sides equal among themselves, or display a like figure.

The composition of these columns or pillars, is also deserving the attention of the curious observer. They are not of one solid stone in an upright position, but composed of several short lengths, nicely joined, not with flat surfaces, but articulated into each other like a ball and socket, or like the joints in the vertebræ of some of the larger kinds of fish, the one at the joint having a cavity, into which the convex end of the opposite is exactly fitted. This is not visible unless on disjointing the two stones. The depth of the concavity or convexity is generally about three or four inches. It is still further remarkable, that the convexity and correspondent concavity of the joint, are not conformable to the external angular figure of the column, but exactly round, and as large as the size or diameter of the column will admit; consequently, as the angles of these columns are in general very unequal, the circular edges of the joints are seldom coincident with more than two or three sides of the pentagonal, and are, from the edge of the circular part of the joint to the exterior sides and angles, quite plain. It ought likewise to be noticed as a singular curiosity, that the articulations of these joints are frequently inverted, in some of them the concavity being upward, in others the reverse. This occasions that variety and mixture of concavities and convexities on the tops of the columns, which is observable throughout the platform of this causeway, without any discoverable design or regularity with respect to the number of either.

The length of these particular stones, from joint to joint, is various: they are in general from eighteen inches to two feet long; and for the greater part, longer toward the bottom of the columns than nearer the top, the articulation of the joints being there somewhat deeper. The size, or diameter, likewise of the columns, is as different as their length and figure: in general they are from fifteen to twenty inches in diameter. Throughout the whole of this combination there are no traces of uniformity or design, except in the form of the joint, which is invariably by an articulation of the convex into the concave of the piece next above or below it: nor are there traces of a finishing in any part, whether in the hight, length or breadth. If there be particular instances in which the columns above water have a smooth top, others near them, of an equal hight, are more or less convex or concave, which shows them to have been joined to pieces that have been washed away, or by other means taken off. It can not be doubted but that those parts which are constantly above water have gradually become more and more even, at the same time that the remaining surfaces of the joints must necessarily have been worn smoother, by the constant action of the air, and by the friction in walking over them, than where the sea, at every tide, beats on the causeway, continually removing some of the upper stones, and exposing fresh joints. As all the exterior columns, which have two or three sides exposed to view, preserve their diameters from top to bottom, it may be inferred, that such is also the case with the interior columns, the tops of which alone are visible.

Notwithstanding the general dissimilitude of the columns, relatively to their figure and diameter, they are so arranged and combined at all the points, that a knife can scarcely be introduced between them, either at the sides or angles. It is most interesting to examine the close contexture and nice insertion of the infinite variety of forms exhibited on the surface of this grand parade. From the great dissimilarity of the figures of the columns, the spectator would be led to believe the causeway a work of human art, were it not, on the other hand, inconceivable that the genius or invention of man should construct and combine such an infinite number of columns, which should have a general apparent likeness, and still be so universally dissimilar in their figure, as that on the minutest examination, not two in ten or twenty thousand should be found having their angles and sides equal among themselves, or those of one column to those of another. As there is an infinite variety in the configuration of the several parts, so there are no traces of regularity or design in the outlines of this curious phenomenon: including the broken or detached pieces of a similar structure, they are extremely scattered and confused. Whatever may have been their original state, they do not at present appear to have any connection with the grand or principal causeway, as to any supposable design or use in its first construction; and as little design can be inferred from the figure or position of the several constituent parts.

This singular formation is not confined to the Giant’s Causeway; but to quite a distance from it, the cliffs exhibit, in many parts, similar columns. At the depth of ten or twelve feet from the summit of the cape of Bengore, the rock begins to assume a columnar tendency, and forms a range of massy pillars of basalt, which stand perpendicular to the horizon, presenting in the sharp face of the promontory, the appearance of a magnificent gallery or colonnade, upward of sixty feet in hight. This colonnade is supported on a solid base of coarse, black, irregular rock, nearly sixty feet thick, abounding in what are called blebs, (that is, little blisters as it were on the rock,) and also in air holes; but, though comparatively irregular, it evidently affects a peculiar figure, tending in many places to run into regular forms, resembling the shooting of salts and many other substances during a hasty crystallization. Beneath this great bed of stone, stands a second range of pillars from forty to fifty feet high, more exactly defined, and emulating in the neatness of its columns, those of the Giant’s Causeway. This lower range is upborne by a layer of red ocher stone, which serves as a relief to show it to greater advantage. The two admirable natural galleries, with the interjacent masses of irregular rock, form a perpendicular hight of one hundred and seventy feet, from the base of which the promontory, covered with rock and grass, slopes down to the sea a considerable space, so as to give an additional hight of two hundred feet, making in all nearly four hundred feet of perpendicular elevation, and presenting a mass, which for beauty and variety of coloring, for elegance and novelty of arrangement, and for the extraordinary magnitude of its objects, can not, perhaps, be rivaled by anything at present known.

The promontory of Fairhead raises its lofty summit more than four hundred feet above the level of the sea, and forms the eastern termination of Ballycastle bay. It presents a vast compact mass of rude columnar stones, the forms of which are extremely gross, many being a hundred and fifty feet in length. At the base of these gigantic columns lies a wild waste of natural ruins of an enormous size, which, in the course of successive ages, have been tumbled down from their foundations by storms, or some more powerful operations of nature. These massive bodies have occasionally withstood the shock of their fall, and often lie in groups, and clumps of pillars, resembling artificial ruins, and forming a very novel and striking landscape.

Many of these pillars lie to the east, in the very bottom of the bay, at the distance of about one-third of a mile from the causeway. There the earth has evidently fallen away from them upon the strand, and exhibits a very curious arrangement of pentagonal columns, in a perpendicular position, apparently supporting a cliff of different strata of earth, clay, rock, &c., to the hight of a hundred and fifty feet. Some of these columns are from thirty to forty feet high, from the top of the sloping bank beneath them; and being longer in the middle of the arrangement, shortening on either of the sides, have obtained the appellation of _organs_, from a rude likeness in this particular to the exterior or frontal tubes of that instrument. As there are few broken pieces on the strand, near this assemblage of columns, it is probable that the outside range, as it now appears, is in reality the original exterior line toward the sea; but how far these columns extend internally into the bowels of the incumbent cliff is unknown. The very substance, indeed, of that part of the cliff which projects to a point, between the two bays on the east and west of the causeway, seems composed of similar materials; for, besides the many pieces which are seen on the sides of the cliff, as it winds to the bottom of the bays, particularly on the eastern side, there is at the very point of the cliff, and just above the narrow and highest part of the causeway, a long collection of them, the heads or summits of which just appearing without the sloping bank, make it evident that they lie in a sleeping position, and about half-way between the perpendicular and horizontal. The heads of these columns are likewise of mixed surfaces, convex and concave; and they evidently appear to have been removed from their original upright position, to the inclining or oblique one they have now assumed, by the sinking or falling of the cliff.

BASALTIC COLUMNS.

In the country surrounding Padua, in Italy, there are several basaltic columns, similar to those of the Giant’s Causeway, although less magnificent in appearance. About seven miles in a southern direction from that city, is a hill named Monte Rosso, or the Red mount, which presents a natural range of prismatic columns, of different shapes and sizes, placed in a direction nearly perpendicular to the horizon, and parallel to each other, nearly resembling that part of the Giant’s Causeway, called the organs.

At an inconsiderable distance is another basaltine hill, called _Il monte del Diavolo_, or the Devil’s hill, along the sides of which prismatic columns are arranged in an oblique position. This causeway extends along the side of the vale beneath, with nearly the same arrangement of the columns as is displayed on the hill. Although the columns of both these hills are of the simple, or unjointed kind, still they differ very remarkably from each other in many respects, but principally in their forms, and in the texture and quality of their parts. Those of the Monte del Diavolo commonly approach a circular form, as nearly as their angles will allow; which is also observable in the columns of the Giant’s Causeway and of most other basaltic groups. On the contrary, those of Monte Rosso assume an oblong or oval figure. The columns of the former measure, one with the other, nearly a foot in diameter, varying but little in their size; while those of the latter present a great variety in their dimensions, the diameter of some of them being nearly a foot, and that of others scarcely three inches: their common width may be estimated at six or eight inches. They differ, therefore, very considerably in size from those of the Giant’s Causeway, some of which measure two feet in width. The length of the columns of the Monte del Diavolo can not be ascertained, as they present only their summits to the view: their remaining parts are deeply buried in the hill, and in some places entirely covered. Those of Monte Rosso, as far as they are visible, measure from six to eight or ten feet in hight; an inconsiderable size when compared with the hight of those of the Giant’s Causeway. The columns of these groups display, however, all the varieties of prismatic forms, which are observable in those of the latter, and other similar groups. They are usually of five, six or seven sides; but the hexagonal form seems chiefly to prevail.

The texture and quality of these columns are not less different than their forms. Those of the Monte del Diavolo present a smooth surface, and, when broken, appear within of a dark iron-gray color, manifesting also a very solid and uniform texture; in which characters they correspond with the columns of the Giant’s Causeway, and those of most other basaltic groups. But the columns of Monte Rosso are in these respects very different, having not only a very rough (and sometimes knotty) surface, but displaying likewise, when broken, a variegated color and unequal texture of parts. They are commonly speckled, more or less distinctly, and resemble an inferior sort of granite, of which Monte Rosso is itself formed, and which serves as a base to the range of columns in question. It is, in general, not quite so hard as the alpine and oriental granites, and is sometimes even friable. This species of granite abounds in France, where large tracts of it are to be seen in Auvergne, and the adjoining regions. But it is still more common in Italy, seeing that, besides Monte Rosso, the bulk of the Euganean hills, of which that is a part, principally consists of it; and these hills occupy a considerable tract in the plains of Lombardy. It is also common in the Roman and Tuscan states; and of this substance the mountain close to Viterbo, on the road to Rome, is entirely composed. The columns of Monte Rosso appear, therefore, of a different character from any hitherto described by mineralogists, who mention those only of an uniform color and texture. But the great singularity here is, that such a range of prismatic columns should be found, bedded as it were, in a mass of granite, and composed nearly of the same substance. An instance of this kind, relative to any other causeway, is not recorded; and this circumstance seems to render that of Monte Rosso, in one respect at least, more curious and singular than the celebrated Giant’s Causeway is known to be, from the regular articulation of its columns. It is certain, that the basaltic group of Monte Rosso is not only highly curious in itself, but interesting on account of the great light it throws on the origin of granites in general.

It is likewise remarkable, that the columns in the two groups of Monte Rosso and Monte del Diavolo, preserve respectively the same position, nearly parallel to each other; which is not usually the case in basaltic groups. For, although the principal aggregate of which the Giant’s Causeway is formed, stands in a direction perpendicular to the horizon, still other small detached groups of columns also appear on the eminence above, assuming by their position different degrees of obliquity. Among the numerous basaltic hills of Auvergne and the adjoining regions, in France, phenomena which seem to abound in those provinces more than in any other part of Europe, and, perhaps, of the known globe, nothing is more common than to see the columns of the same group lying in all possible directions, as irregularly almost as the prisms in a mass of common crystal. Nor is this variety of position so observable in single columns as in whole masses or ranges of them, that often present themselves on the same hill, disposed in different strata or stages, as it were, one above the other, many of them assuming very different, and even opposite directions. The columns of the Monte del Diavolo are bedded in a kind of volcanic sand, by which, in many parts of the hill, they are entirely covered: it is probable, however, that they repose beneath on a base of basaltic rock of a similar nature. Nothing is more common, in the provinces of France, above mentioned, than to see insulated basaltic hills almost exclusively composed of different layers of columns, which present themselves in stages, one above the other, often without any other stratum between them, resembling in some measure, if the comparison can be allowed, a huge pile or stack of cleft wood. Although the columnar crystallization of Monte Rosso is the only one yet known or described, in a mass of granite, still other groups of columns have elsewhere been met with, which are equally of a heterogeneous substance or texture, however they may otherwise differ from those of Monte Rosso, as well as from the common basalts.

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NATURAL BRIDGES.

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NATURAL BRIDGES OF ICONONZO.

Amid the majestic and varied scenery of the Cordilleras of South America, that of their valleys most forcibly strikes the imagination of foreign travelers. The enormous hight of these mountains is not discoverable but at a considerable distance, and while the spectator is on one of those plains which extend from the sea-coasts to the foot of the central chain. The flats, or table-lands, which surround the snow-clad summits of the mountains, are themselves, for the greater part, of an elevation of from seven to nine thousand feet, or nearly a mile and three-quarters, above the level of the sea. This circumstance diminishes, to a certain degree, the impression of greatness produced by the colossal masses of Chimborazo, Cotopaxi, Pichincha, &c., when seen from the flats of Riobamba, or from those of Quito. It is not, however, with the valleys as with the mountains: deeper and narrower than those of the Alps and the Pyrenees, the valleys of the Cordilleras present situations still more wild than these, and more adapted to fill the soul with admiration and with terror. Fissures and chasms present themselves, having their bottoms and sides ornamented with a vigorous vegetation, and of such a depth, that Vesuvius and the Puy-de-Dome might be placed within several of them, and not show their summits above the edge of the neighboring mountains. In passing along the back of the Andes, from Pasto to Villa d’Ibarra, and in descending the Loxa toward the banks of the river Amazon, the traveler reaches the celebrated fissures of Chota and Cutaco, the former of which is nearly a mile, and the latter upward of three-quarters of a mile, in perpendicular depth. To give a more complete idea of the grandeur of these geological phenomena, it should be observed, that the bottoms of these fissures are by one-fourth only, less elevated above the level of the sea, than the passages of St. Gothard and Mount Cenis.

The valley of Icononzo, or of Pandi, is less remarkable for its dimensions, than for the extraordinary form of its rocks, which appear as if shaped by the hand of man. Their naked and barren summits form the most picturesque contrasts with the tufts of trees and herbaceous vegetables which cover the edges of the fissure. The little torrent which has worked itself a passage through the valley of Icononzo, bears the name of Rio de la Summa Paz. It descends from the eastern chain of the Andes, which, with the republic of New Grenada, separates the basin of the river of Magdelena from the vast plains of the Meta, Guaviare and Oronoco. This torrent, confined within a bed almost inaccessible, could not have been crossed without many difficulties, had not Nature herself formed TWO BRIDGES OF ROCKS, which are justly regarded in the country as among the objects most worthy of the attention of travelers. These NATURAL BRIDGES are on the route from Bogota to Popayan and Quito.

Icononzo is the name of an ancient village of Muyscas Indians, situated on the south side of the valley, and of which scarcely any vestige now remains, except a few scattered huts. The nearest inhabited place to this remarkable spot is the little village of Pandi, or Mercadillo, distant about a mile. The road from Bogota to Fusagasuga, and thence to Pandi, is one of the most difficult and least beaten to be met with in the Andes. None but those who passionately love the beauties of Nature, would fail to prefer the usual road which leads from the flat of Bogota to the banks of the Magdelena, to the perilous descent from the Paramo de San-Fortunato, and the mountains of Fusagasuga, toward the natural bridges of Icononzo.

The deep chasm through which the torrent of Summa Paz precipitates itself, occupies the center of the valley of Icononzo. Near the first natural bridge, it maintains, for a length of nearly four-fifths of a mile, a direction from east to west. The river forms two fine cascades, the one at the spot where it enters the chasm on the west of Doa, and the other at that where it leaves it, in descending toward Melgar. It is possible that this chasm, which resembles, but on an enormous scale, the gallery of a mine, may have been the result of an earthquake, and that, at its formation, the compact bed of quartz, composing the superior stratum of rock, had resisted the force which tore asunder these mountains. The uninterrupted continuation of this quartzose bed would thus form the bridge, which affords a passage from one part of the valley to the other. This surprising natural arch is forty-eight feet in length, forty in width, and eight feet in thickness at the center. By experiments carefully made on the fall of bodies, its hight above the level of the water of the torrent, has been ascertained to be about three hundred and twenty feet. The depth of the torrent at the mean hight of the water, may be estimated at twenty feet. The Indians of the valley of Icononzo, for the security of travelers, have formed a fence of reeds, which extends to the road leading to this first natural bridge.

At the distance of sixty feet below is another, to which the traveler is conducted by a path descending along the edge of the chasm. Three enormous masses of rock have fallen into such positions as enable them reciprocally to support each other. The one in the center forms the key of the vault, an accident which may have conveyed to the natives of this spot an idea of arched masonry, which was unknown to the people of the new world, as well as to the ancient inhabitants of Egypt. It is uncertain whether these portions of rock have been projected from a distance, or are merely the fragments of an arch which has been destroyed on the spot, but which was originally similar to the upper natural bridge. This last supposition is rendered probable by an analogous accident, observable in the Coliseum at Rome, where there are seen, in a wall half-fallen, several stones which were arrested in their descent, because in falling they happened to form an arch. In the midst of this second natural bridge is an aperture of about twenty-five feet in every direction, through which the eye reaches the bottom of the abyss. The torrent appears to run into a dark cavern, whence a mournful sound proceeds, formed by the cries of an infinity of nocturnal birds which inhabit the chasm, and which at first sight may be taken for those bats of a monstrous size, so well known in the equinoctial regions. They can only be perceived by the help of lighted brands, thrown into the chasm to illuminate its sides; and thousands of them may thus be distinguished, skimming along the surface of the water. Their plumage is uniformly of a brown gray color; and M. Humboldt, from whose account these particulars are extracted, was assured by the Indians, that these hitherto undescribed birds are of the size of a chicken, with the eyes of an owl, and a curved beak. On account of the depth of the valley, it was impossible to obtain a near view of them.

The elevation of the bridges of Icononzo, these surprising productions of nature, above the level of the ocean, is two thousand seven hundred feet, somewhat more than half a mile. In concluding his description of them, M. Humboldt has noticed several other natural bridges, among which is that in Virginia, noticed more particularly below. He considers this, as well as the bridge of earth, called Rumichaca, which is on the declivity of the porphyritic mountains of Chumban, in South America; together with the bridge of Madre de Dios, named Dantcu, near Totonilco, in Mexico; and the perforated rock near Grandola, in the province of Alemtejo, in Portugal, as geological phenomena, which have some resemblance to the natural bridges of Icononzo; but he doubts whether, in any other part of the world, there has yet been discovered an accidental arrangement so extraordinary as that of three masses of rock, which, reciprocally sustaining each other, form a natural arch.

NATURAL BRIDGE IN VIRGINIA.

This natural bridge, which has been described by Mr. Jefferson, and many other writers, is one of the most sublime productions of nature, as well as one of the great curiosities and wonders of the world. It is situated in Rockbridge county, in Virginia, on the ascent of a hill which seems to have been cloven through its length by some mighty convulsion. It consists of a stupendous arch of limestone, spanning a small stream, called Cedar creek. Its hight above the stream to the top, is two hundred and fifteen feet; its average width, eighty feet; its extreme length at the top, ninety-three feet; and its thickness, from the under to the upper side, fifty-five feet. The chasm over which it passes, is fifty feet wide at the bottom, and ninety feet at the top. The view from the top is exceedingly grand and impressive; from below, equally sublime and more interesting, because divested of associations of fear. The bridge is of important use, forming a road over this immense chasm, which is not otherwise passable for several miles in either direction. The top of the bridge is covered with a coat of earth, which affords growth to many large trees. The residue, with the hill on both sides, is a solid rock of limestone. The arch, as is seen in the engraving of the bridge, approaches the semi-elliptical form; though the larger axis of the ellipsis, which would be the chord of the arch, is many times longer than its transverse. Although the sides of this bridge are provided in some parts with a parapet of rocks, yet few persons have sufficient resolution to stand on them, and look over into the abyss. The passenger involuntarily falls on his hands, creeps to the parapet and peeps over it. Looking down from this hight, for the space of a minute, occasions giddiness and sometimes headache. But if the view from above be so painful as not long to be borne, that from beneath is delightful in the extreme. It is impossible for the emotions arising from the sublime, to be felt in a greater degree than at this spot. The sensations of the spectator can not be described, when he surveys an arch at once so beautiful, so elevated, and so light, springing up, as it were, to heaven!

This grand natural bridge, as already mentioned, is of limestone; and this is so soft that it may easily be cut with a knife. In this fact there may be a foundation for the following interesting, though somewhat overdrawn sketch, from the graphic pen of Elihu Burritt, designed to illustrate the effect of perseverance and an honorable ambition.

“The scene opens with a view of the great natural bridge in Virginia. There are three or four lads standing in the channel below, looking up with awe to that vast arch of unhewn rocks, which the Almighty bridged over those everlasting butments ‘when the morning stars sang together.’ The little piece of sky spanning those measureless piers, is full of stars, although it is midday. It is almost five hundred feet from where they stand, up those perpendicular bulwarks of limestone, to the key-rock of that vast arch, which appears to them only of the size of a man’s hand. The silence of death is rendered more impressive by the little stream that falls from rock to rock down the channel. The sun is darkened, and the boys have unconsciously uncovered their heads, as if standing in the presence-chamber of the Majesty of the whole earth. At last, this feeling begins to wear away; they look around, and find that others have been there before them. They see the names of hundreds cut in the limestone butments. A new feeling comes over their young hearts, and their knives are in their hands in an instant. ‘What man has done, man can do,’ is their watchword, while they draw themselves up, and carve their names a foot above those of a hundred full-grown men who have been there before them. They are all satisfied with this feat of physical exertion, except _one_, whose example illustrates perfectly the forgotten truth, that there is _no royal road to intellectual eminence_. This ambitious youth sees a name just above his reach, a name that will be green in the memory of the world, when those of Alexander, Cæsar, and Bonaparte, shall rot in oblivion. It was the name of Washington. Before he marched with Braddock to that fatal field, _he_ had been there, and left his name a foot above all his predecessors. It was a glorious thought of the boy, to write his name side by side with that of the great father of his country. He grasps his knife with a firmer hand; and, clinging to a little jutting crag, he cuts again into the limestone, about a foot above where he stands; he then reaches up and cuts another for his hands. ’Tis a dangerous adventure; but as he puts his feet and hands into those gains, and draws himself up carefully to his full length, he finds himself a foot above every name chronicled in that mighty wall. While his companions are regarding him with concern and admiration, he cuts his name in rude capitals, large and deep, into that rocky album. His knife is in his hand, and strength in his sinews, and a new created aspiration in his heart. Again he cuts another niche, and again he carves his name in larger capitals. This is not enough. Heedless of the entreaties of his companions, he cuts and climbs again. The graduations of his ascending scale grow wider apart. He measures his length at every gain he cuts. The voices of his friends wax weaker and weaker, till their words are finally lost on his ear. He now for the first time casts a look beneath him. Had that glance lasted a moment, that moment would have been his last. He clings with a convulsive shudder to his little niche in the rock. An awful abyss awaits his almost certain fall. He is faint with severe exertion, and trembling from the sudden view of the dreadful destruction to which he is exposed. His knife is worn half-way to the haft. He can hear the voices, but not the words, of his terror-stricken companions below. What a moment! What a meager chance to escape destruction! There is no retracing his steps. It is impossible to put his hands into the same niche with his feet, and retain his slender hold a moment. His companions instantly perceive this new and fearful dilemma, and await his fall with emotions that ‘freeze their young blood.’ He is too high, too faint, to ask for his father and mother, his brothers and sisters, to come and witness or avert his destruction. But one of his companions anticipates his desire. Swift as the wind, he bounds down the channel, and the situation of the fated boy is told upon his father’s hearth-stone.

“Minutes of almost eternal length roll on, and there are hundreds standing in that rocky channel, and hundreds on the bridge above, all holding their breath, and awaiting the fearful catastrophe. The poor boy hears the hum of new and numerous voices both above and below. He can just distinguish the tones of his father, who is shouting with all the energy of despair, ‘_William! William! Don’t look down! Your mother, and Henry, and Harriet are all here, praying for you! Don’t look down! Keep your eye toward the top!_’ The boy didn’t look _down_. His eye is fixed like a flint toward heaven, and his young heart on Him who reigns there. He grasps again his knife. He cuts another niche, and another foot is added to the hundreds that remove him from the reach of human help from below. How carefully he uses his wasting blade! How anxiously he selects the softest places in that vast pier! How he avoids every flinty grain! How he economizes his physical powers! resting a moment at each gain he cuts. How every motion is watched from below! There stand his father, mother, brother, sister, on the very spot where, if he falls, he will not fall alone. The sun is now half-way down the west. The lad has made fifty additional niches in that mighty wall, and now finds himself directly under the middle of that vast arch of rocks, earth and trees. He must cut his way in a new direction, to get from under this overhanging mountain. The inspiration of hope is dying in his bosom; its vital heat is fed by the increasing shouts of hundreds perched upon cliffs and trees, and others who stand with ropes in their hands on the bridge above, or with ladders below. Fifty gains more must be cut before the longest rope can reach him. His wasting blade strikes again into the limestone. The boy is emerging painfully, foot by foot, from under that lofty arch. Spliced ropes are ready in the hands of those who are leaning over the outer edge of the bridge. Two minutes more, and all will be over. That blade is worn to the last half-inch. The boy’s head reels; his eyes are starting from their sockets. His last hope is dying in his heart; his life must hang upon the next gain he cuts. That niche is his last. At the last faint gash he makes, his knife, his faithful knife, falls from his little nerveless hand, and, ringing along the precipice, falls at his mother’s feet. An involuntary groan of despair runs like a death-knell through the channel below, and all is still as the grave. At the hight of nearly three hundred feet, the devoted boy lifts his hopeless heart and closing eyes to commend his soul to God. ’Tis but a moment—there!—one foot swings off!—he is reeling—trembling—toppling over into eternity! Hark! a shout falls on his ear from above! The man who is lying with half his length over the bridge, has caught a glimpse of the boy’s head and shoulders. Quick as thought, the noosed rope is within reach of the sinking youth. No one breathes. With a faint, convulsive effort, the swooning boy drops his arms into the noose. Darkness comes over him, and with the words, _God!_ and _Mother!_ whispered on his lips just loud enough to be heard in heaven, the tightening rope lifts him out of his last shallow niche. Not a lip moves while he is dangling over that fearful abyss; but when a sturdy Virginian reaches down and draws up the lad, and holds him up in his arms before the tearful, breathless multitude, such shouting and leaping and weeping for joy, never greeted the ear of a human being so recovered from the yawning gulf of eternity.”

We will only add before leaving the subject of natural bridges, that the one in Virginia is not, as has been generally supposed, the only geological wonder of the kind in the United States. In Carter county, Kentucky, there is a natural bridge across the Rockbridge branch of the Cany fork of Little Sandy. It has a span of one hundred and ninety-five feet, and is twelve feet wide, twenty feet thick in the middle of the arch, and one hundred and seven feet above the water. In the county of Walker, in Alabama, there is another similar natural curiosity, which was discovered in a recent geological exploration. The span is one hundred and twenty feet, and the hight nearly seventy feet. This bridge is formed of sandstone, and is very symmetrical. Large beech and hemlock trees grow on the bridge, and the surrounding scenery is represented as sublime.

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PRECIPICES AND PROMONTORIES.

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BESSELY GHAUT.

The precipitous pathways which frequently occur in the Indian Apennines, a chain of mountains extending along the western or Malabar coasts of the peninsula, are called ghauts; and of these abrupt and perpendicular precipices, Bessely ghaut is considered as the most romantic. It is admirably described in the travels of Lord Valentia, from which the following particulars are extracted.

On entering the defiles of the chain of mountains by which the table-land of Mysore is separated from the low country of Canara and Malabar, the scenery becomes extremely wild and romantic. Having reached Purneah Chuttoor, situated on the summit of this celebrated ghaut, his lordship began his descent at three in the morning, by a road formed with great labor out of a bed of loose rock, over which the torrents of the preceding winter had run with such force, as to wash away all the softer parts, and in several places to leave single rocks, of four or five feet diameter, standing in the center of the road, and not more than two feet asunder. He alighted from his palanquin to admire the sublimity of the scene, and entered a forest of the largest oriental trees, several of which were one hundred feet in the stem before a single branch extended itself; notwithstanding which, the descent was so steep, that he was frequently on a level with their tops, at so small a distance as to be able to distinguish them, by the gleam of the numerous torches by which his party was accompanied, but which were insufficient to enlighten the impenetrable canopy of foliage which for miles concealed the face of heaven, or the deep gloom of the abyss into which he appeared to descend. In the day-time the scene could not have been half so awful or magnificent. The descent was impeded by numerous droves of oxen which were ascending the ghaut. At break of day an opening, in a winding part of the road, displayed the lofty mountain the party had descended, covered with forests nearly to its summit. They passed several rivulets, which at one spot had united, and formed a small stream. The surrounding vegetation was richly variegated; and the branches of the loftiest trees covered by plants of the parasitical tribe. The inhabitants of a small village, in the center of this immense forest, were employed in thrashing their grain in a truly patriarchal manner: on a floor of hard earth the grain was trodden out by oxen, which, agreeably to the Mosaical law, were unmuzzled.

THE CAPE OF THE WINDS.

The fortress of Mankoop, in the Crimea, is of a very extraordinary magnitude, and may be described as being literally stationed on the clouds. It covers the summit of a semicircular insulated mountain, which, from its frightful aspect, its altitude, and craggy perpendicular sides, independently of every other consideration than as a surprising work of nature, fills the mind with wonder on entering the defile. In this singular situation, where there are no visible means of ascent toward the hight, and still less of conveying the necessary materials for the completion of so astonishing a work, the Genoese constructed this citadel, perhaps without a parallel in Europe, the result of their wealth, address and enterprise. Being at a remote distance from the coast, it is natural to conjecture that it was employed to curb the hostile spirit of the natives toward the maritime colonial possessions. The latest possessors of this fortress were Jews, in the cemetery of whose colony the traveler meets with ruined tombs of marble and stone, lying beneath the trees he has to pass in his ascent.