On The 6th
Of January We Reached Teneriffe, But Were Prevented Landing,
By Fears Of Our Bringing The Cholera:
The next morning
we saw the sun rise behind the rugged outline of the Grand
Canary island, and suddenly illuminate the Peak of Teneriffe,
whilst the lower parts were veiled in fleecy clouds.
This
was the first of many delightful days never to be forgotten.
On the 16th of January, 1832, we anchored at Porto Praya,
in St. Jago, the chief island of the Cape de Verd archipelago.
The neighbourhood of Porto Praya, viewed from the sea,
wears a desolate aspect. The volcanic fires of a past age,
and the scorching heat of a tropical sun, have in most places
rendered the soil unfit for vegetation. The country rises in
successive steps of table-land, interspersed with some truncate
conical hills, and the horizon is bounded by an irregular
chain of more lofty mountains. The scene, as beheld through
the hazy atmosphere of this climate, is one of great interest;
if, indeed, a person, fresh from sea, and who has just
walked, for the first time, in a grove of cocoa-nut trees, can
be a judge of anything but his own happiness. The island
would generally be considered as very uninteresting, but to
anyone accustomed only to an English landscape, the novel
aspect of an utterly sterile land possesses a grandeur which
more vegetation might spoil. A single green leaf can
scarcely be discovered over wide tracts of the lava plains;
yet flocks of goats, together with a few cows, contrive to
exist.
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