At the foot of the lofty granitic range which, in the early age of our
planet, resisted the irruption of the waters on the formation of the
Caribbean Gulf, extends a vast and boundless plain. When the traveller
turns from the Alpine valleys of Caracas, and the island-studded lake of
Tacarigua[1], whose waters reflect the forms of the neighbouring
bananas,—when he leaves the fields verdant with the light and tender
green of the Tahitian sugar-cane, or the sombre shade of the cacoa
groves,—his eye rests in the south on Steppes, whose seeming elevations
disappear in the distant horizon.
From the rich luxuriance of organic life the astonished traveller
suddenly finds himself on the dreary margin of a treeless waste. Nor
hill, nor cliff rears its head, like an island in the ocean, above the
boundless plain: only here and there broken strata of floetz, extending
over a surface of two hundred square miles, (more than three thousand
English square miles[C],) appear sensibly higher than the surrounding
district. The natives term them _banks_[2], as if the spirit of language
would convey some record of that ancient condition of the world, when
these elevations formed the shoals, and the Steppes themselves the
bottom, of some vast inland sea.
Even now, illusion often recalls, in the obscurity of night, these
images of a former age. For when the guiding constellations illumine the
margin of the plain with their rapidly rising and setting beams, or when
their flickering forms are reflected in the lower stratum of undulating
vapour, a shoreless ocean seems spread before us[3]. Like a limitless
expanse of waters, the Steppe fills the mind with a sense of the
infinite, and the soul, freed from the sensuous impressions of space,
expands with spiritual emotions of a higher order. But the aspect of the
ocean, its bright surface diversified with rippling or gently swelling
waves, is productive of pleasurable sensations,—while the Steppe lies
stretched before us, cold and monotonous, like the naked stony crust of
some desolate planet[4].
In all latitudes nature presents the phenomenon of these vast plains,
and each has some peculiar character or physiognomy, determined by
diversity of soil and climate, and by elevation above the level of the
sea.
In northern Europe the Heaths which, covered by one sole form of
vegetation, to the exclusion of all others, extend from the extremity of
Jutland to the mouth of the Scheldt, may be regarded as true Steppes.
They are, however, both hilly and of very inconsiderable extent when
compared with the Llanos and Pampas of South America, or even with the
Prairies on the Missouri[5] and Copper River, the resort of the shaggy
Bison and the small Musk Ox.
The plains in the interior of Africa present a grander and more imposing
spectacle. Like the wide expanse of the Pacific, they have remained
unexplored until recent times. They are portions of a sea of sand, which
towards the east separates fruitful regions from each other, or incloses
them like islands, as the desert near the basaltic mountains of
Harudsch[6], where, in the Oasis of Siwah, rich in date-trees, the ruins
of the temple of Ammon indicate the venerable seat of early
civilization. Neither dew nor rain refreshes these barren wastes, or
unfolds the germs of vegetation within the glowing depths of the earth;
for everywhere rising columns of hot air dissolve the vapours and
disperse the passing clouds.
Wherever the desert approaches the Atlantic Ocean, as between Wadi Nun
and the White Cape, the moist sea-air rushes in to fill the vacuum
caused by these vertically ascending currents of air. The navigator, in
steering towards the mouth of the river Gambia, through a sea thickly
carpeted with weeds, infers by the sudden cessation of the tropical east
wind[7], that he is near the far-spreading and radiating sandy desert.
Flocks of swift-looted ostriches and herds of gazelles wander over this
boundless space. With the exception of the newly discovered group of
Oases, rich in springs, whose verdant banks are frequented by nomadic
tribes of Tibbos and Tuarycks[8], the whole of the African deserts may
be regarded as uninhabitable by man. It is only periodically that the
neighbouring civilized nations venture to traverse them. On tracks whose
undeviating course was determined by commercial intercourse thousands of
years ago, the long line of caravans passes from Tafilet to Timbuctoo,
or from Mourzouk to Bornou; daring enterprises, the practicability of
which depends on the existence of the camel, _the ship of the
desert_[9], as it is termed in the ancient legends of the East.
These African plains cover an area which exceeds almost three times that
of the neighbouring Mediterranean. They are situated partly within and
partly near the tropics, a position on which depends their individual
natural character. On the other hand, in the eastern portion of the old
continent the same geognostic phenomenon is peculiar to the temperate
zone.
On the mountainous range of Central Asia, between the Gold or Altai
Mountain and the Kouen-lien[10], from the Chinese wall to the further
side of the Celestial Mountains, and towards the Sea of Aral, over a
space of several thousand miles, extend, if not the highest, certainly
the largest Steppes in the world. I myself enjoyed an opportunity, full
thirty years after my South American travels, of visiting that portion
of the Steppes which is occupied by Kalmuck-Kirghis tribes, and is
situated between the Don, the Volga, the Caspian Sea, and the Chinese
Lake of Dsaisang, and which consequently extends over an area of nearly
2,800 geographical miles. The vegetation of the Asiatic Steppes, which
are sometimes hilly and interspersed with pine forests, is in its
groupings far more varied than that of the Llanos and the Pampas of
Caracas and Buenos Ayres. The more beautiful portions of the plains,
inhabited by Asiatic pastoral tribes, are adorned with lowly shrubs of
luxuriant white-blossomed Rosaceæ, Crown Imperials (Fritillariæ),
Cypripedeæ, and Tulips. As the torrid zone is in general distinguished
by a tendency in the vegetable forms to become arborescent, so we also
find, that some of the Asiatic Steppes of the temperate zone are
characterized by the remarkable height to which flowering plants attain;
as, for instance, Saussureæ, and other Synanthereæ; all siliquose
plants, and particularly numerous species of Astragalus. On crossing the
trackless portions of the herb-covered Steppes in the low carriages of
the Tartars, it is necessary to stand upright in order to ascertain the
direction to be pursued through the copse-like and closely crowded
plants that bend under the wheels. Some of these Steppes are covered
with grass; others with succulent, evergreen, articulated alkaline
plants; while many are radiant with the effulgence of lichen-like tufts
of salt, scattered irregularly over the clayey soil like newly fallen
snow.
These Mongolian and Tartar Steppes, which are intersected by numerous
mountain chains, separate the ancient and long-civilized races of Thibet
and Hindostan from the rude nations of Northern Asia. They have also
exerted a manifold influence on the changing destinies of mankind. They
have inclined the current of population southward, impeded the
intercourse of nations more than the Himalayas, or the Snowy Mountains
of Sirinagur and Gorka, and placed permanent limits to the progress of
civilization and refinement in a northerly direction.
History cannot, however, regard the plains of Central Asia under the
character of obstructive barriers alone. They have frequently proved the
means of spreading misery and devastation over the face of the earth.
Some of the pastoral tribes inhabiting this Steppe,—the Mongols, Getæ,
Alani, and Usüni,—have convulsed the world. If in the course of earlier
ages, the dawn of civilization spread like the vivifying light of the
sun from east to west; so in subsequent ages and from the same quarter,
have barbarism and rudeness threatened to overcloud Europe.
A tawny tribe of herdsmen[11] of Tukiuish _i. e._, Turkish origin, the
Hiongnu, dwelt in tents of skins on the elevated Steppe of Gobi. A
portion of this race had been driven southward towards the interior of
Asia, after continuing for a long time formidable to the Chinese power.
This shock, (dislodgement of the tribes) was communicated
uninterruptedly as far as the ancient land of the Fins, near the sources
of the Ural.[D] From thence poured forth bands of Huns, Avars, Chasars,
and a numerous admixture of Asiatic races. Warlike bodies of Huns first
appeared on the Volga, next in Pannonia, then on the Marne and the banks
of the Po, laying waste those richly cultivated tracts, where, since the
age of Antenor, man’s creative art had piled monument on monument. Thus
swept a pestilential breath from the Mongolian deserts over the fair
Cisalpine soil, stifling the tender, long-cherished blossoms of art!
From the Salt-steppes of Asia,—from the European Heaths,—smiling in
summer with their scarlet, honey-yielding flowers,—and from the barren
deserts of Africa, we return to the plains of South America, the picture
of which I have already begun to sketch in rude outline.
But the interest yielded by the contemplation of such a picture must
arise from a pure love of nature. No Oasis here reminds the traveller of
former inhabitants, no hewn stone[12], no fruit-tree once cultivated and
now growing wild, bears witness to the industry of past races. As if a
stranger to the destinies of mankind, and bound to the present alone,
this region of the earth presents a wild domain to the free
manifestation of animal and vegetable life.
The Steppe extends from the littoral chain of Caracas to the forests of
Guiana, and from the snow-covered mountains of Merida, on whose
declivity lies the Natron lake of Urao,—the object of the religious
superstition of the natives,—to the vast delta formed by the mouth of
the Orinoco. To the south-west it stretches like an arm of the sea[13],
beyond the banks of the Meta and of the Vichada, to the unexplored
sources of the Guaviare, and to the solitary mountain group to which the
vivid imagination of the Spanish warriors gave the name of _Paramo de la
Suma Paz_, as though it were the beautiful seat of eternal repose.
This Steppe incloses an area of 256,000 square miles. Owing to
inaccurate geographical data, it has often been described as extending
in equal breadth to the Straits of Magellan, unmindful that it is
intersected by the wooded plain of the Amazon, which is bounded to the
north by the grassy Steppes of the Apure, and to the south by those of
the Rio de la Plata. The Andes of Cochabamba and the Brazilian mountains
approximate each other by means of separate transverse spurs, projecting
between the province of Chiquitos and the isthmus of Villabella[14]. A
narrow plain unites the _Hylæa_ of the Amazon with the Pampas of Buenos
Ayres. The area of the latter is three times larger than that of the
Llanos of Venezuela; indeed so vast in extent, that it is bounded on the
north by palms, while its southern extremity is almost covered with
perpetual ice. The Tuyu, which resembles the Cassowary, (Struthio Rhea,)
is peculiar to these Pampas, as are also those herds of wild dogs[15],
which dwell in social community in subterranean caverns, and often
ferociously attack man, for whose defence their progenitors fought.
Like the greater part of the desert of Sahara[16], the Llanos, the most
northern plains of South America, lie within the torrid zone. Twice in
every year they change their whole aspect, during one half of it
appearing waste and barren like the Lybian desert; during the other,
covered with verdure, like many of the elevated Steppes of Central
Asia[17].
The attempt to compare the natural characteristics of remote regions,
and to pourtray the results of this comparison in brief outline, though
a gratifying, is a somewhat difficult branch of physical geography.
A number of causes, many of them still but little understood[18],
diminish the dryness and heat of the New World. Among these are: the
narrowness of this extensively indented continent in the northern part
of the tropics, where the fluid basis on which the atmosphere rests,
occasions the ascent of a less warm current of air; its wide extension
towards both the icy poles; a broad ocean swept by cool tropical winds;
the flatness of the eastern shores; currents of cold sea-water from the
antarctic region, which, at first following a direction from south-west
to north-east, strike the coast of Chili below the parallel of 35° south
lat., and advance as far north on the coasts of Peru as Cape Pariña,
where they suddenly diverge towards the west; the numerous mountains
abounding in springs, whose snow-crowned summits soar above the strata
of clouds, and cause the descent of currents of air down their
declivities; the abundance of rivers of enormous breadth, which after
many windings invariably seek the most distant coast; Steppes, devoid of
sand, and therefore less readily acquiring heat; impenetrable forests,
which, protecting the earth from the sun’s rays, or radiating heat from
the surface of their leaves, cover the richly-watered plains of the
Equator, and exhale into the interior of the country, most remote from
mountains and the Ocean, prodigious quantities of moisture, partly
absorbed and partly generated—all these causes produce in the flat
portions of America a climate which presents a most striking contrast in
point of humidity and coolness with that of Africa. On these alone
depend the luxuriant and exuberant vegetation and that richness of
foliage which are so peculiarly characteristic of the New Continent.
If, therefore, the atmosphere on one side of our planet be more humid
than on the other, a consideration of the actual condition of things
will be sufficient to solve the problem of this inequality. The natural
philosopher need not shroud the explanation of such phenomena in the
garb of geological myths. It is not necessary to assume that the
destructive conflict of the elements raged at different epochs in the
eastern and western hemispheres, during the early condition of our
planet; or that America emerged subsequently to the other quarters of
the world from the chaotic covering of waters, as a swampy island, the
abode of crocodiles and serpents[19].
South America presents indeed a remarkable similarity to the
south-western peninsula of the old continent, in the form of its
outlines and the direction of its coast-line. But the internal structure
of the soil, and its relative position with respect to the contiguous
masses of land, occasion in Africa that remarkable aridity which over a
vast area checks the development of organic life. Four-fifths of South
America lie beyond the Equator, and therefore in a region which, on
account of its abundant waters, as well as from many other causes, is
cooler and moister than our northern hemisphere[20]. To this,
nevertheless, the most considerable portion of Africa belongs.
The extent from east to west of the South American Steppes or Llanos, is
only one third that of the African Desert. The former are refreshed by
the tropical sea wind, while the latter, situated in the same parallel
of latitude as Arabia and Southern Persia, are visited by currents of
air which have passed over heat-radiating continents. The venerable
father of history, Herodotus, so long insufficiently appreciated, has in
the true spirit of a comprehensive observer of nature, described all the
deserts of Northern Africa, Yemen, Kerman, and Mekran (the Gedrosia of
the Greeks), as far even as Mooltan in Western India, as one sole
connected sea of sand[21].
To the action of hot land winds, may be associated in Africa, as far as
we know, a deficiency of large rivers, of forests that generate cold by
exhaling aqueous vapour, and of lofty mountains. The only spot covered
with perpetual snow is the western portion of Mount Atlas[22], whose
narrow ridge, seen laterally, appeared to the ancient navigators when
coasting the shore, as one solitary and aërial pillar of heaven. This
mountain range extends eastward to Dakul, where the famed Carthage, once
mistress of the seas, lies in crumbling ruins. This range forms a far
extended coast-line or Gætulian rampart, which repels the cool north
winds and with them the vapours rising from the Mediterranean.
The Mountains of the Moon, Djebel-al-Komr[23], fabulously represented as
forming a mountainous parallel between the elevated plain of Habesch—an
African Quito—and the sources of the Senegal, were supposed to rise
above the lower sea line. Even the Cordilleras of Lupata, which skirt
the eastern coast of Mozambique and Monomotapa, in the same manner as
the Andes bound the western shores of Peru, are covered with eternal
snow in the gold districts of Machinga and Mocanga. But these mountains,
abundantly watered, are situated at a considerable distance from the
vast desert which extends from the southern declivity of the chain of
Atlas to the Niger, whose waters flow in an easterly direction.
Possibly, these combined causes of aridity and heat would have proved
insufficient to convert such large portions of the African plains into a
dreary waste, had not some convulsion of nature—as for instance the
irruption of the ocean—on some occasion deprived these flat regions of
their nutrient soil, as well as of the vegetation which it supported.
The epoch when this occurred, and the nature of the forces which
determined the irruption, are alike shrouded in the obscurity of the
past. Perhaps it may have been the result of the great rotatory
current[24], which drives the warmer waters of the Gulf of Mexico over
the bank of Newfoundland to the old continent, and by which the
cocoa-nut of the West Indies and other tropical fruits have been borne
to the shores of Ireland and Norway. One branch of this oceanic current,
after it leaves the Azores, has still, at the present time, a
south-easterly course, striking the low range of the sandy coasts of
Africa with a force that is frequently fraught with danger to the
mariner. All sea-coasts—but I refer here more particularly to the
Peruvian shore between Amotape and Coquimbo—afford evidence of the
hundreds, or even thousands of years, which must pass before the moving
sand can yield a firm basis for the roots of herbaceous plants, in those
hot and rainless regions where neither Lecideæ nor other lichens can
grow[25].
These considerations suffice to explain why, notwithstanding their
external similarity of form, the continents of Africa and South America
present the most widely different climatic relations and characters of
vegetation. Although the South American Steppe is covered with a thin
crust of fruitful earth, is periodically refreshed by rains, and adorned
with luxuriant herbage, its attractions were not sufficient to induce
the neighbouring nations to exchange the beautiful mountain valleys of
Caracas, the sea-girt districts, and the richly watered plains of the
Orinoco, for this treeless and springless desert. Hence on the arrival
of the first European and African settlers, the Steppe was found to be
almost without inhabitants.
The Llanos are, it is true, adapted for the breeding of cattle, but the
primitive inhabitants of the new continent were almost wholly
unacquainted with the management of animals yielding milk[26]. Scarcely
one of the American tribes knew how to avail themselves of the
advantages which nature, in this respect, had placed before them. The
American aborigines, who, from 65° north lat. to 55° south lat.,
constitute (with the exception, perhaps, of the Esquimaux,) but one sole
race, passed directly from a hunting to an agricultural life without
going through the intermediate stage of a pastoral life. Two species of
indigenous homed cattle (the Buffalo and the Musk Ox) graze on the
pasture lands of Western Canada and Quivira, as well as in the
neighbourhood of the colossal ruins of the Aztek fortress, which rises
like some American Palmyra on the desert solitudes of the river Gila. A
long-horned _Mouflon_, resembling the so-called progenitor of the sheep,
roams over the parched and barren limestone rocks of California; while
the camel-like Vicunas, Huanacos, Alpacas, and Llamas, are natives of
the southern peninsula. But of these useful animals the two first only
(viz. the Buffalo and the Musk Ox) have preserved their natural freedom
for thousands of years. The use of milk and cheese, like the possession
and culture of farinaceous grasses, is a distinctive characteristic of
the nations of the old world[27].
If some few tribes have passed through Northern Asia to the western
coast of America, and preferring to keep within a temperate climate,
have followed the course of the ridges of the Andes southward[28], such
migrations must have been made by routes on which the settlers were
unable to transport either flocks or grain. The question here arises,
whether on the downfall of the long-declining empire of the Hiongnu, the
consequent migration of this powerful race may not have been the means
of drawing from the north-east of China and Korea, bands of settlers, by
whom Asiatic civilisation was transported to the new continent? If the
primitive colonists had been natives of those Steppes in which
agriculture was unknown, this bold hypothesis (which as yet is but
little warranted by etymological comparisons) would at all events
explain the remarkable absence of the Cereals in America. Perhaps
contrary winds may have driven to the shores of New California one of
those Asiatic Priest-colonies who were instigated by their mystic
dreameries to undertake distant voyages, and of which the history of the
peopling of Japan, at the time of the _Thsinschihuang-ti_, affords a
memorable instance.[29]
If a pastoral life—that beneficent intermediate stage which binds
nomadic bands of hunters to fruitful pasture lands, and at the same time
promotes agriculture—was unknown to the primitive races of America, it
is to the very ignorance of such a mode of life that we must attribute
the scantiness of population in the South American Steppes. But this
circumstance allowed freer scope for the forces of nature to develop
themselves in the most varied forms of animal life; a freedom only
circumscribed by themselves, like vegetable life in the forests of the
Orinoco, where the Hymenæa and the giant laurel, exempt from the ravages
of man, are only in danger of a too luxuriant embrace of the plants
which surround them.
Agoutis, small spotted antelopes, the shielded Armadillo, which,
rat-like, terrifies the hare in its subterranean retreat; herds of
slothful Chiguires, beautifully striped Viverræ, whose pestilential
odour infects the air; the great maneless Lion; the variegated Jaguar
(commonly known as the tiger), whose strength enables it to drag to the
summit of a hill the body of the young bull it has slain—these, and many
other forms of animal life[30] roam over the treeless plain.
This region, which may be regarded as peculiarly the habitation of wild
animals, would not have been chosen as a place of settlement by nomadic
hordes, who like the Indo-Asiatics generally prefer a vegetable diet,
had it not possessed some few fan-palms (_Mauritia_) scattered here and
there. The beneficent qualities of this tree of life have been
universally celebrated.[31] Upon this alone subsist the unsubdued tribe
of the Guaranes, at the mouth of the Orinoco northward of the Sierra de
Imataca. When they increased in numbers and became over-crowded, it is
said that, besides the huts which they built on horizontal platforms
supported by the stumps of felled palm-trees, they also ingeniously
suspended from stem to stem spreading mats or hammocks woven of the
leaf-stalk of the Mauritia, which enabled them, during the rainy season,
when the Delta was overflowed, to live in trees in the manner of apes.
These pendent huts were partly covered with clay. The women kindled the
fire necessary for their culinary occupations on the humid flooring. As
the traveller passed by night along the river, his attention was
attracted by a long line of flame suspended high in the air, and
apparently unconnected with the earth. The Guaranes owe the preservation
of their physical, and perhaps even of their moral independence, to the
loose marshy soil, over which they move with fleet and buoyant foot, and
to their lofty sylvan domiciles; a sanctuary whither religious
enthusiasm would hardly lead an American Stylite.[32]
The Mauritia not only affords a secure habitation, but likewise yields
numerous articles of food. Before the tender spathe unfolds its blossoms
on the male palm, and only at that peculiar period of vegetable
metamorphosis, the medullary portion of the trunk is found to contain a
sago-like meal, which like that of the Jatropha root, is dried in thin
breadlike slices. The sap of the tree when fermented constitutes the
sweet inebriating palm-wine of the Guaranes. The narrow-scaled fruit,
which resembles reddish pine-cones, yields, like the banana and almost
all tropical fruits, different articles of food, according to the
periods at which it is gathered, whether its saccharine properties are
fully matured, or whether it is still in a farinaceous condition. Thus
in the lowest grades of man’s development, we find the existence of an
entire race dependent upon almost a single tree; like certain insects
which are confined to particular portions of a flower.
Since the discovery of the new continent, its plains (Llanos) have
become habitable to man. Here and there towns[33] have sprung up on the
shores of the Steppe-rivers, built to facilitate the intercourse between
the coasts and Guiana (the Orinoco district). Everywhere throughout
these vast districts the inhabitants have begun to rear cattle. At
distances of a day’s journey from each other, we see detached huts,
woven together with reeds and thongs, and covered with ox-hides.
Innumerable herds of oxen, horses, and mules (estimated at the peaceful
period of my travels at a million and a half) roam over the Steppe in a
state of wildness. The prodigious increase of these animals of the old
world is the more remarkable, from the numerous perils with which, in
these regions, they have to contend.
When, beneath the vertical rays of the bright and cloudless sun of the
tropics, the parched sward crumbles into dust, then the indurated soil
cracks and bursts as if rent asunder by some mighty earthquake. And if,
at such a time, two opposite currents of air, by conflict moving in
rapid gyrations, come in contact with the earth, a singular spectacle
presents itself. Like funnel-shaped clouds,[34] their apexes touching
the earth, the sands rise in vapoury form through the rarefied air in
the electrically-charged centre of the whirling current, sweeping on
like the rushing water-spout, which strikes such terror into the heart
of the mariner. A dim and sallow light gleams from the lowering sky over
the dreary plain. The horizon suddenly contracts, and the heart of the
traveller sinks with dismay as the wide Steppe seems to close upon him
on all sides. The hot and dusty earth forms a cloudy veil which shrouds
the heavens from view, and increases the stifling oppression of the
atmosphere[35]; while the east wind, when it blows over the long-heated
soil, instead of cooling, adds to the burning glow.
Gradually, too, the pools of water, which had been protected from
evaporation by the now seared foliage of the fan-palm, disappear. As in
the icy north animals become torpid from cold, so here the crocodile and
the boa-constrictor lie wrapt in unbroken sleep, deeply buried in the
dried soil. Everywhere the drought announces death, yet everywhere the
thirsting wanderer is deluded by the phantom of a moving, undulating,
watery surface, created by the deceptive play of the reflected rays of
light (the mirage[36]). A narrow stratum separates the ground from the
distant palm-trees, which seem to hover aloft, owing to the contact of
currents of air having different degrees of heat and therefore of
density[E]. Shrouded in dark clouds of dust, and tortured by hunger and
burning thirst, oxen and horses scour the plain, the one bellowing
dismally, the other with outstretched necks snuffing the wind, in the
endeavour to detect, by the moisture in the air, the vicinity of some
pool of water not yet wholly evaporated.
The mule, more cautious and cunning, adopts another method of allaying
his thirst. There is a globular and articulated plant, the
Melocactus[37], which encloses under its prickly integument an aqueous
pulp. After carefully striking away the prickles with his forefeet, the
mule cautiously ventures to apply his lips to imbibe the cooling thistle
juice. But the draught from this living vegetable spring is not always
unattended by danger, and these animals are often observed to have been
lamed by the puncture of the cactus thorn.
Even if the burning heat of day be succeeded by the cool freshness of
the night, here always of equal length, the wearied ox and horse enjoy
no repose. Huge bats now attack the animals during sleep, and
vampyre-like suck their blood;[F] or, fastening on their backs, raise
festering wounds, in which mosquitoes, hippobosces, and a host of other
stinging insects, burrow and nestle. Such is the miserable existence of
these poor animals when the heat of the sun has absorbed the waters from
the surface of the earth.
When, after a long drought, the genial season of rain arrives, the scene
suddenly changes[38]. The deep azure of the hitherto cloudless sky
assumes a lighter hue. Scarcely can the dark space in the constellation
of the Southern Cross be distinguished at night. The mild
phosphorescence of the Magellanic clouds fades away. Even the vertical
stars of the constellations Aquila and Ophiuchus shine with a flickering
and less planetary light. Like some distant mountain, a single cloud is
seen rising perpendicularly on the southern horizon. Misty vapours
collect and gradually overspread the heavens, while distant thunder
proclaims the approach of the vivifying rain.
Scarcely is the surface of the earth moistened before the teeming Steppe
becomes covered with Kyllingiæ, with the many-panicled Paspalum, and a
variety of grasses. Excited by the power of light, the herbaceous Mimosa
unfolds its dormant, drooping leaves, hailing, as it were, the rising
sun in chorus with the matin song of the birds and the opening flowers
of aquatics. Horses and oxen, buoyant with life and enjoyment, roam over
and crop the plains. The luxuriant grass hides the beautifully spotted
Jaguar, who, lurking in safe concealment, and carefully measuring the
extent of the leap, darts, like the Asiatic tiger, with a cat-like bound
on his passing prey.
At times, according to the account of the natives, the humid clay on the
banks of the morasses[39], is seen to rise slowly in broad flakes.
Accompanied by a violent noise, as on the eruption of a small
mud-volcano, the upheaved earth is hurled high into the air. Those who
are familiar with the phenomenon fly from it; for a colossal water-snake
or a mailed and scaly crocodile, awakened from its trance by the first
fall of rain, is about to burst from his tomb.
When the rivers bounding the plain to the south, as the Arauca, the
Apure, and the Payara, gradually overflow their banks, nature compels
those creatures to live as amphibious animals, which, during the first
half of the year, were perishing with thirst on the waterless and dusty
plain. A part of the steppe now presents the appearance of a vast inland
sea[40]. The mares retreat with their foals to the higher banks, which
project, like islands, above the spreading waters. Day by day the dry
surface diminishes in extent. The cattle, crowded together, and deprived
of pasturage, swim for hours about the inundated plain, seeking a scanty
nourishment from the flowering panicles of the grasses which rise above
the lurid and bubbling waters. Many foals are drowned, many are seized
by crocodiles, crushed by their serrated tails, and devoured. Horses and
oxen may not unfrequently be seen which have escaped from the fury of
this blood-thirsty and gigantic lizard, bearing on their legs the marks
of its pointed teeth.
This spectacle involuntarily reminds the contemplative observer of the
adaptability granted by an all-provident nature to certain animals and
plants. Like the farinaceous fruits of Ceres, the ox and horse have
followed man over the whole surface of the earth—from the Ganges to the
Rio de la Plata, and from the sea-coast of Africa to the mountainous
plain of Antisana, which lies higher than the Peak of Teneriffe[41]. In
the one region the northern birch, in the other the date-palm, protects
the wearied ox from the noonday sun. The same species of animal which
contends in eastern Europe with bears and wolves, is exposed, in a
different latitude, to the attacks of tigers and crocodiles!
The crocodile and the jaguar are not, however, the only enemies that
threaten the South American horse; for even among the fishes it has a
dangerous foe. The marshy waters of Bera and Rastro[42] are filled with
innumerable electric eels, who can at pleasure discharge from every part
of their slimy, yellow-speckled bodies a deadening shock. This species
of gymnotus is about five or six feet in length. It is powerful enough
to kill the largest animals when it discharges its nervous organs at one
shock in a favourable direction. It was once found necessary to change
the line of road from Uritucu across the Steppe, owing to the number of
horses which, in fording a certain rivulet, annually fell a sacrifice to
these gymnoti, which had accumulated there in great numbers. All other
species of fish shun the vicinity of these formidable creatures. Even
the angler, when fishing from the high bank, is in dread lest an
electric shock should be conveyed to him along the moistened line. Thus,
in these regions, the electric fire breaks forth from the lowest depths
of the waters.
The mode of capturing the gymnotus affords a picturesque spectacle. A
number of mules and horses are driven into a swamp, which is closely
surrounded by Indians, until the unusual noise excites the daring fish
to venture on an attack. Serpent-like they are seen swimming along the
surface of the water, striving cunningly to glide under the bellies of
the horses. By the force of their invisible blows numbers of the poor
animals are suddenly prostrated; others, snorting and panting, their
manes erect, their eyes wildly flashing with terror, rush madly from the
raging storm; but the Indians, armed with long bamboo staves, drive them
back into the midst of the pool.
By degrees the fury of this unequal contest begins to slacken. Like
clouds that have discharged their electricity, the wearied eels
disperse. They require long rest and nourishing food to repair the
galvanic force which they have so lavishly expended. Their shocks
gradually become weaker and weaker. Terrified by the noise of the
trampling horses, they timidly approach the brink of the morass, where
they are wounded by harpoons, and drawn on shore by non-conducting poles
of dry wood.
Such is the remarkable contest between horses and fish. That which
constitutes the invisible but living weapon of these inhabitants of the
water—that, which awakened by the contact of moist and dissimilar
particles[43], circulates through all the organs of animals and
plants—that which flashing amid the roar of thunder illuminates the wide
canopy of heaven—which binds iron to iron, and directs the silent
recurring course of the magnetic needle—all, like the varied hues of the
refracted ray of light, flow from one common source, and all blend
together into one eternal all-pervading power.
I might here close my bold attempt of delineating the natural picture of
the Steppe; but, as on the ocean, fancy delights in dwelling on the
recollections of distant shores, so will we, ere the vast plain vanishes
from our view, cast a rapid glance over the regions by which the Steppe
is bounded.
The northern desert of Africa separates two races of men which
originally belonged to the same portion of the globe, and whose
inextinguishable feuds appear as old as the myth of Osiris and
Typhon[44]. To the north of Mount Atlas there dwells a race
characterised by long and straight hair, a sallow complexion, and
Caucasian features; while to the south of Senegal, in the direction of
Soudan, we find hordes of Negroes occupying various grades in the scale
of civilization. In Central Asia the Mongolian Steppe divides Siberian
barbarism from the ancient civilization of the peninsula of Hindostan.
In like manner, the South American Steppes are the boundaries of a
European semi-civilization[45]. To the north, between the mountain chain
of Venezuela and the Caribbean Sea, lie, crowded together, industrial
cities, clean and neat villages, and carefully tilled fields. Even a
taste for arts, scientific culture, and a noble love of civil freedom,
have long since been awakened within these regions.
To the south, a drear and savage wilderness bounds the Steppe. Forests,
the growth of thousands of years, in one impenetrable thicket,
overspread the marshy region between the rivers Orinoco and Amazon. Huge
masses of lead-coloured granite[46] contract the beds of the foaming
rivers. Mountains and forests re-echo with the thunder of rushing
waters, the roar of the tiger-like jaguar, and the dull rain-foreboding
howl of the bearded ape[47].
Where the shallower parts of the river disclose a sandbank, the
crocodile may be seen, with open jaws, and motionless as a rock, its
uncouth body often covered with birds[48]; while the chequered
boa-constrictor, its tail lashed round the trunk of a tree, lies coiled
in ambush near the bank, ready to dart with certain aim on its prey.
Rapidly uncoiling, it stretches forth its body to seize the young bull,
or some feebler prey, as it fords the stream, and moistening its victim
with a viscid secretion, laboriously forces it down its dilating
throat[49].
In this grand and wild condition of nature dwell numerous races of men.
Separated by a remarkable diversity of languages, some are nomadic,
unacquainted with agriculture, and living on ants, gums, and earth, mere
outcasts of humanity[50], such as the Ottomaks and Jarures: others, for
instance the Maquiritares and Macos, have settled habitations, live on
fruits cultivated by themselves, are intelligent, and of gentler
manners. Extensive tracts between the Cassiquiare and the Atabapo are
inhabited solely by the Tapir and social apes; not by man. Figures
graven on the rocks[51] attest that even these deserts were once the
seat of a higher civilization. They bear testimony, as do also the
unequally developed and varying languages (which are amongst the oldest
and most imperishable of the historical records of man), to the changing
destinies of nations.
While on the Steppe tigers and crocodiles contend with horses and
cattle, so on the forest borders and in the wilds of Guiana the hand of
man is ever raised against his fellow man. With revolting eagerness,
some tribes drink the flowing blood of their foes, whilst others,
seemingly unarmed, yet prepared for murder, deal certain death with a
poisoned thumb-nail[52]. The feebler tribes, when they tread the sandy
shores, carefully efface with their hands the traces of their trembling
steps.
Thus does man, everywhere alike, on the lowest scale of brutish
debasement, and in the false glitter of his higher culture, perpetually
create for himself a life of care. And thus, too, the traveller,
wandering over the wide world by sea and land, and the historian who
searches the records of bygone ages, are everywhere met by the unvarying
and melancholy spectacle of man opposed to man.
He, therefore, who amid the discordant strife of nations, would seek
intellectual repose, turns with delight to contemplate the silent life
of plants, and to study the hidden forces of nature in her sacred
sanctuaries; or yielding to that inherent impulse, which for thousands
of years has glowed in the breast of man, directs his mind, by a
mysterious presentiment of his destiny, towards the celestial orbs,
which, in undisturbed harmony, pursue their ancient and eternal
course.[G]