_January 18th._—To-day we have been on a hunt after the Victoria regia.

We have made constant efforts to see this famous lily growing in its

native waters; but, though frequently told that it was plenty at certain

seasons in the lakes and igarapés, we have never been able to find it.

Yesterday some of the officers of the ship, who had been on an excursion

to a neighboring lake, returned laden with botanical treasures of all

sorts, and, among other plants, an immense lily-leaf, which, from its

dimensions, we judged must be the Victoria regia, though it had not the

erect edge so characteristic of it. This morning, accompanied by two or

three of yesterday’s party, who kindly undertook to be our guides, we

went to visit the same lake. A short walk from the river-bank brought us

to the shore of a large sheet of water,—the Lago Maximo,—which connects

with the Ramos by a narrow outlet, but at a point so distant from our

anchorage that it would have been necessary to make a great detour in

order to reach it in a canoe. We found an old montaria, with one or two

broken paddles, left, as it seemed, at the lake-shore for whom it might

concern, and in that we embarked at once. The banks of this lake are

bordered with beautiful forests, which do not, however, rise immediately

from the water, but are divided from it by a broad band of grass. We saw

many water-birds on this grassy edge, as well as on several dead trees,

the branches of which were completely covered with gulls, all in exactly

the same attitude, facing one way, to meet the wind which blew strongly

against them. Ducks and ciganas were plenty; and once or twice we

startled up from the woods small flocks of mackaws,—not only the gaudy

red, green, and yellow species, but the far more beautiful blue mackaw.

They flew by us, with their gorgeous plumage glittering in the sun, and

disappeared again among the trees, seeking deeper and more undisturbed

retreats. From the reedy grasses came also the deep note of the unicorn,

so greatly prized in Brazil,—a large bird, half wader, half fowl,

belonging to the genus Palamedea; but as we were only prepared for a

botanizing expedition, we could not avail ourselves of any of the

opportunities thus offered; and the birds, however near and tempting the

shots, had little to fear from us. At the upper end of the lake we came

upon the bed of water-lilies from which the trophies of yesterday had

been gathered. The leaves were very large, many of them from four to

five feet in diameter; but, perhaps from having lost their first

freshness and something therefore of their natural texture, the edge of

the leaf was scarcely perceptibly raised, and in most instances lay

perfectly flat upon the water. We found buds, but no perfect flower. In

the afternoon, however, one of the daughters of our fisherman Maia,

hearing that we wished to see one of the flowers, brought us a very

perfect specimen from another more distant locality, which we had not

time to visit. The Indians, by the way, have a characteristic name for

the leaf. They call it “forno,” on account of its resemblance to the

immense shallow pans in which they bake their farinha over the mandioca

ovens. The Victoria regia, with its formidable armor of spines, its

gigantic leaves, and beautiful flowers, deepening in color from the

velvety white outer leaves through every shade of rose to deepest

crimson, and fading again to a creamy, yellowish tint in the heart of

the flower, has been described so often that I hardly dare dwell upon

it, for fear of wearying the reader. And yet we could not see it growing

in its native waters—a type, as it were, of the luxuriance of tropical

nature—without the deepest interest. Wonderful as it is when seen in the

tank of a greenhouse, and perhaps even more impressive, in a certain

sense, from its isolation, in its own home it has the charm of harmony

with all that surrounds it,—with the dense mass of forest, with palm and

parasite, with birds of glowing plumage, with insects of all bright and

wonderful tints, and with fishes which, though hidden in the water

beneath it, are not less brilliant and varied than the world of life

above. I do not remember to have seen an allusion, in any description,

to the beautiful device by which the whole immense surface of the adult

leaf is contained within the smaller dimensions of the young one; though

it is well worth notice, as one of the neatest specimens of Nature’s

packing. All know the heavy scaffolding of ribs by which the colossal

leaf, when full grown, is supported on its under side. In the young leaf

these ribs are comparatively small, but the whole green expanse of the

adult leaf is gathered in between them in regular rows of delicate

puffings. At this period, the leaf is far below the surface of the

water, growing slowly up from the base of the stock from which it

springs. Thus drawn up, it has the form of a deep cup or vase; but in

proportion as the ribs grow, their ramifications stretching in every

direction, the leaf lets out one by one its little folds, to fill the

ever-widening spaces; till at last, when it reaches the surface of the

water, it rests horizontally above it, without a wrinkle. Mr. Agassiz

caused several stocks to be dragged up from the bottom (no easy matter,

on account of the spines), and found the leaf-buds just starting between

the roots,—little white caps, not more than half an inch in height.

There was another lily growing in this lake, which, though diminutive by

the side of the Victoria, would be a giant among our water-lilies. The

leaf measured more than a foot in diameter, and was slightly scolloped

around the edge. There were no open flowers, but the closed buds

resembled those of our common white water-lilies, and were no larger.

The stalk and ribs, unlike those of the Victoria, were quite smooth, and

free from thorns. After our visit to the lilies, we paddled in among the

trees along the overflowed margin of the lake, in order that the boatmen

might cut down several palms new to us. While waiting under the trees in

the boat, we had cause to admire the variety and beauty of the insects

fluttering about us; the large blue butterflies (Morpho), and the

brilliant dragon-flies, with crimson bodies and burnished wings,

glittering with metallic lustre.[88]

_January 21st._—Obydos. We left Villa Bella yesterday with a large

collection of fishes, and some valuable additions to the collection of

palms. The general character of the fish collections, both from the

river Ramos and the Lago Maximo, shows the faunæ to be the same now as

when we were here five months ago. Certainly, during this interval,

migration has had no perceptible influence upon the distribution of life

in these waters. Leaving Villa Bella at night, we reached Obydos early

this morning. This pretty town is one of the most picturesque in

position, on the Amazons. It stands on a steep bluff, commanding an

extensive view of the river west and east, and is one of the few points

at which the southern and northern shores are seen at the same time. The

bluff of Obydos is crowned by a fortress, which has stood here for many

years without occasion to test its power. It may be doubted whether it

would be very effectual in barring the river against a hostile force,

inasmuch as its guns, though they carry perfectly well to the opposite

side, are powerless nearer home. The slope of the cliff on which the

fortress stands intervenes between it and the water below, so that by

keeping well in to shore the enemy could pass with impunity immediately

under the guns. The hill consists entirely of the same red drift so

constantly recurring on the banks of the Amazons and its tributaries.

Here it is more full of pebbles than at Manaos or at Teffé; and we saw

these pebbles disposed in lines or horizontal beds, such as are found in

the same deposit along the coast and in the neighborhood of Rio. The

city of Obydos is prettily laid out, its environs are very picturesque,

its soil extremely fertile; but it has the same aspect of neglect and

hopeless inactivity so painfully striking in all the Amazonian towns.

_January 23d._ Yesterday, in the early morning, we arrived at Santarem,

and went on shore for a walk at half past seven. The town stands on a

point of land dividing the black waters of the Tapajoz, on the one side,

from the yellow flood of the Amazons on the other, and has a very

attractive situation, enhanced by its background of hills stretching

away to the eastward. Our first visit was to the church, fronting on the

beach and standing invitingly open. We had, however, a special object in

entering it. In 1819 Martius, the naturalist, on his voyage of

exploration on the Amazons, since made famous by his great work on the

Natural History of Brazil, was wrecked off the town of Santarem, and

nearly lost his life. In his great danger he took a vow to record his

gratitude, should he live, by making a gift to the church of Santarem.

After his return to Europe, he sent from Munich a full-length figure of

Christ upon the cross, which now hangs against the wall, with a simple

inscription underneath, telling in a few words the story of his peril,

his deliverance, and his gratitude. As a work of art it has no special

value, but it attracts many persons to the church who never heard of

Martius or his famous journey; and to Mr. Agassiz it was especially

interesting, as connected with the travels and dangers of his old friend

and teacher.

After a walk through the town, which is built with more care, and

contains some houses having more pretensions to comfort and elegance

than we have seen elsewhere on the Amazons, we returned to the ship for

breakfast. At a later hour we went on a very pleasant canoe excursion to

the other side of the Tapajoz, again in search of the Victoria regia,

said to grow in great perfection in this neighborhood. Our guide was

Senhor Joachim Rodriguez, to whom Mr. Agassiz has been indebted for much

personal kindness, as well as for a very valuable collection made since

we stopped here on our way up the river, partly by himself and partly by

his son, a bright boy of some thirteen years of age. Crossing to the

opposite side of the river, we came upon a vast field of coarse, high

grass, looking like an extensive meadow. To our surprise, the boatmen

turned the canoe into this green field, and we found ourselves

apparently navigating the land, for the narrow boat-path was entirely

concealed by the long reedy grasses and tall mallow-plants with large

pink blossoms rising on either side, and completely hiding the water

below. This marshy, overflowed ground, above which the water had a depth

of from four to six feet, was full of life. As the rowers pushed our

canoe through the mass of grass and flowers, Mr. Agassiz gathered from

the blades and stalks all sorts of creatures; small bright-colored toads

of several kinds, grasshoppers, beetles, dragon-flies, aquatic snails,

bunches of eggs,—in short, an endless variety of living things, most

interesting to the naturalist. The harvest was so plentiful that we had

only to put out our hands and gather it; the oarsmen, when they saw Mr.

Agassiz’s enthusiasm, became almost as interested as he was; and he had

soon a large jar filled with objects quite new to him. After navigating

these meadows for some time, we came upon open water-spaces where the

Victoria regia was growing in great perfection. The specimens were much

finer than those we had seen before in the Lago Maximo. One leaf

measured five feet and a half in diameter, and another five feet, the

erect edge being three inches and a half in height. A number of leaves

grew from the same stalk; and seen thus together they are very

beautiful, the bright rose-color of the outer edge contrasting with the

vivid green of the inner surface of the leaf. As before, there were no

open flowers to be seen; Senhor Rodriguez told us that they are cut by

the fishermen almost as soon as they open. When Mr. Agassiz expressed a

wish to get the roots, two of our boatmen plunged into the water with an

alacrity which surprised me, as we had just been told that these marshes

are the haunts of Jacarés. They took turns in diving to dig up the

plants, and succeeded in bringing to the surface three large stalks, one

with a flower-bud. We returned well pleased with our row overland.

Our live-stock is increasing as we descend the river, and we have now

quite a menagerie on board; a number of parrots, half a dozen monkeys,

two exquisite little deer from the region of Monte Alégre, and several

Agamis, as tame and gentle as barn-yard fowls, stepping about the deck

with graceful, dainty tread, and feeding from the hand. Their voices are

singularly harsh, however, and out of keeping with their pretty looks

and ways. Every now and then they raise their heads, stretch their long

necks, and utter a loud, gurgling sound, more like the roll of a drum

than the note of a bird. Last, but not least, we have a sloth on board,

the most fascinating of all our pets to me, not certainly for his

charms, but for his oddities. I am never tired of watching him, he looks

so deliciously lazy. His head sunk in his arms, his whole attitude lax

and indifferent, he seems to ask only for rest. If you push him, or if,

as often happens, a passer-by gives him a smart tap to arouse him, he

lifts his head and drops his arms so slowly, so deliberately, that they

hardly seem to move, raises his heavy lids and lets his large eyes rest

upon your face for a moment with appealing, hopeless indolence; then the

lids fall softly, the head droops, the arms fold heavily about it, and

he collapses again into absolute repose. This mute remonstrance is the

nearest approach to activity I have seen him make. These live animals

are not all a part of the scientific collections; many of them belong to

the captain and officers. The Brazilians are exceedingly fond of pets,

and almost every house has its monkeys, its parrots, and other tame

animals and birds.

_January 26th._—Monte Alégre. Leaving Santarem on Tuesday we arrived

here on Wednesday morning, and, as on our former visit, were received

most hospitably at the house of Senhor Manuel. Mr. Agassiz and Mr.

Coutinho have gone on a geologizing excursion to the Serra d’Ereré, that

picturesque range of hills bounding the campos, or open sandy plain, to

the northwest of the town. They took different routes, Major Coutinho,

with Captain Faria and one or two other friends, crossing the campos on

horseback, while Mr. Agassiz went by canoe. They will meet at the foot

of the Serra, and pass two or three days in that neighborhood. Little is

as yet known of the geological structure of the Amazonian Serras,—those

of Santarem, of Monte Alégre, and of Almeyrim. Generally they have been

considered as prolongations either of the table-land of Guiana on the

north, or that of Brazil on the south. Mr. Agassiz believes them to be

independent of both, and more directly connected with the formation of

the Amazonian Valley itself. The solution of this question is his

special object, while Major Coutinho has taken barometers to determine

the height of the range. In the mean time, I am passing a few quiet days

here, learning to be more familiar with the scenery of a region very

justly called one of the most picturesque on the borders of the Amazons.

Not only are the views extensive, but the friable nature of the soil, so

easily decomposed, combined with the heavy rains, has led to the

formation of a variety of picturesque dells and hollows, some of which

have springs running into them, surrounded by rocky banks and overhung

with trees. One of these is especially pretty; the excavation is large,

and has the form of an amphitheatre; its rocky walls are crowned with

large forest-trees, palms, mimosas, etc., making a deep shade; and at

one side the spring flows down from the top of the cliff, with a

pleasant ripple. Here the negro or Indian servants come to fill their

water-jars. They often have with them the children under their charge;

and you may sometimes see the large red jars standing under the mouth of

the spring above, while white babies and dark nurses splash about in the

cool water-basin below. Although in the campos the growth is low, and

the soil but scantily covered with coarse grass and shrubs, yet, in some

localities, and especially in the neighborhood of the town, the forest

is beautiful. We have seen nowhere larger and more luxuriant mimosas,

sometimes of a green so rich and deep, and a foliage so close that it is

difficult to believe, at a distance, that its dense mass is formed by

the light, pinnate leaves of a sensitive plant. The palms are also very

lofty and numerous, including some kinds which we have not met before.

_January 28th._—Yesterday our kind host arranged an excursion into the

country, for my especial pleasure, that I might see something of the

characteristic amusements of Monte Alégre. One or two neighbors joined

us, and the children, a host of happy little folks, for whom anything

out of the common tenor of every-day life is “_festa_,” were not left

behind. We started on foot to walk out into a very picturesque Indian

village called Surubiju. Here we were to breakfast, returning afterwards

in one of the heavy carts drawn by oxen, the only conveyance for women

and children in a country where a carriage-road and a side-saddle are

equally unknown. Our walk was very pleasant, partly through the woods,

partly through the campos; but as it was early in the day, we did not

miss the shade when we chanced to leave the trees. We lingered by the

wayside, the children stopping to gather wild fruits, of which there

were a number on the road, and to help me in making a collection of

plants. It was about nine o’clock when we reached the first straw-house,

where we stopped to rest. Though it has no longer the charm of novelty

for me, I am always glad to visit an Indian cottage. You find a cordial

welcome; the best hammock, the coolest corner, and a _cuia_ of fresh

water are ready for you. As a general thing, the houses of the Indians

are also more tidy than those of the whites; and there is a certain

charm of picturesqueness about them which never wears off.

After a short rest, we went on through the settlement, where the sitios

are scattered at considerable distances, and so completely surrounded by

trees that they seem quite isolated in the forest. Although the Indians

are said to be a lazy people, and are unquestionably fitful and

irregular in their habits of work, in almost all these houses some

characteristic occupation was going on. In two or three the women were

making hammocks, in one a boy was plaiting the leaves of the Curua palm

into a tolda for his canoe, in another the inmates were making a coarse

kind of pottery; and in still another a woman, who is quite famous in

the neighborhood for her skill in the art, was painting cuias. It was

the first time I had seen the prepared colors made from a certain kind

of clay found in the Serra. It is just the carnival season, and, as

every one has a right to play pranks on his neighbors, we did not get

off without making a closer acquaintance than was altogether pleasant

with the rustic artist’s colors. As we were leaving the cottage, she

darted out upon us, her hands full of blue and red paints. If they had

been tomahawks, they could not have produced a more sudden rout; and it

was a complete _sauve qui peut_ of the whole company across the little

bridge which led to the house. As a stranger, I was spared; but all were

not fortunate enough to escape, and some of the children carried their

blue and red badges to the end of the day.

The prettiest of all these forest sitios was one at the bottom of a deep

dell, reached by a steep, winding path through a magnificent wood

abounding in palms. But though the situation was most picturesque, the

sickly appearance of the children and the accounts of prevailing illness

showed that the locality was too low and damp to be healthful. After a

very pleasant ramble we returned to breakfast at our first

resting-place, and at about one o’clock started for town in two ox-carts

which had come out to meet us. They consist only of a floor set on very

heavy, creaking wooden wheels, which, from their primitive, clumsy

character, would seem to be the first wheels ever invented. On the floor

a straw-mat was spread, an awning was stretched over a light scaffolding

above, and we were soon stowed away in our primitive vehicle, and had a

very gay and pleasant ride back to town. Yesterday evening Mr. Agassiz

returned from his excursion to the Serra Ereré. I add here a little

account of the journey, written out from his notes, and containing some

remarks on the general aspect of the country, its vegetation and

animals. A summary of the geological results of the excursion will be

found in a separate chapter at the close of our Amazonian journey.

“I started before daylight; but as the dawn began to redden the sky

large flocks of ducks, and of the small Amazonian goose, might be seen

flying towards the lakes. Here and there a cormorant sat alone on the

branch of a dead tree, or a kingfisher poised himself over the water,

watching for his prey. Numerous gulls were gathered in large companies

on the trees along the river-shore; alligators lay on its surface,

diving with a sudden plash at the approach of our canoe; and

occasionally a porpoise emerged from the water, showing himself for a

moment and then disappearing again. Sometimes we startled a herd of

capivaras, resting on the water’s edge; and once we saw a sloth, sitting

upon the branch of an Imbauba tree (Cecropia), rolled up in its peculiar

attitude, the very picture of indolence, with its head sunk between its

arms. Much of the river-shore consisted of low, alluvial land, and was

covered with that peculiar and beautiful grass known as Capim; this

grass makes an excellent pasturage for cattle, and the abundance of it

in this region renders the district of Monte Alégre very favorable for

agricultural purposes. Here and there, where the red-clay soil rose

above the level of the water, a palm-thatched cabin stood on the low

bluff, with a few trees about it. Such a house was usually the centre of

a cattle-farm, and large herds might be seen grazing in the adjoining

fields. Along the river-banks, where the country is chiefly open, with

extensive low, marshy grounds, the only palm to be seen is the Maraja

(Geonoma). After keeping along the Rio Gurupatuba for some distance, we

turned to the right into a narrow stream, which has the character of an

igarapé in its lower course, though higher up it drains the country

between the serra of Ereré and that of Tajury, and assumes the

appearance of a small river. It is named after the serra, and is known

as the Rio Ereré. This stream, narrow and picturesque, and often so

overgrown with capim that the canoe pursued its course with difficulty,

passed through a magnificent forest of the beautiful fan-palm, called

the Miriti (Mauritia flexuosa). This forest stretched for miles,

overshadowing, as a kind of underbrush, many smaller trees and

innumerable shrubs, some of which bore bright, conspicuous flowers. It

seemed to me a strange spectacle,—a forest of monocotyledonous trees

with a dicotyledonous undergrowth; the inferior plants thus towering

above and sheltering the superior ones. Among the lower trees were many

Leguminosæ,—one of the most striking, called Fava, having a colossal

pod. The whole mass of vegetation was woven together by innumerable

lianas and creeping vines, in the midst of which the flowers of the

Bignonia, with its open, trumpet-shaped corolla, were conspicuous. The

capim was bright with the blossoms of the mallow, growing in its midst;

and was often edged with the broad-leaved Aninga, a large aquatic Arum.

“Through such a forest, where the animal life was no less rich and

varied than the vegetation, our boat glided slowly for hours. The number

and variety of birds struck me with astonishment. The coarse, sedgy

grasses on either side were full of water birds, one of the most common

of which was a small chestnut-brown wading bird, the Jaçana (Parra),

whose toes are immensely long in proportion to its size, enabling it to

run upon the surface of the aquatic vegetation, as if it were solid

ground. It was now the month of January, their breeding season; and at

every turn of the boat we started them up in pairs. Their flat, open

nests generally contained five flesh-colored eggs, streaked in zigzag

with dark brown lines. The other waders were a snow-white heron, another

ash-colored, smaller species, and a large white stork. The ash-colored

herons were always in pairs; the white ones always single, standing

quiet and alone on the edge of the water, or half hidden in the green

capim. The trees and bushes were full of small warbler-like birds, which

it would be difficult to characterize separately. To the ordinary

observer they might seem like the small birds of our woods; but there

was one species among them which attracted my attention by its numbers,

and also because it builds the most extraordinary nest, considering the

size of the bird itself, that I have ever seen. It is known among the

country people by two names, as the Pedreiro or the Forneiro; both names

referring, as will be seen, to the nature of its habitation. This

singular nest is built of clay, and is as hard as stone (_pedra_), while

it has the form of the round mandioca oven (_forno_) in which the

country people prepare their farinha, or flour, made from the mandioca

root. It is about a foot in diameter, and stands edgewise upon a branch,

or in the crotch of a tree. Among the smaller birds I noticed bright

Tanagers, and also a species resembling the Canary. Besides these, there

were the wagtails; the black and white widow-finches; the hang-nests, or

Japi, as they are called here, with their pendent, bag-like dwellings,

and the familiar “Bem ti vi.” Humming-birds, which we are always apt to

associate with tropical vegetation, were very scarce. I saw but a few

specimens. Thrushes and doves were more frequent, and I noticed also

three or four kinds of woodpeckers, beside parrots and paroquets; of

these latter there were countless numbers along our canoe path, flying

overhead in dense crowds, and at times drowning every other sound in

their high, noisy chatter.

“Some of these birds made a deep impression upon me. Indeed, in all

regions, however far away from his own home, in the midst of a fauna and

flora entirely new to him, the traveller is startled occasionally by the

song of a bird or the sight of a flower so familiar that it transports

him at once to woods where every tree is like a friend to him. It seems

as if something akin to what in our own mental experience we call

reminiscence or association existed in the workings of Nature; for

though the organic combinations are so distinct in different climates

and countries, they never wholly exclude each other. Every zoölogical

and botanical province retains some link which binds it to all the

others, and makes it part of the general harmony. The Arctic lichen is

found growing under the shadow of the palm on the rocks of the tropical

serra; and the song of the thrush and the tap of the woodpecker mingle

with the sharp, discordant cries of the parrot and paroquet.

“Birds of prey, also, were not wanting. Among them was one about the

size of our kite, and called the Red Hawk, which was so tame that, even

when our canoe passed immediately under the low branch on which he was

sitting, he did not fly away. But, of all the groups of birds, the most

striking as compared with corresponding groups in the temperate zone,

and the one which reminded me the most distinctly of the fact that every

region has its peculiar animal world, was that of the gallinaceous

birds. The most frequent is the Cigana, to be seen in groups of fifteen

or twenty, perched upon trees overhanging the water, and feeding upon

berries. At night they roost in pairs, but in the daytime are always in

larger companies. In their appearance they have something of the

character of both the pheasant and peacock, and yet do not closely

resemble either. It is a curious fact, that, with the exception of some

small partridge-like gallinaceous birds, all the representatives of this

family in Brazil, and especially in the valley of the Amazons, belong to

types which do not exist in other parts of the world. Here we find

neither pheasants, nor cocks of the woods, nor grouse; but in their

place abound the Mutum, the Jacu, the Jacami, and the Unicorn (Crax,

Penelope, Psophia, and Palamedea), all of which are so remote from the

gallinaceous types found farther north that they remind one quite as

much of the bustard, and other ostrich-like birds, as of the hen and

pheasant. They differ also from northern gallinaceous birds in the

greater uniformity of the sexes, none of them exhibiting those striking

differences between the males and females which we see in the pheasants,

the cocks of the woods, and in our barn-yard fowls, though the plumage

of the young has the yellowish-mottled color distinguishing the females

of most species of this family. While birds abounded in such numbers,

insects were rather scarce. I saw but few and small butterflies, and

beetles were still more rare. The most numerous insects were the

dragon-flies,—some with crimson bodies, black heads, and burnished

wings; others with large green bodies, crossed by blue bands. Of

land-shells I saw but one, creeping along the reeds; and of water-shells

I gathered only a few small Ampullariæ.

“Having ascended the river to a point nearly on a line with the serra, I

landed, and struck across the campos on foot. Here I entered upon an

entirely different region,—a dry, open plain, with scanty vegetation.

The most prominent plants were clusters of Cacti and Curua palms, a kind

of stemless, low palm, with broad, elegant leaves springing vase-like

from the ground. In these dry, sandy fields, rising gradually toward the

serra, I observed in the deeper gullies formed by the heavy rains the

laminated clays which are everywhere the foundation of the Amazonian

strata. They here presented again so much the character of ordinary

clay-slates that I thought I had at last come upon some old geological

formation. Instead of this I only obtained fresh evidence that, by

baking them, the burning sun of the tropics may produce upon laminated

clays of recent origin the same effect as plutonic agencies have

produced upon the ancient clays,—that is, it may change them into

metamorphic slates. As I approached the serra, I was again reminded how,

under the most dissimilar circumstances, similar features recur

everywhere in nature. I came suddenly upon a little creek, bordered with

the usual vegetation of such shallow water-courses, and on its brink

stood a sand-piper, which flew away at my approach, uttering its

peculiar cry, so like what we hear at home that, had I not seen him, I

should have recognized him by his voice. After an hour’s walk under the

scorching sun, I was glad to find myself at the hamlet of Ereré, near

the foot of the serra, where I rejoined my companions. This is almost

the only occasion in all my Amazonian journey when I have passed a day

in the pure enjoyment of nature, without the labor of collecting, which

in this hot climate, where specimens require such immediate and constant

attention, is very great. I learned how rich a single day may be in this

wonderful tropical world, if one’s eyes are only open to the wealth of

animal and vegetable life. Indeed, a few hours so spent in the field, in

simply watching animals and plants, teaches more of the distribution of

life than a month of closet study; for under such circumstances all

things are seen in their true relations. Unhappily, it is not easy to

present the picture as a whole; for all our written descriptions are

more or less dependent on nomenclature, and the local names are hardly

known out of the districts where they belong, while systematic names are

familiar to few.”

_January 30th._—On board the “Ibicuhy.” Yesterday we parted from our

kind hosts, and bade good by to Monte Alégre. I shall long retain a

picture, half pleasant, half sad, of its shady, picturesque walks and

dells; of its wide green square, with the unfinished cathedral in the

centre, where trees and vines mantle the open doors and windows, and

grass grows thick over the unfrequented aisles; of its neglected

cemetery, and the magnificent view it commands over an endless labyrinth

of lakes on one side, beyond which glitter the yellow waters of the

Amazons, while, on the other, the level campos is bordered by the

picturesque heights of the distant Serra. I have never been able to

explain quite to my own satisfaction the somewhat melancholy impression

which this region, lovely as it unquestionably is, made upon me when I

first saw it,—an impression not wholly destroyed by a longer residence.

Perhaps it is the general aspect of incompleteness and decay, the

absence of energy and enterprise, making the lavish gifts of Nature of

no avail. In the midst of a country which should be overflowing with

agricultural products, neither milk, nor butter, nor cheese, nor

vegetables, nor fruit, are to be had. You constantly hear people

complaining of the difficulty of procuring even the commonest articles

of domestic consumption, when, in fact, they ought to be produced by

every land-owner. The agricultural districts in Brazil are rich and

fertile, but there is no agricultural population. The nomad Indian,

floating about in his canoe, the only home to which he has a genuine

attachment, never striking root in the soil, has no genius for

cultivating the ground. As an illustration of the Indian character, it

may not be amiss to record an incident which occurred yesterday when we

were leaving Monte Alégre. On his journey to Ereré, Major Coutinho had

been requested by an Indian and his wife, whose acquaintance he had made

in former excursions there, to take one of their boys, a child about

eight years of age, with him to Rio. This is very common among the

Indians; they are not unwilling to give up their children, if they can

secure a maintenance for them, and perhaps some advantages of education

besides. On the day of departure, the mother and father and two sisters

accompanied the child to the steamer, but I think, as the sequel showed,

rather for the sake of seeing the ship, and having a day of amusement,

than from any sentiment about parting with the child. When the moment of

separation came, the mother, with an air of perfect indifference, gave

the little boy her hand to kiss. The father seemed to be going off

without remembering his son at all; but the little fellow ran after him,

took his hand and kissed it, and then stood crying and broken-hearted on

the deck, while the whole family put off in the canoe, talking and

laughing gayly, without showing him the least sympathy. Such traits are

said to be very characteristic of the Indians. They are cold in their

family affections; and though the mothers are very fond of their babies,

they seem comparatively indifferent to them as they grow up. It is,

indeed, impossible to rely upon the affection of an Indian, even though

isolated cases of remarkable fidelity have been known among them. But I

have been told over and over again, by those who have had personal

experience in the matter, that you may take an Indian child, bring him

up, treat him with every kindness, educate him, clothe him, and find him

to be a useful and seemingly faithful member of the household; one day

he is gone, you know not where, and in every probability you will never

hear of him again. Theft is not one of their vices. On the contrary,

such an Indian, if he deserts the friend who has reared him and taken

care of him, is very likely to leave behind him all his clothes, except

those he has on, and any presents he may have received. The only thing

he may be tempted to take will be a canoe and a pair of oars: with these

an Indian is rich. He only wants to get back to his woods; and he is

deterred by no sentiment of affection, or consideration of interest.

To-day we are passing the hills of Almeyrim. The last time we saw them

it was in the glow of a brilliant sunset; to-day, ragged edges of clouds

overhang them, and they are sombre under a leaden, rainy sky. It is

delightful to Mr. Agassiz, in returning to this locality, to find that

phenomena, which were a blank to him on our voyage up the river, are

perfectly explicable now that he has had an opportunity of studying the

geology of the Amazonian Valley. When we passed these singular

flat-topped hills before, he had no clew to their structure or their

age,—whether granite, as they have been said to be, or sandstone or

limestone; whether primitive, secondary, or tertiary: and their strange

form made the problem still more difficult. Now he sees them simply as

the remnants of a plain which once filled the whole valley of the

Amazons, from the Andes to the Atlantic, from Guiana to Central Brazil.

Denudations on a colossal scale, hitherto unknown to geologists, have

turned this plain into a labyrinth of noble rivers, leaving only here

and there, where the formation has resisted the rush of waters, low

mountains and chains of hills to tell what was its thickness.[89]

_February 1st._—On Tuesday evening we reached Porto do Moz, on the river

Xingú, where we had expected to be detained several days, as Mr. Agassiz

wished especially to obtain the fishes from this river, and, if

possible, from its upper and lower course, between which rapids

intervene. He found, however, his harvest ready to his hand. Senhor

Vinhas, with whom, when stopping here for a few hours on his voyage up

the river, he had had some conversation respecting the scientific

objects of his visit to the Amazons, has made during our absence one of

the finest collections obtained in the whole course of our journey,

containing, in separate lots, the fishes from above and below the

cascade. By means of this double collection, which Mr. Agassiz has

already examined carefully, he ascertains the fact that the faunæ on

either side of the falls are entirely distinct from each other, as are

those of the upper and lower courses of the Amazons, and also those of

its tributaries, lakes, and igarapés. This is a most important addition

to the evidence already obtained of the distinct localization of species

throughout the waters of the Amazonian Valley. We regretted that, on

account of the absence of Senor Vinhas from the town, we could not thank

him in person for this valuable contribution. Finding that the efforts

of this gentleman had really left nothing to be done in this locality,

unless, indeed, we could have stayed long enough to make collections in

all the water-basins connected with the Xingu, we left early in the

morning and reached Gurupá yesterday. This little town stands on a low

cliff some thirty feet above the river. On a projecting point of this

cliff there is an old, abandoned fort; and in the open place adjoining

it stands a church of considerable size, and seemingly in good repair.

But the settlement is evidently not prosperous. Many of its houses are

ruinous and deserted, and there is even less of activity in the aspect

of the place than in most of the Amazonian villages. We heard much of

its insalubrity, and found very severe cases of intermittent fever in

one or two of the houses we entered. While Mr. Agassiz made a call upon

the subdelegado, who was himself confined to his room with fever, I was

invited to rest in the open veranda of a neighboring house, which looked

pretty and attractive enough; for it opened into a sunny garden, where

bananas and oranges and palm-trees were growing. But the old woman who

received me complained bitterly of the dampness, to which, indeed, her

hoarse cough and rheumatism bore testimony; and a man was lying in his

hammock, slung under the porch, who was worn to mere skin and bone with

fever. Here also we received some valuable specimens, collected, since

our previous visit, by the subdelegado and one or two other residents.

_February 3d._—On Thursday we reached Tajapuru, where we were detained

for two days on account of some little repair needed on the steamer. The

place is interesting as showing what may be done on the Amazons in a

short time by enterprise and industry. A settler in these regions may,

if he has the taste and culture to appreciate it, surround himself with

much that is attractive in civilized life. Some seventeen years ago

Senhor Sepeda established himself at this spot, then a complete

wilderness. He has now a very large and pleasant country-house, with a

garden in front and walks in the forest around. The interior of the

house is commodious and tasteful; and we could not but wish, while we

enjoyed Senhor Sepeda’s hospitality, that his example might be followed,

and that there might be many such homes on the banks of the Amazons.

This morning we are again on our way down the river.

_February 4th._—We reached Pará to-day, parting, not without regret,

from the “Ibicuhy,” on board of which we have spent so many pleasant

weeks. Before we left the vessel, Captain Faria ordered the carpenter to

take down our little pavilion on deck. It had been put up for our

accommodation, and had served as our dining-room and our working-room,

our shelter from the sun, and our snug retreat in floods of rain.[90] On

arriving in Pará we found ourselves at once at home in the house of our

kind friend, Senhor Pimenta Bueno, where we look forward to a pleasant

rest from our wanderings. I insert here a letter to the Emperor, written

two or three weeks later, and containing a short summary of the

scientific work on the Amazons.

PARÁ, 23 Février, 1866.

SIRE:—En arrivant à Pará, au commencement de ce mois j’ai eu le

bonheur d’y trouver l’excellente lettre de Votre Majesté, qui

m’attendait depuis quelques jours. J’aurais dû y répondre

immédiatement; mais je n’étais pas en état de le faire, tant j’étais

accablé de fatigue. Il y a trois ou quatre jours seulement que je

commence de nouveau à m’occuper de mes affaires. J’avouerai même que

le pressentiment des regrets qui m’auraient poursuivi le reste de

mes jours m’a seul empêché de retourner directement aux Etats-Unis.

Aujourd’hui encore j’ai de la peine à vaquer aux occupations les

plus simples. Et cependant je ne suis pas malade; je suis seulement

épuisé par un travail incessant et par la contemplation tous les

jours plus vive et plus impressive des grandeurs et des beautés de

cette nature tropicale. J’aurais besoin pour quelque temps de la vue

monotone et sombre d’une forêt de sapins.

Que vous êtes bon, Sire, de penser à moi au milieu des affaires

vitales qui absorbent votre attention et combien vos procédés sont

pleins de délicatesse. Le cadeau de nouvel-an que vous m’annoncez

m’enchante. La perspective de pouvoir ajouter quelques comparaisons

des poissons du bassin de l’Uruguay à celles que j’ai déjà faites

des espèces de l’Amazone et des fleuves de la côte orientale du

Brésil a un attrait tout particulier. Ce sera le premier pas vers la

connaissance des types de la zône tempérée dans l’Amérique du Sud.

Aussi est-ce avec une impatience croissante que je vois venir le

moment où je pourrai les examiner. En attendant, permettez-moi de

vous donner un aperçu rapide des résultats obtenus jusqu’à ce jour

dans le voyage de l’Amazone.

Je ne reviendrai pas sur ce qu’il y a de surprenant dans la grande

variété des espèces de poissons de ce bassin, bien qu’il me soit

encore difficile de me familiariser avec l’idée que l’Amazone

nourrit à peu-près deux fois plus d’espèces que la Méditerrannée et

un nombre plus considérable que l’Océan Atlantique d’un pôle à

l’autre. Je ne puis cependant plus dire avec la même précision quel

est le nombre exact d’espèces de l’Amazone que nous nous sommes

procurées, parceque depuis que je reviens sur mes pas, en descendant

le grand fleuve, je vois des poissons prêts à frayer que j’avais vus

dans d’autres circonstances et vice versâ, et sans avoir recours aux

collections que j’ai faites il y a six mois et qui ne me sont pas

accessibles aujourd’hui, il m’est souvent impossible de déterminer

de mémoire si ce sont les mêmes espèces ou d’autres qui m’avaient

échappé lors de mon premier examen. J’estime cependant que le nombre

total des espèces que je possède actuellement dépasse dix-huit cents

et atteint peut-être à deux mille. Mais ce n’est pas seulement le

nombre des espèces qui surprendra les naturalistes; le fait qu’elles

sont pour la plupart circonscrites dans des limites restreintes est

bien plus surprenant encore et ne laissera pas que d’avoir une

influence directe sur les idées qui se répandent de nos jours sur

l’origine des êtres vivants. Que dans un fleuve comme le

Mississippi, qui, du Nord au Sud, passe successivement par les zones

froide, tempérée et chaude, qui roule ses eaux tantôt sur une

formation géologique, tantôt sur une autre, et traverse des plaines

couvertes au Nord d’une végétation presque arctique et au Sud d’une

flore subtropicale,—que dans un pareil bassin on rencontre des

espèces d’animaux aquatiques différentes, sur différents points de

son trajet, ça se comprend dès qu’on s’est habitué à envisager les

conditions générales d’existence et le climat en particulier comme

la cause première de la diversité que les animaux et les plantes

offrent entre eux, dans les différentes localités; mais que, de

Tabatinga au Pará, dans un fleuve où les eaux ne varient ni par leur

température, ni par la nature de leur lit, ni par la végétation qui

les borde, que dans de pareilles circonstances on rencontre, de

distance en distance, des assemblages de poissons complètement

distincts les uns des autres, c’est ce qui a lieu d’étonner. Je

dirai même que dorénavant cette distribution, qui peut être vérifiée

par quiconque voudra s’en donner la peine, doit jeter beaucoup de

doute sur l’opinion qui attribue la diversité des êtres vivants aux

influences locales.

Un autre côté de ce sujet, encore plus curieux peut-être, est

l’intensité avec laquelle la vie s’est manifestée dans ces eaux.

Tous les fleuves de l’Europe réunis, depuis le Tage jusqu’au Volga,

ne nourissent pas cent cinquante espèces de poissons d’eau douce; et

cependant, dans un petit lac des environs de Manaos, nommé Lago

Hyanuary, qui a à peine quatre ou cinq-cents mètres carrés de

surface, nous avons découvert plus de deux-cents espèces distinctes,

dont la plupart n’ont pas encore été observées ailleurs. Quel

contraste!

L’étude du mélange des races humaines qui se croisent dans ces

régions m’a aussi beaucoup occupé et je me suis procuré de

nombreuses photographies de tous les types que j’ai pu observer. Le

principal résultat auquel je suis arrivé est que les races se

comportent les unes vis-à-vis des autres comme des espèces

distinctes; c. à. d. que les hybrides qui naissent du croisement

d’hommes de race différente sont toujours un mélange des deux types

primitifs et jamais la simple reproduction des caractères de l’un ou

de l’autre des progéniteurs, comme c’est le cas pour les races

d’animaux domestiques.

Je ne dirai rien de mes autres collections qui ont pour la plupart

été faites par mes jeunes compagnons de voyage, plutôt en vue

d’enrichir notre musée que de résoudre quelques questions

scientifiques. Mais je ne saurais laisser passer cette occasion sans

exprimer ma vive reconnaissance pour toutes les facilités que j’ai

dues à la bienveillance de Votre Majesté, dans mes explorations.

Depuis le Président jusqu’au plus humbles employés des provinces que

j’ai parcourues, tous ont rivalisé d’empressement pour me faciliter

mon travail et la Compagnie des vapeurs de l’Amazone a été d’une

libéralité extrême à mon égard. Enfin, Sire, la générosité avec

laquelle vous avez fait mettre un navire de guerre à ma disposition

m’a permis de faire des collections qui seraient restées

inaccessibles pour moi, sans un moyen de transport aussi vaste et

aussi rapide. Permettez-moi d’ajouter que de toutes les faveurs dont

Votre Majesté m’a comblé pour ce voyage, la plus précieuse a été la

présence du Major Coutinho, dont la familiarité avec tout ce qui

regarde l’Amazone a été une source intarissable de renseignements

importants et de directions utiles pour éviter des courses oiseuses

et la perte d’un temps précieux. L’étendue des connaissances de

Coutinho, en ce qui touche l’Amazone, est vraiment encyclopédique,

et je crois que ce serait un grand service à rendre à la science que

de lui fournir l’occasion de rédiger et de publier tout ce qu’il a

observé pendant ses visites répétées et prolongées dans cette partie

de l’Empire. Sa coopération pendant ce dernier voyage a été des plus

laborieuses; il s’est mis à la zoologie comme si les sciences

physiques n’avaient pas été l’objet spécial de ses études, en même

temps qu’il a fait par devers lui de nombreuses observations

thermométriques, barométriques, et astronomiques, qui ajouteront de

bons jalons à ce que l’on possède déjà sur la météorologie et la

topographie de ces provinces. C’est ainsi que nous avons les

premiers porté le baromètre au milieu des collines d’Almeyrim, de

Monte Alégre, et d’Ereré et mesuré leurs sommets les plus élevés.

L’étude de la formation de la vallée de l’Amazone m’a naturellement

occupé, bien que secondairement, dès le premier jour que je l’ai

abordée.

* * * * *

Mais il est temps que je finisse cette longue épître en demandant

pardon à Votre Majesté d’avoir mis sa patience à une aussi rude

épreuve.

De Votre Majesté le serviteur le plus dévoué et le plus affectueux,

L. AGASSIZ.[91]

_February 24th._—Pará, Nazareth. Our time has passed so quietly here

that it gives me nothing to record. Mr. Agassiz has found himself in

such absolute need of rest, after having arranged and put in order for

transportation to the United States the collections accumulated, that

our intended trip to the island of Marajo has been postponed day after

day. Yesterday I witnessed a religious procession in Pará,—one of the

many festas said to be gradually dying out, and to be already shorn of

much of their ancient glory. It represented a scene from the passion of

Christ. The life-size figure of the Saviour, sinking under the cross, is

borne on a platform through the streets. Little girls, dressed as

angels, walk before it, and it is accompanied by numerous dignitaries of

the Church. Altars are illuminated in the different churches; the

populace, even down to the children, are dressed in black; and the

balconies of every house filled with figures in mourning, waiting for

the sad procession to pass by.

_February 28th._—Off Marajo, in the steamer Tabatinga. All great rivers,

as the Nile, the Mississippi, the Ganges, the Danube, have their deltas;

but the largest river in the world, the Amazons, is an exception to this

rule. What, then, is the geological character of the great island which

obstructs its opening into the ocean? This is the question which has

made a visit to Marajo of special interest to Mr. Agassiz. Leaving Pará

at midnight, we reached the little town of Sourés early this morning. It

is a village lying on the southeastern side of the island, and so far

seaward that, in the dry season, when the diminished current of the

Amazonian waters is overborne by the tides, the water is salt enough to

afford excellent sea-bathing, and is resorted to for that purpose by

many families from Pará. At this moment, however, the water has not even

a brackish character. The only building of any interest in the town is

the old Jesuit church, a remnant of the earliest chapter in the

civilization of South America. However tinged with ambition and a love

of temporal power, the work of the Jesuits in Brazil tended toward the

establishment of an organized system of labor, which one cannot but wish

had been continued. All that remains of the Jesuit missions goes to

prove that they were centres of industry. These men contrived to impart,

even to the wandering Indian, some faint reflection of their own

persistency and steadfastness of purpose. Farms were connected with all

the Indian missions; under the direction of the fathers, the Indians

learned something of agriculture, which the Jesuits readily saw to be

one of the great civilizing influences in a country so fertile. They

introduced a variety of vegetables and grains, and had herds of cattle

where cattle now are hardly known. Humboldt, speaking of the destruction

of the Jesuit missions, says, in reference to the Indians of Atures, on

the Orinoco: “Formerly, being excited to labor by the Jesuits, they did

not want for food. The fathers cultivated maize, French beans, and other

European vegetables. They even planted sweet oranges and tamarinds round

the villages; and they possessed twenty or thirty thousand head of cows

and horses in the savannas of Atures and Carichana.... Since the year

1795, the cattle of the Jesuits have entirely disappeared. There now

remain as monuments of the ancient cultivation of these countries, and

the active industry of the first missionaries, only a few trunks of the

orange and tamarind in the savannas, surrounded by wild trees.”[92]

Our walk through the little village of Sourés brought us to the low

cliffs on the shore, which we had already seen from the steamer. The

same formations prevail all along the coast of this island that we have

found everywhere on the banks of the Amazons. Lowest, a well-stratified,

rather coarse sandstone, immediately above which, and conformable with

it, are finely laminated clays, covered by a crust. Upon this lies the

highly ferruginous sandstone, in which an irregular cross stratification

frequently alternates with the regular beds; above this, following all

the undulations of its surface, is the well-known reddish sandy clay,

with quartz pebbles scattered through its mass, and only here and there

faint traces of an indistinct stratification. This afternoon Mr. Agassiz

has been again on shore, examining the formation of both banks of the

Igarapé Grande, the river at the mouth of which stands the town of

Sourés. He has returned delighted with the result of his day’s work,

having not only obtained the most complete evidence that the geological

formation of Marajo corresponds exactly with that of the Amazonian

Valley, but having also obtained some very important data with respect

to the present encroachments of the sea upon the shore. He found upon

the beach, partially covered by sea-sand, the remains of a forest which

evidently grew in a peat-bog, and which the ocean is gradually laying

bare.

_February 29th._—Early this morning we crossed the Pará River, and

anchored at the entrance of the bay within which stands the town of

Vigia. We landed, and while the boatmen were dragging the net, we

wandered along the beach, which is bordered by thick forest, now full of

flowers. Here we found the same geological formations as on the Marajo

shore, and on the beach the counterpart of the ancient forest which Mr.

Agassiz unearthed yesterday on the opposite coast. There can hardly be

more convincing evidence that the rivers which empty into the Amazons

near its mouth, like all those higher up, as well as the main stream

itself, have cut their way through identical formations, which were once

continuous. Evidently these remains of forests on the beaches of Vigia

Bay and at the mouth of the Igarapé Grande are parts of one forest,

formerly uninterrupted and covering the whole of the intervening space

now filled by the so-called Pará River. We followed the beach to the

entrance of an igarapé, which here opens into the river, and which

looked most tempting with the morning shadows darkening its cool

recesses. As the boatmen had not been very successful in fishing, I

proposed we should put their services to better use and row up this

inviting stream. To this day, though I have become accustomed to these

forest water-paths and have had so many excursions in them, they have

lost none of their charm. I never see one without longing to follow its

picturesque windings into the depths of the wood; and to me the igarapé

remains the most beautiful and the most characteristic feature of the

Amazonian scenery. This one of Vigia was especially pretty. Clumps of

the light, exquisitely graceful Assai palm shot up everywhere from the

denser forest; here and there the drooping bamboo, never seen in the

higher Amazons, dipped its feathery branches into the water, covered

sometimes to their very tips with purple bloom of convolvulus; yellow

Bignonias carried their golden clusters to the very summits of some of

the more lofty trees; while white-flowering myrtles and orange-colored

mallows bordered the stream. Life abounded in this quiet retreat. Birds

and butterflies were numerous; and we saw an immense number of crabs of

every variety of color and size upon the margin of the water. However,

it was not so easy to catch them as it seemed. They would sit quietly on

the trunks of all the old trees or decaying logs projecting from the

bank, apparently waiting to be taken; but the moment we approached them,

however cautiously, they vanished like lightning either under the water

or into some crevice near by. Notwithstanding their nimbleness, however,

Mr. Agassiz succeeded in making a considerable collection. We saw also

an immense army of caterpillars, evidently following some concerted plan

of action. They were descending the trunk of a large tree in a solid

phalanx about two handbreadths in width, and six or eight feet in

length; no doubt coming down to make their chrysalids in the sand. We

returned to the steamer at ten o’clock; and, after breakfast, finding

our anchorage-ground somewhat rough as the tide came in, we went a

little higher up, and entered the Bahia do Sul. Here again we went on

shore to see the net drawn, this time more successfully. We should have

had a delightful walk on the beach again, had it not been for hosts of

minute flies which hovered about us, and had a power of stinging quite

disproportionate to their size. On returning we met with an unforeseen

difficulty. The tide had been falling during our walk, and the canoe

could not approach the beach within several yards. The gentlemen plunged

in, and walked out over knees in water; while the boatmen made a chair

of their arms and carried me through the surf.

_March 5th._—Our excursion in the harbor closed with a visit to the

small island of Tatuatuba, distant about six miles from Pará. In order

to examine the shores, we made the circuit of the island on foot. Here

again the same geological structure presented itself; and there was one

spot in particular where the sharp, vertical cut of the bank facing the

beach presented an admirable section of the formations so characteristic

of the Amazonian Valley; the red, sandy clay of the upper deposit

filling in all the undulations and inequalities of the sandstone below,

the surface of which was remarkably irregular. The sea is making great

encroachments on the shore of this island. Senhor Figueiredo, who lives

here with his family and by whom we were received with much hospitality,

told us that during the last eighteen or twenty years, the beach had

receded considerably in some places; the high-water line being many

yards beyond its former limit. The result of this excursion has shown

that, with the exception of some low mud-islands nearly level with the

water, all the harbor islands lying in the mouth of the Amazons are,

geologically speaking, parts of the Amazonian Valley, having the same

structure. They were, no doubt, formerly continuous with the shore, but

are separated now, partly by the fresh waters cutting their way through

the land to the ocean, partly by the progress of the sea itself.

_March 24th._—Our quiet life at Nazareth, though full of enjoyment for

tired travellers, affords little material for a journal. A second

excursion along the coast has furnished Mr. Agassiz with new evidence of

the rapid changes in the outline of the shore, produced by the

encroachment of the sea. So fast is this going on that some of the

public works near the coast are already endangered by the advance of the

ocean upon the land. During the past week he has been especially

occupied in directing the work of a photographist employed by Senhor

Pimenta Bueno, who, with his usual liberality towards the scientific

objects of the expedition, is collecting in this way the portraits of

some remarkable palms and other trees about his house and grounds. One

of the most striking is a huge Sumauméra, with buttressed trunk. These

buttresses start at a distance of about eight or ten feet from the

ground, spreading gradually toward the base; they are from ten to twelve

feet in depth. The lower part of the trunk is thus divided into open

compartments, sometimes so large that two or three persons can stand

within them. This disposition to throw out flanks or wings is not

confined to one kind of tree, but occurs in many families; it seems,

indeed, a characteristic feature of forest vegetation here. Occasionally

the buttresses partially separate from the main trunk, remaining

attached to it only at the point from which they start, so that they

look like distinct supports propping the tree. I copy here an extract

from Mr. Agassiz’s notes upon the vegetation of the Amazons, in which

allusion is made to the Sumauméra.

[Illustration: Buttressed Tree (Eriodendrum Sumauma).]

“Any one coming from the North to the Tropics, if he has been in the

habit of observing the vegetation about him, even without having made

botany a special study, is, in a measure, prepared to appreciate the

resemblances and the differences between plants of the tropical and

those of the temperate regions. An acquaintance with the Robinia

(Locust-trees), for instance, or with the large shrub-like Lotus, and

other woody Leguminosæ, will enable him to recognize the numerous

representatives of that family, forming so large a part of the

equatorial vegetation; and, even should he never have seen specimens of

the Mimosa in gardens or hot-houses, their delicate, susceptible foliage

will make them known to him; he cannot fail to be struck with the

inexhaustible combinations and forms of their pinnate leaves, as well as

with the variety in their tints of green, the diversity in their

clusters of leaves and in their pods and seeds. But there are families

with which he fancies himself equally familiar, the tropical

representatives of which will never seem to him like old acquaintances.

Thus the tree which furnishes the Indian rubber belongs to the Milk-weed

family. Every one knows the Milk-weeds of the North, to be seen, as

humble herbs, all along the roadsides, on the edges of our woods and in

the sands of our beaches. Yet on the Amazons, the Euphorbiaceæ, so small

and unobtrusive with us, assume the form of colossal trees, constituting

a considerable part of its strange and luxuriant forest-growth. The

giant of the Amazonian woods, whose majestic flat crown towers over all

other trees, while its white trunk stands out in striking relief from

the surrounding mass of green (the Sumauméra), is allied to our mallows.

Some of the most characteristic trees of the river-shore belong to these

two families. Our paleontologists who attempt to restore the forests of

older geological times should keep in mind this fact of the striking

contrasts presented under different latitudes by the same families. Of

course the equatorial regions teem with plants and trees belonging to

families either entirely unknown or but poorly represented in more

temperate latitudes; and these distinct groups naturally arrest the

attention of the botanist, and perhaps awaken his interest more than

those with which he is already familiar under other forms. But, while

these different families are recognized as distinct, and no doubt

deserve to be considered by themselves as natural groups, I believe that

much might be learned of the deeper relations of plants by studying, not

only the representatives of the same families in different latitudes,

such as the Mimosas and the Milk-weeds, but also what I may call

botanical equivalents,—groups which balance each other in the different

climatic zones. This idea is suggested to me by my zoölogical studies in

the Amazons, which have led me to perceive new relations between the

animals of the temperate and the tropical zone: it seems probable that

corresponding relations should exist in the vegetable world also.

Struck, for instance, by the total absence of sturgeons, perches,

pickerels, trouts, carps and other white fishes, cusks, sculpins, &c., I

have asked myself, while studying the fishes of the Amazons, what

analogy could exist between those of our Western rivers and those of the

tropics, as well as between the latter and those of the intermediate

latitudes. Looking at them with this view, I have been surprised to find

how closely related the Goniodonts are to the Sturgeons; so much so,

that the Loricariæ may be considered as genuine Sturgeons, with more

extensive shields upon the body. I am satisfied also that the Cychla is

a perch to all intents and purposes, that the Acaras are Sunfishes, the

Xiphorhamphus (Pirà pucu) Pickerels, and the Curimatas genuine Carps.

Now, may not a similar relation exist between the families of plants

belonging to the North and those forming the most prominent vegetation

of the South? What are the tropical trees which take the place of our

elms, maples, lindens? By what families are our oaks, chestnuts,

willows, poplars, represented under the burning sun of the equinoctial

regions? The Rosaceæ in the temperate and the Myrtaceæ in the tropical

regions seem to me such botanical equivalents. The family of Rosaceæ

gives to the North its pears, its apples, its peaches, its cherries, its

plums, its almonds; in short, all the most delicious fruits of the Old

World, as well as its most beautiful flowers. The trees of this family,

by their foliage, play a distinguished part in the vegetation of the

temperate zone, and impart to it a character of their own. The Myrtaceæ

give to the South its guavas, its pitangas, its araçàs, the juicy

plum-like fruit of the swamp-myrtles, many of its nuts, and other

excellent fruits. This family, including the Melastomaceæ, abounds in

flowering shrubs, like the purple Queresma and many others not less

beautiful; and some of its representatives, such as the Sapucaia and the

Brazilian nut-tree, rise to the height of towering trees. Both of these

families sink to insignificance in the one zone, while they assume a

dignified port and perform an important part in the other. If this

investigation be extended to the shrubs and humbler plants, I believe

the botanist who undertakes it will reap a rich harvest.”

The day after to-morrow we leave Pará in the Santa Cruz for Ceará. It

will be like leaving a sort of home to say good by to our kind friends

in the Rua de Nazareth. We have become attached to this neighborhood

also from its beauty. The wide street, bordered for two or three miles

with mangueiras, leads into the wooded country, where many a narrow

green path in the forest tempts one to long rambles. One of these paths

has been a favorite walk of mine on account of the beauty and luxuriance

of the vegetation, making some parts of it shady even at noonday. I have

often followed it for two or three miles in the early morning, between

six and eight o’clock, when the verdant walls on either side are still

fresh and dewy. Beautiful as it is, it leads to one of the saddest of

all abodes. For a long time I could not understand why this lane was

always in such good condition, the heavy rains making unfrequented

forest-paths almost impassable in the wet season. I found on inquiry

that it led to a hospital for lepers, and was kept in good repair

because the various stores and supplies for the hospital were constantly

carried over it. The prevalence of leprosy has made it necessary to

provide separate establishments for its victims; and both at Pará and

Santarem, where it is still more common, there are hospitals devoted

exclusively to this purpose. This terrible disease is not confined

wholly to the lower classes, and where it occurs in families whose

circumstances are good the invalid is often kept at home under the care

of his own friends. Bates states that leprosy is supposed to be

incurable, and also adds that, during his eleven years’ residence on the

Amazons, he has never known a foreigner to be attacked by it. We have,

however, been told by a very intelligent German physician in Rio de

Janeiro, that he has known several cases of it among his own countrymen

there, and has been so fortunate as to effect permanent cures in some

instances. He says it is a mistake to suppose that it does not yield to

treatment when taken in time, and the statistics of the disease show

that, where there are good physicians, it is found to be gradually

disappearing.

We must not leave Pará without alluding to our evening concerts from the

adjoining woods and swamps. When I first heard this strange confusion of

sounds, I thought it came from a crowd of men shouting loudly, though at

a little distance. To my surprise, I found that the rioters were the

frogs and toads in the neighborhood. I hardly know how to describe this

Babel of woodland noises; and if I could do it justice, I am afraid my

account would hardly be believed. At moments it seems like the barking

of dogs, then like the calling of many voices on different keys, but all

loud, rapid, excited, full of emphasis and variety. I think these frogs,

like ours, must be silent at certain seasons of the year; for, on our

first visit to Pará, we were not struck by this singular music, with

which the woods now resound at nightfall.

* * * * *

NOTE.—Before leaving the Amazons, I wish to acknowledge attentions

received from several friends, whose names do not appear in the

narrative.

To Senhor Danin, Chef de Police at Pará, I was indebted for valuable

Indian curiosities, and for specimens of other kinds; to Doctor

Malcher for a collection of birds; to Senhor Penna for important

additions to my collection of fishes; to Senhor Laitaō da Cunha for

aid in collecting, and for many introductions to persons of

influence along our route; and to Mr. Kaulfuss, a German resident at

Pará, for fossils from the Andes.

I have to thank Mr. James Bond, United States Consul at Pará, for

unwearied efforts in my behalf during the whole time of my stay in

the Amazons. He supplied me with alcohol; received the collections

on their arrival at Pará; examined the cases and barrels, causing

those which were defective to be repaired, that they might reach

their destination in safety, and finally despatched them to the

United States, free of charge, on board sailing-vessels in which he

had an interest. We owe it in great degree to him that our immense

Amazonian collections arrived in Cambridge in good condition,

suffering little loss or injury in the process of transportation.—L.

A.

-----

Footnote 88:

During my short stay in the neighborhood of Villa Bella and Obydos I

was indebted to several residents of these towns for assistance in

collecting; especially to Padre Torquato and to Padre Antonio Mattos.

My friend, Mr. Honorio, who accompanied me to this point, with the

assistance of the Delegado, at Villa Bella, made also a very excellent

collection of fishes in this vicinity. At Obydos Colonel Bentos

contributed a very large collection of fishes from the Rio

Trombetas.—L. A.

Footnote 89:

See Chapter XIII., on the Physical History of the Amazons.

Footnote 90:

It is but fitting that I should express here my thanks to Captain

Faria for the courteous manner in which he accomplished the task

assigned him by the government. He was not only a most hospitable host

on board his vessel, but he allowed me to encumber his deck with all

kinds of scientific apparatus, and gave me very efficient assistance

in collecting.—L. A.

Footnote 91:

PARÁ, February 23, 1866.

SIRE:—On arriving at Pará in the beginning of this month, I had the

pleasure to find your Majesty’s kind letter, which had been awaiting

me for several days. I ought to have acknowledged it immediately, but

I was not in a condition to do so, being overcome by fatigue. It is

only during the last two or three days that I begin once more to

occupy myself as usual. I confess that nothing but the presentiment of

regrets which would have pursued me to the end of my days has

prevented me from returning directly to the United States. Even now I

find it difficult to take up the most simple occupations. And yet I am

not ill; I am only exhausted by incessant work, and by the

contemplation, each day more vivid and impressive, of the grandeur and

beauty of this tropical nature. I need to look for a time upon the

sombre and monotonous aspect of a pine forest.

How good you are, Sire, to think of me in the midst of the vital

affairs which absorb your attention, and how considerate are your

acts! The New Year’s present you announce enchants me.[93] The

prospect of being able to add some comparisons of the fishes from the

basin of the Uruguay to such as I have already made between the

Amazonian species and those of the rivers on the eastern coast of

Brazil has a special attraction for me. It will be the first step

towards a knowledge of the types of the temperate zone in South

America. I wait with increasing impatience for the moment when I shall

be able to examine them. In the mean while allow me to give you a

rapid sketch of the results thus far obtained in my voyage on the

Amazons.

I will not return to the surprising variety of species of fishes

contained in this basin, though it is very difficult for me to

familiarize myself with the idea that the Amazons nourishes nearly

twice as many species as the Mediterranean, and a larger number than

the Atlantic, taken from one pole to the other. I can no longer say,

however, with precision, what is the exact number of species which we

have procured from the Amazons, because, on retracing my steps as I

descended the great river, I have seen fishes about to lay their eggs

which I had seen at first under other conditions, and _vice versa_;

and without consulting the collections made six months ago, and which

are not now accessible to me, it is often impossible for me to

determine from memory whether they are the same species, or different

ones which escaped my observation in my first examination. However, I

estimate the total number of species which I actually possess at

eighteen hundred, and it may be two thousand.[94] But it is not only

the number of species which will astonish naturalists; the fact that

they are for the most part circumscribed within definite limits is

still more surprising, and cannot but have a direct influence on the

ideas now prevalent respecting the origin of living beings. That in a

river like the Mississippi, which from the north to the south passes

successively through cold, temperate, and warm zones,—whose waters

flow sometimes over one geological formation, sometimes over another,

and across plains covered at the north by an almost arctic vegetation,

and at the south by a sub-tropical flora,—that in such a basin aquatic

animals of different species should be met at various points of its

course is easily understood by those who are accustomed to consider

general conditions of existence, and of climate especially, as the

first cause of the difference between animals and plants inhabiting

separate localities. But that from Tabatinga to Pará, in a river where

the waters differ neither in temperature nor in the nature of their

bed, nor in the vegetation along their borders,—that under such

circumstances there should be met, from distance to distance,

assemblages of fishes completely distinct from each other, is indeed

astonishing. I would even say that henceforth this distribution, which

may be verified by any one who cares to take the trouble, must throw

much doubt on the opinion which attributes the diversity of living

beings to local influences. Another side of this subject, still more

curious perhaps, is the intensity with which life is manifested in

these waters. All the rivers of Europe united, from the Tagus to the

Volga, do not nourish one hundred and fifty species of fresh-water

fishes; and yet, in a little lake near Manaos, called Lago Hyanuary,

the surface of which covers hardly four or five hundred square yards,

we have discovered more than two hundred distinct species, the greater

part of which have not been observed elsewhere. What a contrast!

The study of the mixture of human races in this region has also

occupied me much, and I have procured numerous photographs of all the

types which I have been able to observe. The principal result at which

I have arrived is, that the _races_ bear themselves towards each other

as do distinct species; that is to say, that the hybrids, which spring

from the crossing of men of different races, are always a mixture of

the two primitive types, and never the simple reproduction of the

characters of one or the other progenitor, as is the case among the

races of domestic animals.

I will say nothing of my other collections, which have been made for

the most part by my young companions, rather with a view to enrich our

Museum than to solve scientific questions. But I cannot allow this

occasion to pass without expressing my lively gratitude for all the

facilities, in my explorations, which I have owed to the kindness of

your Majesty. From the President to the most humble employés of the

provinces I have visited, all have competed with each other to render

my work more easy; and the steamship company of the Amazons has shown

an extreme liberality towards me. Finally, Sire, the generosity with

which you have placed at my disposition a vessel of war has allowed me

to make collections which, with less ample and rapid means of

transport, must have remained utterly inaccessible to me. Permit me to

add, that, of all the favors with which your Majesty has crowned this

voyage, the most precious has been the presence of Major Coutinho,

whose familiarity with all which concerns the Amazons has been an

inexhaustible source of important information and of useful

directions; by means of which the loss of time in unremunerative

excursions has been avoided. His co-operation during this journey has

been most laborious; he has applied himself to zoölogy as if the

physical sciences had not hitherto been the special object of his

study, while at the same time he has made numerous thermometric,

barometric, and astronomical observations, which will furnish

important additions to what is already known concerning the

meteorology and topography of these provinces. We have, for instance,

been the first to carry the barometer into the midst of the hills of

Almeyrim, of Monte Alégre and Ereré, and to measure their highest

summits. The study of the formation of the valley of the Amazons has

naturally occupied me, though in a secondary degree, from the first

day of my arrival.[95]

* * * * *

But it is time that I should close this long letter, begging your

Majesty to pardon me for putting your patience to so hard a trial.

Your Majesty’s most humble and most affectionate servant,

L. AGASSIZ.

Footnote 92:

Humboldt’s Personal Narrative, Bohn’s Scientific Library, Vol. II.

Chap. XX. p. 267.

Footnote 93:

The Emperor had written to Mr. Agassiz that, during the time when he

took command of the Brazilian army on the Rio Grande, he had caused

collections of fishes to be made for him from several of the southern

rivers.

Footnote 94:

To-day I cannot give a more precise account of the final result of my

survey. Though all my collections are safely stored in the Museum,

every practical zoölogist understands that a critical examination of

more than eighty thousand specimens cannot be made in less than

several years.—L. A.

Footnote 95:

The rest of this letter is omitted, as its substance is contained in

Chapter XIII., on the Physical History of the Amazons.

CHAPTER XIII.

PHYSICAL HISTORY OF THE AMAZONS.

DRIFT ABOUT RIO DE JANEIRO.—DECOMPOSITION OF UNDERLYING

ROCK.—DIFFERENT ASPECT OF GLACIAL PHENOMENA IN DIFFERENT

CONTINENTS.—FERTILITY OF THE DRIFT.—GEOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS OF

MESSRS. HARTT AND ST. JOHN.—CORRESPONDENCE OF DEPOSITS ALONG THE

COAST WITH THOSE OF RIO AND THOSE OF THE VALLEY OF THE

AMAZONS.—PRIMITIVE FORMATION OF THE VALLEY.—FIRST KNOWN CHAPTER OF

ITS HISTORY.—CRETACEOUS FOSSIL FISHES.—FORMER EXTENT OF THE

SOUTH-AMERICAN COAST.—CRETACEOUS FOSSILS FROM THE RIO

PURUS.—COMPARISON BETWEEN NORTH AND SOUTH AMERICA.—GEOLOGICAL

FORMATIONS ALONG THE BANKS OF THE AMAZONS.—FOSSIL LEAVES.—CLAYS

AND SANDSTONES.—HILLS OF ALMEYRIM.—MONTE ALÉGRE.—SITUATION AND

SCENERY.—SERRA ERERÉ.—COMPARISON WITH SWISS SCENERY.—BOULDERS OF

ERERÉ.—ANCIENT THICKNESS OF AMAZONIAN DEPOSITS.—DIFFERENCE BETWEEN

DRIFT OF THE AMAZONS AND THAT OF RIO.—INFERENCES DRAWN FROM THE

PRESENT CONDITION OF THE DEPOSITS.—IMMENSE EXTENT OF SANDSTONE

FORMATION.—NATURE AND ORIGIN OF THESE DEPOSITS.—REFERRED

TO THE ICE-PERIOD.—ABSENCE OF GLACIAL MARKS.—GLACIAL

EVIDENCE OF ANOTHER KIND.—CHANGES IN THE OUTLINE OF THE

SOUTH-AMERICAN COAST.—SOURÉ.—IGARAPÉ GRANDE.—VIGIA.—BAY OF

BRAGANZA.—ANTICIPATION.

A few days before we left Pará, Senhor Pimenta Bueno invited his friends

and acquaintances, who had expressed a wish to hear Mr. Agassiz’s views

on the geological character of the Amazonian Valley, to meet at his

house in the evening for that purpose. The guests were some two hundred

in number, and the whole affair was very unceremonious, assuming rather

the character of a meeting for conversation or discussion than that of

an audience collected to hear a studied address. The substance of this

talk or lecture, as subsequently written out by Mr. Agassiz, afterward

appeared in the Atlantic Monthly, and is inserted here, with some few

alterations under the head of a separate chapter. The reader will find

occasional repetitions of facts already stated in the earlier part of

the narrative; but they are retained for the sake of giving a complete

and consistent review of the subject at this point of our journey, where

it became possible to compare the geological structure of the Amazonian

Valley with that of the southern provinces of Brazil and of those

bordering on the Atlantic coast.

* * * * *

The existence of a glacial period, however much derided when first

announced, is now a recognized fact. The divergence of opinion

respecting it is limited to a question of extent; and after my recent

journey in the Amazons, I am led to add a new chapter to the strange

history of glacial phenomena, taken from the southern hemisphere, and

even from the tropics themselves.

I am prepared to find that the statement of this new phase of the

glacial period will awaken among my scientific colleagues an opposition

even more violent than that by which the first announcement of my views

on this subject was met. I am, however, willing to bide my time; feeling

sure that, as the theory of the ancient extension of glaciers in Europe

has gradually come to be accepted by geologists, so will the existence

of like phenomena, both in North and South America, during the same

epoch, be recognized sooner or later as part of a great series of

physical events extending over the whole globe. Indeed, when the

ice-period is fully understood, it will be seen that the absurdity lies

in supposing that climatic conditions so different could be limited to a

small portion of the world’s surface. If the geological winter existed

at all, it must have been cosmic; and it is quite as rational to look

for its traces in the Western as in the Eastern hemisphere, to the south

of the equator as to the north of it. Impressed by this wider view of

the subject, confirmed by a number of unpublished investigations which I

have made during the last three or four years in the United States, I

came to South America, expecting to find in the tropical regions new

evidences of a bygone glacial period, though, of course, under different

aspects. Such a result seemed to me the logical sequence of what I had

already observed in Europe and in North America.

On my arrival in Rio de Janeiro,—the port at which I first landed in

Brazil,—my attention was immediately attracted by a very peculiar

formation consisting of an ochraceous, highly ferruginous, sandy clay.

During a stay of three months in Rio, whence I made many excursions into

the neighboring country, I had opportunities of studying this deposit,

both in the province of Rio de Janeiro and in the adjoining province of

Minas Geraes. I found that it rested everywhere upon the undulating

surfaces of the solid rocks in place, was almost entirely destitute of

stratification, and contained a variety of pebbles and boulders. The

pebbles were chiefly quartz, sometimes scattered indiscriminately

throughout the deposit, sometimes lying in a seam between it and the

rock below; while the boulders were either sunk in its mass, or resting

loosely on the surface. At Tijuca, a few miles out of the city of Rio,

among the picturesque hills lying to the southwest of it, these

phenomena may be seen in great perfection. Near Bennett’s Hotel there

are a great number of erratic boulders, having no connection whatever

with the rock in place; and also a bluff of this superficial deposit

studded with boulders, resting above the partially stratified

metamorphic rock.[96] Other excellent opportunities for observing this

formation, also within easy reach from the city, are afforded along the

whole line of the Dom Pedro Segundo Railroad, where the cuts expose

admirable sections, showing the red, unstratified, homogeneous mass of

sandy clay resting above the solid rock, and often divided from it by a

thin bed of pebbles. There can be no doubt, in the mind of any one

familiar with similar facts observed in other parts of the world, that

this is one of the many forms of drift connected with glacial action. I

was, however, far from anticipating, when I first met it in the

neighborhood of Rio, that I should afterwards find it spreading over the

surface of the country from north to south and from east to west, with a

continuity which gives legible connection to the whole geological

history of the continent.

It is true that the extensive decomposition of the underlying rock,

penetrating sometimes to a considerable depth, makes it often difficult

to distinguish between it and the drift; and the problem is made still

more puzzling by the fact that the surface of the drift, when baked by

exposure to the hot sun, often assumes the appearance of decomposed

rock, so that great care is required for a correct interpretation of the

facts. A little practice, however, trains the eye to read these

appearances aright; and I may say that I have learned to recognize

everywhere the limit between the two formations. There is indeed one

safe guide, namely, the undulating line, reminding one of _roches

moutonnées_,[97] and marking the irregular surface of the rock on which

the drift was accumulated; whatever modifications the one or the other

may have undergone, this line seems never to disappear. Another

deceptive feature, arising from the frequent disintegration of the rocks

and from the brittle character of some of them, is the presence of loose

fragments, which simulate erratic boulders, but are in fact only

detached masses of the rock in place. A careful examination of their

structure, however, will at once show the geologist whether they belong

where they are found, or have been brought from a distance to their

present resting-place.

But, while the features to which I have alluded are unquestionably drift

phenomena, they present in their wider extension, and especially in the

northern part of Brazil, some phases of glacial action hitherto

unobserved. Just as the investigation of the ice-period in the United

States has shown us that ice-fields may move over open level plains, as

well as along the slopes of mountain valleys, so does a study of the

same class of facts in South America reveal new and unlooked-for

features in the history of the ice-period. Some will say that the fact

of the advance of ice-fields over an open country is by no means

established, inasmuch as many geologists believe all the so-called

glacial traces—viz. striæ, furrows, polish, etc., found in the United

States—to have been made by floating icebergs at a time when the

continent was submerged. To this I can only answer that, in the State of

Maine, I have followed, compass in hand, the same set of furrows,

running from north to south in one unvarying line, over a surface of one

hundred and thirty miles, from the Katahdin Iron Range to the

sea-shore.[98] These furrows follow all the inequalities of the country,

ascending ranges of hills varying from twelve to fifteen hundred feet in

height, and descending into the intervening valleys only two or three

hundred feet above the sea, or sometimes even on a level with it. I take

it to be impossible that a floating mass of ice should travel onward in

one rectilinear direction, turning neither to the right nor to the left,

for such a distance. Equally impossible would it be for a detached mass

of ice, swimming on the surface of the water, or even with its base sunk

considerably below it, to furrow in a straight line the summits and

sides of the hills, and the bottoms of the intervening valleys. It would

be carried over the inequalities of the country without touching the

lowest depressions. Instead of ascending the mountains, it would remain

stranded against any elevation which rose greatly above its own base,

and, if caught between two parallel ridges, would float up and down

between them. Moreover, the action of solid, unbroken ice, moving over

the ground in immediate contact with it, is so different from that of

floating ice-rafts or icebergs that, though the latter have

unquestionably dropped erratic boulders, and made furrows and striæ on

the surface where they happened to be grounded, these phenomena will

easily be distinguished from the more connected tracks of glaciers, or

extensive sheets of ice, resting directly upon the face of the country

and advancing over it.

There seems thus far to be an inextricable confusion in the ideas of

many geologists as to the respective action of currents, icebergs, and

glaciers. It is time that they should learn to distinguish between

classes of facts so different from each other, and so easily recognized

after the discrimination has once been made. As to the southward

movement of an immense field of ice, extending over the whole North, it

seems inevitable, the moment we admit that snow may accumulate around

the pole in such quantities as to initiate a pressure radiating in every

direction. Snow, alternately thawing and freezing, must, like water,

find its level at last. A sheet of snow ten or fifteen thousand feet in

thickness, extending all over the northern and southern portions of the

globe, must necessarily lead, in the end, to the formation of a northern

and southern cap of ice, moving toward the equator.

I have spoken of Tijuca and the Dom Pedro Railroad as favorable

localities for studying the peculiar southern drift; but one meets it in

every direction. A sheet of drift, consisting of the same homogeneous,

unstratified paste, and containing loose materials of all sorts and

sizes, covers the country. It is of very uneven thickness,—sometimes

thrown into relief, as it were, by the surrounding denudations, and

rising into hills; sometimes reduced to a thin layer; sometimes, as, for

instance, on steep slopes, washed entirely away, leaving the bare face

of the rock exposed. It has, however, remained comparatively undisturbed

on some very abrupt ascents; as may be seen on the Corcovado, along the

path leading up the mountain, where there are some very fine banks of

drift, the more striking from the contrast of their deep-red color with

the surrounding vegetation. I have myself followed this sheet of drift

from Rio de Janeiro to the top of the Serra do Mar, where, just outside

the pretty town of Petropolis, the river Piabanha may be seen flowing

between banks of drift, in which it has excavated its bed; thence I have

traced it along the beautiful macadamized road leading to Juiz de Fora

in the province of Minas Geraes, and beyond this to the farther side of

the Serra da Babylonia. Throughout this whole tract of country the drift

may be seen along the roadside, in immediate contact with the native

crystalline rock. The fertility of the land, also, is a guide to the

presence of drift. Wherever it lies thickest over the surface, there are

the most flourishing coffee-plantations; and I believe that a more

systematic regard to this fact would have a most beneficial influence

upon the agricultural interests of the country. No doubt the fertility

arises from the great variety of chemical elements contained in the

drift, and the kneading process it has undergone beneath the gigantic

ice-plough,—a process which makes glacial drift everywhere the most

fertile soil. Since my return from the Amazons, my impression as to the

general distribution of these phenomena has been confirmed by the

reports of some of my assistants, who have been travelling in other

parts of the country. Mr. Frederick C. Hartt, accompanied by Mr.

Copeland, one of the volunteer aids of the expedition, has been making

collections and geological observations in the province of Spiritu

Santo, in the valley of the Rio Doce, and afterwards in the valley of

the Mucury. He informs me that he has found everywhere the same sheet of

red, unstratified clay, with pebbles and occasional boulders overlying

the rock in place. Mr. Orestes St. John, who, taking the road through

the interior, has visited, with the same objects in view, the valleys of

the Rio San Francisco and the Rio das Velhas, and also the valley of

Piauhy, gives the same account, with the exception that he found no

erratic boulders in these more northern regions. The rarity of erratic

boulders, not only in the deposits of the Amazons proper, but in those

of the whole region which may be considered as the Amazonian basin, is

accounted for, as we shall see hereafter, by the mode of their

formation. The observations of Mr. Hartt and Mr. St. John are the more

valuable, because I had employed them both, on our first arrival in Rio,

in making geological surveys of different sections on the Dom Pedro

Railroad, so that they had a great familiarity with those formations

before starting on their separate journeys. Recently, Mr. St. John and

myself met in Pará on our return from our respective explorations, and I

have had an opportunity of comparing on the spot his geological sections

from the valley of the Piauhy with the Amazonian deposits. There can be

no doubt of the absolute identity of the formations in these valleys.

Having arranged the work of my assistants, and sent several of them to

collect and make geological examinations in other directions, I myself,

with the rest of my companions, proceeded up the coast to Pará. I was

surprised to find at every step of my progress the same geological

phenomena which had met me at Rio. It was my friend, Major Coutinho,

already an experienced Amazonian traveller, who first told me that this

formation continued through the whole valley of the Amazons, and was

also to be found on all of its affluents which he had visited, although

he had never thought of referring it to so recent a period. And here let

me say that the facts I now state are by no means exclusively the result

of my own investigations. They are in great part due to Major Coutinho,

a member of the Brazilian government corps of engineers, who, by the

kindness of the Emperor, was associated with me in my Amazonian

expedition. I can truly say that he has been my good genius throughout

the whole journey, saving me, by his previous knowledge of the ground,

from the futile and misdirected expenditure of means and time often

inevitable in a new country, where one is imperfectly acquainted both

with the people and their language. We have worked together in this

investigation; my only advantage over him being my greater familiarity

with like phenomena in Europe and North America, and consequent

readiness in the practical handling of the facts and in perceiving their

connection. Major Coutinho’s assertion, that on the banks of the Amazons

I should find the same red, unstratified clay as in Rio and along the

southern coast, seemed to me at first almost incredible, impressed as I

was with the generally received notions as to the ancient character of

the Amazonian deposits, referred by Humboldt to the Devonian, and by

Martius to the Triassic period, and considered by all travellers to be

at least as old as the Tertiaries. The result, however, confirmed his

report, at least so far as the component materials of the formation are

concerned; but, as will be seen hereafter, the mode of their deposition,

and the time at which it took place, have not been the same at the north

and south; and this difference of circumstances has modified the aspect

of a formation essentially the same throughout. At first sight, it would

indeed appear that this formation, as it exists in the valley of the

Amazons, is identical with that of Rio; but it differs from it in the

rarity of its boulders, and in showing occasional signs of

stratification. It is also everywhere underlaid by coarse,

well-stratified deposits, resembling somewhat the _Recife_ of Bahia and

Pernambuco; whereas the unstratified drift of the south rests

immediately upon the undulating surface of whatever rock happens to make

the foundation of the country, whether stratified or crystalline. The

peculiar sandstone on which the Amazonian clay rests exists nowhere

else. Before proceeding, however, to describe the Amazonian deposits in

detail, I ought to say something of the nature and origin of the valley

itself.

The valley of the Amazons was first sketched out by the elevation of two

tracts of land; namely, the plateau of Guiana on the north, and the

central plateau of Brazil on the south. It is probable that, at the time

these two table-lands were lifted above the sea-level, the Andes did not

exist, and the ocean flowed between them through an open strait. It

would seem (and this is a curious result of modern geological

investigations) that the portions of the earth’s surface earliest raised

above the ocean have trended from east to west. The first tract of land

lifted above the waters in North America was also a long continental

island, running from Newfoundland almost to the present base of the

Rocky Mountains. This tendency may be attributed to various causes,—to

the rotation of the earth, the consequent depression of its poles, and

the breaking of its crust along the lines of greatest tension thus

produced. At a later period, the upheaval of the Andes took place,

closing the western side of this strait, and thus transforming it into a

gulf, open only toward the east. Little or nothing is known of the

earlier stratified deposits resting against the crystalline masses first

uplifted along the borders of the Amazonian Valley. There is here no

sequence, as in North America, of Azoic, Silurian, Devonian, and

Carboniferous formations, shored up against each other by the gradual

upheaval of the continent; although, unquestionably, older palæozoic and

secondary beds underlie, here and there, the later formations. Indeed,

Major Coutinho has found palæozoic deposits, with characteristic

Brachiopods, in the valley of the Rio Tapajos, at the first cascade, and

carboniferous deposits have been noticed along the Rio Guapore and the

Rio Mamore. But the first chapter in the valley’s geological history

about which we have connected and trustworthy data is that of the

cretaceous period. It seems certain, that, at the close of the secondary

age, the whole Amazonian basin became lined with a cretaceous deposit,

the margins of which crop out at various localities on its borders. They

have been observed along its southern limits, on its western outskirts

along the Andes, in Venezuela along the shore-line of mountains, and

also in certain localities near its eastern edge. I well remember that

one of the first things which awakened my interest in the geology of the

Amazonian Valley was the sight of some cretaceous fossil fishes from the

province of Ceará. These fossil fishes were collected by Mr. George

Gardner, to whom science is indebted for the most extensive information

yet obtained respecting the geology of that part of Brazil. In this

connection, let me say that I shall speak of the provinces of Ceará,

Piauhy, and Maranham as belonging geologically to the valley of the

Amazons, though their shore is bathed by the ocean and their rivers

empty directly into the Atlantic. But I entertain no doubt that, at an

earlier period, the north-eastern coast of Brazil stretched much farther

seaward than in our day; so far, indeed, that in those times the rivers

of all these provinces must have been tributaries of the Amazons in its

eastward course. The evidence for this conclusion is substantially

derived from the identity of the deposits in the valleys belonging to

these provinces with those of the valleys through which the actual

tributaries of the Amazons flow; as, for instance, the Tocantins, the

Xingu, the Tapajos, the Madeira, etc. Besides the fossils above alluded

to from the eastern borders of this ancient basin, I have had recently

another evidence of its cretaceous character from its southern region.

Mr. William Chandless, on his return from a late journey on the Rio

Purus, presented me with a series of fossil remains of the highest

interest, and undoubtedly belonging to the cretaceous period. They were

collected by himself on the Rio Aquiry, an affluent of the Rio Purus.

Most of them were found in place between the tenth and eleventh degrees

of south latitude, and the sixty-seventh and sixty-ninth degrees of west

longitude from Greenwich, in localities varying from four hundred and

thirty to six hundred and fifty feet above the sea-level. There are

among them remains of Mosasaurus, and of fishes closely allied to those

already represented by Faujas in his description of Maestricht, and

characteristic, as is well known to geological students, of the most

recent cretaceous period.

Thus in its main features the valley of the Amazons, like that of the

Mississippi, is a cretaceous basin. This resemblance suggests a further

comparison between the twin continents of North and South America. Not

only is their general form the same, but their framework, as we may call

it,—that is, the lay of their great mountain-chains and of their

table-lands, with the extensive intervening depressions,—presents a

striking similarity. Indeed, a zoölogist, accustomed to trace a like

structure under variously modified animal forms, cannot but have his

homological studies recalled to his mind by the coincidence between

certain physical features in the northern and southern parts of the

Western hemisphere. And yet here, as throughout all nature, these

correspondences are combined with a distinctness of individualization

which leaves its respective character, not only to each continent as a

whole, but also to the different regions circumscribed within its

borders. In both, however, the highest mountain-chains, the Rocky

Mountains and the Western Coast Range, with their wide intervening

table-land in North America, and the chain of the Andes, with its lesser

plateaux in South America, run along the western coast; both have a

great eastern promontory, Newfoundland in the Northern continent, and

Cape St. Roque in the Southern: and though the resemblance between the

inland elevations is perhaps less striking, yet the Canadian range, the

White Mountains, and the Alleghanies may very fairly be compared to the

table-lands of Guiana and Brazil, and the Serra do Mar. Similar

correspondences may be traced among the river-systems. The Amazons and

the St. Lawrence, though so different in dimensions, remind us of each

other by their trend and geographical position; and while the one is fed

by the largest river-system in the world, the other drains the most

extensive lake surfaces known to exist in immediate contiguity. The

Orinoco, with its bay, recalls Hudson’s Bay and its many tributaries,

and the Rio Magdalena may be said to be the South-American Mackenzie;

while the Rio de la Plata represents geographically our Mississippi, and

the Paraguay recalls the Missouri. The Parana may be compared to the

Ohio; the Pilcomayo, Vermejo, and Salado rivers, to the river Platte,

the Arkansas, and the Red River in the United States; while the rivers

farther south, emptying into the Gulf of Mexico, represent the rivers of

Patagonia and the southern parts of the Argentine Republic. Not only is

there this general correspondence between the mountain elevations and

the river-systems, but as the larger river-basins of North America—those

of the St. Lawrence, the Mississippi, and the Mackenzie—meet in the low

tracts extending along the foot of the Rocky Mountains, so do the basins

of the Amazons, the Rio de la Plata, and the Orinoco join each other

along the eastern slope of the Andes.

But while in geographical homology the Amazons compares with the St.

Lawrence, and the Mississippi with the Rio de la Plata, the Mississippi

and the Amazons, as has been said, resemble each other in their local

geological character. They have both received a substratum of cretaceous

beds, above which are accumulated more recent deposits, so that, in

their most prominent geological features, both may be considered as

cretaceous basins, containing extensive deposits of a very recent age.

Of the history of the Amazonian Valley during the periods immediately

following the Cretaceous, we know little or nothing. Whether the

Tertiary deposits are hidden under the more modern ones; or whether they

are wholly wanting, the basin having, perhaps, been raised above the

sea-level before that time; or whether they have been swept away by the

tremendous inundations in the valley, which have certainly destroyed a

great part of the cretaceous deposit,—they have never been observed in

any part of the Amazonian basin. Whatever Tertiary deposits are

represented in geological maps of this region are so marked in

consequence of an incorrect identification of strata belonging, in fact,

to a much more recent period.

A minute and extensive survey of the valley of the Amazons is by no

means an easy task, and its difficulty is greatly increased by the fact

that the lower formations are only accessible on the river margins

during the _vasante_, or dry season, when the waters shrink in their

beds, leaving a great part of their banks exposed. It happened that the

first three or four months of my journey (August, September, October,

and November) were those when the waters are lowest,—reaching their

minimum in September and October, and beginning to rise again in

November,—so that I had an excellent opportunity, in ascending the

river, of observing its geological structure. Throughout its whole

length, three distinct geological formations may be traced, the two

lower of which have followed in immediate succession, and are

conformable with one another, while the third rests unconformably upon

them, following all the inequalities of the greatly denudated surface

presented by the second formation. Notwithstanding this seeming

interruption in the sequence of these deposits, the third, as we shall

presently see, belongs to the same series, and was accumulated in the

same basin. The lowest set of beds of the whole series is rarely

visible; but it seems everywhere to consist of sandstone, or even of

loose sands well stratified, the coarser materials lying invariably

below, and the finer above. Upon this lower set of beds rests everywhere

an extensive deposit of fine laminated clays, varying in thickness, but

frequently dividing into layers as thin as a sheet of paper. In some

localities they exhibit, in patches, an extraordinary variety of

beautiful colors,—pink, orange, crimson, yellow, gray, blue, and also

black and white. It is from these beds that the Indians prepare their

paints. These clay deposits assume occasionally a peculiar appearance,

and one which might mislead the observer as to their true nature. When

their surface has been long exposed to the action of the atmosphere and

to the heat of the burning sun, they look so much like clay-slates of

the oldest geological epochs that, at first sight, I took them for

primary slates, my attention being attracted to them by a regular

cleavage as distinct as that of the most ancient clay-slates. And yet at

Tonantins, on the banks of the Solimoens, in a locality where their

exposed surfaces had this primordial appearance, I found in these very

beds a considerable amount of well-preserved leaves, the character of

which proves their recent origin. These leaves do not even indicate as

ancient a period as the Tertiaries, but resemble so closely the

vegetation of to-day that I have no doubt, when examined by competent

authority, they will be identified with living plants. The presence of

such an extensive clay formation, stretching over a surface of more than

three thousand miles in length and about seven hundred in breadth, is

not easily explained under any ordinary circumstances. The fact that it

is so thoroughly laminated shows that, in the basin in which it was

formed, the waters must have been unusually quiet, containing identical

materials throughout, and that these materials must have been deposited

over the whole bottom in the same way. It is usually separated from the

superincumbent beds by a glazed crust of hard, compact sandstone, almost

resembling a ferruginous quartzite.

Upon this follow beds of sand and sandstone, varying in the regularity

of their strata, reddish in color, often highly ferruginous, and more or

less nodulous or porous. They present frequent traces of

cross-stratification, alternating with regularly stratified horizontal

beds, with here and there an intervening layer of clay. It would seem as

if the character of the water-basin had now changed, and as if the

waters under which this second formation was deposited had vibrated

between storm and calm, had sometimes flowed more gently, and again had

been tossed to and fro, giving to some of the beds the aspect of true

torrential deposits. Indeed, these sandstone formations present a great

variety of aspects. Sometimes they are very regularly laminated, or

assume even the appearance of the hardest quartzite. This is usually the

case with the uppermost beds. In other localities, and more especially

in the lowermost beds, the whole mass is honeycombed, as if drilled by

worms or boring shells, the hard parts enclosing softer sands or clays.

Occasionally the ferruginous materials prevail to such an extent that

some of these beds might be mistaken for bog-ore, while others contain a

large amount of clay, more regularly stratified, and alternating with

strata of sandstone, thus recalling the most characteristic forms of the

Old Red or Triassic formations. This resemblance has, no doubt, led to

the identification of the Amazonian deposits with the more ancient

formations of Europe. At Monte Alégre, of which I shall presently speak

more in detail, such a clay bed divides the lower from the upper

sandstone. The thickness of these sandstones is extremely variable. In

the basin of the Amazons proper, they hardly rise anywhere above the

level of high water during the rainy season; while at low water, in the

summer months, they may be observed everywhere along the river-banks. It

will be seen, however, that the limit between high and low water gives

no true measure of the original thickness of the whole series.