In the neighborhood of Almeyrim, at a short distance from the northern

bank of the river, and nearly parallel with its course, there rises a

line of low hills, interrupted here and there, but extending in evident

connection from Almeyrim through the region of Monte Alégre to the

heights of Obydos. These hills have attracted the attention of

travellers, not only from their height, which appears greater than it

is, because they rise abruptly from an extensive plain, but also on

account of their curious form; many of them being perfectly level on

top, like smooth tables, and very abruptly divided from each other by

low, intervening spaces.[99] Nothing has hitherto been known of the

geological structure of these hills, but they have been usually

represented as the southernmost spurs of the table-land of Guiana. On

ascending the river, I felt the greatest curiosity to examine them; but

at the time I was deeply engrossed in studying the distribution of

fishes in the Amazonian waters, and in making large ichthyological

collections, for which it was very important not to miss the season of

low water, when the fishes are most easily obtained. I was, therefore,

obliged to leave this most interesting geological problem, and content

myself with examining the structure of the valley so far as it could be

seen on the river-banks and in the neighborhood of my different

collecting stations. On my return, however, when my collections were

completed, I was free to pursue this investigation, in which Major

Coutinho was as much interested as myself. We determined to select Monte

Alégre as the centre of our exploration, the serra in that region being

higher than elsewhere. As I was detained by indisposition at Manaos for

some days at the time we had appointed for the excursion, Major Coutinho

preceded me, and had already made one trip to the serra, with some very

interesting results, when I joined him, and we took a second journey

together. Monte Alégre lies on a side arm of the Amazons, a little off

from its main course. This side arm, called the Rio Gurupatuba, is

simply a channel, running parallel with the Amazons, and cutting through

from a higher to a lower point. Its dimensions are, however, greatly

exaggerated in all the maps thus far published, where it is usually made

to appear as a considerable northern tributary of the Amazons. The town

stands on an elevated terrace, separated from the main stream by the Rio

Gurupatuba and by an extensive flat, consisting of numerous lakes

divided from each other by low, alluvial land, and mostly connected by

narrow channels. To the west of the town this terrace sinks abruptly to

a wide sandy plain called the Campos, covered with a low forest-growth,

and bordered on its farther limit by the picturesque serra of Ereré. The

form of this mountain is so abrupt, its rise from the plains so bold and

sudden, that it seems more than twice its real height. Judging by the

eye and comparing it with the mountains I had last seen,—the Corcovado,

the Gavia, and Tijuca range in the neighborhood of Rio,—I had supposed

it to be three or four thousand feet high, and was greatly astonished

when our barometric observations showed it to be somewhat less than nine

hundred feet in its most elevated point. This, however, agrees with

Martius’s measurement of the Almeyrim hills, which he says are eight

hundred feet in height.

We passed three days in the investigation of the Serra of Ereré, and

found it to consist wholly of the sandstone deposits already described,

and to have exactly the same geological constitution. In short, the

Serra of Monte Alégre, and of course all those connected with it on the

northern side of the river, lie in the prolongation of the lower beds

forming the banks of the river, their greater height being due simply to

the fact that they have not been worn to the same low level. The

opposite range of Santarem, which has the same general outline and

character, shares, no doubt, the same geological structure. In one word,

all these hills were formerly part of a continuous formation, and owe

their present outline and their isolated position to a colossal

denudation. The surface of the once unbroken strata, which in their

original condition must have formed an immense plain covered by water,

has been cut into ravines or carried away over large tracts, to a

greater or less depth, leaving only such portions standing as, from

their hardness, could resist the floods which swept over it. The

longitudinal trend of these hills is to be ascribed to the direction of

the current which caused the denudation, while their level summits are

due to the regularity of the stratification. They are not all

table-topped, however; among them are many of smaller size, in which the

sides have been gradually worn down, producing a gently rounded surface.

Of course, under the heavy tropical rains this denudation is still going

on, though in a greatly modified form.

I cannot speak of this Serra without alluding to the great beauty and

extraordinary extent of the view to be obtained from it. Indeed, it was

here that for the first time the geography of the country presented

itself to my mind as a living reality in all its completeness.

Insignificant as is its actual height, the Serra of Ereré commands a

wider prospect than is to be had from many a more imposing mountain; for

the surrounding plain, covered with forests and ploughed by countless

rivers, stretches away for hundreds of leagues in every direction,

without any object to obstruct the view. Standing on the brow of the

Serra, with the numerous lakes intersecting the lowlands at its base,

you look across the valley of the Amazons, as far as the eye can reach,

and through its centre you follow for miles on either side the broad

flood of the great river, carrying its yellow waters to the sea. As I

stood there, panoramas from the Swiss mountains came up to my memory,

and I fancied myself on the Alps, looking across the plain of

Switzerland instead of the bed of the Amazons; the distant line of the

Santarem hills on the southern bank of the river, and lower than the

northern chain, representing the Jura range. As if to complete the

comparison, Alpine lichens were growing among the cacti and palms, and a

crust of Arctic cryptogamous growth covered rocks, between which sprang

tropical flowers. On the northern flank of this Serra I found the only

genuine erratic boulders I have seen in the whole length of the

Amazonian Valley from Pará to the frontier of Peru, though there are

many detached masses of rock, as, for instance, at Pedreira, near the

junction of the Rio Negro and Rio Branco, which might be mistaken for

them, but are due to the decomposition of the rocks in place. The

boulders of Ereré are entirely distinct from the rock of the Serra, and

consist of masses of compact hornblende.

It would seem that these two ranges skirting a part of the northern and

southern banks of the Lower Amazons are not the only remnants of this

arenaceous formation in its primitive altitude. On the banks of the Rio

Japura, in the Serra of Cupati, Major Coutinho has found the same beds

rising to the same height. It thus appears, by positive evidence, that

over an extent of a thousand miles these deposits had a very

considerable thickness, in the present direction of the valley. How far

they extended in width has not been ascertained by direct observation;

for we have not seen how they sink away to the northward, and towards

the south the denudation has been so complete that, except in the very

low range of hills in the neighborhood of Santarem, they do not rise

above the plain. But the fact that this formation once had a thickness

of more than eight hundred feet within the limits where we have had an

opportunity of observing it, leaves no doubt that it must have extended

to the edge of the basin, filling it to the same height throughout its

whole extent. The thickness of the deposits gives a measure for the

colossal scale of the denudations by which this immense accumulation was

reduced to its present level. Here, then, is a system of high hills,

having the prominence of mountains in the landscape, produced by causes

to whose agency inequalities on the earth’s surface of this magnitude

have never yet been ascribed. We may fairly call them denudation

mountains.

At this stage of the inquiry we have to account for two remarkable

phenomena,—first, the filling of the Amazonian bottom with coarse

arenaceous materials and finely laminated clays, immediately followed by

sandstones rising to a height of more than eight hundred feet above the

sea, the basin meanwhile having no rocky barrier towards the ocean on

its eastern side; secondly, the wearing away and reduction of these

formations to their present level by a denudation more extensive than

any thus far recorded in the annals of geology, which has given rise to

all the most prominent hills and mountain-chains along the northern bank

of the river. Before seeking an explanation of these facts, let us look

at the third and uppermost deposit.

This deposit is essentially the same as the Rio drift; but in the north

it presents itself under a somewhat different aspect. As in Rio, it is a

clayey deposit, containing more or less sand, and reddish in color,

though varying from deep ochre to a brownish tint. It is not so

absolutely destitute of stratification here as in its more southern

range, though the traces of stratification are rare, and, when they do

occur, are faint and indistinct. The materials are also more completely

comminuted, and, as I said above, contain hardly any large masses,

though quartz pebbles are sometimes scattered throughout the deposit,

and occasionally a thin seam of pebbles, exactly as in the Rio drift, is

seen resting between it and the underlying sandstone. In some places

this bed of pebbles intersects even the mass of the clay, giving it, in

such instances, an unquestionably stratified character. There can be no

doubt that this more recent formation rests unconformably upon the

sandstone beds beneath it; for it fills all the inequalities of their

denudated surfaces, whether they be more or less limited furrows, or

wide, undulating depressions. It may be seen everywhere along the banks

of the river, above the stratified sandstone, sometimes with the

river-mud accumulated against it; at the season of the _enchente_, or

high water, it is the only formation left exposed above the water-level.

Its thickness is not great; it varies from twenty or thirty to fifty

feet, and may occasionally rise nearly to a hundred feet in height,

though this is rarely the case. It is evident that this formation also

was once continuous, stretching over the whole basin at one level.

Though it is now worn down in many places, and has wholly disappeared in

others, its connection may be readily traced; since it is everywhere

visible, not only on opposite banks of the Amazons, but also on those of

all its tributaries, as far as their shores have been examined. I have

said that it rests always above the sandstone beds. This is true, with

one exception. Wherever the sandstone deposits retain their original

thickness, as in the hills of Monte Alégre and Almeyrim, the red clay is

not found on their summits, but occurs only in their ravines and

hollows, or resting against their sides. This shows that it is not only

posterior to the sandstone, but was accumulated in a shallower basin,

and consequently never reached so high a level. The boulders of Ereré do

not rest on the stratified sandstone of the Serra, but are sunk in the

unstratified mass of the clay. This should be remembered, as it will

presently be seen that their position associates them with a later

period than that of the mountain itself. The unconformability of the

ochraceous clay and the underlying sandstones might lead to the idea

that the two formations belong to distinct geological periods, and are

not due to the same agency acting at successive times. One feature,

however, shows their close connection. The ochraceous clay exhibits a

remarkable identity of configuration with the underlying sandstones. An

extensive survey of the two, in their mutual relations, shows clearly

that they were both deposited by the same water-system within the same

basin, but at different levels. Here and there the clay formation has so

pale and grayish a tint that it may be confounded with the mud deposits

of the river. These latter, however, never rise so high as the

ochraceous clay, but are everywhere confined within the limits of high

and low water. The islands also, in the main course of the Amazons,

consist invariably of river-mud; while those arising from the

intersection and cutting off of portions of the land by diverging

branches of the main stream always consist of the well-known sandstones,

capped by the ochre-colored clay.

It may truly be said that there does not exist on the surface of the

earth a formation known to geologists resembling that of the Amazons.

Its extent is stupendous; it stretches from the Atlantic shore, through

the whole width of Brazil, into Peru, to the very foot of the Andes.

Humboldt speaks of it “in the vast plains of the Amazons, in the eastern

boundary of Jaen de Bracamoros,” and says, “This prodigious extension of

red sandstone in the low grounds stretching along the east of the Andes

is one of the most striking phenomena I observed during my examination

of rocks in the equinoctial regions.”[100] When the great natural

philosopher wrote these lines, he had no idea how much these deposits

extended beyond the field of his observations. Indeed, they are not

limited to the main bed of the Amazons; they have been followed along

the banks of its tributaries to the south and north as far as these have

been ascended. They occur on the margins of the Huallaga and the

Ucayale, on those of the Iça, the Hyutahy, the Hyurua, the Hyapura, and

the Purus. On the banks of the Hyapura, where Major Coutinho has traced

them, they are found as far as the Cataract of Cupati. I have followed

them along the Rio Negro to its junction with the Rio Branco; and

Humboldt not only describes them from a higher point on this same river,

but also from the valley of the Orinoco. Finally, they may be tracked

along the banks of the Madeira, the Tapajos, the Xingu, and the

Tocantins, as well as on the shores of the Guatuma, the Trombetas, and

other northern affluents of the Amazons. The observations of Martius,

those of Gardner, and the recent survey above alluded to, made by my

assistant, Mr. St. John, of the valley of the Rio Guruguea and that of

the Rio Paranahyba, show that the great basin of Piauhy is also

identical in its geological structure with the lateral valleys of the

Amazons. The same is true of the large island of Marajo, lying at the

mouth of the Amazons. And yet I believe that even this does not cover

the whole ground, and that some future writer may say of my estimate, as

I have said of Humboldt’s, that it falls short of the truth; for, if my

generalizations are correct, the same formation will be found extending

over the whole basin of the Paraguay and the Rio de la Plata, and along

their tributaries, to the very heart of the Andes.

Such are the facts. The question now arises, How were these vast

deposits formed? The easiest answer, and the one which most readily

suggests itself, is that of a submersion of the continent at successive

periods, to allow the accumulation of these materials, and its

subsequent elevation. I reject this explanation for the simple reason

that the deposits show no sign whatever of a marine origin. No

sea-shells, nor remains of any marine animal, have as yet been found

throughout their whole extent, over a region several thousand miles in

length and from five to seven hundred miles in width. It is contrary to

all our knowledge of geological deposits to suppose that an ocean basin

of this size, which must have been submerged during an immensely long

period in order to accumulate formations of such a thickness, should not

contain numerous remains of the animals formerly inhabiting it.[101] The

only fossil remains of any kind truly belonging to it, which I have

found in the formation, are leaves taken from the lower clays on the

banks of the Solimoens at Tonantins; and these show a vegetation similar

in general character to that which prevails there to-day. Evidently,

then, this basin was a fresh-water basin; these deposits are fresh-water

deposits. But as the valley of the Amazons exists to-day, it is widely

open to the ocean on the east, with a gentle slope from the Andes to the

Atlantic, determining a powerful seaward current. When these vast

accumulations took place, the basin must have been closed; otherwise the

loose materials would constantly have been carried down to the ocean.

It is my belief that all these deposits belong to the ice-period in its

earlier or later phases, and to this cosmic winter, which, judging from

all the phenomena connected with it, may have lasted for thousands of

centuries, we must look for the key to the geological history of the

Amazonian Valley. I am aware that this suggestion will appear

extravagant. But is it, after all, so improbable that, when Central

Europe was covered with ice thousands of feet thick; when the glaciers

of Great Britain ploughed into the sea, and when those of the Swiss

mountains had ten times their present altitude; when every lake in

Northern Italy was filled with ice, and these frozen masses extended

even into Northern Africa; when a sheet of ice, reaching nearly to the

summit of Mount Washington in the White Mountains (that is, having a

thickness of nearly six thousand feet), moved over the continent of

North America,—is it so improbable that, in this epoch of universal

cold, the valley of the Amazons also had its glacier poured down into it

from the accumulations of snow in the Cordilleras, and swollen laterally

by the tributary glaciers descending from the table-lands of Guiana and

Brazil? The movement of this immense glacier must have been eastward,

determined as well by the vast reservoirs of snow in the Andes as by the

direction of the valley itself. It must have ploughed the valley-bottom

over and over again, grinding all the materials beneath it into a fine

powder or reducing them to small pebbles, and it must have accumulated

at its lower end a moraine of proportions as gigantic as its own; thus

building a colossal sea-wall across the mouth of the valley. I shall be

asked at once whether I have found here also the glacial

inscriptions,—the furrows, striæ, and polished surfaces so

characteristic of the ground over which glaciers have travelled. I

answer, not a trace of them; for the simple reason that there is not a

natural rock-surface to be found throughout the whole Amazonian Valley.

The rocks themselves are of so friable a nature, and the decomposition

caused by the warm torrential rains and by exposure to the burning sun

of the tropics so great and unceasing, that it is hopeless to look for

marks which in colder climates and on harder substances are preserved

through ages unchanged. With the exception of the rounded surfaces so

well known in Switzerland as the _roches moutonnées_ heretofore alluded

to, which may be seen in many localities, and the boulders of Ereré, the

direct traces of glaciers as seen in other countries are wanting in

Brazil. I am, indeed, quite willing to admit that, from the nature of

the circumstances, I have not here the positive evidence which has

guided me in my previous glacial investigations. My conviction in this

instance is founded, first, on the materials in the Amazonian Valley,

which correspond exactly in their character to materials accumulated in

glacier bottoms; secondly, on the resemblance of the upper or third

Amazonian formation to the Rio drift,[102] of the glacial origin of

which there cannot, in my opinion, be any doubt; thirdly, on the fact

that this fresh-water basin must have been closed against the sea by

some powerful barrier, the removal of which would naturally give an

outlet to the waters, and cause the extraordinary denudations, the

evidences of which meet us everywhere throughout the valley.

On a smaller scale, phenomena of this kind have long been familiar to

us. In the present lakes of Northern Italy, in those of Switzerland,

Norway, and Sweden, as well as in those of New England, especially in

the State of Maine, the waters are held back in their basins by

moraines. In the ice-period these depressions were filled with glaciers,

which, in the course of time, accumulated at their lower end a wall of

loose materials. These walls still remain, and serve as dams to prevent

the escape of the waters. But for their moraines, all these lakes would

be open valleys. In the Roads of Glen Roy, in Scotland, we have an

instance of a fresh-water lake, which has now wholly disappeared, formed

in the same manner, and reduced successively to lower and lower levels

by the breaking down or wearing away of the moraines which originally

prevented its waters from flowing out. Assuming then that, under the low

temperature of the ice-period, the climatic conditions necessary for the

formation of land-ice existed in the valley of the Amazons, and that it

was actually filled with an immense glacier, it follows that, when these

fields of ice yielded to a gradual change of climate, and slowly melted

away, the whole basin, then closed against the sea by a huge wall of

_débris_, was transformed into a vast fresh-water lake. The first effect

of the thawing process must have been to separate the glacier from its

foundation, raising it from immediate contact with the valley bottom,

and thus giving room for the accumulation of a certain amount of water

beneath it; while the valley as a whole would still be occupied by the

glacier. In this shallow sheet of water under the ice, and protected by

it from any violent disturbance, those finer triturated materials always

found at a glacier bottom, and ground sometimes to powder by its action,

would be deposited, and gradually transformed from an unstratified paste

containing the finest sand and mud, together with coarse pebbles and

gravel, into a regularly stratified formation. In this formation the

coarse materials would of course fall to the bottom, while the most

minute would settle above them. It is at this time and under such

circumstances that I believe the first formation of the Amazonian

Valley, with the coarse, pebbly sand beneath, and the finely laminated

clays above, to have been accumulated.

I shall perhaps be reminded here of my fossil leaves, and asked how any

vegetation would be possible under such circumstances. But it must be

remembered, that, in considering all these periods, we must allow for

immense lapses of time and for very gradual changes; that the close of

this first period would be very different from its beginning; and that a

rich vegetation springs on the very borders of the snow and ice fields

in Switzerland. The fact that these were accumulated in a glacial basin

would, indeed, at once account for the traces of vegetable life, and for

the absence, or at least the great scarcity, of animal remains in these

deposits. For while fruits may ripen and flowers bloom on the very edge

of the glaciers, it is also well known that the fresh-water lakes formed

by the melting of the ice are singularly deficient in life. There are,

indeed, hardly any animals to be found in glacial lakes.

The second formation belongs to a later period, when, the whole body of

ice being more or less disintegrated, the basin contained a larger

quantity of water. Beside that arising from the melting of the ice, this

immense valley bottom must have received, then as now, all which was

condensed from the atmosphere above, and poured into it in the form of

rain or dew at present. Thus an amount of water equal to that flowing in

from all the tributaries of the main stream must have been rushing

towards the axis of the valley, seeking its natural level, but spreading

over a more extensive surface than now, until, finally gathered up as

separate rivers, it flowed in distinct beds. In its general movement

toward the central and lower part of the valley, the broad stream would

carry along all the materials small enough to be so transported, as well

as those so minute as to remain suspended in the waters. It would

gradually deposit them in the valley bottom in horizontal beds more or

less regular, or here and there, wherever eddies gave rise to more rapid

and irregular currents, characterized by torrential stratification. Thus

has been consolidated in the course of ages the continuous sand

formation spreading over the whole Amazonian basin, and attaining a

thickness of eight hundred feet.

While these accumulations were taking place within this basin, it must

not be forgotten that the sea was beating against its outer

wall,—against that gigantic moraine which I suppose to have closed it at

its eastern end. It would seem that, either from this cause, or perhaps

in consequence of some turbulent action from within, a break was made in

this defence, and the waters rushed violently out. It is very possible

that the waters, gradually swollen at the close of this period by the

further melting of the ice, by the additions poured in from lateral

tributaries, by the rains, and also by the filling of the basin with

loose materials, would overflow, and thus contribute to destroy the

moraine. However this may be, it follows from my premises that, in the

end, these waters obtained a sudden release, and poured seaward with a

violence which cut and denuded the deposits already formed, wearing them

down to a much lower level, and leaving only a few remnants standing out

in their original thickness, where the strata were solid enough to

resist the action of the currents. Such are the hills of Monte Alégre,

of Obydos, Almeyrim, and Cupati, as well as the lower ridges of

Santarem. This escape of the waters did not, however, entirely empty the

whole basin; for the period of denudation was again followed by one of

quiet accumulation, during which was deposited the ochraceous sandy clay

resting upon the denudated surfaces of the underlying sandstone. To this

period I refer the boulders of Ereré, sunk as they are in the clay of

this final deposit. I suppose them to have been brought to their present

position by floating ice at the close of the glacial period, when

nothing remained of the ice-fields except such isolated

masses,—ice-rafts as it were; or perhaps by icebergs dropped into the

basin from glaciers still remaining in the Andes and on the edges of the

plateaus of Guiana and Brazil. From the general absence of

stratification in this clay formation, it would seem that the

comparatively shallow sheet of water in which it was deposited was very

tranquil. Indeed, after the waters had sunk much below the level which

they held during the deposition of the sandstone, and the currents which

gave rise to the denudation of the latter had ceased, the whole sheet of

water would naturally become much more placid. But the time arrived when

the water broke through its boundaries again, perhaps owing to the

further encroachment of the sea and consequent destruction of the

moraine.[103] In this second drainage, however, the waters, carrying

away a considerable part of the new deposit, furrowing it to its very

foundation, and even cutting through it into the underlying sandstone,

were, in the end, reduced to something like their present level, and

confined within their present beds. This is shown by the fact that in

this ochre-colored clay, and penetrating to a greater or less depth the

sandstone below, are dug, not only the great longitudinal channel of the

Amazons itself, but also the lateral furrows through which its

tributaries reach the main stream, and the network of anastomosing

branches flowing between them; the whole forming the most extraordinary

river system in the world.

My assumption that the sea has produced very extensive changes in the

coast of Brazil—changes more than sufficient to account for the

disappearance of the glacial wall which I suppose to have closed the

Amazonian Valley in the ice period—is by no means hypothetical. This

action is still going on to a remarkable degree, and is even now rapidly

modifying the outline of the shore. When I first arrived at Pará, I was

struck with the fact that the Amazons, the largest river in the world,

has no delta. All the other rivers which we call great, though some of

them are insignificant as compared with the Amazons,—the Mississippi,

the Nile, the Ganges, and the Danube,—deposit extensive deltas, and the

smaller rivers also, with few exceptions, are constantly building up the

land at their mouths by the materials they bring along with them. Even

the little river Kander, emptying into the lake of Thun, is not without

its delta. Since my return from the Upper Amazons to Pará, I have made

an examination of some of the harbor islands, and also of parts of the

coast, and have satisfied myself that, with the exception of a few

small, low islands, never rising above the sea-level, and composed of

alluvial deposit, they are portions of the main-land detached from it,

partly by the action of the river itself, and partly by the encroachment

of the ocean. In fact, the sea is eating away the land much faster than

the river can build it up. The great island of Marajo was originally a

continuation of the valley of the Amazons, and is identical with it in

every detail of its geological structure. My investigation of the island

itself, in connection with the coast and the river, leads me to suppose

that, having been at one time an integral part of the deposits described

above, at a later period it became an island in the bed of the Amazons,

which, dividing in two arms, encircled it completely, and then, joining

again to form a single stream, flowed onward to the sea-shore, which in

those days lay much farther to the eastward than it now does. I suppose

the position of the island of Marajo at that time to have corresponded

very nearly to the present position of the island of Tupinambaranas,

just at the junction of the Madeira with the Amazons. It is a question

among geographers whether the Tocantins is a branch of the Amazons, or

should be considered as forming an independent river system. It will be

seen that, if my view is correct, it must formerly have borne the same

relation to the Amazons that the Madeira River now does, joining it just

where Marajo divided the main stream, as the Madeira now joins it at the

head of the island of Tupinambaranas. If in countless centuries to come

the ocean should continue to eat its way into the Valley of the Amazons,

once more transforming the lower part of the basin into a gulf, as it

was during the cretaceous period, the time might arrive when

geographers, finding the Madeira emptying almost immediately into the

sea, would ask themselves whether it had ever been indeed a branch of

the Amazons, just as they now question whether the Tocantins is a

tributary of the main stream or an independent river. But to return to

Marajo, and to the facts actually in our possession.

The island is intersected, in its southeastern end, by a considerable

river called the Igarapé Grande. The cut made through the land by this

stream seems intended to serve as a geological section, so perfectly

does it display the three characteristic Amazonian formations above

described. At its mouth, near the town of Souré, and at Salvaterra, on

the opposite bank, may be seen, lowest, the well-stratified sandstone,

with the finely laminated clays resting upon it, overtopped by a crust;

then the cross-stratified, highly ferruginous sandstone, with quartz

pebbles here and there; and, above all, the well-known ochraceous,

unstratified sandy clay, spreading over the undulating surface of the

denudated sandstone, following all its inequalities, and filling all its

depressions and furrows. But while the Igarapé Grande has dug its

channel down to the sea, cutting these formations, as I ascertained, to

a depth of twenty-five fathoms, it has thus opened the way for the

encroachments of the tides, and the ocean is now, in its turn, gaining

upon the land. Were there no other evidence of the action of the tides

in this locality, the steep cut of the Igarapé Grande, contrasting with

the gentle slope of the banks near its mouth, wherever they have been

modified by the invasion of the sea, would enable us to distinguish the

work of the river from that of the ocean, and to prove that the

denudation now going on is due in part to both. But besides this, I was

so fortunate as to discover, on my recent excursion, unmistakable and

perfectly convincing evidence of the onward movement of the sea. At the

mouth of the Igarapé Grande, both at Souré and at Salvaterra, on the

southern side of the Igarapé, is a submerged forest. Evidently this

forest grew in one of those marshy lands constantly inundated, for

between the stumps is accumulated the loose, felt-like peat

characteristic of such grounds, and containing about as much mud as

vegetable matter. Such a marshy forest, with the stumps of the trees

still standing erect in the peat, has been laid bare on both sides of

the Igarapé Grande by the encroachments of the ocean. That this is the

work of the sea is undeniable, for all the little depressions and

indentations of the peat are filled with sea-sand, and a ridge of tidal

sand divides it from the forest still standing behind. Nor is this all.

At Vigia, immediately opposite to Souré, on the continental side of the

Pará River, just where it meets the sea, we have the counterpart of this

submerged forest. Another peat-bog, with the stumps of innumerable trees

standing in it, and encroached upon in the same way by tidal sand, is

exposed here also. No doubt these forests were once all continuous, and

stretched across the whole basin of what is now called the Pará River.

Since I have been pursuing this inquiry, I have gathered much

information to the same effect from persons living on the coast. It is

well remembered that, twenty years ago, there existed an island, more

than a mile in width, to the northeast of the entrance of the Bay of

Vigia, which has now entirely disappeared. Farther eastward, the Bay of

Braganza has doubled its width in the last twenty years, and on the

shore, within the bay, the sea has gained upon the land for a distance

of two hundred yards during a period of only ten years. The latter fact

is ascertained by the position of some houses, which were two hundred

yards farther from the sea ten years ago than they now are. From these

and the like reports, from my own observations on this part of the

Brazilian coast, from some investigations made by Major Coutinho at the

mouth of the Amazons on its northern continental shore near Macapa, and

from the reports of Mr. St. John respecting the formations in the valley

of the Paranahyba, it is my belief that the changes I have been

describing are but a small part of the destruction wrought by the sea on

the north-eastern shore of this continent. I think it will be found,

when the coast has been fully surveyed, that a strip of land not less

than a hundred leagues in width, stretching from Cape St. Roque to the

northern extremity of South America, has been eaten away by the ocean.

If this be so, the Paranahyba and the rivers to the northwest of it, in

the province of Maranham, were formerly tributaries of the Amazons; and

all that we know thus far of their geological character goes to prove

that this was actually the case. Such an extensive oceanic denudation

must have carried away not only the gigantic glacial moraine here

assumed to have closed the mouth of the Amazonian basin, but the very

ground on which it formerly stood. Although the terminal moraine has

disappeared, there is, however, no reason why parts of the lateral

moraines should not remain. And I expect in my approaching visit to

Ceará to find traces of the southern lateral moraine in that

neighborhood.

During the last four or five years I have been engaged in a series of

investigations, in the United States, upon the subject of the

denudations connected with the close of the glacial period there, and

the encroachments of the ocean upon the drift deposits along the

Atlantic coast. Had these investigations been published in detail, with

the necessary maps, it would have been far easier for me to explain the

facts I have lately observed in the Amazonian Valley, to connect them

with facts of a like character on the continent of North America, and to

show how remarkably they correspond with facts accomplished during the

same period in other parts of the world. While the glacial epoch itself

has been very extensively studied in the last half-century, little

attention has been paid to the results connected with the breaking up of

the geological winter and the final disappearance of the ice. I believe

that the true explanation of the presence of a large part of the

superficial deposits lately ascribed to the agency of the sea, during

temporary subsidences of the land, will be found in the melting of the

ice-fields. To this cause I would refer all those deposits which I have

designated as remodelled drift. When the sheet of ice, extending from

the Arctic regions over a great part of North America and coming down to

the sea, slowly melted away, the waters were not distributed over the

face of the country as they now are. They rested upon the bottom

deposits of the ice-fields, upon the glacial paste, consisting of clay,

sand, pebbles, boulders, etc., underlying the ice. This bottom deposit

did not, of course, present an even surface, but must have had extensive

undulations and depressions. After the waters had been drained off from

the more elevated ridges, these depressions would still remain full. In

the lakes and pools thus formed, stratified deposits would be

accumulated, consisting of the most minutely comminuted clay, deposited

in thin laminated layers, or sometimes in considerable masses, without

any sign of stratification; such differences in the formation being

determined by the state of the water, whether perfectly stagnant or more

or less agitated. Of such pool deposits overlying the drift there are

many instances in the Northern United States. By the overflowing of some

of these lakes, and by the emptying of the higher ones into those on a

lower level, channels would gradually be formed between the depressions.

So began to be marked out our independent river-systems,—the waters

always seeking their natural level, gradually widening and deepening the

channels in which they flowed, as they worked their way down to the sea.

When they reached the shore, there followed that antagonism between the

rush of the rivers and the action of the tides,—between continental

outflows and oceanic encroachments,—which still goes on, and has led to

the formation of our Eastern rivers, with their wide, open estuaries,

such as the James, the Potomac, and the Delaware. All these estuaries

are embanked by drift, as are also, in their lower course, the rivers

connected with them. Where the country was low and flat, and the drift

extended far into the ocean, the encroachment of the sea gave rise, not

only to our large estuaries, but also to the sounds and deep bays

forming the most prominent indentations of the continental coast, such

as the Bay of Fundy, Massachusetts Bay, Long Island Sound, and others.

The unmistakable traces of glacial action upon all the islands along the

coast of New England, sometimes lying at a very considerable distance

from the main-land, give an approximate, though a minimum, measure of

the former extent of the glacial drift seaward, and the subsequent

advance of the ocean upon the land. Like those of the harbor of Pará,

all these islands have the same geological structure as the continent,

and were evidently continuous with it at some former period. All the

rocky islands along the coast of Maine and Massachusetts exhibit the

glacial traces wherever their surfaces are exposed by the washing away

of the drift; and where the drift remains, its character shows that it

was once continuous from one island to another, and from all the islands

to the main-land.

It is difficult to determine with precision the ancient limit of the

glacial drift, but I think it can be shown that it connected the shoals

of Newfoundland with the continent; that Nantucket, Martha’s Vineyard,

and Long Island made part of the main-land; that, in like manner Nova

Scotia, including Sable Island, was united to the southern shore of New

Brunswick and Maine, and that the same sheet of drift extended thence to

Cape Cod, and stretched southward as far as Cape Hatteras;—in short,

that the line of shallow soundings along the whole coast of the United

States marks the former extent of glacial drift. The ocean has gradually

eaten its way into this deposit, and given its present outlines to the

continent. These denudations of the sea no doubt began as soon as the

breaking up of the ice exposed the drift to its invasion; in other

words, at a time when colossal glaciers still poured forth their load of

ice into the Atlantic, and fleets of icebergs, far larger and more

numerous than those now floated off from the Arctic seas, were launched

from the north-eastern shore of the United States. Many such masses must

have stranded along the shore, and have left various signs of their

presence. In fact, the glacial phenomena of the United States and

elsewhere are due to two distinct periods: the first of these was the

glacial epoch proper, when the ice was a solid sheet; while to the

second belongs the breaking up of this epoch, with the gradual

disintegration and dispersion of the ice. We talk of the theory of

glaciers and the theory of icebergs in reference to these phenomena, as

if they were exclusively due to one or the other, and whoever accepted

the former must reject the latter, and _vice versa_. When geologists

have combined these now discordant elements, and consider these two

periods as consecutive,—part of the phenomena being due to the glaciers,

part to the icebergs and to freshets consequent on their breaking

up,—they will find that they have covered the whole ground, and that the

two theories are perfectly consistent with each other. I think the

present disputes upon this subject will end somewhat like those which

divided the Neptunic and Plutonic schools of geologists in the early

part of this century; the former of whom would have it that all the

rocks were due to the action of water, the latter that they were wholly

due to the action of fire. The problem was solved, and harmony restored,

when it was found that both elements have been equally at work in

forming the solid crust of the globe. To the stranded icebergs alluded

to above, I have no doubt, is to be referred the origin of the many

lakes without outlets existing all over the sandy tract along our coast,

of which Cape Cod forms a part. Not only the formation of these lakes,

but also that of our salt marshes and cranberry-fields, I believe to be

connected with the waning of the ice period.

I hope at some future time to publish in detail, with the appropriate

maps and illustrations, my observations upon the changes of our coast,

and other phenomena connected with the close of the glacial epoch in the

United States. To give results without an account of the investigations

which have led to them, inverts the true method of science; and I should

not have introduced the subject here except to show that the fresh-water

denudations and the oceanic encroachments which have formed the

Amazonian Valley, with its river system, are not isolated facts, but

that the process has been the same in both continents. The extraordinary

continuity and uniformity of the Amazonian deposits are due to the

immense size of the basin enclosed, and the identity of the materials

contained in it.

A glance at any geological map of the world will show the reader that

the Valley of the Amazons, so far as an attempt is made to explain its

structure, is represented as containing isolated tracts of Devonian,

Triassic, Jurassic, cretaceous, tertiary, and alluvial deposits. This is

wholly inaccurate, as is shown by the above sketch, and whatever may be

thought of my interpretation of the actual phenomena, I trust that, in

presenting for the first time the formations of the Amazonian basin in

their natural connection and sequence, as consisting of three uniform

sets of comparatively recent deposits, extending throughout the whole

valley, the investigations here recorded have contributed something to

the results of modern geology.

-----

Footnote 96:

See Chapter III. p. 86.

Footnote 97:

The name consecrated by De Saussure to designate certain rocks in

Switzerland which have had their surfaces rounded under the action of

the glaciers. Their gently swelling outlines are thought to resemble

sheep resting on the ground, and for this reason the people in the

Alps call them _roches moutonnées_.

Footnote 98:

See “Glacial Phenomena in Maine,” Atlantic Monthly, 1866.

Footnote 99:

The atlas in Martius’s “Journey to Brazil,” or the sketch accompanying

Bates’s description of these hills in his “Naturalist on the Amazons,”

will give an idea of their aspect.

Footnote 100:

Bohn’s edition of Humboldt’s Personal Narrative, Chap. II. p. 134.

Humboldt alludes to these formations repeatedly: it is true that he

refers them to the ancient conglomerates of the Devonian age, but his

description agrees so perfectly with what I have observed along the

banks of the Amazons and the Rio Negro that there can be no doubt he

speaks of the same thing. He wrote at a time when many of the results

of modern geology were unknown, and his explanation of the phenomena

was then perfectly natural. The passage from which the few lines in

the text are taken shows that these deposits extend even to the

Llanos.

Footnote 101:

I am aware that Bates mentions having heard that at Obydos calcareous

layers, thickly studded with marine shells, had been found

interstratified with the clay, but he did not himself examine the

strata. The Obydos shells are not marine, but are fresh-water Unios,

greatly resembling Aviculas, Solens, and Arcas. Such would-be marine

fossils have been brought to me from the shore opposite to Obydos,

near Santarem, and I have readily recognized them for what they truly

are,—fresh-water shells of the family of Naiades. I have myself

collected specimens of these shells in the clay-beds along the banks

of the Solimoens, near Teffé, and might have mistaken them for fossils

of that formation had I not known how Naiades burrow in the mud. Their

resemblance to the marine genera mentioned above is very remarkable,

and the mistake as to their true zoölogical character is as natural as

that by which earlier ichthyologists, and even travellers of very

recent date, have confounded some fresh-water fishes from the Upper

Amazons, of the genus Pterophyllum (Heckel), with the marine genus

Platax.

Footnote 102:

As I have stated in the beginning, I am satisfied that the

unstratified clay deposit of Rio and its vicinity is genuine glacial

drift, resulting from the grinding of the loose materials interposed

between the glacier and the solid rock in place, and retaining to this

day the position in which it was left by the ice. Like all such

accumulations, it is totally free from stratification. If this be so,

it is evident, on comparing the two formations, that the ochraceous

sandy clay of the valley of the Amazons has been deposited under

different circumstances; that, while it owes its resemblance to the

Rio drift to the fact that its materials were originally ground by

glaciers in the upper part of the valley, these materials have

subsequently been spread throughout the whole basin and actually

deposited under the agency of water. A survey of the more southern

provinces of Brazil, extending to the temperate zone, where the

combined effects of a tropical sun and of tropical rains must

naturally be wanting, will, I trust, remove all the difficulties still

attending this explanation. The glacial phenomena, with all their

characteristic features, are already known to cover the southernmost

parts of South America. The intervening range, between 22° and 36° of

south latitude, cannot fail to exhibit the transition from the drift

of the cold and temperate zone to the formations of a kindred

character described above from the tropical zone. The knowledge of

these deposits will definitely settle the question; and either prove

the correctness of my generalizations or show their absurdity. I feel

no anxiety as to the result. I only long for a speedy removal of all

doubts.

Footnote 103:

I would here remind the reader of the terraces of Glen Roy, which

indicate successive reductions of the barrier encasing the lake,

similar to those assumed to have taken place at the mouth of the

Amazons.

CHAPTER XIV.

CEARÁ.

LEAVING PARÁ.—FAREWELL TO THE AMAZONS.—EASE OF TRAVELLING ON THE

AMAZONS.—ROUGH PASSAGE.—ARRIVAL AT CEARÁ.—DIFFICULTY OF

LANDING.—ASPECT OF THE TOWN.—RAINY SEASON.—CONSEQUENT

SICKLINESS.—OUR PURPOSE IN STOPPING AT CEARÁ.—REPORT OF DR.

FELICE ABOUT MORAINES.—PREPARATIONS FOR JOURNEY INTO THE

INTERIOR.—DIFFICULTIES AND DELAYS IN GETTING OFF.—ON THE

WAY.—NIGHT AT ARANCHO.—BAD ROADS.—CARNAUBA PALM.—ARRIVAL AT

MONGUBA.—KIND RECEPTION BY SENHOR FRANKLIN DE LIMA.—GEOLOGY OF THE

REGION.—EVENING GAMES AND AMUSEMENTS.—PACATUBA.—TRACES OF ANCIENT

GLACIERS.—SERRA OF ARATANHA.—CLIMB UP THE SERRA.—HOSPITALITY OF

SENHOR DA COSTA.—PICTURESQUE VIEWS.—THE SERTAŌ.—DROUGHT AND

RAINS.—EPIDEMICS.—RETURN TO MONGUBA.—DETAINED BY EXTRAORDINARY

RAINS.—RETURN TO CEARÁ.—OVERFLOWED ROADS.—DIFFICULTY OF

FORDING.—ARRIVAL AT CEARÁ.—LIBERALITY OF THE PRESIDENT OF THE

PROVINCE TOWARD THE EXPEDITION.

_April 2d._—Ceará. We left Pará on the 26th of March, in the evening,

feeling for the first time that we were indeed bidding good by to the

Amazons. Our pleasant voyages on its yellow waters, our canoe excursions

on its picturesque lakes and igarapés, our lingerings in its

palm-thatched cottages, belonged to the past; except in memory, our

Amazonian travels were over. When we entered upon them, what vague

anticipations, what visions of a new and interesting life, not, as we

supposed, without its dangers and anxieties, were before us. So little

is known, even in Brazil, of the Amazons, that we could obtain only very

meagre and, usually, rather discouraging information concerning our

projected journey. In Rio, if you say you are going to ascend their

great river, your Brazilian friends look at you with compassionate

wonder. You are threatened with sickness, with intolerable heat, with

the absence of any nourishing food or suitable lodgings, with

mosquitoes, with Jacarés and wild Indians. If you consult a physician,

he gives you a good supply of quinine, and tells you to take a dose

every other day as a preventive against fever and chills; so that if you

escape intermittent fever you are at least sure of being poisoned by a

remedy which, if administered incautiously, may cause a disease worse

than the one it cures. It will take perhaps from the excitement and

novelty of Amazonian travelling to know that the journey from Pará to

Tabatinga may be made with as much ease as a reasonable traveller has a

right to expect, though of course not without some privations, and also

with no more exposure to sickness than the traveller incurs in any hot

climate. The perils and adventures which attended the voyages of Spix

and Martius, or even of more recent travellers, like Castelnau, Bates,

and Wallace, are no longer to be found on the main course of the

Amazons, though they are met at every step on its great affluents. On

the Tocantins, on the Madeira, on the Purus, on the Rio Negro, the

Trombetas, or any of the large tributaries, the traveller must still

work his way slowly up in a canoe, scorched by the sun or drenched by

the rain; sleeping on the beach, hearing the cries of the wild animals

in the woods around him, and waking perhaps in the morning, to find the

tracks of a tiger in unpleasant proximity to his hammock. But along the

course of the Amazons itself, these days of romantic adventure and

hair-breadth escapes are over; the wild beasts of the forest have

disappeared before the puff of the engine; the canoe and the encampment

on the beach at night have given place to the prosaic conveniences of

the steamboat. It is no doubt true of the Amazons, as of other tropical

regions, that a long residence may reduce the vigor of the constitution,

and perhaps make one more liable to certain diseases; but during our

journey of eight months none of our large company suffered from any

serious indisposition connected with the climate, nor did we see in any

of our wanderings as many indications of intermittent fever as are to be

met constantly on our Western rivers. The voyage on the Amazons proper

has now become accessible to all who are willing to endure heat and

mosquitoes for the sake of seeing the greatest river in the world, and

the magnificent tropical vegetation along its shores. The best season

for the journey is from the close of June to the middle of

November,—July, August, September, and October being the four driest

months of the year, and the most salubrious throughout that region.

We had a rough and boisterous passage from Pará to Ceará, with unceasing

rain, in consequence of which the decks were constantly wet. Indeed, the

cabins were not free from water, and it was only by frequent bailing

that the floor of our state-room was kept tolerably dry. At Maranham we

had the relief of a night on shore; and Mr. Agassiz and Major Coutinho

profited by the occasion the following morning to examine the geology of

the coast more carefully than they had formerly done. They found the

structure identical with that of the Amazonian Valley, except that the

formations were more worn down and disturbed. We arrived before Ceará at

two o’clock on Saturday, March 31st, expecting to go on shore at once;

but the sea ran high, the tide was unfavorable, and during the day not

even a “jangada,” those singular rafts that here take the place of

boats, ventured out to our steamer as she lay rocking in the surf. Ceará

has no harbor, and the sea drives in with fearful violence on the long

sand-beach fronting the town, making it impossible, at certain states of

the tide and in stormy weather, for any boat to land, unless it be one

of these jangadas (catamarans), over which the waves break without

swamping them. At about nine o’clock in the evening a custom-house boat

came out, and, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour and the rough

sea, we determined to go on shore, for we were told that in the morning

the tide would be unfavorable, and if the wind continued in the present

quarter it might be still more difficult, if not impossible, to land. It

was not without some anxiety that I stood waiting my turn to enter the

boat; for though at one moment it rose, on the swell of the sea, close

to the stair, in the twinkling of an eye it was a couple of yards away.

Some presence of mind and agility were needed in order to make the leap

just at the right instant; and I was glad to find myself in the boat and

not in the water, the chances being about even. As we rode in over the

breakers, the boatmen entertained us with so many stories of the

difficulty of landing, the frequent accidents, and especially of one

which had occurred a few days before when three Englishmen had been

drowned, that I began to think reaching the shore must be more perilous

than leaving the ship. As we approached the town the scene was not

without its picturesque charm. The moon, struggling through gray, watery

clouds, threw a fitful light over the long sand-beach, on which the

crested waves were driving furiously. A number of laden boats were

tossing in the surf, and the roar of the breakers mingled with the cries

of the black porters, as they waded breast high through the water,

unloading the cargoes and carrying their burdens to the shore on their

heads. We were landed much in the same way, the boatmen carrying us over

the surf. This is the ordinary mode of embarking or landing passengers;

it is but rarely, and at particular states of the tide, that it is

possible to disembark at the pier which has been thrown out from the

shore. Major Coutinho had written to a friend to engage lodgings for us,

and we found a house ready. I was glad to sink into my comfortable

hammock, to exchange the pitching and rolling of the steamer for its

gentle rocking, to be out of reach of the hungry waves, and yet to hear

their distant rush on the shore as I fell asleep.

The next morning was rainy, but in the afternoon it cleared, and toward

evening we took a long drive with our host, Dr. Felice. I like the

aspect of Ceará. I like its wide, well-paved, cleanly streets, which are

bright with color, for the substantial houses on either side are of many

hues. If it chance to be a Sunday or a festa day, every balcony is

filled with gayly-dressed girls, while groups of men sit smoking and

talking on the sidewalks before the doors. This town has not the

stagnant, inanimate look of many Brazilian towns. It tells of movement,

life, prosperity.[104] Beyond the city the streets stretch out into the

campos, bordered on its inland side by beautiful serras; the Serra

Grande and the Serra de Baturité. In front of the city stretches the

broad sand-beach, and the murmur of the surf comes up into the heart of

the town. It seems as if, so lying between sea and mountain, Ceará

should be a healthy place, and it is usually so reputed. But at this

moment, owing, it is thought, to the unusual continuance of the dry

season and the extraordinary violence of the rains, now that they have

begun, the town is very sickly. Yellow-fever is prevalent, and there

have been a good many deaths from it recently, though it is said not to

have assumed the character of an epidemic as yet. Still more fatal is

the malignant dysentery, which has been raging both in town and country

for the last two months.

We are trying to hasten the arrangements for our inland journey, but do

not find it very easy. Mr. Agassiz’s object in stopping here is to

satisfy himself by direct investigation of the former existence of

glaciers in the serras of this province, and, if possible, to find some

traces of the southern lateral moraine, marking the limit of the mass of

ice which he supposes to have filled the Amazonian basin in the glacial

period. In the Amazonian Valley itself he has seen that all the

geological phenomena are connected with the close of the glacial period,

with the melting of the ice and the immense freshets consequent upon its

disappearance. On leaving the Amazons, the next step in the

investigation was to seek the masses of loose materials left by the

glacier itself. On arriving here he at once made inquiries to this

effect, from a number of persons who have travelled a great deal in the

province, and are therefore familiar with its features. The most

valuable information he has obtained,—valuable from the fact, that the

precision with which it is given shows that it may be relied upon,—is

from Dr. Felice. His occupation as land-surveyor has led him to travel a

great deal in the region of the Serra Grande. He has made a valuable map

of this portion of the province, and he tells Mr. Agassiz that there is

a wall of loose materials, boulders, stones, &c., running from east to

west for a distance of some sixty leagues from the Rio Aracaty-Assù to

Bom Jesu, in the Serra Grande. From his account, this wall resembles

greatly the “Horsebacks” in Maine, those remarkable ridges accumulated

by the ancient glaciers, and running sometimes uninterruptedly for

thirty or forty miles. The horsebacks are, however, covered with soil

and turf, whereas Dr. Felice describes this wall as rough and bare. Mr.

Agassiz has no doubt that this accumulation or dike of loose materials,

the position and direction of which corresponds exactly with his

conjecture based upon the evidence obtained in the Amazonian Valley, is

a portion of the lateral moraine, marking the southeastern limit of the

great Amazonian glacier. Unhappily, it is impossible for him to visit it

himself, for even could he devote the time necessary for so long a

journey in the interior, we are told that at this season the state of

the roads makes it almost impossible. He must therefore leave the

identification of this colossal moraine to some younger and more

fortunate investigator, and content himself with a direct examination of

the next link in the chain of evidence, namely, the traces of local

glaciers in the serras in the more immediate neighborhood of Ceará. If

the basin of the Amazons was actually filled with ice, all the mountains

lying outside of its limits in the neighboring provinces must have had

their glaciers also. It is in search of these local glaciers that we

undertake our present journey, hoping to reach the Serra of Baturité.

_April 6th._—Pacatuba (at the foot of the Serra of Aratanha). After

endless delays and difficulties about horses, servants, and other

preparations for our journey, we succeeded in getting off on the

afternoon of the 3d. The mode of travelling in the interior as well as

the character of the people, makes it almost impossible to accomplish

any journey with promptness and punctuality. While the preparations for

our excursion were going on, neighbors and acquaintances would stroll in

to see how things were advancing; one would propose that we should

postpone our departure till the day after to-morrow, on account of some

trouble about the horses; another that we should wait a week or two for

more favorable weather. Evidently it did not occur to any one that it

could be of much importance whether we started to-day or to-morrow, or

next week or next month. The lotus-eaters in the “land in which it

seemed always afternoon” could not have been more happily indifferent to

the passage of time. Now this calm superiority to laws obeyed by the

rest of mankind, this ignoring of the great dictum “_tempus fugit_,” is

rather exasperating to a man who has only the fortnight intervening

between two steamers in which to accomplish his journey, and knows the

time to be all too short for the objects he has in view. These habits of

procrastination are much less marked in those parts of Brazil where

railroad and steam travel have been introduced; though it cannot be said

that promptness and despatch are anywhere familiar qualities in this

country. Our delays in this particular instance were in no way owing to

any want of interest in our plans; on the contrary, we met here, as

everywhere, the most cordial sympathy with the objects of the

expedition, and the President of the province, as well as other persons,

were ready to give every assistance in their power. But a stranger

cannot of course expect the habits of the people to be changed to suit

his convenience, and we did but share in the general slowness of

movement. However, we were at last on the way; our party consisting of

Major Coutinho, Senhor Pompeo, Government Engineer of the province, whom

the President had kindly detailed to accompany us, Mr. Agassiz, and

myself. We had a servant, also provided by the President, one of his

guard, and two men, with a couple of pack-mules for baggage and

provisions. We started so late in the day, that our first ride was but a

league or so out of the town; short as it was, however, we did not

escape several showers, always to be expected at this season. Yet the

ride was pleasant; a smell as of huckleberry meadows came from the low

growth of shrubs covering the fields for miles around, and the very

earth was fragrant from the rain. As we left the city, low clouds, full

of distant showers, hung over the serras, and gave them a sombre beauty,

more impressive, if less cheerful, than their sunshine look. At six

o’clock we reached Arancho, a village where we were to pass the night.

As we rode in at dusk, it seemed to me only a little cluster of low

mud-houses; but I found, by daylight, there were one or two buildings of

more pretentious character. We stopped at the end of the principal

street, before the venda (village inn). At the door, which opened across

the middle, allowing its lower half to serve as a sort of gate, stood

the host, little expecting guests on this dark, rainy night. He was a

fat old man, with a head as round as a bullet, covered with very short

white curly hair, and a face beaming with good nature, but reddened also

by many potations. He was dressed in white cotton drawers with a shirt

hanging loose over them; his feet were stockingless, but he had on a

pair of the wooden-soled slippers, down at heel, of which you hear the

“clack, clack” in every town and village during the rainy season. He

opened the gate and admitted us into a small room furnished with a

hammock, a sofa, and a few chairs, the mud walls adorned with some

coarse prints, of which the old gentleman seemed very proud. He said if

we could be satisfied with such accommodation as he had, the gentlemen

to sling their hammocks in the sitting-room with him, the Senhora to

sleep with his wife and the children in the only other room he had to

offer, he should be happy to receive us. I confess that the prospect was

not encouraging; but I was prepared to meet with inconveniences, knowing

that even a short journey into the interior involved discomforts, and

when the hostess presently entered and made me heartily welcome to a

corner of her apartment, I thanked her with such cordiality as I could

muster. She was many years younger than her husband, and still very

handsome, with an Oriental kind of beauty, rather enhanced by her dress.

She wore a red muslin wrapper, somewhat the worse for wear, but still

brilliant in color; and her long black hair hung loose and unbraided

over her shoulders. An hour or two later supper was announced. We had

brought the greater part of it with us from the city, but we invited all

the family to sup with us, according to the fashion of the country. The

old gentleman completed his toilet by adding to it a gaudy-flowered

cotton dressing-gown, and seating himself at the table, contemplated the

roast-chickens and claret with no little satisfaction. From the

appearance of things, such a meal must have been a rarity in his house.

The mud floor of the kitchen where we supped was sloppy, and its leaky

roof and broken walls were but dimly lighted by the coarse guttering

candles made from the Carnauba palm. I presently heard a loud gobbling

close by my side; and, looking down, saw by the half-light a black pig

feeding at a little table with the two children, assisted also by the

dog and the cat. Supper over, I proposed to go to the common sleeping

apartment, preferring to be in advance of my companions. It was a little

room, some ten feet square, behind the one where we had been received,

and without any window. This is not, however, so great an objection

here, where the roofs are so open that a great deal of air comes from

above. Once ensconced in my hammock I began to watch the arrival of my

room-mates with some curiosity. First entered a young girl and her

little sister, who stowed themselves away in one of the beds; then came

the servant-maid and hung herself up in her hammock in a corner; and

lastly arrived the landlady, who took possession of the other bed, and

completed the charms of the scene by lighting her pipe to have a quiet

smoke before she went to sleep. I cannot say the situation was favorable

to rest; the heavy showers which rattled on the tiles throughout the

night penetrated the leaky roof, and, however I changed my position in

the hammock, it rained into my face; fleas were abundant; the silence

was occasionally broken by the crying of the children, or the grunting

of the pig at the door, and for my part I was very glad when five

o’clock called us all to get up, our plan being to start at six and ride

three leagues before breakfast. However, on a journey of this kind, it

is one thing to intend going anywhere at a particular time and quite

another to accomplish it. When we met at six o’clock in readiness for

our journey, two of the horses were not to be found; they had strayed

away during the night. Though accidents of this kind are a constant

subject of complaint, it does not seem to occur to any one to secure the

horses for the night; it is indeed far easier to let them roam about and

provide for themselves. The servants were sent to look for them, and we

sat waiting, and losing the best hours of the morning, till, in their

own good time, men and beasts reappeared. We were at last on the road at

half past eight o’clock; but, unhappily, it was just during our two

hours of inaction that the rain, which had been pouring in torrents all

night, had ceased for a time. We had scarcely started when it began

again, and accompanied us for a great part of the way on our long three

leagues’ ride. We came now for the first time on the Carnauba palm

(Copernicia cerifera), so invaluable for its many useful properties. It

furnishes an admirable timber, strong and durable, from which the

rafters of all the houses in this region are made; it yields a wax

which, if the process of refining and bleaching it were understood,

would make an excellent candle, and which, as it is, is used for light

throughout the province; from its silky fibre very strong thread and

cordage are manufactured; the heart of the leaves, when cooked, makes an

excellent vegetable, resembling delicate cabbage; and, finally, it

provides a very nourishing fodder for cattle. It is a saying in the

province of Ceará, that where the Carnauba palm abounds a man has all he

needs for himself and his horse. The stem is tall, and the leaves so

arranged around the summit as to form a close spherical crown, entirely

unlike that of any other palm.[105]

If we had to lament the rain, we were fortunate in not having the sun on

our journey, for the forest is low and affords but little shade. The

road was in a terrible condition from the long-continued rains, and

though there are no rivers of any importance between the town and the

Serra of Monguba, to which we were bound, yet in several places the

little streams were swollen to a considerable depth; and, owing to the

broken condition of the bottom, full of holes and deep ruts, they were

by no means easy to ford. After a fatiguing ride of four hours, during

which we inquired, two or three times, how far we had still to go, and

always received the same answer, “uma legua,” that league never seeming

to diminish with our advance, we were delighted to find ourselves at the

little bridle-path which turned off from the main road and led us to the

fazenda of Senhor Franklin de Lima. The traveller is always welcome who

asks hospitality at a Brazilian country house, but Major Coutinho had

already stayed at this fazenda on previous journeys, and we shared the

welcome given to him as an old friend. The hospitality of our excellent

hosts repaid us for all the fatigues of our journey, and our luggage

being still on the road, their kindness supplied the defects of our

toilet, which was in a lamentable condition after splashing through

muddy water two or three feet deep. Mr. Agassiz, however, could not

spare time to rest; we had followed a morainic soil for a great part of

our journey, had passed many boulders on the road, and he was anxious to

examine the Serra of Monguba, on the slope of which Senhor Franklin has

his coffee plantation, and at the foot of which his house stands. He

was, therefore, either on foot or on horseback the greater part of this

day and the following one, examining the geological structure of the

mountain, and satisfying himself that, here too, all the valleys have

had their glaciers, and that these valleys have brought down from the

hillsides into the plains boulders, pebbles, and _débris_ of all sorts.

In this pleasant home, in the midst of the bright, intelligent circle

composing the family of Senhor Franklin, we passed two days. After

breakfast we dispersed to our various occupations, the gentlemen being

engaged in excursions in the neighborhood; the evening brought us

together again, and was enlivened with music, dancing, and games. The

Brazilians are fond of games, and play them with much wit and animation.

One of their favorite games is called “the market of saints”; it is very

amusing when there are two or three bright people to act the prominent

parts. One person performs the salesman, another the padre who comes to

purchase a saint for his chapel; the company enact the saints, covering

their faces with their handkerchiefs, and remaining as motionless as

possible. The salesman brings in the padre, and, taking him from one to

another in turn, describes all their extraordinary miraculous qualities,

their wonderful lives and pious deaths. After a few introductory remarks

on the subject of the purchase, the handkerchief is drawn off, and if

the saint keeps his countenance and remains immovable during all the

ridiculous things that are said about him, he comes off scot free; but

if he laughs he is subject to a forfeit. There are indeed few who stand

the test; for if the salesman has any tact in the game, he knows how to

seize upon any funny incident or characteristic quality connected with

the individual, and give it prominence. Perhaps the reader, knowing

something of our hunt for glaciers, may guess this saint, Major Coutinho

being salesman. “This, Senhor Padre, is rather a stout saint, but still

of most pious disposition, and, O meu Padre! a wonderful worker of

miracles; he can fill these valleys with ice, he covers the mountains

with snow in the hottest days, he brings the stones from the top of the

serra to the bottom, he finds animals in the bowels of the earth and

brings out their bones.” “Ah!” replies the padre, “a wonderful saint,

truly! such an one as I need for my chapel; let me look upon his face.”

Handkerchief withdrawn, and the saint in question of course loses his

forfeit. Yesterday, after breakfast, we left our pleasant friends and

came on to the little village of Pacatuba, a league farther inland, and

most picturesquely situated at the foot of the Serra of Aratanha. Here

we are fortunate in finding an empty “sobrada” (two-storied house), in

which we shall establish ourselves for the two or three days we mean to

spend in this neighborhood. We have had it swept out, have hung our

hammocks in the vacant rooms, which, with the exception of a straw sofa

and a few chairs, are innocent of furniture; and if we find it rather

forlorn within doors, we have at least beautiful views from all our

windows.

_April 7th._—Pacatuba. We have already ascertained that our exploration

must be confined to the serras in the midst of which we find ourselves;

for every one tells us that, in the present state of the roads, it would

be impossible to go to Baturité and return in the short time we have at

our disposal. However, Mr. Agassiz is not disappointed; for he says a

farther journey could only give him glacial phenomena on a larger scale,

which he finds here immediately about him in the greatest perfection. On

this very Serra of Aratanha, at the foot of which we happen to have

taken up our quarters, the glacial phenomena are as legible as in any of

the valleys of Maine, or in those of the mountains of Cumberland in

England. It had evidently a local glacier, formed by the meeting of two

arms, which descended from two depressions spreading right and left on

the upper part of the serra, and joining below in the main valley. A

large part of the medial moraine formed by the meeting of these two arms

can still be traced in the central valley. One of the lateral moraines

is perfectly preserved, the village road cutting through it; while the

village itself is built just within the terminal moraine, which is

thrown up in a long ridge in front of it. It is a curious fact that, in

the centre of the medial moraine, formed by a little mountain stream

making its way through the ridge of rocks and boulders, is a delicious

bathing pool, overgrown by orange-trees and palms. As Mr. Agassiz came

down from the serra yesterday, heated with his hunt after glaciers under

a tropical sun, he stopped to bathe in this pool. He said, as he enjoyed

its refreshing coolness, he could not but be struck with the contrast

between the origin of this basin and the vegetation which now surrounds

it; to say nothing of the odd coincidence that he, a naturalist of the

nineteenth century, should be bathing under the shade of palms and

orange-trees on the very spot where he sought and found the evidence of

a cold so intense that it heaped the mountains with ice.

_April 9th._—Yesterday, at seven o’clock in the morning, we left

Pacatuba for the house of Senhor da Costa, lying half-way up the serra,

at a height of about eight hundred feet above the level of the sea. The

path up the serra is wild and picturesque, lined with immense boulders,

and shaded with large trees; while here and there a little cascade comes

brawling down over the rocks. In this climate, a road so broken by

boulders is especially beautiful, on account of the luxuriance of the

vegetation. Exquisite vines, shrubs, and even trees spring up wherever

they can find the least soil in which to strike root; and many of these

isolated rocks are gardens in themselves. One immense boulder in the

path is split, and from its centre springs a palm all draperied in

vines. Of the native trees, the Genipapu (Genipa braziliensis), the

Imbauba (Cecropia), the Carnauba (Copernicia cerifera), the Catolé

(Attalea humilis), and the Paō d’Arco (Tecoma speciosa) are most

prominent. The latter is so named because the Indians make their bows

from its tough, elastic wood. Though not native to the soil, bananas,

cocoa-nut palms, orange-trees, as well as cotton and coffee shrubs, are

abundant. The cultivation of coffee, which thrives admirably on the

slopes of all the serras, is the great source of prosperity here; but,

at least in the sitios we have visited, it is difficult to judge of the

extent of the plantations on account of the irregular manner of

planting. The crops are, however, very large, and the coffee superior in

quality. I found the climb up the precipitous serra exceedingly

fatiguing. The people who live on the mountain come and go constantly,

even with their children, on horseback; but as our horses were from the

city, and unaccustomed to mountain paths, we had preferred ascending on

foot, especially as the rains had made the road more rough and broken

than usual. A mountain scramble in this country is very different from

the same thing in temperate climates. The least exertion induces

excessive perspiration; and if, when thus drenched to the skin, you stop

to rest, you are chilled by the slightest breeze. I was very glad when,

after about an hour’s climbing, we reached the sitio of Senhor da Costa,

on the slope of the serra. Donna Maria laughed at me for coming up on

foot, and said I should have mounted like a man, as she does, and

ascended the serra on horseback. Indeed, I think a lady who is obliged

to make a journey in the interior of Brazil should dress Bloomer-fashion

and mount _en cavalier_. A lady’s seat on horseback is too insecure for

dangerous mountain roads, or for fording streams; and her long skirt is

another inconvenience.

Nothing can be more picturesque than the situation of this sitio. It is

surrounded by magnificent masses of rock, which seem embedded in the

forest, as it were; and by its side a cascade comes leaping down through

the trees, so hidden by them that, though you hear the voice of the

water constantly, you only see its glimmer here and there among the

green foliage. The house itself stands on a fine specimen of moraine,

flanked on one side by a bank of red morainic soil, overtopped by

boulders. It is so built in among huge masses of rock that its walls

seem half natural. At the foot of the mountain spreads the Sertaō,

stretching level for the most part to the ocean, though broken here and

there by billowy hills rising isolated from its surface. Beyond it many

miles away may be seen the yellow lines of the sand-dunes on the shore,

and the white glitter of the sea. The Sertaō (desert) is beautifully

green now, and spreads out like a verdant prairie below. But in the dry

season it justifies its name and becomes a very desert indeed, being so

parched that all vegetation is destroyed. The drought is so great during

eight months of the year, that the country people living in the Sertaō

are often in danger of famine from the drying up of all the crops.[106]

After this long dry season the rains often set in with terrible

violence, and it is at this time that epidemics are developed, such as

prevail now. It rains day and night for weeks at a time, till everything

is penetrated with dampness; and when the hot sun comes out upon the

soaked and steaming earth, it is far more injurious than in the dry

season. One cannot wonder at the prevailing sickness, for the humidity

seems to permeate everything with subtle power. The walls, the floors,

the very furniture,—your hammock at night and your clothes in the

morning,—feel damp and have a sort of clammy chill; and the sun comes

out with such fitful gleams, that, intense as is its heat while it

lasts, nothing becomes thoroughly dried.

Toward nightfall we went to see the sunset from a boulder of enormous

size, which seems to have stopped inexplicably on the steep descent. It

juts out from the mountain-side, and commands even a more extensive view

than the house above. I could not help thinking, as we stood on the edge

of this immense mass of rock, that, as it seemed to have stopped for no

particular reason, it might start again at any minute, and bring one to

the bottom of the serra with unpleasant rapidity.

_April 10th._—Yesterday afternoon we returned to Pacatuba, descending

the serra much more rapidly and with far less fatigue than we had

ascended. We would gladly have availed ourselves longer of the pleasant

hospitality of our hosts, who very graciously urged us to stay; but time

is precious, and we are anxious not to miss the next steamer. Donna

Maria’s kindness followed us down the mountain, however, for scarcely

had we reached the house before an excellent dinner—stewed fowls, beef,

vegetables, etc.—arrived, borne on the heads of two negroes. When I saw

the load these men had brought so steadily down the same path over which

I had come rolling, pitching, tumbling, sliding,—any way, in short, but

walking,—I envied their dexterity, and longed to be as sure-footed as

these shoeless, half naked, ignorant blacks. To-day we leave Pacatuba

for the house of Senhor Franklin, on our way back to Ceará.

_April 12th._—On the 10th we returned to Monguba, where we passed that

day and the following night at the fazenda of our friends, the

Franklins. The next morning we had intended to start at six o’clock on

our way to the city. No sooner were the horses at the door, however, and

the pack-mules ready, than a pouring rain began. We waited for it to

pass, but it was followed by shower after shower, falling in solid

sheets. So the day wore on till twelve o’clock, when there was a lull,

with a prospect of fine weather, and we started. I could not help

feeling some anxiety, for I remembered the streams we had forded in

coming, and wondered what they would be after these torrents.

Fortunately, before we reached the first of them, we met two negroes,

who warned us that there was a great deal of water on the road. We hired

them to come on with us, and guide my horse. When we reached the spot it

really looked appalling. The road was inundated to a considerable

distance, and the water rushed across it with great violence, having in

many places a depth of four or five feet, and a strong current. If there

had been a sound bottom to rely upon, the wetting would have been

nothing; but the road, torn up by the rains, was full of holes and deep

gullies, so that the horses, coming unexpectedly on these inequalities,

would suddenly flounder up to their necks in water, and recover their

footing only by kicking and plunging. We crossed four such streams, one

man leading my horse while the gentlemen followed close behind, and the

second negro walking in front to see where it was possible to pass

without getting completely out of depth. These streams, not quite deep

enough to allow the horse to swim, and with such a broken bottom that he

is in constant danger of falling, are sometimes more difficult of

passage than a river. We met with only one accident, however, which, as

it did no harm, was rather ludicrous than otherwise. The negroes had

left us, saying there was no more deep water in the road, and when we

came presently to a shallow stream we entered it quite confidently. It

was treacherous, however, for just on its edge was a soft, adhesive

bog-mud. In entering, the horses stepped across this quagmire, but their

hind legs were instantly caught in it. Major Coutinho, who was riding at

my side, seized my bridle, and, spurring his own horse violently, both

the animals extricated themselves at once by a powerful effort. Our

servant, who followed behind, was not so fortunate; he was mounted on a

small mule, which seemed likely to be swallowed up bodily for a moment,

so suddenly did it disappear in the mire; the man fell off, and it was

some minutes before he and his animal regained the road, a mass of mud

and dripping with water. We reached Ceará at five in the afternoon,

having made a journey of five leagues. Every one tells us that the state

of the roads is most unusual, such continuous rains not having been

known for many years. The sickness in the city continues unabated, and a

young man who was attacked with yellow-fever in the next house before we

left has died in our absence. Everywhere on our journey we have heard

the same complaints of prevalent epidemics, and the authorities are

beginning to close the schools in the town on account of them. The

steamer is due in a day or two, and we are making our preparations for

departure. We should not bid good by to Ceará without acknowledging the

sympathy shown by the President of the Province, Senhor Homem de Mello,

in the objects of the expedition. Mr. Agassiz has received a collection

of palms and fishes, the directions for which he had given before

starting for the Serra, but the expenses of which are defrayed by the

President, who insists upon their being received as a contribution from

the province. Mr. Agassiz is also greatly indebted to Senhor Felice, at

whose house we have lodged, for efficient help in collecting, and to

Senhor Cicero de Lima for a collection of fishes and insects from the

interior. I conclude this chapter with a few passages from notes made by

Mr. Agassiz during his examination of the Serra of Aratanha and the site

of Pacatuba.

“I spent the rest of the day in a special examination of the right

lateral moraine, and part of the front moraine of the glacier of

Pacatuba; my object was especially to ascertain whether what appeared a

moraine at first might not, after all, be a spur of the serra,

decomposed in place. I ascended the ridge to its very origin, and there

crossed into an adjoining depression, immediately below the Sitio of

Captain Henriquez, where I found another glacier bottom of smaller

dimensions, the ice of which probably never reached the plain.

Everywhere in the ridges encircling these depressions the loose

materials and large boulders are so accumulated and embedded in clay or

sand that their morainic character is unmistakable. Occasionally, where

a ledge of the underlying rock crops out, in places where the drift has

been removed by denudation, the difference between the moraine and the

rock decomposed in place is recognized at once. It is equally easy to

distinguish the boulders which here and there have rolled down from the

mountain and stopped against the moraine. The three things are side by

side, and might at first be easily confounded; but a little familiarity

makes it easy to distinguish them. Where the lateral moraine turns

toward the front of the ancient glacier, near the point at which the

brook of Pacatuba cuts through the former, and a little to the west of

the brook, there are colossal boulders leaning against the moraine, from

the summit of which they have probably rolled down. Near the cemetery

the front moraine consists almost entirely of small quartz pebbles;

there are, however, a few larger blocks among them. The medial moraine

extends nearly through the centre of the village, while the left-hand

lateral moraine lies outside of the village, at its eastern end, and is

traversed by the road leading to Ceará. It is not impossible that

eastwards a third tributary of the serra may have reached the main

glacier of Pacatuba. I may say, that in the whole valley of Hasli there

are no accumulations of morainic materials more characteristic than

those I have found here,—not even about the Kirchet; neither are there

any remains of the kind more striking about the valleys of Mount Desert

in Maine, where the glacial phenomena are so remarkable, nor in the

valleys of Lough Fine, Lough Augh, and Lough Long in Scotland, where the

traces of ancient glaciers are so distinct. In none of these localities

are the glacial phenomena more legible than in the Serra of Aratanha. I

hope that before long some members of the Alpine Club, thoroughly

familiar with the glaciers of the Old World, not only in their present,

but also in their past condition, will come to these mountains of Ceará

and trace the outlines of their former glaciers more extensively than it

has been possible for me to do in this short journey. It would be an

easy excursion, since steamers from Liverpool and Bordeaux reach

Pernambuco in about ten days, arriving twice a month, while Brazilian

steamers make the trip from Pernambuco to Ceará in two days. The nearest

serra in which I have observed traces of ancient glaciers is reached

from Ceará in one day on horseback. The best season for such a journey

would be June and July, at the close of the rainy season, and before the

great droughts of the dry season have began.”

-----

Footnote 104:

The prosperous province of Ceará has found in Senator Pompeo a worthy

exponent of its interests; not only does he represent the province at

Rio de Janeiro, but, by the publication of careful statistics, has

largely contributed to its progress.—L. A.

Footnote 105:

For a very interesting treatise on this palm, and the various branches

of industry it may be made to subserve, see “Notice sur le Palmier

Carnauba,” par M. A. de Macedo, Paris, 1867, 8º.

Footnote 106:

But for the existence of a shrub allied to our hawthorn, and known to

botanists as Zizyphus Joazeiro, the cattle would suffer excessively

during the drought. This shrub is one of the few plants common to this

latitude which does not lose its foliage during the dry season, and,

happily for the inhabitants, all the herbivorous domesticated animals

delight to feed upon it.—L. A.

CHAPTER XV.

PUBLIC INSTITUTIONS OF RIO DE JANEIRO.—ORGAN MOUNTAINS.

VOYAGE FROM CEARÁ.—FRESHETS AT PERNAMBUCO.—ARRIVAL AT

RIO.—COLLECTIONS.—VEGETATION ABOUT RIO AS COMPARED WITH THAT ON

THE AMAZONS.—MISERICORDIA HOSPITAL.—CHARITIES CONNECTED WITH

IT.—ALMSGIVING IN BRAZIL.—INSANE ASYLUM.—MILITARY SCHOOL.—THE

MINT.—ACADEMY OF FINE ARTS.—HEROISM OF A NEGRO.—PRIMARY SCHOOL FOR

GIRLS.—NEGLECTED EDUCATION OF WOMEN IN BRAZIL.—BLIND

ASYLUM.—LECTURES.—CHARACTER OF THE BRAZILIAN AUDIENCE.—ORGAN

MOUNTAINS.—WALK UP THE SERRA.—THERESOPOLIS.—VISIT TO THE “ST.

LOUIS” FAZENDA.—CLIMATE OF THERESOPOLIS.—DESCENT OF THE

SERRA.—GEOLOGY OF THE ORGAN MOUNTAINS.—THE LAST WORD.

_May 29th._—We arrived in Rio more than a month ago, having left Ceará

on the 16th of April. There was nothing worth recording in our voyage

down the coast, except that at Pernambuco we found the country even more

overflowed by the recent rains than it had been at Ceará. Going to

breakfast with our friends, Mr. and Mrs. R——, only four or five miles

from the city, we passed through portions of the road where the water

was nearly level with the floor of the carriage; and temporary ferries

were established by negroes, who were plying rafts and canoes between

the shores for the benefit of foot-passengers. A mile or two beyond Mr.

R——’s house we were told that the road, though one of the most

frequented in the neighborhood of the city, had become quite impassable.

We saw many overflowed gardens and houses abandoned because the water

was already above the windows of the ground-floor.

We had a warm welcome back to the beautiful bay of Rio, on board the

“Susquehanna,” just then in the harbor. Captain Taylor sent his boat at

once to our steamer, and we were soon on his deck, received so cordially

by him and his officers, and by a party of American friends who were

making a visit to his ship, that it seemed like an anticipation of our

arrival at home. There is nothing so pleasant as an unexpected meeting

with one’s own fellow-citizens on coming into a foreign port, and this

was a delightful surprise to us.

We are again in our old quarters in the Rua Direita, and, except that

our fellow-travellers are all scattered, it would seem as if we had

stepped back a year. Since our return, Mr. Agassiz has been arranging

and despatching to the United States the numerous specimens which have

been sent in during our absence. Among them is the large and very

complete collection made for him by the Emperor last summer, when in

command of the army at the South. It contains fishes from several of the

southern fresh-water basins, and includes a great number of new species.

Taken in connection with the Amazonian collections and those from the

interior, it affords material for an extensive comparison of the faunæ

of the southern and northern fresh-waters in Brazil.

Our excursions since our return have been only in the neighborhood of

the city to Petropolis and the Dom Pedro Railroad. We are surprised, on

returning to this road while our Amazonian impressions are fresh in our

minds, to find that the vegetation, the richness of which amazed us when

we first arrived in Brazil, looks almost meagre in comparison to that

with which we have since been familiar. It is dwarfed, to our eye, by

the still more luxuriant growth of the north.

Yesterday was Mr. Agassiz’s birthday, again made very bright to us by

the cordial testimony of kind feeling and sympathy from his friends and

country people. In the evening we were pleasantly surprised by a

torchlight procession in his honor, formed by the German and Swiss

residents of Rio de Janeiro. The festivities concluded with a serenade

under our windows by the German club.

_June 4th._—When we were in Rio de Janeiro last year, Mr. Agassiz was so

much occupied with the plans of the expedition that he was unable to

visit the schools of the city, its charitable institutions, and the

like. Being unwilling to leave Brazil without knowing something of the

public works in its largest capital, we are now engaged in

“sight-seeing.” This morning we visited the Misericordia Hospital.

Perhaps it will give a better idea of this institution, and of the

influences under which it at present exists, to speak of it first as it

was formerly. Nearly forty years ago there was in Rio de Janeiro a

hospital called “De la Misericordia.” Its wards were low, its entries

were confined and close, its staircases steep and narrow. According to

the accounts of physicians who were medical students there in those

days, its internal organization was as sordid as its general aspect. The

floors were wet and dirty, the beds wretched, the linen soiled; and the

absence of a system of ventilation made itself the more felt on account

of the want of general cleanliness. The corpses awaited burial in a room

where the rats held high festival; and a physician, who has since

occupied a distinguished position in Rio de Janeiro, told us that when,

as a student, he went to seek there the materials for his anatomical

studies, he often found life stirring in this chamber of the dead, and

startled away these unseemly visitors. Such, in brief, was the

Misericordia Hospital at the time when Brazil secured her independence.

Let us see what it is now. On the same spot, though occupying a much

larger space, stands the present hospital. When completed, it will

consist of three parallel buildings, long in proportion to their

breadth, connected by cross corridors enclosing courts between them. The

central edifice, intended for male patients, has been long in use. The

front building, looking on the bay, is nearly completed, and is to be

devoted to the stores, to accommodations for hospital physicians,

nurses, &c. The rear building, not yet begun, will be for the use of

women and children, who now occupy the old hospital. Let us look first

at the central division. We enter a spacious hall tiled with marble. A

smaller hall, leading out of it, connects with one or two

reception-rooms, where visitors are received, and medicines given out

gratis to poor applicants. A broad staircase of dark wood brings us to

the wide corridors, on which the wards open, and which look out upon

green gardens enclosed between the buildings, where convalescents may be

seen strolling about, or resting in the shade. At the first ward we are

received by a Sister of Charity, who, in the absence of the Superior, is

to show us the establishment. A description of one ward will answer for

all, since they are identical. It is a long, lofty room, the beds in

rows on either side, facing outward, and having a broad, open space down

the centre. The beds are arranged two and two in pairs, each pair being

divided by a door or window. Between every two beds is a little niche in

the wall, with a shelf to draw out underneath. In the niche are one or

two pitchers or goblets holding the patient’s drink; on the shelf is his

mug, ready to his hand. To a height of some six or eight feet the wall

is wainscoted with blue-and-white porcelain tiles. They are easily

washed, do not contract dampness, and look very cool and fresh. The

floor is made of the dark Brazilian wood, partly inlaid, and waxed

carefully; not a stain is to be seen anywhere on its shining surface.

The bedding consists of a well-stuffed straw-mattress below, with a

thick hair-mattress above. The sheets and pillow-cases are spotless.

Indeed, everything in this fresh, well-aired, spacious room bespeaks an

exquisite order and neatness. The bath-rooms are in convenient relation

to the wards, furnished with large marble bath-tubs, and with hot and

cold water in abundance. From the public wards we pass into large

corridors, upon which open private apartments for the use of persons

who, not having convenient arrangements at home, or being strangers in

the city, prefer, in case of illness, to go to the hospital. The rent of

these chambers is exceedingly moderate;—for a room to one’s self, $1.50

a day; for a room shared with one other person, $1 a day; for a bed in a

larger room occupied by half a dozen, but withdrawn from the general

throng, 75 cents. These charges include medical attendance, nursing, and

food. From the wards devoted to ordinary diseases, fevers and the like,

we went to the surgical wards. It need not be said that here the same

neatness and care prevailed; the operating rooms, the surgery lined with

cases containing instruments, lint, bandages, &c. were all in faultless

order.

From this building—looking, as we went, into the kitchen, where the

contents of the great shiny copper kettles smelt very invitingly—we

passed through a paved court to the old hospital, in which are the wards

for women and children. This gave us an opportunity of comparing, at

least in its general arrangement, the ancient establishment with the

modern one. The neatness and order prevailing throughout make even this

part of the hospital attractive and cheerful; but one feels at once the

difference between the high, airy rooms and open corridors of the new

building and the more confined quarters of the old one. In both parts of

the hospital the mingling of color impresses the stranger. Blacks and

whites lie side by side, and the proportion of negroes is considerable,

both among the men and women.

The charity of the Misericordia is a very comprehensive one; it includes

not only maladies susceptible of cure, but has also its ward for old and

infirm persons, who will never leave it except for their last home. The

day before our visit a very aged woman had been buried thence, who had

lived under this roof for seventeen years. There is also a provision for

children whose parents die in the hospital, and who have no natural

protector. They remain there, receive an elementary education, being

taught to read, write, and cipher; and are not turned into the world

until they are of age to marry or to enter into service. There is a

chapel connected with the hospital, and many of the wards are furnished

with an altar at one end, above which is placed a statue of the Virgin,

a crucifix, or a picture of some saint. I could not help asking myself

if regular religious services would not be a wise addition to all

charitable institutions of this kind, whether Protestant or Catholic. To

the respectable poor, their church is a great deal. Many a convalescent

would be glad to hear the Sunday hymn, to join in the prayer put up for

his recovery; and would think himself the better, body and soul, because

he had listened to a sermon. To be sure, in our country, where creeds

are so various, and almost every patient might have his own doctrinal

speciality, there might be some difficulties which do not exist where

there is a state religion, and one form of service is sure to suit all.

Still, many would be comforted and consoled, and would come without

asking whether the clergyman were of this or that denomination, if they

felt him to be genuine and truly devout.

I have presented the old hospital and the present one in direct

contrast, because the comparison gives a measure of the progress which,

in some directions at least, has taken place during the last thirty or

forty years in Rio de Janeiro. It is true, that all their institutions

have not advanced in proportion to their benevolent establishments;

charity, like hospitality, may be said to be a national virtue among the

Brazilians. They hold almsgiving a religious duty, and are more liberal

to their churches and to the public charities connected with them than

to their institutions of learning. Unhappily, a great deal of their

liberality of this kind is expended upon church festas, street

processions, saint days, and the like, more calculated to feed

superstition than to stimulate pure religious sentiment.

We should not leave the Misericordia without some allusion to the man to

whom it chiefly owes its present character. José Clemente Pereira would

have been gratefully remembered by the Brazilians as a statesman of

distinguished merit, who was intimately associated with more than one of

the most important events in their history, even had he no other claim

on their esteem. He was born in Portugal, and distinguished himself as a

young man in the Peninsular war. Though he was already twenty-eight

years of age when he left Europe, he seems to have been as true a lover

of Brazil as if born on her soil. His merit was soon recognized in his

adopted country, and he occupied, at different times, some of the

highest offices of the realm. The early part of his political career

fell upon the stormy times when Brazil was struggling for her national

existence as an independent Empire; but during the more tranquil close

of his life he seems to have been chiefly occupied in works of

benevolence, in founding charitable institutions, and even in personal

attendance upon the sick and suffering.

The name of this benevolent Brazilian is associated not only with the

Misericordia hospital, but also with the admirable asylum for the insane

at Botafogo, which bears the name of the present Emperor. A great part

of the funds for this establishment were obtained in an original way,

which shows that Pereira knew how to turn the weaknesses of his

countrymen to good account. The Brazilians are addicted to titles, and

the government offered distinctions of this kind to wealthy citizens who

would endow the insane asylum. They were to be either commendadores or

barons, the importance of the title being in proportion to the magnitude

of their donations. Large sums were actually obtained in this way, and

several of the titled men of Rio thus purchased their patents of

nobility. When I first arrived in Rio de Janeiro, mere chance led me to

visit this asylum. Entering as a stranger, I saw only the outer rooms,

listened to the evening service in the chapel for a few moments, and was

struck with the order and quiet which seemed to prevail. It certainly

never would have occurred to me that I was in an insane hospital. To-day

Mr. Agassiz and myself, accompanied by our friend Dr. Pacheco da Silva,

passed several hours there, and saw the whole establishment in detail.

The building faces upon Botafogo Bay, having the beach immediately

before it; on its right the picturesque gap, one side of which is made

by the Paō de Assucar, and on its left the beautiful valley running up

toward Corcovado. Thus, looking on the sea and surrounded by mountains,

it commands exquisite views on every side. The plan of the building, in

its general arrangement, is not unlike that of the Misericordia. It is a

handsome solid stone structure, rather long in proportion to its height,

and consists of two parallel buildings, connected by cross corridors.

These corridors enclose courts, planted with trees and flowers, and

making very pleasant gardens. The entrance hall is in the centre, and

has on either side the statues of Pinel and Esquirol, the two French

masters in the treatment of mental diseases. The statues have no merit

as works of art; but it was pleasant to see them there, as showing a

recognition of what these men have done for science and for humanity. A

broad, low staircase of dark wood leads up to the chapel. Here we looked

with interest at the ornaments on the altar, because they are the work

of the patients, who take great pleasure in making artificial flowers

and other decorations for the church. On the same floor with the chapel

is a large hall, where stands the statue of the youthful Emperor Dom

Pedro Segundo. Opposite to it is that of Pereira. It is worthy of note

that this statue was presented by the Emperor, and at his request placed

opposite his own. The face, quite in keeping with the history of the

man, is expressive both of great benevolence and remarkable decision.

Connected with this hall are several reception-halls, parlors, and

antechambers; indeed, too much room is assigned to mere state apartments

in an establishment where space must be precious. One of this suite of

rooms was devoted to the various fancy-work made by the

patients,—embroidery of all sorts, artificial flowers and the like.

Thence we passed to the wards. As in the Misericordia, the rooms are

very large and high, wainscoted with tiles, and opening upon wide

corridors, which look out into the enclosed gardens. Some of the

dormitories have fifteen or twenty beds, but many of the sleeping-rooms

are smaller, it being better, no doubt, to separate the patients at

night. We saw but little indication of suffering or distress among them.

There were one or two cases of religious melancholy, with the look of

fixed, absorbed sadness characteristic of that form of insanity. We were

met once or twice by the vacant stare, and heard the senseless chatter

and laugh always to be found in these saddest of all asylums for human

suffering. But, on the whole, an air of cheerfulness prevailed; with few

exceptions all the patients were occupied, the women with plain sewing

or embroidery, the men with carpentering, shoemaking, or tailoring,

making cigars for the use of the establishment, or picking over old

cordage. The Superior told us that occupation was found to be the most

efficient remedy, and that though work was not compulsory, with few

exceptions all the patients preferred to share in it. The whole service

of the house—washing, sweeping, waxing the floors, cleaning the chambers

and putting them in order—is performed by them. Sunday is found to be

the most difficult day, because much of the ordinary occupation is

suspended, and the patients become unruly in proportion as they are

unemployed. From these apartments, where all were busy and comparatively

quiet, we passed to a corridor enclosing a large court, where some of

the lunatics, too restless for employment, were walking about,

gesticulating and talking loudly. The corridor was lined on its inner

side with chambers devoted to the use of those whose violence made it

necessary to confine them. The doors and windows were grated, the rooms

empty of furniture, but well lighted, spacious, and airy; not at all

like cells, except in being so strongly secured. They were mostly

without occupants; but as we passed one of them a man rushed to the

door, and called out to us that he was not a prisoner because he was

mad, but that he had killed Lopez, and was now the rightful Emperor of

Brazil. This corridor led us to the bath-rooms, which are really on a

magnificent scale. A number of immense marble tubs are sunk in the tiled

floors. They are of different depths, adapted for standing, sitting, or

lying down, and have every variety of arrangement for douche, shower, or

sponge baths.

This hospital, like the Misericordia, is under the care of the Sisters

of Charity, and is a model of neatness and order. The Superior has a

face remarkable for its serenity, expressive at once of sweetness and

good sense. From her we learned some interesting facts respecting

insanity in this country. She says furious maniacs are rare, and that

violence generally yields readily to treatment. She also told us that

insanity is more common among the poor than among the better classes.

Though the asylum contains apartments for private patients, there are

seldom more than eight or ten persons of this description to occupy

them. This is not because they have any choice of establishments, for

there is no other insane hospital in Rio de Janeiro, though there are

one or two “Maisons de Santé” where insane persons are received. There

were more blacks among the patients than we had expected to see, the

general impression being that insanity is rare among the negroes. We

left this hospital impressed by its superiority. A country which has so

high a standard of excellence in its charities can hardly fail, sooner

or later, to bring its institutions of learning and its public works

generally up to the same level. Excellence in one department leads to

excellence in all.

From the hospital we continued our walk to the military school, some

quarter of a mile farther. It stands in the gap between the Paō de

Assucar and the opposite range of hills, and has the Botafogo Bay on one

side, the Praia Vermelha on the other. Here, as elsewhere in the public

schools of Rio de Janeiro, there is a progressive movement; but old and

theoretical methods still prevail to a great degree. The maps are poor;

there are no bas-reliefs, no large globes, few dissections or chemical

analyses, no philosophical experiments, and no library deserving the

name. The school, however, has been in efficient operation only six

years, and improvements in the building, as well as in the apparatus for

instruction, are made daily. So far as its domestic economy is

concerned, the appointments of the establishment are excellent; indeed,

one is rather inclined to criticise it as over-luxurious for boys

educated to be soldiers. The school-rooms and dormitories, as well as

the dining-room, where the tables were laid with a nice service of

crockery and glass, and also the kitchens, were clean and orderly. We

cannot but wonder that the streets of Rio de Janeiro should be dirtier

and more offensive than those of any other city we have visited, when we

see the scrupulous neatness characteristic of all its public

establishments. The observance of cleanliness in this respect shows that

the Brazilians recognize its importance, and it seems strange that they

should tolerate nuisances in their streets which make it almost

impossible to pass through many of them on foot.