Transcriber’s Notes
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column headings.
Superscripts are indicated by the ^ symbol. Italic text is enclosed in
_underscores_.
Odd-page headers have been repositioned between nearby paragraphs
and enclosed in square brackets.
Other Transcriber’s Notes may be found at the end of this eBook.
NOTES OF A NATURALIST
IN SOUTH AMERICA
NOTES OF A NATURALIST
IN SOUTH AMERICA
BY
JOHN BALL, F.R.S., M.R.I.A., ETC.
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO., 1, PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1887
(_The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved._)
TO
L. M.,
WHOSE SUGGESTIONS LED TO ITS TAKING SHAPE,
I DEDICATE THIS LITTLE BOOK.
PREFACE.
A tour round the South American continent, which was completed in so
short a time as five months, may not appear to deserve any special
record; yet I am led to hope that this little book may serve to induce
others to visit a region so abounding in sources of enjoyment and
interest. There is no part of the world where, in the same short space
of time, a traveller can view so many varied and impressive aspects
of nature; while he whose attention is mainly given to the progress
and development of the social condition of mankind will find in the
condition of the numerous states of the continent, and the manners and
habits of the many different races that inhabit it, abundant material
to engage his attention and excite his interest.
Although, as the title implies, the aim of my journey was mainly
directed to the new aspects of nature, organic and inorganic, which
South America superabundantly presents to the stranger, I have not
thought it without interest to give in these pages the impressions as
to the social and political condition of the different regions which I
visited, suggested to an unprejudiced visitor by the daily incidents of
a traveller’s life.
Those who may be tempted to undertake a tour in South America will
find that by a judicious choice of route, according to the season
selected for travelling, they may visit all the accessible parts of
the continent with perfect ease, and with no more risk of injury to
health, or of bodily discomfort, than they incur in a summer excursion
in Europe. The chief precaution to be observed is to make the visit
to Brazil fall in the cool and dry season, extending from mid-May to
September. It may also be well to mention that, while the cost of
passage and expenses on board, for a journey of about 18,400 miles by
sea, somewhat exceeded £170, my expenses during about ten weeks on
land, without any attempt at economy, did not exceed £100.
The reader may regard as superfluous the rather frequent references
to the meteorology of the various parts of the continent which I was
able to visit. But, if he will consider the importance of the two main
elements--temperature and moisture--in regulating the development
of organic life in past epochs, and the influence which they now
exercise on the character of the human population, he will admit that a
student of nature could not fail to make them the objects of frequent
attention, the more especially as many erroneous impressions as to the
climate of various parts of South America are still current, even
among men of science.
I make no pretension to add anything of importance to our store of
positive knowledge respecting the region described in this volume; I
shall be content if it should be found that I have suggested trains of
thought that may lead others to valuable results. I venture, indeed, to
believe that the argument adduced in the sixth chapter, as to the great
extent and importance of the ancient mountains of Brazil, approaches
near to demonstration, and that the recognition of its validity will
be found to throw fresh light on the history of organic life in that
region of the globe.
In the Appendices to this volume two subjects of a somewhat technical
character, not likely to interest the general reader, are separately
discussed. With regard to both of them, my aim has been to show that
the opinions now current amongst men of science do not rest upon
adequate evidence, and that we need further knowledge of the phenomena,
discoverable by observation, before we can safely arrive at positive
conclusions.
In deference to the prejudices of English readers, which are
unfortunately shared by many scientific writers, the ordinary British
standards of measure and weight have been followed throughout the
text, as well as the antiquated custom of denoting temperature by the
scale of Fahrenheit’s thermometer. With regard to the metrical system
of measures and weights, I am fully aware of its imperfections, and
if the question were now raised for the first time I should advocate
the adoption of some considerable modifications. But seeing that no
other uniform system is in existence, and that the metrical system has
been adopted by nearly all civilized nations, I cannot but regret that
my countrymen should retain what is practically a barrier to the free
interchange of thought with the rest of the world. The defects of the
metrical system are mainly those of our decimal system of numeration,
which owes its existence to the fact that the human hand possesses five
fingers. If in some future stage of development our race should acquire
a sixth finger to each hand, it may then also acquire a more convenient
system of numeration, to which the scale of measures would naturally
be adapted. In the mean time the advantages of a uniform system far
outweigh its attendant defects.
The adherence to the Fahrenheit scale for the thermometer is even
less defensible. It belongs to a primitive epoch of science, when a
knowledge of the facts of physics was in a rudimentary stage, and its
survival at the present day is a matter of marvel to the student of
progress.
I should not conclude these prefatory words without expressing my
obligations to many scientific friends whom I have from time to time
consulted with advantage; and I must especially record my obligation to
Mr. Robert Scott, F.R.S., who has on many occasions been my guide to
the valuable materials available in the library of the Meteorological
Office.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Voyage across the Atlantic--Barbadoes--Jamaica--Isthmus of
Panama--Buenaventura, tropical forest--Guayaquil and the
river Guayas--Payta--The rainless zone of Peru--Voyage to
Callao 1
CHAPTER II.
Arrival at Callao--Quarantine--The war between Chili and
Peru--Aspect of Lima--General Lynch--Andean railway to
Chicla--Valley of the Rimac--Puente Infernillo--Chicla--
Mountain-sickness--Flora of the Temperate zone of the Andes--
Excursion to the higher region--Climate of the Cordillera--
Remarks on the Andean flora--Return to Lima--Visit to a
sugar-plantation--Condition of Peru--Prospect of anarchy 56
CHAPTER III.
Voyage from Callao to Valparaiso--Arica--Tocopilla--Scenery of
the moon--Caldera--Aspect of North Chili--British Pacific
squadron--Coquimbo--Arrival at Valparaiso--Climate and
vegetation of Central Chili--Railway journey to Santiago--
Aspect of the city--Grand position of Santiago--Dr. Philippi--
Excursion to Cerro St. Cristobal--Don B. Vicuña Mackenna--
Remarkable trees--Excursion to the baths of Cauquenes--The
first rains--Captive condors--Return to Santiago--Glorious
sunset 118
CHAPTER IV.
Baths of Apoquinto--Slopes of the Cordillera--Excursion to
Santa Rosa de los Andes and the valley of Aconcagua--Return to
Valparaiso--Voyage in the German steamer _Rhamses_--Visit to
Lota--Parque of Lota--Coast of Southern Chili--Gulf of Peñas--
Hale Cove--Messier’s Channel--Beautiful scenery--The English
narrows--Eden harbour--Winter vegetation--Eyre Sound--Floating
ice--Sarmiento Channel--Puerto Bueno--Smyth’s Channel--
Entrance to the Straits of Magellan--Glorious morning--Borya
Bay--Mount Sarmiento 188
CHAPTER V.
Arrival at Sandy Point--Difficulties as to lodging--Story of
the mutiny--Patagonian ladies--Agreeable society in the
Straits of Magellan--Winter aspect of the flora--Patagonians
and Fuegians--Habits of the South American ostrich--Waiting
for the steamer--Departure--Climate of the Straits and of the
southern hemisphere--Voyage to Monte Video--Saturnalia of
children--City of Monte Video--Signor Bartolomeo Bossi; his
explorations--Neighbourhood of the city--Uruguayan politics--
River steamer--Excursion to Paisandu--Voyage on the Uruguay--
Use of the telephone--Excursion to the camp--Aspect of the
flora--Arrival at Buenos Ayres--Industrial Exhibition--
Argentine forests--The cathedral of Buenos Ayres--Excursion
to La Boca--Argentaria as a field for emigration 248
CHAPTER VI.
Voyage from Buenos Ayres to Santos--Tropical vegetation in
Brazil--Visit to San Paulo--Journey from San Paulo to Rio
Janeiro--Valley of the Parahyba do Sul--Ancient mountains of
Brazil--Rio Janeiro--Visit to Petropolis--Falls of Itamariti--
Struggle for existence in a tropical forest--The hermit of
Petropolis--Morning view over the Bay of Rio--A gorgeous
flowering shrub--Visit to Tijuca--Yellow fever in Brazil--A
giant of the forest--Voyage to Bahia and Pernambuco--
Equatorial rains--Fernando Noronha--St. Vincent in the Cape
Verde Islands--Trade winds of the North Atlantic--Lisbon--
Return to England 303
APPENDIX A.--On the fall of temperature in ascending to
heights above the sea-level 369
APPENDIX B.--Remarks on Mr. Croll’s theory of secular changes
of the earth’s climate 393
NOTES OF A NATURALIST
IN SOUTH AMERICA.
CHAPTER I.
Voyage across the Atlantic--Barbadoes--Jamaica--Isthmus of
Panama--Buenaventura, tropical forest--Guayaquil and the river
Guayas--Payta--The rainless zone of Peru--Voyage to Callao.
A voyage across the Atlantic in a large ocean steamer is now as
familiar and as little troublesome as the journey from London to Paris.
It rarely offers any incident worth recounting, and yet, especially
as a first experience, it supplies an abundant variety of sources of
curiosity and interest. It is easy for a man to sit down at home and
within the walls of his own study to find the requisite materials for
investigating the still unsolved problems presented by the physics
and meteorology of the ocean, or the evidence favourable or hostile
to the important modern doctrine of the permanence of the great ocean
valleys; but in point of fact very few men who stay at home do occupy
themselves with these questions, and it is no slight privilege to
feel drawn towards them by the hourly suggestions received during a
sea-voyage. Nor is it possible to make light of the simpler pleasures
caused by the satisfaction of mere curiosity, when that is linked by
association with the pictures on which the fancy has worked from one’s
earliest childhood onward. The starting of a covey of flying-fish, the
fringe of cocos palms rising against the horizon, the Southern Cross
and the Magellanic clouds, the reversed apparent motion of the sun from
right to left--none of them very marvellous as mere observed facts--are
so many keys that unlock the closed-up recesses, the blue chambers of
the memory, which the youthful imagination had peopled with shapes of
beauty and wonder and mystery.
Some thrill of delightful anticipation was, I presume, felt by many
of the passengers who went on board the royal mail steamer _Don_ in
Southampton Water on the 17th of March, 1882. Amid the usual waving of
handkerchiefs from the friends who remained behind on board the tender,
we glided seaward, and by four p.m. were going at half speed abreast
of the Isle of Wight. The good ship had suffered severely during the
preceding winter on her homeward passage from the West Indies, when the
heavy seas which swept her upper deck had carried away the covering
of her engine-room, stove in the chief officer’s cabin, and severely
injured her commander, Captain Woolward. On this occasion our voyage
was easy and prosperous, and nothing occurred to test severely the
careful seamanship of Captain Gillies, who had taken the temporary
command.
[_ATLANTIC CYCLONES._]
On the 19th the barometer, which, in spite of a gentle breeze from
south-west, had stood as high as 30·40, fell about a quarter of an inch
between sunrise and sunset; and in the night, on the only occasion
during the entire voyage, remained for some hours below 30·00. A
moderate breeze from the north brought with it a disproportionately
heavy sea, and although there was no sensible pitching, the ship rolled
so heavily as to send many of the passengers to solitary confinement
in their berths. This continued throughout the 20th, afterwards styled
Black Monday by the sufferers from sea-sickness, and we escaped into
smoother water only on the evening of the following day. The discomfort
which I felt from fancying that I had “lost my sea legs” was entirely
relieved by fortunately coming across a distinguished naval officer, on
his way to take a command on the West Indian station, who like myself
was forced to hold on with both hands during the rolling of the ship.
It was clear that we had passed at no great distance from a cyclone in
the North Atlantic--one of those disturbances whose visits are so often
predicted from the western continent, but which so often fortunately
lose their way or get dissipated before they approach our shores.
It would seem that little progress has been made in forecasting the
direction in which these great aërial eddies traverse the ocean, or
the conditions under which they expend their force. It seems allowable
to suppose that the most important of the causes influencing their
direction depend upon the general movements of the great currents of
the atmosphere; and that, as these are constantly modified by the
changing position of the earth in her orbit, the element of season is
primarily to be considered. It being admitted that the origin of these
disturbances is to be sought in the abnormal heating or cooling of some
considerable portion of the earth’s surface, it would seem that, in
the case of the Atlantic, local causes can have little effect, unless
we suppose that the heating of the surface of the Azores in summer, or
the annual descent of icebergs from the polar seas, are adequate to
influence the march of a travelling cyclone.
On the evening of the 20th the barometer had risen again to its former
position, rather over 30·40 inches; the mean of the four following days
was 30·55, and that of the entire run from Southampton to Barbadoes
was 30·36. This fact of the continuance of high or low pressures
at the sea-level at certain seasons in some parts of the world has
scarcely been sufficiently noted in connection with the ordinary
rules for the measurement of heights by means of the barometer. The
tables supplied to travellers are all calculated on the assumption
that the pressure at the sea-level is constant--the English tables
fixing the amount at 30·00 inches of mercury, those calculated on
the continent starting from a pressure of 760 millimetres, or about
29·921 inches. It is admitted that this mode of determining heights,
when comparative observations at a known station are not available,
is subject to serious unavoidable error. With regard, however, to
mountains not remote from the sea-coast, it may be possible to lessen
this inconvenience in many parts of the world by substituting for the
assumed uniform pressure that higher or lower amount which is known to
prevail at given seasons. Such a correction could not, of course, be
made available in very variable climates, such as that of the British
Islands, but might be applied in many parts of the broad zone lying
within 40° of the equator.
[_ATLANTIC SPRING TEMPERATURE._]
Soon after ten p.m. on the 21st we were abreast of the bright light
which marks the harbour of St. Michael’s, but, the night being dark, we
saw very little of that or any other of the Azores group. The spring
temperature of these islands is about the same as that of places in
the same latitude in Portugal; but it appears that the cooling effect
of the east and north-east winds prevailing at that season must in
the mid-Atlantic extend even much farther south. With generally fair
settled weather, the thermometer rose very slowly as we advanced
towards the tropics. Between the 18th and 24th of March, in passing
from 50° to 29° north latitude, the mean daily temperature rose only
from about 55° to about 65° Fahr.--the thermometer never rising to 70°,
nor falling below 52°. Notwithstanding the relatively low temperature,
a few flying-fish were seen on the 24th--rare, it is said, outside the
tropics so early in the year, though sometimes seen in summer as far
north as the Azores.
On March 25th we, for the first time, became conscious of a decided
though moderate change of climate. The thermometer at noon stood
at 71°, and was not seen to fall below 70° until, some three weeks
later, off the Peruvian coast, we met the cold antarctic current which
plays so great a part in the meteorology of that region. We were now
in the regular track of the north-east trade-wind, and my mind was
somewhat exercised to account for the circumstance, said to be of usual
occurrence, that the breeze increases in strength from sunrise during
the day, and falls off, though it does not die away, towards nightfall.
It is easy to understand the cause of this intermittence in breezes on
shore, whether near the sea-coast or in the neighbourhood of mountain
ranges, inasmuch as their direction and strength are determined by the
unequal heating of the surface; but the trade-winds form a main part
of the general system of aërial circulation over the surface of our
planet, and, supposing the phenomenon to be of a normal character, the
explanation is not quite simple. Regarding the trade-wind as a great
current set up in the atmosphere, it is conceivable that the heating
and consequent expansion which must occur as the sun acts upon it,
tends to increase the rate of flow at the bottom of the aërial stream,
while the cooling which ensues as the sun’s heat is withdrawn, has the
contrary effect.
On this and the next day or two my attention was called to the frequent
recurrence of masses of yellow seaweed, sometimes in irregular patches,
but more frequently arranged in regular bands, two or three yards in
width, and extending in a straight line as far as the eye could reach.
We were here at no great distance from the great sargassum fields of
the Northern Atlantic, but I was unable to satisfy myself that the
species seen from the steamer was that which mainly forms the sargassum
beds; and, whatever it might be, this arrangement in long straight
strips seemed deserving of further inquiry. More flying-fish were now
seen, and two or three small whales of the species called by seamen
“black-fish” were sighted during this part of the voyage.
[_ENTERING THE TROPICS._]
On the afternoon of the 26th we entered the tropics, and this and the
following day were thoroughly enjoyable, but did not offer much of
novelty. The colour of the sea was here of a much deeper and purer
blue (rivalling that of the Mediterranean) than we had hitherto
found it, while that of the sky was much paler. The light _cumuli_
with ill-defined edges were such as we are used to in British summer
weather; and, excepting that the interval of twilight was sensibly
shorter, the sunsets were devoid of special interest. At this season
the Southern Cross was above the horizon about nightfall, and was made
out by the practised eyes of some of the officers; but, in truth, it
remains a somewhat insignificant object when seen from the northern
side of the equator, and to enjoy the full splendour of that stellar
hemisphere one must reach high southern latitudes.
Although the thermometer never quite reached 80° Fahr. in the shade
until we touched land, the weather on the 28th and 29th was hot
and close, and few passengers kept up the wholesome practice of a
constitutional walk on the long deck of the _Don_. Of the rain which
constantly seemed impending very little fell.
[_ARRIVAL AT BARBADOES._]
At daybreak on the morning of the 30th, in twelve days and seventeen
hours, we completed the run of about 3340 nautical miles which
separates Southampton from Barbadoes, and found ourselves in the roads
of Bridgetown, about a mile from the shore. Being somewhat prepared,
I was not altogether surprised to find that this first view of a
tropical island forcibly reminded me of the last land I had beheld
at home--the northern shores of the Isle of Wight. Long swelling
hills, on which well-grown trees intervene between tracts of tillage,
present much the same general outline, and at this distance the only
marked difference was the intense dark-green colour of the large trees
that embower the town and nearly conceal all but a few of the chief
buildings. The appearance of things as the morning advanced quite
confirmed the reputation of this small island as the most prosperous,
and, in proportion to its extent, the most productive of the West
Indian Islands. With an area not greater than that of the Isle of
Wight, and a population of about sixty thousand whites and rather more
than a hundred thousand negroes, the value of the exports and imports
surpasses a million sterling under each head; and, besides this, it
is the centre of a considerable transit trade with the other islands.
Under local representative institutions, which have subsisted since
the island was first occupied by the English early in the seventeenth
century, the finances are flourishing, and the colonial government is
free from debt. The average annual produce of sugar is reckoned at
forty-four thousand hogsheads, but varies with the amount of rainfall.
This averages from fifty-eight to fifty-nine inches annually, but any
considerable deficiency, such as occurred in the year 1873, leads to a
proportionate diminution in the sugar crop.
Among other tokens of civilization, the harbour police at Bridgetown
appeared to be thoroughly efficient. As, about nine o’clock, we
prepared to go ashore, we found on deck two privates--black men in
plain uniform--who seemed to have no difficulty in keeping perfect
order amid the crowd of boatmen that swarmed round the big ship. We
had already learned the event of the hour--the fall of three inches
of rain during the day and night preceding our arrival. This is more
than usually falls during the entire month of March, and seemed to be
welcomed by the entire population. On landing we encountered a good
deal of greasy grey mud in the streets, but all was nearly dry when,
after a short excursion, we returned in the afternoon. After a short
stay in the town, where there was a little shopping to be done, and
where some of my companions indulged in a second breakfast of fried
flying-fish, I started with a pleasant party of fellow-travellers to
see something of the island. It was arranged that, after a drive of six
or seven miles, we should go to luncheon at the house of Mr. C----, the
owner of a sugar-plantation, whose brother, Colonel C----, was one of
our fellow-passengers. We enjoyed the benefit of the recent heavy rain
in the comparative coolness of the air--the thermometer scarcely rose
above 80° Fahr. in the shade--and in freedom from dust.
A small, low island, nearly every acre of which has been reduced to
cultivation, cannot offer very much of picturesque beauty; nevertheless
the first peep of the tropics did not fail to present abundant matter
of interest. In this part of the world the dry season, now coming to an
end, is the winter of vegetation, and, of course, there was not very
much to be seen of the herbaceous flora; but the beauty of the trees
and the rich hues of their foliage quite surpassed my anticipations.
The majority of these are plants introduced either from the larger
islands or from more distant tropical countries, that have been planted
in the neighbourhood of houses.
One of the first that strikes a new-comer in the tropics is the mango
tree, which, though introduced by man from its original home in
tropical Asia, is now common throughout the hotter parts of America.
Its widespreading branches, bearing dense tufts of large leathery
leaves, make it as welcome for the sake of protection from the sun
as for its fruit, which is a luxury that some persons never learn
to appreciate. The cinnamon tree (_Canella alba_), common in most
of the West Indian Islands, is another of the plants that serve for
ornament and shade while ministering products useful to man. Of the
smaller shade-trees, the pimento (probably _Pimenta acris_) was also
conspicuous, and very many others which I failed to recognize, might
be added to the new impressions of the first day in the tropics. One
of the most curious is that known to the English residents as the
sand-box tree, the _Hura crepitans_ of botanists. It belongs to the
_Euphorbiaceæ_, or Spurge family, but is strangely unlike any of the
Old-World forms of that order. Here the fruit is in form rather like
a small melon, of hard woody texture, divided into numerous--ten to
twenty--cells. If, when taken from the tree, the top is sawn off and
the seeds scooped out, no farther change occurs, and it may be, and
often is, as the name implies, used as a sand-box. But if left until
the seeds are mature, the whole capsule bursts open with a loud report,
scattering the seeds to a distance. Thinking that a small young fruit,
if dried very gradually, might escape this result, I carried one away,
which, after my return to Europe, I placed in a small wooden box in
my herbarium. Some nine months after it had been collected it must
have exploded in my absence, for, unlocking the room one day, I found
the box broken to pieces, and the valves of the fruit and the seeds
scattered in all directions about the room.
[_POPULATION OF BARBADOES._]
Next to the vegetable inhabitants, I was interested in the black
population of the island. The first impression on finding one’s self
amid fellow-creatures so markedly different in physical characters
is one of strangeness, and one is tempted to ask whether, after all,
there can be any pith in the arguments once confidently urged to
establish a specific difference between the negro and the white man.
But this very quickly wears away, and a contrary impression arises.
The second thought is that, considering what we know of the conditions
under which the native races of Equatorial Africa have been developed
during an unrecorded series of ages, and of the subsequent conditions
during several generations of slavery, the surprising thing is that the
differences should not be far greater than they are.
It would be very rash to draw positive conclusions from what could be
seen in a visit of a few hours, but, undoubtedly, the general effect
was pleasing, and tended to confirm the assertion that the difficult
problem of converting a population of black slaves into useful members
of a free community has been better solved in Barbadoes than in any
other European colony. So far as the elementary wants are concerned,
there was a complete absence of the painful suspicion so commonly felt
as regards the poor in Europe and the East, that their food is either
insufficient or unwholesome. With very few exceptions they all seemed
sleek and well fed, and their clothing showed no symptoms of poverty.
In the town their dress was generally neat, and most of the women made
a display of bright colour in handkerchiefs and parasols. What struck
me most was a general air of good humour and enjoyment. One may be
misled in this respect by the facial characteristics of the black race,
which, in the absence of disturbing causes, readily turn to a smile or
a grin. But, whether in the streets of Bridgetown or botanizing among
the fields in the country, and using the few opportunities of speaking
to the people, the same impression was retained.
Their manner in speaking to whites seemed to imply neither servility
nor yet the independence which characterizes the Arab or the Moor.
A latent sense of inferiority seemed to be combined with a complete
absence of shyness or apprehension, as in children used to kind
treatment, and not too carefully drilled. We happened to halt near a
spot where there was a cluster of labourers’ cabins, and a school well
filled with small children. There had been a wedding in Bridgetown that
morning, and as we halted two carriages passed, carrying the bridal
party to some house in the country. All the inhabitants rushed out at
once, and contended, young and old, in the most boisterous cheering.
Perhaps this meant little more than the mere love of noise, as when
boys cheer a passing railway train, but it argued, at least, the
absence of any feeling of race animosity.
The houses of the labouring population, whether in town or country,
are mere sheds, seemingly of the frailest materials, the walls of thin
upright boards, and roofed with small imbricated wooden shingles, such
as one sometimes sees in Tyrol; but there must be a very substantial
framework, or they would be annually carried away by the August
hurricanes. The interiors appeared to be fairly clean, and in a country
where cold is unknown good houses are luxuries, not necessaries of life.
[_CAUSES OF PROSPERITY._]
One need not go far to seek the explanation of the superior condition
of Barbadoes as compared with the other West Indian Islands. Unlike
these, there was here no waste land; every acre was occupied, and the
emancipated negro could not follow the very natural but unfortunate
instinct which elsewhere led him to squat in idleness, supporting life
on a few bananas and other produce that cost but a few days’ labour in
the year. Apart from this, it is said that the Barbadoes, unlike the
Jamaica, planters showed practical intelligence in at once recognizing
the new conditions created by the Act of Emancipation, and, by offering
fair wages and giving their personal influence and supervision, helping
to convert the slave into an industrious freeman. Whatever poets may
have fancied of the delights of lotus-eating, it seems to be true in
the tropics, as well as in temperate climates, that there is more
contentment and real enjoyment of life among people who are held to
regular daily work--not excessive or exhausting--than among those who
have little or nothing to do.
The house at which we were hospitably entertained, with no
architectural pretensions, struck us as admirably suited to the
climate. On the ground floor, several spacious and airy sitting-rooms
opened on a broad verandah that ran round the building, and a number
of fine trees close at hand, with the dense impervious foliage
characteristic of the tropics, offered the alternative of sitting
in the open air. One of the natural advantages of Barbadoes is the
almost complete absence of noxious and venomous insects and reptiles.
The frequency of poisonous snakes in some of the islands, especially
Martinique and Sta. Lucia, must seriously interfere with the pleasures
of a country life.
The voyage from Barbadoes to Jacmel, which occupied the greater part of
three nights and two days, was highly enjoyable, but uneventful. With a
temperature of about 80° in the shade, and a pleasant breeze from the
north-east, life on deck was much more attractive than any occupation
in the cabins, and nothing more laborious than reading an interesting
book, such as Tschudi’s “Travels in Peru,” or at the utmost some
brushing up of nearly forgotten Spanish, could be undertaken. In the
early morning, the rising of the coveys of flying-fish as the steamer
disturbed them from their rest on the surface, with their great silvery
fins glancing in the level rays of the sun, was always an attractive
sight. They certainly often change the direction of their flight as
they momentarily touch the surface, but I could not satisfy myself
whether this depended on a muscular effort of the animal, or merely on
the angle at which it happened to strike the irregular surface of the
little dancing waves that surrounded us.
[_JACMEL IN HAYTI._]
About sunrise on the 2nd of April the anchor was let go, and we
found ourselves in the harbour of Jacmel, the only port on the south
side of the great island of Hayti. The Royal Mail steamers call here
periodically to deliver letters and to receive a bag which, after
due fumigation and such other incantations as are deemed proper, is
delivered at the end of a long pole. The entire island being supposed
to be constantly subject to zymotic diseases, especially small-pox
which is the great scourge of the negro race, no further communication
with the shore is permitted, and within less than two hours we were
again under way. The hills surrounding the harbour are apparently
covered with forest, the trees being of no great size, but of the most
brilliant green; but I could detect no dwellings of a superior class
such as Europeans would be sure to construct in picturesque and healthy
spots near a seaport. As we ran for more than twenty miles very near
the coast, I could at first detect here and there small patches of
cleared ground with sheds or huts; but beyond the distance of a few
miles these ceased, and no token of the presence of man was discernible.
Making large allowance for exaggeration, and having had the opportunity
of correcting some loose reports by the more careful and accurate
information afterwards received from a gentleman who resided for some
time at Port au Prince as the representative of a European power, it
is impossible for me to avoid the conclusion that, in the hands of its
black possessors, this noble island has retrograded to a condition of
savagery little, if at all, superior to that of the regions of tropical
Africa whence they originally came.
There may be but slight foundation for the reports as to the revival of
cannibal customs in the interior of the island; but it would seem that
the sanguinary encounters so frequently recurring between the people of
the rival republics between whom the island is divided, differ little
in point of ferocity from those of Ashantee or Dahomey. The political
institutions, caricatures of those of the United States, have produced
in astonishing luxuriance all the abuses characteristic of different
types of misgovernment, and the few men distinguished by superior
intelligence and a desire for rational progress have sought in vain
for support in efforts for reform. The condition of the two republics,
Hayti and San Domingo, seems to be the _reductio ad absurdum_ of the
theories which ascribe to free institutions an inherent power of
promoting human progress.
April 3 was a day to be long remembered. Barbadoes to Jamaica is as
Champagne or Mecklenburg compared to Switzerland or Tyrol, and now for
the first time the dream of tropical nature became a reality. At six
p.m. we passed Port Royal, and about seven had cast anchor at Kingston.
The first impression on landing here is unfavourable. The buildings
are mean, the thoroughfares and side-paths out of repair, the people
in the streets seem to have nothing to do and to be doing it, the
general air that of listlessness and neglect. Altogether the place
contrasts disadvantageously with the ports of Spanish America, to say
nothing of our own colonies. But Kingston was not to detain us, and the
overpowering attraction was towards the range of the Blue Mountains,
on which my eyes had been fixed all the morning as we approached the
shore. We were told that we must return to the ship at five o’clock,
so that it was hopeless to attempt to reach even the middle zone of
the mountains, and all that could be done with advantage was to engage
a carriage to a place called Gordontown, in a valley which is the
ordinary route to Newcastle and other places in the mountains. After
a delay which to our impatience seemed unreasonable, I started in a
tolerable carriage with W----, an old friend who was proceeding to Lima
as commissioner from the Court of Chancery to receive evidence in an
important pending lawsuit, and who, although not a naturalist, gave
effective and valuable help on this and other subsequent occasions in
the work of plant-collecting.
[_EXCURSION IN JAMAICA._]
For a distance of four or five miles the land slopes very gently from
the coast towards the roots of the hills. This tract is partly occupied
by sugar-plantations; but our road lay for some time among small
country houses, each surrounded by pleasure-ground or garden. As the
dry season was not yet over, the country here looked parched; but I saw
many trees and shrubs new to me, many of them laden with flowers, and
found it hard to keep my resolution not to stop the carriage until we
should reach Gordontown. The excitement increased as we entered the
valley, and the road began to wind up the slopes above the right bank
of the torrent, where at every yard some new object came into view. It
was near eleven a.m. when we reached the little inn, which, with four
or five houses, make the station of Gordontown, where the carriage road
ends, and horses are hired by those bound for Newcastle or other places
in the hills. No time was to be lost, and we were speedily on our way
to ramble up the valley, keeping as near as might be to the banks of
the torrent.
The first effect upon one accustomed only to the vegetation of the
temperate zone is simply bewildering. As I expressed it at the time, it
seemed as if the inmates of the plant-houses at Kew had broken loose
and run scrambling up the rocky hills that enclose the valley. These
are of a red arenaceous rock, rough and broken, but affording ample
hold for trees as well as smaller plants. The torrent at this season
was shrunk to slender dimensions, but is never wholly dry; and I was
somewhat surprised to find that on the steep slopes exposed to the
full sunshine the vegetation was much less parched than one commonly
finds it in summer in the Mediterranean region, and even to gather a
good many ferns on exposed banks. It would appear that, even in the
dry season, the air must here be nearly saturated with aqueous vapour,
and that abundant dews must supply the needs of delicate plants. Not
many species were in flower, but yet there was more than sufficient
to occupy the short time available. _Malvaceæ_ and _Convolvulaceæ_
were the most prominent forms; but to a new-comer the most lively
interest attaches to groups never before seen in a wild state, such
as _Passiflora_--of which two species were found in flower--a first
solitary representative of the great tropical American family of
_Melastomaceæ_, or the gorgeous Amaryllid, _Hippeastrum equestre_,
hiding in shady places by the stream.
[_VEGETATION OF GORDONTOWN._]
Although Gordontown can scarcely be so much as a thousand feet above
the sea-level, the climate is very sensibly cooler than that of
Kingston. When we left the town the thermometer stood at 83° in the
shade, while here at midday the sea-breeze felt positively cold, and
I was glad to have with me an extra garment. A light luncheon of ham
and eggs, with guava sweetmeat for dessert, was soon despatched; and,
as I wished to halt at several spots on the way, we started about
half-past two, laden with the spoils of the excursion, and reached the
steamer before five o’clock. Great was my disgust to find that there
was no intention of starting until nine a.m. the next morning, and
this was changed to indignation when it came to be known that we had
been deprived of the priceless pleasure of a trip to the mountains by
the deliberate misstatement of the company’s superintendent, who had
arranged to embark on the following morning three hundred negroes going
to work on the Panama Ship Canal.
A stranger can scarcely fail to observe a marked difference between
the negro population of Jamaica and that of Barbadoes. In the larger
island, while no way deficient in physical qualities, they appear
decidedly inferior in intelligence, activity, and courtesy towards
their white neighbours. It is said that the independent class, who
live by cultivating small patches of land on which they have squatted,
has of late years much improved, and that the increasing desire for
purchasable comforts and luxuries has begun to develop habits of steady
industry; but as regards the mass of the people who live by wages,
there are many indications of a sullen dislike towards the descendants
of their former masters which some trifling provocation may at any time
inflame to a pitch of wild ferocity. Some who have lived in the island
maintain that a general rising with a view to the massacre of the white
population is not an impossible occurrence, and, however improbable it
may appear, there is ample reason for constant vigilance on the part
of those responsible for the government of the island. Such vigilance,
it must be remembered, is quite as much requisite to prevent acts of
real or apparent injustice towards the inferior race, as to repress
the first beginnings of violence if some spark should fire the mine of
suppressed hatred.
After a too short visit to this beautiful island, we were under way
before ten a.m. on April 4th, and before midday the outline of the
Blue Mountains of Jamaica was fast fading in the northern horizon.
Throughout the greater part of the run from Kingston we encountered
a moderately brisk breeze, which gradually veered from south-east
to south-west, and this, according to our experienced captain,
commonly occurs at this season. It may be conjectured that the great
mountain barrier extending on the south side of the Caribbean Sea
through Venezuela and Colombia deflects the current of the north-east
trade-wind until it finally flows in an exactly contrary direction.
Whatever its origin may be, it might be supposed that the interference
of a current from the south-west with the course of the regular
trade-wind would give rise to storms of dangerous violence. These,
however, rarely if ever occur during the spring months. It may be
that, on the meeting of contrary currents of unequal temperature, the
ordinary result is that the warmer current rises and flows over the
cooler one without actual interference.
[_ISTHMUS OF PANAMA._]
Before sunrise on the morning of the 6th we reached Colon, and, after
a little inevitable delay, took leave of our excellent commander, and
set foot on the American continent at a spot which seems destined to
become familiar to the civilized world as the eastern termination of
the Panama Ship Canal. People who love to paint in dark colours had
done their best to make us uncomfortable as to the part of the journey
between the arrival at Colon and the departure from Panama. The regular
train crossing the isthmus starts very early from Colon, and we should
be forced to remain during the greater part of the day breathing the
deadly exhalations of that ill-famed port. In point of unhealthiness
Panama is but little better than Colon, and as the weekly steamer of
the Pacific Navigation Company bound southward would have departed one
or two days before our arrival, we were sure to be detained for five
or six days, equally trying to the health and temper. Fully believing
these vaticinations to be much exaggerated, we had no opportunity
of testing them. A free use of the telegraph on the morning of our
arrival at Jamaica, and the courtesy of the officials of the various
companies concerned, relieved us from all anxiety, and reduced our
stay within the shortest possible limits. It was true that the regular
train had been despatched before we could land, but a special engine
was in readiness to convey us across the isthmus, and the agent for the
Pacific mail steamer at Panama had detained the ship bound for Lima
until the same evening in order to enable us to continue our voyage.
Since the commencement of the works connected with the canal, Colon
must have undergone much improvement. The bronze statue of Columbus
presented by the Empress Eugénie, which for many years had lain
prostrate in the mud of the sea-beach, has been cleansed and placed
upon a stone pedestal. A number of stores, frail structures of wooden
planks, were arranged in an irregular street, and displayed a great
variety of European goods. It was rather surprising to find the prices
of sundry small articles purchased here extremely moderate. One might
suppose that the only inducement that could lead people to trade in
a spot of such evil repute would be the hope of exorbitant profits
enabling them soon to retire from business.
Of the works connected with the Ship Canal little was to be seen from
the railway cars. For its eastern termination the mouth of the Chagres
river, which reaches the sea close to Colon, has been selected. I am
not aware whether it is proposed to divert the course of that stream
from the channel of the canal, but, to judge from the appearance of
its banks and the extensive mangrove swamps on either side, it appears
to bear down a great amount of fine alluvial mud, which, if discharged
into the canal, must be a source of future difficulty. What chiefly
struck the eye of the passing traveller was the broad band which had
been cleared across the isthmus to mark the line of the future canal.
It is fully a hundred metres in width, and seemingly carried in a
nearly straight line through the forest and over the hills that lie on
the western side near to Panama. This clearing does not appear a very
serious undertaking, but in a region where the energy of vegetation is
so marvellous, must have cost an immense amount of labour, and to keep
the line open, if that be found expedient, will demand no small yearly
expenditure. There is here, properly speaking, no dry season. The rains
recur at frequent intervals throughout the year, and to keep back the
ever-encroaching sea of vegetation the axe is in constant requisition.
[_PANAMA SHIP CANAL._]
In the interest of the human race, it is impossible not to desire
the success of the Ship Canal, but it must not be forgotten that the
project is of a character so gigantic that all previous experience,
such as that of the Suez Canal, fails to give a measure of the
difficulties to be encountered, or of the outlay required to overcome
them. Engineers may doubtless calculate with sufficient accuracy
the number of millions of cubic yards of rock or earth that must
be removed, and may estimate approximately the cost of labour and
materials; but the obstacles due to the climate and physical conditions
of this region are a formidable addition whose amount experience
alone can fully determine. The only race combining physical strength
with any moderate adaptation to the climate is apparently the African
negro, and even with these the amount of sickness and mortality is
said to be alarmingly great. The field from which negro labour can be
recruited, though large, is by no means unlimited, and it is to be
expected that the rate of wages must be considerably increased as time
advances. The conditions of the problem have no doubt been carefully
studied by the remarkable man to whom its existence is due, and by the
able assistants whom he has consulted; but it may not be too rash to
hazard the prediction that, apart from any international difficulties,
its success may depend upon the more or less complete realization of
two desiderata--first, the extensive application of labour-saving
machinery, for which perhaps the heavy rainfall may supply the motive
power; secondly, the possibility, by completely clearing the summits of
some of the higher hills near the line, of establishing healthy sites
whence workmen could be conveyed to the required points during the day
and brought back before nightfall.
[_EQUATORIAL VEGETATION._]
Nothing in our brief experience suggested the idea of an especially
unhealthy region, and the feelings of a botanist at being whirled so
rapidly through a land teeming with objects of curiosity and interest
are better imagined than expressed. For more than half the distance the
line is simply a trench cut through the forest, which is restrained
from invading and burying the rails only by constant clearing on either
side. The trees were not very large, but seemed to include a vast
variety of forms. More striking were the masses of climbers, parasites,
and epiphytes, to say nothing of the rich and strange herbaceous plants
that fringed the edge of the forest. Our train, being express, gave but
a single chance of distinguishing anything amid the crowd of passing
objects--during a brief halt at a station about half-way across the
isthmus, round which was a cluster of small houses or huts, inhabited
by Indians. Their features were much less remote from the European
type than I had expected--less remote, I thought, than those of many
Asiatics of Mongol stock. Ten minutes on the verge of the surging mass
of vegetation that surrounded us gave a tantalizing first peep at the
flora of Equatorial America. Many forms hitherto seen only in herbaria
or hot-houses--several _Melastomaceæ_, _Heliconia_, _Costus_, and the
like--were hastily gathered; but the summons to return to the train
speedily calmed the momentarily increasing excitement. Although the
sky was almost completely free from clouds, and the sun very near the
zenith, the heat was no way excessive. My thermometers had been stowed
away in the hurry of leaving the steamer, but I do not believe that
the shade temperature was higher than 84° Fahr. On the western side of
the isthmus the land rises into hills some five or six hundred feet in
height, and between these the railway winds to the summit level, thence
descending rather rapidly towards Panama. What a crowd of associations
are evoked by the first view of the Pacific! What trains of mental
pictures have gathered round the records of the early voyagers, the
adventurers, the scientific explorers! Strangely enough, the most
vividly impressed on my memory was a rough illustration in a child’s
book, given to me on my seventh birthday, representing Vasco Nuñez,
as, from the summit of the ridge of Darien, he, first of all western
men, cast his wondering eyes over the boundless, till then unsuspected,
ocean. He has climbed the steep shattered rocks, and, as he gains
the crest of the ridge, has grasped a projecting fragment to steady
himself on the edge of the dizzy declivity. Even now, after looking on
the gently swelling hills, so completely forest-covered that without
extensive clearing a distant view would be impossible, I find it hard
to believe that that picture does not represent some portion of my
actual past experience.
I do not know whether, in connection with the vivid recollection either
of actual scenes or illustrations dating from early life, attention
has been sufficiently called to the curious tricks which the brain not
seldom performs in discharging its function of keeper of the records.
In my experience it is common to find, on revisiting after many years
a spot of which one believes one’s self to have a vivid and accurate
recollection, that the mental picture has undergone some curious
changes. The materials of the scene are, so to say, all present, but
their arrangement has been unaccountably altered. The torrent, the
bridge, the house, the tree, the peak in the background, are all there,
but they are not in their right places. The house has somehow got to
the wrong side of the torrent, or the peak rises on the right of the
tree instead of the left. A picture vividly retained in the mind is
one that has been frequently recalled to memory. If at any time, when
it has been long dormant, the actual recollection has become somewhat
imperfect, the imagination fills up by an effort the incomplete
portion. When next summoned by some train of association, the image
present to the mind is no longer the original picture, but the altered
version of it in the state in which it was left after being last
retouched.
[_GRAND HOTEL OF PANAMA._]
In about four hours from Colon we reached the Panama terminus, and
found a large waggonette, or roofless omnibus, waiting to convey us to
the Grand Hotel. A pair of small ragged horses, rushing at a canter
down the steep slopes and scrambling up on the other side over the
rough blocks that form the pavement, made our vehicle roll and jolt in
a fashion that would have disquieted nervous passengers. It would be
difficult to find elsewhere in the world a stranger assemblage than
that to be found at the Grand Hotel of Panama. The ground floor, with
several large rooms, is occupied day and night for eating, drinking,
smoking, and loud discussion by the floating foreign population of the
town. At the present time the engineers and other officials connected
with the Ship Canal formed the predominant element; but, along with a
sprinkling of many other nationalities, the most characteristic groups
consisted of refugees from all the republics of Central and South
America, who find substantial reasons for quitting their homes, and who
resort to Panama as a sanctuary whence some new turn in the wheel of
revolution may recall them to some position of distinction and profit.
We were fortunate in having in our company Mr. W----, a gentleman
of Polish descent, to whose lively conversation we had owed much
information and amusement during the voyage from Southampton. Now the
owner of a large estate in Ecuador, he had long known this region, and
appeared to be on terms of familiar acquaintance with all the strange
visitors gathered in the saloons at Panama, from the ex-President of
Peru to the negro head-waiter. The latter, as we learned, was not
the least important member of the assemblage. In one of the numerous
revolutions at Panama he had played a leading part, and had attained
the rank of colonel. His party being then out of office, he had for the
time returned to private life, but may possibly at the present day be
again an important person in the state.
For the first time since leaving England the heat at Panama during
the midday hours was felt to be oppressive, and we were content with
a short stroll, which, to any one familiar with old Spain, offered
little novelty. Unlike such mushroom spots as Colon, Panama has all
the appearance of an old Spanish provincial town. It has suffered less
from earthquakes than most of the places on the west coast, and a large
proportion of the buildings, including a rather large cathedral, remain
as they were built two or three centuries ago.
As the anchorage for large steamers is about three miles from the
town, we had an early summons to go on board a small tender that lay
alongside of a half-ruined wharf, but were then detained more than an
hour, for no apparent reason other than as a tribute to the habits
of the population of this region. The time was not wholly wasted, as
even the least observant passengers were struck with admiration at the
performances of a swarm of small birds, many hundreds in number, that
seemed to have selected the space over the shallow water opposite the
town for their evolutions. For more than half an hour they continued to
whirl in long loops or nearly circular sweeps, with no other apparent
motive than the pleasure of the exercise. Seen from a distance, the
appearance was that of a wreath; nearer at hand, the arrangement was
seen to be constantly varying. Sometimes the birds were so close
together that it seemed as if their wings must jostle; sometimes they
were drawn out into long curves, looking silvery white when the sun
fell upon their breasts, and of a darker tint at other incidences. Mr.
W---- asserted that the bird is a kind of snipe, but I have no doubt
that it is a tern.
[_BIRDS IN PANAMA BAY._]
At last the little tender glided from the wharf, and for the first
time we gained a general view of the town, which has a full share of
that element of picturesqueness which is so strangely associated with
decay. The old ramparts fast crumbling away, here and there rent by
earthquakes, and backed by time-stained buildings, would offer many a
study to the painter. Sunset was at hand when we reached the steamer
_Islay_, anchored under the lee of one of the small islands of the bay,
and were fortunate in finding among the not too numerous passengers
several whose society added to the interest of the voyage.
One of the effects of the habitual use of maps on a small scale is
that untravelled persons, even though conversant with the facts of
geography, feel it difficult to realize the great dimensions of the
more distant parts of the world as compared with our diminutive
European continent. Thus it came on me with something of surprise that
the Bay of Panama is fully a hundred and twenty sea miles across from
headland to headland, and that the run from Panama to Callao, which is
scarcely one-third of the length of the South American continent, is
rather longer than that from Bergen to the Straits of Gibraltar. The
case, of course, is much worse with those accustomed to use maps on
Mercator’s projection. It profits nothing to explain, even to the most
intelligent youth, the nature and amount of the errors involved in that
mode of representing a spherical surface on a plane. I verily believe
that all the mischief done by the stupidity, ignorance, and perversity
of the writers of bad school-books is trifling compared to the amount
of false ideas spread through the world by the productions of that
respectable Fleming.
The steamers of the Pacific Mail Company employed for the traffic
between San Francisco and Valparaiso are as perfectly suited to the
peculiar conditions of the navigation as they would be unfit for
long sea-voyages in any other part of the world. In the calm waters
of this region, rarely ruffled even by a stiff breeze, the fortunate
seamen engaged in this service know no hardships from storm or cold.
Their only anxiety is from the fogs that at some seasons beset parts
of the coast. In each voyage they pass under a vertical sun, but the
air and the water are cooler than in any other part of the equatorial
zone; and all that is needed for their physical comfort, and that of
their passengers, is free ventilation and shade from the sun. These
desiderata are fully secured. The main-deck is open to the air, and the
steerage passengers, who are encamped amidships and on the fore-deck,
are satisfied at night with the amount of privacy secured by hanging
some piece of stuff to represent a curtain round each family group.
On the upper deck are ranged the state rooms of the first-class
passengers, each with a door and window opening seaward. Above this,
again, a spar-deck carried flush from stem to stern affords ample
opportunity for exercise, and is itself sheltered from the sun by
an awning during the hot hours. In such conditions, where merely to
breathe is to enjoy, the only danger is that of subsiding into mere
lotus-eating. From this I was fortunately preserved by the rather
troublesome task of drying in satisfactory condition the plants which I
had hastily gathered in Jamaica and in crossing the isthmus.
[_PACIFIC COAST STEAMERS._]
I had supposed that the distinctly green colour of the water in Panama
Bay, so different from the blue tint of the open Atlantic, might be due
to some local peculiarity; but on the following day, April 7, while
about a hundred miles from land, I observed that the same colour was
preserved, and I subsequently extended the observation along the coast
to about 5° south, where we encountered the antarctic current. Farther
south I should describe the hue of the water as a somewhat turbid dark
blue, reminding one of the water of the North Atlantic as seen in
approaching the British Islands.
At daybreak on April 8 we found ourselves approaching the port of
Buenaventura. Long before it was possible to land I was ready,
thrilling with interest and curiosity respecting a region so entirely
new--an interest enhanced, perhaps, by the extent of ignorance of which
I was inwardly conscious. Knowing this place to be the only port of an
extensive tract, including much of the coast region of New Granada,
lying only a few degrees from the equator, and rich in all sorts of
tropical produce, I had formed a very undue idea of its importance.
Although the rise and fall of the tide are very moderate on this coast,
the ricketty wooden wharf could not be reached at low water. There was
nothing for it but to land on the mud, and scramble up the slippery
slope to the top of the bank of half-consolidated marl, from twenty
to forty feet above the shore, on which the little town is built. It
consists of some two hundred houses and stores, nearly all mere plank
sheds, but, as usual throughout South America, the inhabitants rejoice
in dreams of future wealth and importance to be secured by a railway
communicating with the interior. There was no time to be lost; notice
had been given that the ship’s stay was to be very brief, and even
before landing it was apparent that the tropical forest was close at
hand. In truth, the last houses are within a stone’s throw of the
skirts of the forest. Just at this point I was attracted by a leafless
bush, evidently one of the spinous species of _Solanum_, with large,
yellow, obversely pear-shaped fruits. As I was about cutting off a
specimen, the people, who here seemed very friendly, rushed out of the
nearest house and vociferated in warning tones, “Mata! mata!” I was
afterwards assured that the fruit is here considered a deadly poison.
It appears to be one of the rather numerous varieties of _Solanum
mammosum_, a species widely spread through the hotter parts of America.
[_FIRST VIEW OF A TROPICAL FOREST._]
Being warned not to go out of hearing of the steam-whistle that was
to summon us back to the ship, I was obliged to content myself with
three short inroads into the forest, through which numerous paths had
been cleared. The first effect was perfectly bewildering. The variety
of new forms of vegetation surrounding one on every side was simply
distracting. Of the larger trees I could, indeed, make out nothing,
but the smaller trees and shrubs, crowded together wherever they could
reach the daylight, were more than enough to occupy the too short
moments.
Of the general character of the climate there could be no doubt. In
spite of the blazing sun, with a shade temperature of about 85° Fahr.,
the ground was everywhere moist. Ferns and _Selaginellæ_ met the
eye at every turn, with numerous _Cyperaceæ_; and in an open spot,
among a crowd of less familiar forms, I found a minute _Utricularia_,
scarcely an inch in height. But the predominant feature, and that
which interested me most keenly, was the abundance and variety of
_Melastomaceæ_. Within the first ten minutes I had gathered specimens
of seven species, all of them but one large shrubs. Of the climbers
and parasites that give its most distinctive features to the tropical
forest, I could in so hurried a peep make out very little. I owe one
beautiful species, hitherto undescribed, to my friend W----, who,
having wandered in another direction, spied the scarlet flowers of
the epiphyte, which I have named _Anthopterus Wardii_, on the trunk
of a tree, which was promptly climbed by the active negro who had
accompanied him.[1]
Too soon came the summons of the steam-whistle. As we called on our way
at the office of the Pacific Company’s agent, we were shown a number
of the finer sort of so-called Panama hats, which are chiefly made on
this part of the coast. Even on the spot they are expensive articles, a
hundred dollars not being considered an unreasonable price for one of
the better sort.
Some writers of high authority on geographical botany have held that
the most marked division of the flora of tropical South America is that
between the regions lying east and west of the Andes. It would be the
extreme of rashness for one who has seen so little as I have done of
the vegetation of a few scattered points in so vast a region to attempt
to draw conclusions from his own observations; but, on the other hand,
writers in Europe, even though so learned and so careful as Grisebach
and Engler, are under the great disadvantage that the materials
available, whether in botanical works or in herbaria, are generally
incomplete as regards localities. How is it possible to form any clear
picture of the flora of a special district when so large a proportion
of the plants recorded are merely said to come from “Columbia” or
“Ecuador,” the one larger than Spain, France, and the Low Countries
put together, the other equal in extent to the Austrian Empire, and
both traversed by mountain ranges varying from fifteen thousand to
over eighteen thousand feet in height? I shall have later to make some
remarks on the climatal conditions of the coast region extending from
Panama to the Bay of Guayaquil, but I may here mention that when I
afterwards acquired some slight acquaintance with the flora of Brazil,
I was struck with the fact that, although separated by an interval of
nearly three thousand miles, and by the great barrier of the Andes, the
plants seen in and around the forest at Buenaventura were almost all
nearly allied to Brazilian forms.
[_FLORA OF TROPICAL SOUTH AMERICA._]
Further reflection, and such incomplete knowledge as I have been able
to acquire as to the flora of inter-tropical South America, lead me
to the conclusion that the present vegetable population of this vast
region is, when we exclude from view a certain number of immigrants
from other regions, mainly derived from two sources. There is, in the
first place, the ancient flora of Guiana and tropical Brazil, which has
gradually extended itself through Venezuela and Columbia, and along the
Pacific coast as far as Ecuador, and, in an opposite direction, through
Southern Brazil, to the upper basins of the Uruguay, the Paranà, and
the Paraguay. The long period of time occupied by the gradual diffusion
of this flora is shown by the large number of peculiar species, and not
a few endemic genera that have been developed throughout different
parts of this vast region, whose nearest allies, however, are to be
found in the original home, Guiana or Brazil. Along with this stock,
which mainly occupies the lower country, we find, especially in
Venezuela, Columbia, and Ecuador, the modified descendants of vegetable
types characteristic of the Andes. Of the Andean flora I shall have
something to say in a future page; but I may express the belief that
if we go back to the remote period when most of the characteristic
types of the vegetation of South America came into existence, we must
seek the ancestors of the Brazilian flora, and to a large extent also
those of the Andean flora, in the ancient high mountain ranges of
Brazil, where we now see, in the vast extent of arenaceous rocks, and
in the surviving pinnacles of granite, the ruins of one of the greatest
mountain regions of the earth.
Early on Easter Sunday morning, April 9, we were off Tumaco, a small
place on one of a group of flat islands lying at the northern extremity
of the coast of Ecuador.[2] These islands are of good repute as having
the healthiest climate on this coast. Although close to the equator,
cattle are said to thrive, and, if one could forget the presence of a
fringe of cocos palms along the shore, the island opposite to us, in
great part cleared of forest, with spreading lawns of green pasture,
might have been taken for a gentleman’s park on some flat part of the
English coast. We here parted with General Prado, ex-president of
Peru, who has purchased one of the islands, and hopes to end his days
peacefully as a cattle-breeder. Nothing in his manner or conversation
announced either energy or intelligence, but it is impossible not
to recognize some kind of ability in a man who, having held such a
post at such a time, not only succeeded in escaping the ordinary fate
of a Peruvian president--his two immediate predecessors having been
assassinated--but also in snatching from the ruin of his country the
means of securing an ample provision for himself at a safe distance
from home.
In the almost cloudless weather that has prevailed for some days, the
apparent path of the sun could not fail to attract attention. Being
still so near the vernal equinox, this could not be distinguished
from a straight line. Rising out of the horizon at six o’clock, the
sun passed exactly through the zenith, and went down perpendicularly
in the west into the boundless ocean. Who can wonder that this daily
disappearance of the sun has had so large a share in the poetry and the
religion of our race? In every land, under every climate, it is the one
spectacle which is ever new and ever fascinating. Use cannot stale it;
and knowledge, which is said to be driving the imagination out of the
field of our modern life, has done nothing to weaken the spell.
We awoke next day to find ourselves in the southern hemisphere, having
crossed the line about three a.m. As the morning wore on we passed
abreast of the Cabo San Lorenzo, and towards evening, keeping nearer
to the coast, were within a few miles of Cabo Santa Elena. This forms
the north-western headland of the Gulf of Guayaquil, a wide bay that
extends fully a hundred miles eastward from the coastline.
At daybreak, April 11, we were inside the large island of Puna, and
soon after entered the mouth of the river Guayas. Although it drains
but a small district, this has a deep channel, as wide as the Thames at
Gravesend, making the town of Guayaquil, which is about thirty miles
from its mouth, the natural port for Western Equatorial America. As we
steamed northward up the stream, every eye was turned eastward with
the hope of descrying some part of the chain of the Andes. It was,
indeed, obvious that a great mountain barrier lay in that direction,
and beneath the eastern sun dark masses from time to time stood out to
view; but along the crest of the range heavy banks of cloud constantly
rested, and the summits remained concealed. We knew that the peak of
Chimborazo is scarcely more than seventy miles distant from Guayaquil,
and is easily seen from the town in clear weather; but we did not know
that clear weather is a phenomenon that recurs only on about half a
dozen days in the course of the year, and it is needless to say that we
did not draw one of these prizes in the lottery. I had been conscious
of a distinct change of climate during the preceding night, and this
was still more marked after we entered the river. The increase of
temperature was but trifling. The thermometer at sea during the two
preceding days had ranged from 77° to 79°, and here at nine a.m. it
marked only 80°; nor did it ever rise above 84° while we lay opposite
Guayaquil. But the sense of oppressive closeness was more or less felt
by every one, and, whatever may be the cause, it seems safe to conclude
that the notoriety of this city as one of the most unhealthy in South
America is intimately connected with it.
[_PHYSIOLOGICAL EFFECTS OF HOT CLIMATES._]
There is, no doubt, much yet to be learned as to the effects of climate
on the human constitution, but a few points seem to be sufficiently
ascertained. To those whose constitution has been hereditarily adapted
to a temperate or cold climate, the enfeebling effect of hot countries
depends much more on the constant continuance of a high temperature
than on its amount. A place with a mean temperature of 80° Fahr., which
varies little above or below that point, is far more injurious to a
European than one where intervals of great heat alternate with periods
of cooler weather. Still more important, perhaps, is the effect of a
hot climate in places where the air is habitually nearly saturated
with aqueous vapour. When the temperature of the skin is not much
greater than that of the surrounding air, if this be near the point of
saturation but little evaporation can take place from the surface. The
action of the absorbent vessels is thus checked, and the activity of
all the functions is consequently lowered. As it usually happens that
the two agencies here discussed act together in tropical countries,
the places having a uniform temperature being also for the most part
those having an atmosphere heavily charged with vapour, it is easy
to understand that Europeans whose vitality is already depressed are
especially exposed to suffer from whatever causes induce endemic or
epidemic disease. The difficulty in connection with this subject is to
explain certain exceptions to the general rule. In several places in
the tropics, usually insular stations, where a steady high temperature
is combined with the presence of much vapour, the climate is said to
have no injurious effects. But the most marked exception seems to be
that of seamen. Excluding that large majority whose calling involves
frequent changes of climate, there must be now a considerable body of
experience respecting those who for a series of years have navigated
tropical seas exposed to nearly uniform temperature. I am not aware
that there are any facts to sustain the supposition, which might _à
priori_ seem plausible, that such a life tends to enfeeble the European
constitution.
Between a broad fringe of mangrove swamp, backed by a narrow border
of forest on either bank, with little to break the monotony of the
way, we reached Guayaquil before ten a.m. Seen from the river, with
many large buildings and stores covering more than a mile of frontage
on the western bank, and a straggling suburb stretching to the base
of a low hill to the northward, the city presents an unexpectedly
imposing appearance. The present amount of trade is inconsiderable,
but if ever these regions can attain to the elementary conditions
of good government the development of their natural resources must
entail a vast increase of business. The territory of Ecuador includes
every variety of climate, and is in great part thoroughly suited to
Europeans. All tropical products are obtainable, and, with good
management and kindly treatment, the supply of efficient negro labour
at moderate wages is considerable. Among other products of the soil,
the tobacco of the country about Guayaquil deserves to be better known.
Of the many varieties of the coarser kind which are grown throughout
Central and South America, this appears to me the best, as it certainly
is the cheapest. The hawkers who came on board sold at less than seven
shillings a hundred cigars of very fair quality, making, as I was told,
a profit of fifty per cent.
[_ALLIGATORS OF THE RIVER GUAYAS._]
It might be not unworthy of the notice of the great steamboat companies
to recommend to their agents some little consideration for passengers
who travel to see the world. It commonly happens that on the arrival
of a steamer, after the first conference between the agent and the
captain, a time is fixed for departure which has no relation to the
hour really intended. We were told this morning that the steamer was
to start at one p.m. The time was clearly too short for an excursion
to the neighbouring country, and the inducement to spend a couple of
hours in the streets of such an unhealthy town was very trifling. Two
young Englishmen went up the river in a boat with the hope of shooting
alligators. These creatures abound along the banks of the Guayas,
basking in the mud, and looking from a distance like the logs that are
floated down by the stream. Our sportsmen had the usual measure of
success, and no more. For a bullet to pierce the dense covering that
shields this animal is a happy accident, but it suffices to disturb the
creature from his rest, and to induce him to crawl or roll into the
river, and to accomplish this is at least a new experience. Through the
courtesy of a native gentleman, the travellers were induced to land
at a _hacienda_ on the river, where horses were provided, and they
galloped back to the town before one o’clock. Meanwhile the Jamaica
story was repeated. It was announced that the agent had decided to keep
the steamer till three p.m.; and finally we learned that we should
remain at our moorings till early next morning.
On her last voyage the _Islay_ had started too late; night fell before
she cleared the mouth of the river, and, in the dark, she had run
down a _chatta_--one of the cumbrous native barges that ply along the
stream. Of fifteen natives in the barge thirteen were saved, three of
them by the courage and activity of the chief officer, who jumped into
the river to their rescue. Our captain very properly objected to the
risk of another similar accident, and decided to wait for daylight.
The cause of the delay remained a mystery, for all that was shipped of
passengers and cargo was of a kind that did not seem likely to be very
remunerative. At first sight it appeared merely as a characteristic
of a rude state of society that the country people around Guayaquil
are used to embark on the southward-bound steamers with tropical fruit
raised by themselves, which they carry to Lima, and even as far as
Valparaiso, dispose of at a handsome profit, and then return home.
As most of the profit must go into the coffers of the Pacific Steam
Company, the motive is not very obvious; but after a little further
experience I fully understood it. Even if they clear little more
than the price of their passage, these people find their advantage in
undertaking an annual expedition of this kind. Apart from the very
positive benefit to health, they gain what they like most in the
world--a season of absolute idleness, with the amusement of seeing new
objects and talking to new people. For the remainder of the voyage the
main-deck was crowded and somewhat encumbered by picturesque groups of
rough men, some accompanied by womankind, alternating with huge heaps
of tropical fruit--pineapples and bananas, a single bunch of the latter
sometimes weighing more than a hundred pounds.
[_GULF OF GUAYAQUIL._]
The thermometer scarcely varied by a small fraction from 80° throughout
the night and the following day, until we had cleared the Gulf of
Guayaquil; and even at this moderate temperature the feeling of
lassitude continued as on the previous day. Of the famous mosquitos
of the river Guayas we had little experience. They are said sometimes
to attack in swarms so numerous and ferocious that, even by day, it
becomes difficult for officers and men to manage a ship on the river.
The sun had set on the following evening, April 12, before we were
well abreast of Cabo Blanco, the southern headland of the Gulf of
Guayaquil, and we saw nothing of its southern shore. About one-half of
this belongs to Peru, and close to the frontier-line is the little port
of Tumbez, sometimes visited by passing steamers. I was assured by two
of the ship’s officers that the climate and vegetation of this place
are much the same as at Guayaquil, but there are few parts of the
American coast that better deserve careful examination by a scientific
naturalist.
During the night of the 12th we passed Cape Parinas, the westernmost
headland of South America, and before sunrise were in the roads of
Payta. Being aware that the so-called rainless zone of Peru extends
northward to this place, I was especially anxious to see as much of it
as possible. During the night the temperature had fallen, especially
after rounding Cape Parinas, and at sunrise stood at 74°. In the cooler
air, and under the excitement of pleasant anticipation, the lassitude
of the two preceding days utterly disappeared; and as day dawned I
stood on deck, with my tin box slung to my back, ready to go ashore
long before there was any possibility of doing so. The officers told
me, indeed, that there was no use in taking a botanical box, as the
country about Payta was absolutely without vegetation. I have many
times had the same assurance given me, but the time had not yet come
when I was to find it correct, and I felt that Payta was not one of
such rare spots on the earth.
The appearance of the place and of its surroundings is unquestionably
very strange, and the contrast between it and the shores of the
neighbouring Gulf of Guayaquil is simply marvellous. Saving the
presence of a mean little modern church, with two shabby wooden towers
coated with plaster, the aspect of the little town reminded me of Suez,
with the difference that the surrounding desert is here raised about
a hundred feet above the sea-level. The place, I presume, is improved
since it was visited and described by Squiers, and I found that on the
slope between the base of the plateau and the beach there is ample
space for some mean streets.
[_FLORA OF PAYTA._]
With several companions who were kind enough to interest themselves
in plant-hunting, I at once turned towards the sea-beach at the
south-western side of the town, keeping along the base of the low
cliffs that here descend to the water’s edge. The seaward face of the
cliffs is furrowed by numerous gullies, and in one of the broadest of
these I was delighted to observe numerous stunted bushes well laden
with crimson flowers. This turned out to be _Galvesia limensis_, a
plant found only at a few spots in Peru, whose nearest but yet distant
European ally is the common snapdragon. In the upper part of the same
gully were the withered remains of several other species, most of
which have been since identified. Emerging on the plateau, we found
ourselves on a wide plain, apparently unbroken, leading up to a range
of hills some fifteen or twenty miles distant. Though we were here only
five degrees from the equator, and before we returned to the ship the
sun had risen as high as on a summer’s noon in England, the southerly
breeze felt delightfully cool and fresh, and at midday, under the
vertical sun, the temperature on board ship was not quite 75°.
Vegetation, as I anticipated, was not entirely absent from the plateau,
but it was more scarce than I had anywhere seen it, except in the
tracts west of the Nile above Cairo, where the drifting sands covers
up and bury everything on the surface. In the northern Sahara, about
Biskra, where rain is much less infrequent than here, vegetation,
though scanty, is nearly continuous, and it is not easy to find spaces
of several square yards absolutely without a single plant. About Suez,
and on parts of the isthmus where a slight infiltration from the sweet
water canal has not developed a more varied vegetation, the number of
species in a given tract is often very limited; but tufts of vigorous
growth, especially of the salt-loving species, are seen at frequent
intervals. On the plateau of Payta, where, as we rambled about, several
pairs of eyes were on the alert, but a single tuft of verdure visible
at a distance could be made out. This was formed by several bushes of
_Prosopis limensis_ growing together. Elsewhere the few plants seen
were confined to the occasional shallow depressions where rain rests
longest. All, of course, had perennial roots, and scarcely one of them
rose as much as three inches from the ground.[3]
I found it difficult to account for the origin of the sands which are
sparingly scattered over the plateau, but accumulated to a considerable
depth on the slopes behind the town. The underlying rock seen in
ascending to the plateau is a tolerably compact shale; but the hard
crust forming the superficial stratum appears to consist of different
materials, and not to be made up from the disintegrated materials of
the shale. At several places, both below the cliffs and on the plateau,
I found large scattered fragments of what appeared to be a very recent
calcareous formation, largely composed of shells of living species; but
this was nowhere seen _in situ_, and I was unable to conjecture the
origin of these fragments.
[_CLIMATE OF NORTHERN PERU._]
Before returning to the _Islay_, I had the advantage of a short
conversation with the very intelligent gentleman who acts as British
consular agent at Payta, and whose ability would perhaps be seen to
advantage in a more conspicuous post. The information received from
him fully confirmed the impressions formed during my short excursion.
The appearance of the gullies that furrow the seaward face of the
plateau sufficiently showed that, however infrequent they may be,
heavy rains must sometimes visit this part of the coast. I now learned
that, in point of fact, abundant rain lasting for several days recurs
at intervals of three or four years, the last having been seen in the
year 1879. As happens everywhere else in the arid coast zone, extending
nearly two thousand miles from Payta to Coquimbo in North Chili,
abundant rainfall is speedily followed by an outburst of herbaceous
vegetation covering the surfaces that have so long been bare. During
the long dry intervals slight showers occur occasionally a few times in
each year. These are quite insufficient to cause any general appearance
of fresh vegetation, but suffice, it would seem, to maintain the
vitality of the few species that hold their ground persistently. The
ordinary supply of water in Payta, obtained from a stream descending
from the Andes seventeen miles distant, is carried by donkeys that are
despatched every morning for the purpose. There was something quite
strange in the appearance of a few bundles of fresh grass which we saw
in the _plaza_. They had come that morning by the same conveyance for
the support of the very few domestic animals that it is possible to
keep in such a place.
The problems suggested by the singular climatal conditions of this
region of South America have not, I think, been as fully discussed
as they deserve to be, and I here venture on some remarks as a
contribution to the subject.
The existence of the so-called rainless zone on the west coast of
South America is usually accounted for by two agencies whose union
is necessary to produce the result. The great range of the Andes,
it is said, acts as a condenser on the moisture that is constantly
carried from the Atlantic coasts by the general westward drift of the
atmosphere in low latitudes. The copious rainfall thus produced on
the eastern slopes of the great range leaves the air of the highlands
of Peru and Bolivia relatively dry and cool, so that any portion that
may descend to the coast on the western declivity tends to prevent
rather than to cause fresh aqueous precipitations. Meanwhile the
branch of the Antarctic Ocean current known as the Humboldt current,
which sets northward along the sea-board from Western Patagonia, is
accompanied by an aërial current, or prevailing breeze, which keeps
the same direction. The cold air flowing towards the equator, being
gradually warmed, has its capacity for holding vapour in suspension
constantly increased, and is thus enabled to absorb a large portion
of the vapour contained in the currents that occasionally flow inland
from the Pacific, so that the production of rain is a rare event,
recurring only at long intervals. Admitting the plausibility of this
explanation, a first difficulty presents itself. If the Andes act as a
barrier against the vapour-laden atmosphere of eastern tropical America
throughout Peru, Bolivia, and Northern Chili why, it may be asked, do
they fail to perform the same function in Ecuador and Colombia? Whence
the absolute contrast in point of climate that exists between these
regions? Why is the littoral zone between the Gulf of Guayaquil and
that of Panama, a distance of some eight hundred miles, not merely less
dry than that of Peru, but actually more moist than most parts of the
coast of Brazil or Guiana?
[_CAUSES OF THE ARID COAST CLIMATE._]
Some answer may, I think, be given to these questions. In the first
place, comparing the orography of Peru and Bolivia with that of
Ecuador, some important differences must be noted. In Eastern Peru, as
is at once shown by the direction of the principal rivers, we find no
less than four parallel mountain ranges, increasing in mean elevation
as we travel from east to west. The westernmost range, to which in
Peru the name _Cordillera_ is exclusively applied, does not everywhere
include the highest peaks, but has the highest mean elevation. The
second range, exclusively called _Andes_ in Peru, rivals the first
in height and importance. I know of no collective names by which to
distinguish the third range, dividing the valley of the Huallaga from
that of the Ucayali, nor the fourth range, forming the eastern boundary
of the latter stream. In South Peru and Bolivia the mountain ranges are
less regularly disposed, but cover a still wider area; and throughout
the whole region it is obvious that the warm and moist currents
drifting slowly westward have to traverse a zone of lofty mountains
varying from four to six hundred miles in width, and can carry no
moisture available to produce rain on the western seaboard. In Ecuador
the two principal ranges--the Cordillera and the Andes--are much
nearer together than they usually are in Peru, and no parallel ranges
flank them on the east. The numerous tributaries of the Maranon flow
in a tolerably direct course east or south-east, many of them rising
within a hundred and fifty miles of the Pacific coast. It follows that
the atmospheric currents meeting less preliminary obstruction reach
the eastern slopes of the main range still very heavily charged with
vapour. In crossing the barrier a large portion of the burthen must
be deposited; but it is probable that a large amount is nevertheless
carried to the western side of the range.
It may be said that this explanation, whatever it may be worth, cannot
apply to the territory of Colombia, where the Andes are broken up
into at least three lofty ranges, and the mountains cover as wide a
space as they do in Peru. My impression is that the abundant supply of
moisture on the west coast of Colombia arises from a different source.
The effects of the Isthmus of Panama as a barrier against atmospheric
currents must be absolutely insignificant, and I have no doubt that
those which flow eastward along the coast of the Caribbean Sea are in
part diverted south-east and south along the west coast of Colombia.
There can, however, be little doubt that in determining the climate
of the west coast the influence of the Humboldt current, and of the
cool southerly breezes that accompany it, is far greater than that
of the disposition of the mountain ranges. A glance at the map shows
that about the fifth and sixth degrees of south latitude the direction
of the coast undergoes a considerable change. On the voyage from
Panama, we had hitherto steered somewhat west of south; henceforward
our course lay between south-south-east and south-east. All the
currents of the ocean and atmosphere, whose existence arises from the
unequal distribution of heat on the earth’s surface, vary somewhat in
their course throughout the year with the changes of season, and this
doubtless holds good on the American coast. I believe, however, that
both the sea and air currents from the south are normally deflected
away from the coast at the promontory of Ajulla (sometimes written
“Ahuja”), a short distance south of Payta. A further portion is again
deflected westward at Cape Parinas, north of which headland they seem
not to be ordinarily met. I infer, however, from the testimony of
seamen, that at some seasons they are felt near the coast as far north
as the equator, and even beyond it. This inference was confirmed by
observing the parched appearance of the seaward slope of Cabo Sta.
Elena, north of the Gulf of Guayaquil, which apparently does not fully
share in the frequent rains that elsewhere visit the coast of Ecuador.
[_INFLUENCE OF THE HUMBOLDT CURRENT._]
Whatever force there may be in the above suggestions, I confess that
they do not seem to me adequate to account for the extraordinary
difference of climate between places so near as Payta and Tumbez--not
quite a hundred miles apart--and I trust that further light may be
thrown upon the matter by a scientific traveller able to spare the
necessary time. So far as I know, no such abrupt and complete a change
is known elsewhere in the world. I was unable to obtain any information
as to a range of hills or mountains, marked in Arrowsmith’s map “Sa.
Amatapi,” which appears to extend east or east-north-east from Cape
Parinas. Its height can scarcely be considerable, as it does not appear
to have attracted the attention of the seamen who are familiar with
this coast; but, on the other hand, there is some reason to think that
the southerly breezes prevailing on the coast do not extend to any
great height above the sea-level. It would be interesting if we should
find on the opposite sides of a range of unimportant hills the same
contrasts of climate and vegetation that are known to prevail between
the eastern and western slopes of the Peruvian Andes.[4]
Along the coast of Northern Peru are numerous small islets, evidently
at some period detached from the continent either by subsidence or
by marine erosion. Here, in the almost complete absence of rain, were
formed those secular accumulations deposited by sea-birds, which, when
known in Europe under the name of _guano_, suddenly rivalled the mines
of the precious metals as sources of easily acquired wealth. The two
most considerable groups are respectively named Lobos de tierra and
Lobos de afuera; a smaller group near to Payta is also called Lobos.
At the western end of the largest of the latter group the waves have
excavated a natural arch, which, after a sufficient period of further
excavation, will fall and give rise to a new detached islet. A brisk
southerly breeze made the air feel cooler than it had done since we
entered the tropics, as we ran about due south until sunset, when,
after passing abreast of the promontory of Ajulla, our course was
altered to nearly due south-east. I was assured by a native passenger
that the promontory of Ajulla, for a distance of thirty or forty
miles, is an absolute desert, without a drop of water or the slightest
trace of vegetation. Experience has made me somewhat sceptical as to
statements of this nature made by non-scientific observers. During
the day we frequently observed a fish which appears distinct from
the flying-fish of the Atlantic. The pectoral fins appear to be less
developed, and in consequence the flight is shorter, and the animal
seems to have less command over its movements.
[_GUANO ISLANDS._]
Our course on April 14 lay rather far from land. It was known that
yellow fever had broken out at Truxillo, and it was decided that we
should run direct to Callao, without touching at that or any of the
smaller places on the coast sometimes visited by the steamers. Although
the air appeared to be somewhat hazy, the range of the Cordillera, more
than a hundred miles distant, was distinctly seen in the afternoon.
Very soon after we ran into a dense bank of fog, in which we were
immersed for several hours, our cautious captain remaining meanwhile on
the bridge, and the frequent cry of the steam-whistle ceased only when
we steamed out of the fog into a brilliant star-lit night.
[_LOW TEMPERATURE OF THE COAST._]
These fogs, which are frequent along the Peruvian coast, are the chief,
if not the only, difficulty with which the navigator has to contend.
When they rest over the land it becomes extremely difficult to make
the ports, and at sea they involve the possible risk of collision.
If this risk is at present but slight, it must become more serious
when intercourse increases, as it must inevitably do if the Ship
Canal should ever be completed; and for the general safety it may be
expedient to prescribe special rules as to the course to be taken by
vessels proceeding north or south along the coast. The origin of the
fogs must be obvious to any one who considers the physical conditions
of this region, to which I have already referred. The air must be
very frequently near the point of saturation, and a slight fall of
temperature, or the local intermixture of a body of moister air, must
suffice to produce fog. The remarkable thing is that this should so
very rarely undergo the further change requisite to cause rain. To some
young Englishmen on board, the remarkable coolness of the air along
this coast was a continual subject of jesting comment; and on more than
one occasion the “Tropics” were emphatically declared to be “humbugs.”
It is certain that for thirty-six hours before reaching Callao the
shaded thermometer never reached 70°, and stood at noon, with a clear
sky and a brisk southerly breeze, no higher than 68°.