Santa Cruz—Expedition up the River—Indians—Immense Streams of basaltic
lava—Fragments not transported by the River—Excavation of the
valley—Condor, habits of—Cordillera—Erratic boulders of great
size—Indian relics—Return to the ship—Falkland Islands—Wild horses,
cattle, rabbits—Wolf-like fox—Fire made of bones—Manner of hunting wild
cattle—Geology—Streams of stones—Scenes of violence—Penguin—Geese—Eggs
of Doris—Compound animals.
SANTA CRUZ, PATAGONIA, AND THE FALKLAND ISLANDS.
_April_ 13_th_, 1834.—The _Beagle_ anchored within the mouth of the
Santa Cruz. This river is situated about sixty miles south of Port St.
Julian. During the last voyage Captain Stokes proceeded thirty miles up
it, but then, from the want of provisions,
was obliged to return. Excepting what was discovered at that time,
scarcely anything was known about this large river. Captain Fitz Roy
now determined to follow its course as far as time would allow. On the
18th three whale-boats started, carrying three weeks’ provisions; and
the party consisted of twenty-five souls—a force which would have been
sufficient to have defied a host of Indians. With a strong flood-tide
and a fine day we made a good run, soon drank some of the fresh water,
and were at night nearly above the tidal influence.
The river here assumed a size and appearance which, even at the highest
point we ultimately reached, was scarcely diminished. It was generally
from three to four hundred yards broad, and in the middle about
seventeen feet deep. The rapidity of the current, which in its whole
course runs at the rate of from four to six knots an hour, is perhaps
its most remarkable feature. The water is of a fine blue colour, but
with a slight milky tinge, and not so transparent as at first sight
would have been expected. It flows over a bed of pebbles, like those
which compose the beach and the surrounding plains. It runs in a
winding course through a valley, which extends in a direct line
westward. This valley varies from five to ten miles in breadth; it is
bounded by step-formed terraces, which rise in most parts, one above
the other, to the height of five hundred feet, and have on the opposite
sides a remarkable correspondence.
_April_ 19_th._—Against so strong a current it was, of course, quite
impossible to row or sail: consequently the three boats were fastened
together head and stern, two hands left in each, and the rest came on
shore to track. As the general arrangements made by Captain Fitz Roy
were very good for facilitating the work of all, and as all had a share
in it, I will describe the system. The party, including every one, was
divided into two spells, each of which hauled at the tracking line
alternately for an hour and a half. The officers of each boat lived
with, ate the same food, and slept in the same tent with their crew, so
that each boat was quite independent of the others. After sunset the
first level spot where any bushes were growing was chosen for our
night’s lodging. Each of the crew took it in turns to be cook.
Immediately the boat was hauled up, the cook made his fire; two others
pitched the tent; the coxswain handed the things out of the boat; the
rest carried them up to the tents
and collected firewood. By this order, in half an hour everything was
ready for the night. A watch of two men and an officer was always kept,
whose duty it was to look after the boats, keep up the fire, and guard
against Indians. Each in the party had his one hour every night.
During this day we tracked but a short distance, for there were many
islets, covered by thorny bushes, and the channels between them were
shallow.
_April_ 20_th._—We passed the islands and set to work. Our regular
day’s march, although it was hard enough, carried us on an average only
ten miles in a straight line, and perhaps fifteen or twenty altogether.
Beyond the place where we slept last night, the country is completely
_terra incognita_, for it was there that Captain Stokes turned back. We
saw in the distance a great smoke, and found the skeleton of a horse,
so we knew that Indians were in the neighbourhood. On the next morning
(21st) tracks of a party of horse, and marks left by the trailing of
the chuzos, or long spears, were observed on the ground. It was
generally thought that the Indians had reconnoitred us during the
night. Shortly afterwards we came to a spot where, from the fresh
footsteps of men, children, and horses, it was evident that the party
had crossed the river.
_April_ 22_nd._—The country remained the same, and was extremely
uninteresting. The complete similarity of the productions throughout
Patagonia is one of its most striking characters. The level plains of
arid shingle support the same stunted and dwarf plants; and in the
valleys the same thorn-bearing bushes grow. Everywhere we see the same
birds and insects. Even the very banks of the river and of the clear
streamlets which entered it, were scarcely enlivened by a brighter tint
of green. The curse of sterility is on the land, and the water flowing
over a bed of pebbles partakes of the same curse. Hence the number of
waterfowl is very scanty; for there is nothing to support life in the
stream of this barren river.
Patagonia, poor as she is in some respects, can however boast of a
greater stock of small rodents[1] than perhaps any other country in the
world. Several species of mice are externally
characterised by large thin ears and a very fine fur. These little
animals swarm amongst the thickets in the valleys, where they cannot
for months together taste a drop of water excepting the dew. They all
seem to be cannibals; for no sooner was a mouse caught in one of my
traps than it was devoured by others. A small and delicately-shaped
fox, which is likewise very abundant, probably derives its entire
support from these small animals. The guanaco is also in his proper
district, herds of fifty or a hundred were common; and, as I have
stated, we saw one which must have contained at least five hundred. The
puma, with the condor and other carrion-hawks in its train, follows and
preys upon these animals. The footsteps of the puma were to be seen
almost everywhere on the banks of the river; and the remains of several
guanacos, with their necks dislocated and bones broken, showed how they
had met their death.
[1] The desserts of Syria are characterised, according to Volney (tome
i, p. 351), by woody bushes, numerous rats, gazelles and hares. In the
landscape of Patagonia the guanaco replaces the gazelle, and the
agouti the hare.
_April_ 24_th._—Like the navigators of old when approaching an unknown
land, we examined and watched for the most trivial sign of a change.
The drifted trunk of a tree, or a boulder of primitive rock, was hailed
with joy, as if we had seen a forest growing on the flanks of the
Cordillera. The top, however, of a heavy bank of clouds, which remained
almost constantly in one position, was the most promising sign, and
eventually turned out a true harbinger. At first the clouds were
mistaken for the mountains themselves, instead of the masses of vapour
condensed by their icy summits.
_April_ 26_th._—We this day met with a marked change in the geological
structure of the plains. From the first starting I had carefully
examined the gravel in the river, and for the two last days had noticed
the presence of a few small pebbles of a very cellular basalt. These
gradually increased in number and in size, but none were as large as a
man’s head. This morning, however, pebbles of the same rock, but more
compact, suddenly became abundant, and in the course of half an hour we
saw, at the distance of five or six miles, the angular edge of a great
basaltic platform. When we arrived at its base we found the stream
bubbling among the fallen blocks. For the next twenty-eight miles the
river-course was encumbered with these basaltic masses. Above that
limit immense fragments of primitive rocks, derived from the
surrounding boulder-formation, were equally numerous. None of the
fragments of any considerable size had been washed
more than three or four miles down the river below their parent-source:
considering the singular rapidity of the great body of water in the
Santa Cruz, and that no still reaches occur in any part, this example
is a most striking one, of the inefficiency of rivers in transporting
even moderately-sized fragments.
The basalt is only lava which has flowed beneath the sea; but the
eruptions must have been on the grandest scale. At the point where we
first met this formation it was 120 feet in thickness; following up the
river-course, the surface imperceptibly rose and the mass became
thicker, so that at forty miles above the first station it was 320 feet
thick. What the thickness may be close to the Cordillera, I have no
means of knowing, but the platform there attains a height of about
three thousand feet above the level of the sea: we must therefore look
to the mountains of that great chain for its source; and worthy of such
a source are streams that have flowed over the gently inclined bed of
the sea to a distance of one hundred miles. At the first glance of the
basaltic cliffs on the opposite sides of the valley it was evident that
the strata once were united. What power, then, has removed along a
whole line of country a solid mass of very hard rock, which had an
average thickness of nearly three hundred feet, and a breadth varying
from rather less than two miles to four miles? The river, though it has
so little power in transporting even inconsiderable fragments, yet in
the lapse of ages might produce by its gradual erosion an effect, of
which it is difficult to judge the amount. But in this case,
independently of the insignificance of such an agency, good reasons can
be assigned for believing that this valley was formerly occupied by an
arm of the sea. It is needless in this work to detail the arguments
leading to this conclusion, derived from the form and the nature of the
step-formed terraces on both sides of the valley, from the manner in
which the bottom of the valley near the Andes expands into a great
estuary-like plain with sand-hillocks on it, and from the occurrence of
a few sea-shells lying in the bed of the river. If I had space I could
prove that South America was formerly here cut off by a strait, joining
the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, like that of Magellan. But it may yet
be asked, how has the solid basalt been removed? Geologists formerly
would have brought into play the violent action of some overwhelming
debacle; but in this case such a
supposition would have been quite inadmissible; because, the same
step-like plains with existing sea-shells lying on their surface, which
front the long line of the Patagonian coast, sweep up on each side of
the valley of Santa Cruz. No possible action of any flood could thus
have modelled the land, either within the valley or along the open
coast; and by the formation of such step-like plains or terraces the
valley itself has been hollowed out. Although we know that there are
tides which run within the Narrows of the Strait of Magellan at the
rate of eight knots an hour, yet we must confess that it makes the head
almost giddy to reflect on the number of years, century after century,
which the tides, unaided by a heavy surf, must have required to have
corroded so vast an area and thickness of solid basaltic lava.
Nevertheless, we must believe that the strata undermined by the waters
of this ancient strait were broken up into huge fragments, and these
lying scattered on the beach were reduced first to smaller blocks, then
to pebbles, and lastly to the most impalpable mud, which the tides
drifted far into the Eastern or Western Ocean.
With the change in the geological structure of the plains the character
of the landscape likewise altered. While rambling up some of the narrow
and rocky defiles, I could almost have fancied myself transported back
again to the barren valleys of the island of St. Jago. Among the
basaltic cliffs I found some plants which I had seen nowhere else, but
others I recognised as being wanderers from Tierra del Fuego. These
porous rocks serve as a reservoir for the scanty rain-water; and
consequently on the line where the igneous and sedimentary formations
unite, some small springs (most rare occurrences in Patagonia) burst
forth; and they could be distinguished at a distance by the
circumscribed patches of bright green herbage.
[Illustration]
_April_ 27_th._—The bed of the river became rather narrower, and hence
the stream more rapid. It here ran at the rate of six knots an hour.
From this cause, and from the many great angular fragments, tracking
the boats became both dangerous and laborious.
This day I shot a condor. It measured from tip to tip of the wings
eight and a half feet, and from beak to tail four
feet. This bird is known to have a wide geographical range, being found
on the west coast of South America, from the Strait of Magellan along
the Cordillera as far as eight degrees north of the equator. The steep
cliff near the mouth of the Rio Negro is its northern limit on the
Patagonian coast; and they have there wandered about four hundred miles
from the great central line of their habitation in the Andes. Further
south, among the bold precipices at the head of Port Desire, the condor
is not uncommon; yet only a few stragglers occasionally visit the
sea-coast. A line of cliff near the mouth of the Santa Cruz is
frequented by these birds, and about eighty miles up the river, where
the sides of the valley are formed by steep basaltic precipices, the
condor reappears. From these facts, it seems that the condors require
perpendicular cliffs. In Chile, they haunt, during the greater part of
the year, the lower country near the shores of the Pacific, and at
night several roost together in one tree; but in the early part of
summer they retire to the most inaccessible parts of the inner
Cordillera, there to breed in peace.
With respect to their propagation, I was told by the country people in
Chile that the condor makes no sort of nest, but in the months of
November and December lays two large white eggs on a shelf of bare
rock. It is said that the young condors cannot fly for an entire year;
and long after they are able, they continue to roost by night, an hunt
by day with their parents. The old birds generally live in pairs; but
among the inland basaltic cliffs of the Santa Cruz I found a spot where
scores must usually haunt. On coming suddenly to the brow of the
precipice, it was a grand spectacle to see between twenty and thirty of
these great birds start heavily from their resting-place, and wheel
away in majestic circles. From the quantity of dung on the rocks, they
must long have frequented this cliff for roosting and breeding. Having
gorged themselves with carrion on the plains below, they retire to
these favourite ledges to digest their food. From these facts, the
condor, like the gallinazo must to a certain degree be considered as a
gregarious bird. In this part of the country they live altogether on
the guanacos which have died a natural death, or as more commonly
happens, have been killed by the pumas. I believe, from what I saw in
Patagonia, that they do not on ordinary occasions
extend their daily excursions to any great distance from their regular
sleeping-places.
The condors may oftentimes be seen at a great height, soaring over a
certain spot in the most graceful circles. On some occasions I am sure
that they do this only for pleasure, but on others, the Chileno
countryman tells you that they are watching a dying animal, or the puma
devouring its prey. If the condors glide down, and then suddenly all
rise together, the Chileno knows that it is the puma which, watching
the carcass, has sprung out to drive away the robbers. Besides feeding
on carrion, the condors frequently attack young goats and lambs; and
the shepherd-dogs are trained, whenever they pass over, to run out, and
looking upwards to bark violently. The Chilenos destroy and catch
numbers. Two methods are used; one is to place a carcass on a level
piece of ground within an enclosure of sticks with an opening, and when
the condors are gorged, to gallop up on horseback to the entrance, and
thus enclose them: for when this bird has not space to run, it cannot
give its body sufficient momentum to rise from the ground. The second
method is to mark the trees in which, frequently to the number of five
or six together, they roost, and then at night to climb up and noose
them. They are such heavy sleepers, as I have myself witnessed, that
this is not a difficult task. At Valparaiso I have seen a living condor
sold for sixpence, but the common price is eight or ten shillings. One
which I saw brought in, had been tied with rope, and was much injured;
yet, the moment the line was cut by which its bill was secured,
although surrounded by people, it began ravenously to tear a piece of
carrion. In a garden at the same place, between twenty and thirty were
kept alive. They were fed only once a week, but they appeared in pretty
good health.[2] The Chileno countrymen assert that the condor will
live, and retain its vigour, between five and six weeks without eating:
I cannot answer for the truth of this, but it is a cruel experiment,
which very likely has been tried.
[2] I noticed that several hours before any one of the condors died,
all the lice, with which it was infested, crawled to the outside
feathers. I was assured that this always happens.
When an animal is killed in the country, it is well known that the
condors, like other carrion-vultures, soon gain intelligence
of it, and congregate in an inexplicable manner. In most cases it must
not be overlooked, that the birds have discovered their prey, and have
picked the skeleton clean, before the flesh is in the least degree
tainted. Remembering the experiments of M. Audubon, on the little
smelling powers of carrion-hawks, I tried in the above-mentioned garden
the following experiment: the condors were tied, each by a rope, in a
long row at the bottom of a wall; and having folded up a piece of meat
in white paper, I walked backwards and forwards, carrying it in my hand
at the distance of about three yards from them, but no notice whatever
was taken. I then threw it on the ground, within one yard of an old
male bird; he looked at it for a moment with attention, but then
regarded it no more. With a stick I pushed it closer and closer, until
at last he touched it with his beak; the paper was then instantly torn
off with fury, and at the same moment, every bird in the long row began
struggling and flapping its wings. Under the same circumstances it
would have been quite impossible to have deceived a dog. The evidence
in favour of and against the acute smelling powers of carrion-vultures
is singularly balanced. Professor Owen has demonstrated that the
olfactory nerves of the turkey-buzzard (Cathartes aura) are highly
developed, and on the evening when Mr. Owen’s paper was read at the
Zoological Society, it was mentioned by a gentleman that he had seen
the carrion-hawks in the West Indies on two occasions collect on the
roof of a house, when a corpse had become offensive from not having
been buried: in this case, the intelligence could hardly have been
acquired by sight. On the other hand, besides the experiments of
Audubon and that one by myself, Mr. Bachman has tried in the United
States many varied plans, showing that neither the turkey-buzzard (the
species dissected by Professor Owen) nor the gallinazo find their food
by smell. He covered portions of highly-offensive offal with a thin
canvas cloth, and strewed pieces of meat on it: these the
carrion-vultures ate up, and then remained quietly standing, with their
beaks within the eighth of an inch of the putrid mass, without
discovering it. A small rent was made in the canvas, and the offal was
immediately discovered; the canvas was replaced by a fresh piece, and
meat again put on it, and was again devoured by the vultures without
their discovering the
hidden mass on which they were trampling. These facts are attested by
the signatures of six gentlemen, besides that of Mr. Bachman.[3]
[3] Loudon’s _Magazine of Natural History_, vol. vii.
Often when lying down to rest on the open plains, on looking upwards, I
have seen carrion-hawks sailing through the air at a great height.
Where the country is level I do not believe a space of the heavens, of
more than fifteen degrees above the horizon, is commonly viewed with
any attention by a person either walking or on horseback. If such be
the case, and the vulture is on the wing at a height of between three
and four thousand feet, before it could come within the range of
vision, its distance in a straight line from the beholder’s eye would
be rather more than two British miles. Might it not thus readily be
overlooked? When an animal is killed by the sportsman in a lonely
valley, may he not all the while be watched from above by the
sharp-sighted bird? And will not the manner of its descent proclaim
throughout the district to the whole family of carrion-feeders, that
their prey is at hand?
When the condors are wheeling in a flock round and round any spot, their
flight is beautiful. Except when rising from the ground, I do not
recollect ever having seen one of these birds flap its wings. Near
Lima, I watched several for nearly half an hour, without once taking
off my eyes: they moved in large curves, sweeping in circles,
descending and ascending without giving a single flap. As they glided
close over my head, I intently watched from an oblique position the
outlines of the separate and great terminal feathers of each wing; and
these separate feathers, if there had been the least vibratory
movement, would have appeared as if blended together; but they were
seen distinct against the blue sky. The head and neck were moved
frequently, and apparently with force; and the extended wings seemed to
form the fulcrum on which the movements of the neck, body and tail
acted. If the bird wished to descend, the wings were for a moment
collapsed; and when again expanded with an altered inclination, the
momentum gained by the rapid descent seemed to urge the bird upwards
with the even and steady movement of a paper kite. In the case of any
bird _soaring_, its motion must be
sufficiently rapid, so that the action of the inclined surface of its
body on the atmosphere may counterbalance its gravity. The force to
keep up the momentum of a body moving in a horizontal plane in the air
(in which there is so little friction) cannot be great, and this force
is all that is wanted. The movement of the neck and body of the condor,
we must suppose is sufficient for this. However this may be, it is
truly wonderful and beautiful to see so great a bird, hour after hour,
without any apparent exertion, wheeling and gliding over mountain and
river.
_April_ 29_th._—From some high land we hailed with joy the white
summits of the Cordillera, as they were seen occasionally peeping
through their dusky envelope of clouds. During the few succeeding days
we continued to get on slowly, for we found the river-course very
tortuous, and strewed with immense fragments of various ancient slaty
rocks, and of granite. The plain bordering the valley had here attained
an elevation of about 1100 feet above the river, and its character was
much altered. The well-rounded pebbles of porphyry were mingled with
many immense angular fragments of basalt and of primary rocks. The
first of these erratic boulders which I noticed was sixty-seven miles
distant from the nearest mountain; another which I measured was five
yards square, and projected five feet above the gravel. Its edges were
so angular, and its size so great, that I at first mistook it for a
rock _in situ_, and took out my compass to observe the direction of its
cleavage. The plain here was not quite so level as that nearer the
coast, but yet it betrayed no signs of any great violence. Under these
circumstances it is, I believe, quite impossible to explain the
transportal of these gigantic masses of rock so many miles from their
parent-source, on any theory except by that of floating icebergs.
During the two last days we met with signs of horses, and with several
small articles which had belonged to the Indians—such as parts of a
mantle and a bunch of ostrich feathers—but they appeared to have been
lying long on the ground. Between the place where the Indians had so
lately crossed the river and this neighbourhood, though so many miles
apart, the country appears to be quite unfrequented. At first,
considering
the abundance of the guanacos, I was surprised at this; but it is
explained by the stony nature of the plains, which would soon disable
an unshod horse from taking part in the chase. Nevertheless, in two
places in this very central region, I found small heaps of stones,
which I do not think could have been accidentally thrown together. They
were placed on points projecting over the edge of the highest lava
cliff, and they resembled, but on a small scale, those near Port
Desire.
_May_ 4_th._—Captain Fitz Roy determined to take the boats no higher.
The river had a winding course, and was very rapid; and the appearance
of the country offered no temptation to proceed any farther. Everywhere
we met with the same productions, and the same dreary landscape. We
were now one hundred and forty miles distant from the Atlantic, and
about sixty from the nearest arm of the Pacific. The valley in this
upper part expanded into a wide basin, bounded on the north and south
by the basaltic platforms, and fronted by the long range of the
snow-clad Cordillera. But we viewed these grand mountains with regret,
for we were obliged to imagine their nature and productions, instead of
standing, as we had hoped, on their summits. Besides the useless loss
of time which an attempt to ascend the river any higher would have cost
us, we had already been for some days on half allowance of bread. This,
although really enough for reasonable men, was, after a hard day’s
march, rather scanty food: a light stomach and an easy digestion are
good things to talk about, but very unpleasant in practice.
5_th._—Before sunrise we commenced our descent. We shot down the stream
with great rapidity, generally at the rate of ten knots an hour. In
this one day we effected what had cost us five and a half hard days’
labour in ascending. On the 8th we reached the _Beagle_ after our
twenty-one days’ expedition. Every one, excepting myself, had cause to
be dissatisfied; but to me the ascent afforded a most interesting
section of the great tertiary formation of Patagonia.
On _March_ 1_st_, 1833, and again on _March_ 16_th, 1834, the
_Beagle_ anchored in Berkeley Sound, in East Falkland Island. This
archipelago is situated in nearly the same latitude with the mouth of
the Strait of Magellan; it covers a space of one hundred and twenty by
sixty geographical miles, and is a little more than half the size of
Ireland. After the possession of these miserable islands had been
contested by France, Spain, and England, they were left uninhabited.
The government of Buenos Ayres then sold them to a private individual,
but likewise used them, as old Spain had done before, for a penal
settlement. England claimed her right an seized them. The Englishman
who was left in charge of the flag was consequently murdered. A British
officer was next sent, unsupported by any power: and when we arrived,
we found him in charge of a population, of which rather more than half
were runaway rebels and murderers.
The theatre is worthy of the scenes acted on it. An undulating land,
with a desolate and wretched aspect, is everywhere covered by a peaty
soil and wiry grass, of one monotonous brown colour. Here and there a
peak or ridge of grey quartz rock breaks through the smooth surface.
Every one has heard of the climate of these regions; it may be compared
to that which is experienced at the height of between one and two
thousand feet, on the mountains of North Wales; having however less
sunshine and less frost, but more wind and rain.[4]
[4] From accounts published since our voyage, and more especially from
several interesting letters from Capt. Sulivan, R.N., employed on the
survey, it appears that we took an exaggerated view of the badness of
the climate on these islands. But when I reflect on the almost
universal covering of peat, and on the fact of wheat seldom ripening
here, I can hardly believe that the climate in summer is so fine and
dry as it has lately been represented.
16_th._—I will now describe a short excursion which I made round a part
of this island. In the morning I started with six horses and two
Gauchos: the latter were capital men for the purpose, and well
accustomed to living on their own resources. The weather was very
boisterous and cold, with heavy hail-storms. We got on, however, pretty
well, but, except the geology, nothing could be less interesting than
our day’s ride. The country is uniformly the same undulating moorland;
the surface being covered by light brown withered grass and a few very
small shrubs, all springing out of an elastic peaty soil. In the
valleys
here and there might be seen a small flock of wild geese, and
everywhere the ground was so soft that the snipe were able to feed.
Besides these two birds there were few others. There is one main range
of hills, nearly two thousand feet in height, and composed of quartz
rock, the rugged and barren crests of which gave us some trouble to
cross. On the south side we came to the best country for wild cattle;
we met, however, no great number, for they had been lately much
harassed.
In the evening we came across a small herd. One of my companions, St.
Jago by name, soon separated a fat cow; he threw the bolas, and it
struck her legs, but failed in becoming entangled. Then dropping his
hat to mark the spot where the balls were left, while at full gallop he
uncoiled his lazo, and after a most severe chase again came up to the
cow, and caught her round the horns. The other Gaucho had gone on ahead
with the spare horses, so that St. Jago had some difficulty in killing
the furious beast. He managed to get her on a level piece of ground, by
taking advantage of her as often as she rushed at him; and when she
would not move, my horse, from having been trained, would canter up,
and with his chest give her a violent push. But when on level ground it
does not appear an easy job for one man to kill a beast mad with
terror. Nor would it be so if the horse, when left to itself without
its rider, did not soon learn, for its own safety, to keep the lazo
tight; so that, if the cow or ox moves forward, the horse moves just as
quickly forward; otherwise, it stands motionless leaning on one side.
This horse, however, was a young one, and would not stand still, but
gave in to the cow as she struggled. It was admirable to see with what
dexterity St. Jago dodged behind the beast, till at last he contrived
to give the fatal touch to the main tendon of the hind leg; after
which, without much difficulty, he drove his knife into the head of the
spinal marrow, and the cow dropped as if struck by lightning. He cut
off pieces of flesh with the skin to it, but without any bones,
sufficient for our expedition. We then rode on to our sleeping-place,
and had for supper “carne con cuero,” or meat roasted with the skin on
it. This is as superior to common beef as venison is to mutton. A large
circular piece taken from the back is roasted on the embers with the
hide downwards and in the form of a saucer, so that none of the gravy
is lost. If any
worthy alderman had supped with us that evening, “carne con cuero,”
without doubt, would soon have been celebrated in London.
During the night it rained, and the next day (17th) was very stormy,
with much hail and snow. We rode across the island to the neck of land
which joins the Rincon del Tor (the great peninsula at the S.W.
extremity) to the rest of the island. From the great number of cows
which have been killed, there is a large proportion of bulls. These
wander about single, or two and three together, and are very savage. I
never saw such magnificent beasts; they equalled in the size of their
huge heads and necks the Grecian marble sculptures. Captain Sulivan
informs me that the hide of an average-sized bull weighs forty-seven
pounds, whereas a hide of this weight, less thoroughly dried, is
considered as a very heavy one at Monte Video. The young bulls
generally run away for a short distance; but the old ones do not stir a
step, except to rush at man and horse; and many horses have been thus
killed. An old bull crossed a boggy stream, and took his stand on the
opposite side to us; we in vain tried to drive him away, and failing,
were obliged to make a large circuit. The Gauchos in revenge determined
to emasculate him and render him for the future harmless. It was very
interesting to see how art completely mastered force. One lazo was
thrown over his horns as he rushed at the horse, and another round his
hind legs: in a minute the monster was stretched powerless on the
ground. After the lazo has once been drawn tightly round the horns of a
furious animal, it does not at first appear an easy thing to disengage
it again without killing the beast: nor, I apprehend, would it be so if
the man was by himself. By the aid, however, of a second person
throwing his lazo so as to catch both hind legs, it is quickly managed:
for the animal, as long as its hind legs are kept outstretched, is
quite helpless, and the first man can with his hands loosen his lazo
from the horns, and then quietly mount his horse; but the moment the
second man, by backing ever so little, relaxes the strain, the lazo
slips off the legs of the struggling beast which then rises free,
shakes himself, and vainly rushes at his antagonist.
During our whole ride we saw only one troop of wild horses. These
animals, as well as the cattle, were introduced by the
French in 1764, since which time both have greatly increased. It is a
curious fact that the horses have never left the eastern end of the
island, although there is no natural boundary to prevent them from
roaming, and that part of the island is not more tempting than the
rest. The Gauchos whom I asked, though asserting this to be the case,
were unable to account for it, except from the strong attachment which
horses have to any locality to which they are accustomed. Considering
that the island does not appear fully stocked, and that there are no
beasts of prey, I was particularly curious to know what has checked
their originally rapid increase. That in a limited island some check
would sooner or later supervene, is inevitable; but why has the
increase of the horse been checked sooner than that of the cattle?
Capt. Sulivan has taken much pains for me in this inquiry. The Gauchos
employed here attribute it chiefly to the stallions constantly roaming
from place to place, and compelling the mares to accompany them,
whether or not the young foals are able to follow. One Gaucho told
Capt. Sulivan that he had watched a stallion for a whole hour,
violently kicking and biting a mare till he forced her to leave her
foal to its fate. Captain Sulivan can so far corroborate this curious
account, that he has several times found young foals dead, whereas he
has never found a dead calf. Moreover, the dead bodies of full-grown
horses are more frequently found, as if more subject to disease or
accidents than those of the cattle. From the softness of the ground
their hoofs often grow irregularly to a great length, and this causes
lameness. The predominant colours are roan and iron-grey. All the
horses bred here, both tame and wild, are rather small-sized, though
generally in good condition; and they have lost so much strength, that
they are unfit to be used in taking wild cattle with the lazo: in
consequence, it is necessary to go to the great expense of importing
fresh horses from the Plata. At some future period the southern
hemisphere probably will have its breed of Falkland ponies, as the
northern has its Shetland breed.
The cattle, instead of having degenerated like the horses, seem, as
before remarked, to have increased in size; and they are much more
numerous than the horses. Capt. Sulivan informs me that they vary much
less in the general form of their bodies and in the shape of their
horns than English cattle. In colour they differ much; and it is a
remarkable circumstance,
that in different parts of this one small island, different colours
predominate. Round Mount Usborne, at a height of from 1000 to 1500 feet
above the sea, about half of some of the herds are mouse or lead
coloured, a tint which is not common in other parts of the island. Near
Port Pleasant dark brown prevails, whereas south of Choiseul Sound
(which almost divides the island into two parts) white beasts with
black heads and feet are the most common: in all parts black, and some
spotted animals may be observed. Capt. Sulivan remarks that the
difference in the prevailing colours was so obvious, that in looking
for the herds near Port Pleasant, they appeared from a long distance
like black spots, whilst south of Choiseul Sound they appeared like
white spots on the hill-sides. Capt. Sulivan thinks that the herds do
not mingle; and it is a singular fact, that the mouse-coloured cattle,
though living on the high land, calve about a month earlier in the
season than the other coloured beasts on the lower land. It is
interesting thus to find the once domesticated cattle breaking into
three colours, of which some one colour would in all probability
ultimately prevail over the others, if the herd were left undisturbed
for the next several centuries.
The rabbit is another animal which has been introduced, and has
succeeded very well; so that they abound over large parts of the
island. Yet, like the horses, they are confined within certain limits;
for they have not crossed the central chain of hills, nor would they
have extended even so far as its base, if, as the Gauchos informed me,
small colonies had not been carried there. I should not have supposed
that these animals, natives of Northern Africa, could have existed in a
climate so humid as this, and which enjoys so little sunshine that even
wheat ripens only occasionally. It is asserted that in Sweden, which
any one would have thought a more favourable climate, the rabbit cannot
live out of doors. The first few pairs, moreover, had here to contend
against pre-existing enemies, in the fox and some large hawks. The
French naturalists have considered the black variety a distinct
species, and called it Lepus Magellanicus.[5]
They imagined that Magellan, when talking of an animal under the name
of “conejos” in the Strait of Magellan, referred to this species; but
he was alluding to a small cavy, which to this day is thus called by
the Spaniards. The Gauchos laughed at the idea of the black kind being
different from the grey, and they said that at all events it had not
extended its range any farther than the grey kind; that the two were
never found separate; and that they readily bred together, and produced
piebald offspring. Of the latter I now possess a specimen, and it is
marked about the head differently from the French specific description.
This circumstance shows how cautious naturalists should be in making
species; for even Cuvier, on looking at the skull of one of these
rabbits, thought it was probably distinct!
[5] Lesson’s _Zoology of the Voyage of the Coquille_, tome i, p. 168.
All the early voyagers, and especially Bougainville, distinctly state
that the wolf-like fox was the only native animal on the island. The
distinction of the rabbit as a species is taken from peculiarities in
the fur, from the shape of the head, and from the shortness of the
ears. I may here observe that the difference between the Irish and
English hare rests upon nearly similar characters, only more strongly
marked.
The only quadruped native to the island[6] is a large wolf-like fox
(Canis antarcticus), which is common to both East and West Falkland. I
have no doubt it is a peculiar species, and confined to this
archipelago; because many sealers, Gauchos, and Indians, who have
visited these islands, all maintain that no such animal is found in any
part of South America. Molina, from a similarity in habits, thought
that this was the same with his “culpeu”;[7] but I have seen both, and
they are quite distinct. These wolves are well known from Byron’s
account of their tameness and curiosity, which the sailors, who ran
into the water to avoid them, mistook for fierceness. To this day their
manners remain the same. They have been observed to enter a tent, and
actually pull some meat from beneath the head of a sleeping seaman. The
Gauchos also have frequently in the evening killed them, by holding out
a piece of meat in one hand, and in the other a knife ready to stick
them. As far as I am aware, there is no other instance in any part of
the world, of so small a mass of broken land, distant from a continent,
possessing so large an aboriginal quadruped peculiar to itself. Their
numbers have rapidly decreased; they are already banished from that
half of the island which lies to the eastward of the neck of land
between St. Salvador Bay and Berkeley Sound.
Within a very few years after these islands shall have become regularly
settled, in all probability this fox will be classed with the dodo, as
an animal which has perished from the face of the earth.
[6] I have reason, however, to suspect that there is a field-mouse.
The common European rat and mouse have roamed far from the habitations
of the settlers. The common hog has also run wild on one islet; all
are of a black colour: the boars are very fierce, and have great
tusks.
[7] The “culpeu” is the Canis Magellanicus brought home by Captain
King from the Strait of Magellan. It is common in Chile.
At night (17th) we slept on the neck of land at the head of Choiseul
Sound, which forms the south-west peninsula. The valley was pretty well
sheltered from the cold wind; but there was very little brushwood for
fuel. The Gauchos, however, soon found what, to my great surprise, made
nearly as hot a fire as coals; this was the skeleton of a bullock
lately killed, from which the flesh had been picked by the
carrion-hawks. They told me that in winter they often killed a beast,
cleaned the flesh from the bones with their knives and then with these
same bones roasted the meat for their suppers.
18_th._—It rained during nearly the whole day. At night we managed,
however, with our saddle-cloths to keep ourselves pretty well dry and
warm; but the ground on which we slept was on each occasion nearly in
the state of a bog, and there was not a dry spot to sit down on after
our day’s ride. I have in another part stated how singular it is that
there should be absolutely no trees on these islands, although Tierra
del Fuego is covered by one large forest. The largest bush in the
island (belonging to the family of Compositæ) is scarcely so tall as
our gorse. The best fuel is afforded by a green little bush about the
size of common heath, which has the useful property of burning while
fresh and green. It was very surprising to see the Gauchos, in the
midst of rain and everything soaking wet, with nothing more than a
tinder-box and a piece of rag, immediately make a fire. They sought
beneath the tufts of grass and bushes for a few dry twigs, and these
they rubbed into fibres; then surrounding them with coarser twigs,
something like a bird’s nest, they put the rag with its spark of fire
in the middle and covered it up. The nest being then held up to the
wind, by degrees it smoked more and more, and at last burst out in
flames. I do not think any other method would have had a chance of
succeeding with such damp materials.
19_th._—Each morning, from not having ridden for some time previously,
I was very stiff. I was surprised to hear the
Gauchos, who have from infancy almost lived on horseback, say that,
under similar circumstances, they always suffer. St. Jago told me, that
having been confined for three months by illness, he went out hunting
wild cattle, and in consequence, for the next two days, his thighs were
so stiff that he was obliged to lie in bed. This shows that the
Gauchos, although they do not appear to do so, yet really must exert
much muscular effort in riding. The hunting wild cattle, in a country
so difficult to pass as this is on account of the swampy ground, must
be very hard work. The Gauchos say they often pass at full speed over
ground which would be impassable at a slower pace; in the same manner
as a man is able to skate over thin ice. When hunting, the party
endeavours to get as close as possible to the herd without being
discovered. Each man carries four or five pair of the bolas; these he
throws one after the other at as many cattle, which, when once
entangled, are left for some days, till they become a little exhausted
by hunger and struggling. They are then let free and driven towards a
small herd of tame animals, which have been brought to the spot on
purpose. From their previous treatment, being too much terrified to
leave the herd, they are easily driven, if their strength last out, to
the settlement.
The weather continued so very bad that we determine to make a push, and
try to reach the vessel before night. From the quantity of rain which
had fallen, the surface of the whole country was swampy. I suppose my
horse fell at least a dozen times, and sometimes the whole six horses
were floundering in the mud together. All the little streams are
bordered by soft peat, which makes it very difficult for the horses to
leap them without falling. To complete our discomforts we were obliged
to cross the head of a creek of the sea, in which the water was as high
as our horses’ backs; and the little waves, owing to the violence of
the wind, broke over us, and made us very wet and cold. Even the
iron-framed Gauchos professed themselves glad when they reached the
settlement, after our little excursion.
The geological structure of these islands is in most respects simple.
The lower country consists of clay-slate and sandstone, containing
fossils, very closely related to, but not identical with,
those found in the Silurian formations of Europe; the hills are formed
of white granular quartz rock. The strata of the latter are frequently
arched with perfect symmetry, and the appearance of some of the masses
is in consequence most singular. Pernety[8] has devoted several pages
to the description of a Hill of Ruins, the successive strata of which
he has justly compared to the seats of an amphitheatre. The quartz rock
must have been quite pasty when it underwent such remarkable flexures
without being shattered into fragments. As the quartz insensibly passes
into the sandstone, it seems probable that the former owes its origin
to the sandstone having been heated to such a degree that it became
viscid, and upon cooling crystallised. While in the soft state it must
have been pushed up through the overlying beds.
[8] Pernety, _Voyage aux Isles Malouines_, p. 526.
In many parts of the island the bottoms of the valleys are covered in
an extraordinary manner by myriads of great loose angular fragments of
the quartz rock, forming “streams of stones.” These have been mentioned
with surprise by every voyager since the time of Pernety. The blocks
are not waterworn, their angles being only a little blunted; they vary
in size from one or two feet in diameter to ten, or even more than
twenty times as much. They are not thrown together into irregular
piles, but are spread out into level sheets or great streams. It is not
possible to ascertain their thickness, but the water of small
streamlets can be heard trickling through the stones many feet below
the surface. The actual depth is probably great, because the crevices
between the lower fragments must long ago have been filled up with
sand. The width of these sheets of stones varies from a few hundred
feet to a mile; but the peaty soil daily encroaches on the borders, and
even forms islets wherever a few fragments happen to lie close
together. In a valley south of Berkeley Sound, which some of our party
called the “great valley of fragments,” it was necessary to cross an
uninterrupted band half a mile wide, by jumping from one pointed stone
to another. So large were the fragments, that being overtaken by a
shower of rain, I readily found shelter beneath one of them.
Their little inclination is the most remarkable circumstance in these
“streams of stones.” On the hill-sides I have seen
them sloping at an angle of ten degrees with the horizon; but in some
of the level, broad-bottomed valleys, the inclination is only just
sufficient to be clearly perceived. On so rugged a surface there was no
means of measuring the angle; but to give a common illustration, I may
say that the slope would not have checked the speed of an English
mail-coach. In some places a continuous stream of these fragments
followed up the course of a valley, and even extended to the very crest
of the hill. On these crests huge masses, exceeding in dimensions any
small building, seemed to stand arrested in their headlong course:
there, also, the curved strata of the archways lay piled on each other,
like the ruins of some vast and ancient cathedral. In endeavouring to
describe these scenes of violence one is tempted to pass from one
simile to another. We may imagine that streams of white lava had flowed
from many parts of the mountains into the lower country, and that when
solidified they had been rent by some enormous convulsion into myriads
of fragments. The expression “streams of stones,” which immediately
occurred to every one, conveys the same idea. These scenes are on the
spot rendered more striking by the contrast of the low, rounded forms
of the neighbouring hills.
I was interested by finding on the highest peak of one range (about 700
feet above the sea) a great arched fragment, lying on its convex side,
or back downwards. Must we believe that it was fairly pitched up in the
air, and thus turned? Or, with more probability, that there existed
formerly a part of the same range more elevated than the point on which
this monument of a great convulsion of nature now lies. As the
fragments in the valleys are neither rounded nor the crevices filled up
with sand, we must infer that the period of violence was subsequent to
the land having been raised above the waters of the sea. In a
transverse section within these valleys the bottom is nearly level, or
rises but very little towards either side. Hence the fragments appear
to have travelled from the head of the valley; but in reality it seems
more probable that they have been hurled down from the nearest slopes;
and that since, by a vibratory movement of overwhelming force,[9] the
fragments have been levelled into one continuous sheet. If during the
earthquake[10] which in 1835 overthrew Concepcion, in Chile, it was
thought wonderful that small bodies should have been pitched a few
inches from the ground, what must we say to a movement which has caused
fragments many tons in weight to move onwards like so much sand on a
vibrating board, and find their level? I have seen, in the Cordillera
of the Andes, the evident marks where stupendous mountains have been
broken into pieces like so much thin crust, and the strata thrown on
their vertical edges; but never did any scene, like these “streams of
stones,” so forcibly convey to my mind the idea of a convulsion, of
which in historical records we might in vain seek for any counterpart:
yet the progress of knowledge will probably some day give a simple
explanation of this phenomenon, as it already has of the so long
thought inexplicable transportal of the erratic boulders which are
strewed over the plains of Europe.
[9] “Nous n’avons pas été moins saisis d’étonnement à la vûe de
l’innombrable quantité de pierres de toutes grandeurs, bouleversées
les unes sur les autres, et cependant rangées, comme si elles avoient
été amoncelées négligemment pour remplir des ravins. On ne se lassoit
pas d’admirer les effets prodigieux de la nature.”—_Pernety_, p. 526.
[10] An inhabitant of Mendoza, and hence well capable of judging,
assured me that, during the several years he had resided on these
islands, he had never felt the slightest shock of an earthquake.
I have little to remark on the zoology of these islands. I have before
described the carrion-vulture of Polyborus. There are some other hawks,
owls, and a few small land-birds. The waterfowl are particularly
numerous, and they must formerly, from the accounts of the old
navigators, have been much more so. One day I observed a cormorant
playing with a fish which it had caught. Eight times successively the
bird let its prey go, then dived after it, and although in deep water,
brought it each time to the surface. In the Zoological Gardens I have
seen the otter treat a fish in the same manner, much as a cat does a
mouse: I do not know of any other instance where dame Nature appears so
wilfully cruel. Another day, having placed myself between a penguin
(Aptenodytes demersa) and the water, I was much amused by watching its
habits. It was a brave bird; and till reaching the sea, it regularly
fought and drove me backwards. Nothing less than heavy blows would have
stopped him; every inch he gained he firmly kept, standing
close before me erect and determined. When thus opposed he continually
rolled his head from side to side, in a very odd manner, as if the
power of distinct vision lay only in the anterior and basal part of
each eye. This bird is commonly called the jackass penguin, from its
habit, while on shore, of throwing its head backwards, and making a
loud strange noise, very like the braying of an ass; but while at sea,
and undisturbed, its note is very deep and solemn, and is often heard
in the night-time. In diving, its little wings are used as fins; but on
the land, as front legs. When crawling, it may be said on four legs,
through the tussocks or on the side of a grassy cliff, it moves so very
quickly that it might easily be mistaken for a quadruped. When at sea
and fishing, it comes to the surface for the purpose of breathing with
such a spring, and dives again so instantaneously, that I defy any one
at first sight to be sure that it was not a fish leaping for sport.
Two kinds of geese frequent the Falklands. The upland species (Anas
Magellanica) is common, in pairs and in small flocks, throughout the
island. They do not migrate, but build on the small outlying islets.
This is supposed to be from fear of the foxes: and it is perhaps from
the same cause that these birds, though very tame by day, are shy and
wild in the dusk of the evening. They live entirely on vegetable
matter. The rock-goose, so called from living exclusively on the
sea-beach (Anas antarctica), is common both here and on the west coast
of America, as far north as Chile. In the deep and retired channels of
Tierra del Fuego, the snow-white gander, invariably accompanied by his
darker consort, and standing close by each other on some distant rocky
point, is a common feature in the landscape.
In these islands a great loggerheaded duck or goose (Anas brachyptera),
which sometimes weighs twenty-two pounds, is very abundant. These birds
were in former days called, from their extraordinary manner of paddling
and splashing upon the water, racehorses; but now they are named, much
more appropriately, steamers. Their wings are too small and weak to
allow of flight, but by their aid, partly swimming and partly flapping
the surface of the water, they move very quickly. The manner is
something like that by which the common house-duck escapes when pursued
by a dog; but I am nearly sure that the steamer
moves its wings alternately, instead of both together, as in other
birds. These clumsy, loggerheaded ducks make such a noise and
splashing, that the effect is exceedingly curious.
Thus we find in South America three birds which use their wings for
other purposes besides flight; the penguin as fins, the steamer as
paddles, and the ostrich as sails: and the Apteryx of New Zealand, as
well as its gigantic extinct prototype the Deinornis, possess only
rudimentary representatives of wings. The steamer is able to dive only
to a very short distance. It feeds entirely on shell-fish from the kelp
and tidal rocks; hence the beak and head, for the purpose of breaking
them, are surprisingly heavy and strong: the head is so strong that I
have scarcely been able to fracture it with my geological hammer; and
all our sportsmen soon discovered how tenacious these birds were of
life. When in the evening pluming themselves in a flock, they make the
same odd mixture of sounds which bull-frogs do within the tropics.
In Tierra del Fuego, as well as in the Falkland Islands, I made many
observations on the lower marine animals,[11] but they are of little
general interest. I will mention only one class of facts, relating to
certain zoophytes in the more highly organised division of that class.
Several genera (Flustra, Eschara, Cellaria, Crisia, and others) agree
in having singular movable organs (like those of Flustra avicularia,
found in the European seas) attached to their cells. The organ, in the
greater number of cases, very closely resembles the head of a vulture;
but the lower mandible can be opened much wider than in a real bird’s
beak. The head itself possesses considerable powers of movement, by
means of a short neck. In one zoophyte the head itself was fixed, but
the lower jaw free: in another it was replaced by
a triangular hood, with a beautifully-fitted trap-door, which evidently
answered to the lower mandible. In the greater number of species, each
cell was provided with one head, but in others each cell had two.
[11] I was surprised to find, on counting the eggs of a large white
Doris (this sea-slug was three and a half inches long), how
extraordinarily numerous they were. From two to five eggs (each
three-thousandths of an inch in diameter) were contained in spherical
little case. These were arranged two deep in transverse rows forming a
ribbon. The ribbon adhered by its edge to the rock in an oval spire.
One which I found measured nearly twenty inches in length and half in
breadth. By counting how many balls were contained in a tenth of an
inch in the row, and how many rows in an equal length of the ribbon,
on the most moderate computation there were six hundred thousand eggs.
Yet this Doris was certainly not very common: although I was often
searching under the stones, I saw only seven individuals. _No fallacy
is more common with naturalists, than that the numbers of an
individual species depend on its powers of propagation._
The young cells at the end of the branches of these corallines contain
quite immature polypi, yet the vulture-heads attached to them, though
small, are in every respect perfect. When the polypus was removed by a
needle from any of the cells, these organs did not appear in the least
affected. When one of the vulture-like heads was cut off from the cell,
the lower mandible retained its power of opening and closing. Perhaps
the most singular part of their structure is, that when there were more
than two rows of cells on a branch, the central cells were furnished
with these appendages, of only one-fourth the size of the outside ones.
Their movements varied according to the species; but in some I never
saw the least motion; while others, with the lower mandible generally
wide open, oscillated backwards and forwards at the rate of about five
seconds each turn; others moved rapidly and by starts. When touched
with a needle, the beak generally seized the point so firmly that the
whole branch might be shaken.
These bodies have no relation whatever with the production of the eggs
or gemmules, as they are formed before the young polypi appear in the
cells at the end of the growing branches; as they move independently of
the polypi, and do not appear to be in any way connected with them; and
as they differ in size on the outer and inner rows of cells, I have
little doubt that in their functions they are related rather to the
horny axis of the branches than to the polypi in the cells. The fleshy
appendage at the lower extremity of the sea-pen (described at Bahia
Blanca) also forms part of the zoophyte, as a whole, in the same manner
as the roots of a tree form part of the whole tree, and not of the
individual leaf or flower-buds.
In another elegant little coralline (Crisia?) each cell was furnished
with a long-toothed bristle, which had the power of moving quickly.
Each of these bristles and each of the vulture-like heads generally
moved quite independently of the others, but sometimes all on both
sides of a branch, sometimes only those on one side, moved together
coinstantaneously; sometimes each moved in regular order one after
another. In these actions we
apparently behold as perfect a transmission of will in the zoophyte,
though composed of thousands of distinct polypi, as in any single
animal. The case, indeed, is not different from that of the sea-pens,
which, when touched, drew themselves into the sand on the coast of
Bahia Blanca. I will state one other instance of uniform action, though
of a very different nature, in a zoophyte closely allied to Clytia, and
therefore very simply organised. Having kept a large tuft of it in a
basin of salt-water, when it was dark I found that as often as I rubbed
any part of a branch, the whole became strongly phosphorescent with a
green light: I do not think I ever saw any object more beautifully so.
But the remarkable circumstance was, that the flashes of light always
proceeded up the branches, from the base towards the extremities.
The examination of these compound animals was always very interesting
to me. What can be more remarkable than to see a plant-like body
producing an egg, capable of swimming about and of choosing a proper
place to adhere to, which then sprouts into branches, each crowded with
innumerable distinct animals, often of complicated organisations. The
branches, moreover, as we have just seen, sometimes possess organs
capable of movement and independent of the polypi. Surprising as this
union of separate individuals in a common stock must always appear,
every tree displays the same fact, for buds must be considered as
individual plants. It is, however, natural to consider a polypus,
furnished with a mouth, intestines, and other organs, as a distinct
individual, whereas the individuality of a leaf-bud is not easily
realised; so that the union of separate individuals in a common body is
more striking in a coralline than in a tree. Our conception of a
compound animal, where in some respects the individuality of each is
not completed, may be aided, by reflecting on the production of two
distinct creatures by bisecting a single one with a knife, or where
Nature herself performs the task of bisection. We may consider the
polypi in a zoophyte, or the buds in a tree, as cases where the
division of the individual has not been completely effected. Certainly
in the case of trees, and judging from analogy in that of corallines,
the individuals propagated by buds seem more intimately related to each
other, than eggs or seeds are to their parents. It seems now pretty
well established that plants propagated by buds all
partake of a common duration of life; and it is familiar to every one,
what singular and numerous peculiarities are transmitted with
certainty, by buds, layers, and grafts, which by seminal propagation
never or only casually reappear.
[Illustration: Berkeley Sound, Falkland Islands.]
[Illustration: York Minster, bearing S. 66° E.]