MAURITIUS TO ENGLAND
Mauritius, beautiful appearance of--Great crateriform ring of
Mountains--Hindoos--St. Helena--History of the changes in the
Vegetation--Cause of the extinction of
Land-shells--Ascension--Variation in the imported Rats--Volcanic
Bombs--Beds of Infusoria--Bahia--Brazil--Splendour of Tropical
Scenery--Pernambuco--Singular Reef--Slavery--Return to
England--Retrospect on our Voyage.
APRIL 29th.--In the morning we passed round the northern end of
Mauritius, or the Isle of France. From this point of view the aspect of
the island equalled the expectations raised by the many well-known
descriptions of its beautiful scenery. The sloping plain of the
Pamplemousses, interspersed with houses, and coloured by the large
fields of sugar-cane of a bright green, composed the foreground. The
brilliancy of the green was the more remarkable because it is a colour
which generally is conspicuous only from a very short distance. Towards
the centre of the island groups of wooded mountains rose out of this
highly cultivated plain; their summits, as so commonly happens with
ancient volcanic rocks, being jagged into the sharpest points. Masses
of white clouds were collected around these pinnacles, as if for the
sake of pleasing the stranger's eye. The whole island, with its
sloping border and central mountains, was adorned with an air of
perfect elegance: the scenery, if I may use such an expression,
appeared to the sight harmonious.
I spent the greater part of the next day in walking about the town and
visiting different people. The town is of considerable size, and is
said to contain 20,000 inhabitants; the streets are very clean and
regular. Although the island has been so many years under the English
Government, the general character of the place is quite French:
Englishmen speak to their servants in French, and the shops are all
French; indeed, I should think that Calais or Boulogne was much more
Anglified. There is a very pretty little theatre, in which operas are
excellently performed. We were also surprised at seeing large
booksellers' shops, with well-stored shelves;--music and reading
bespeak our approach to the old world of civilization; for in truth
both Australia and America are new worlds.
The various races of men walking in the streets afford the most
interesting spectacle in Port Louis. Convicts from India are banished
here for life; at present there are about 800, and they are employed in
various public works. Before seeing these people, I had no idea that
the inhabitants of India were such noble-looking figures. Their skin
is extremely dark, and many of the older men had large mustaches and
beards of a snow-white colour; this, together with the fire of their
expression, gave them quite an imposing aspect. The greater number had
been banished for murder and the worst crimes; others for causes which
can scarcely be considered as moral faults, such as for not obeying,
from superstitious motives, the English laws. These men are generally
quiet and well-conducted; from their outward conduct, their
cleanliness, and faithful observance of their strange religious rites,
it was impossible to look at them with the same eyes as on our wretched
convicts in New South Wales.
May 1st.--Sunday. I took a quiet walk along the sea-coast to the north
of the town. The plain in this part is quite uncultivated; it consists
of a field of black lava, smoothed over with coarse grass and bushes,
the latter being chiefly Mimosas. The scenery may be described as
intermediate in character between that of the Galapagos and of Tahiti;
but this will convey a definite idea to very few persons. It is a very
pleasant country, but it has not the charms of Tahiti, or the grandeur
of Brazil. The next day I ascended La Pouce, a mountain so called from
a thumb-like projection, which rises close behind the town to a height
of 2,600 feet. The centre of the island consists of a great platform,
surrounded by old broken basaltic mountains, with their strata dipping
seawards. The central platform, formed of comparatively recent streams
of lava, is of an oval shape, thirteen geographical miles across, in
the line of its shorter axis. The exterior bounding mountains come
into that class of structures called Craters of Elevation, which are
supposed to have been formed not like ordinary craters, but by a great
and sudden upheaval. There appears to me to be insuperable objections
to this view: on the other hand, I can hardly believe, in this and in
some other cases, that these marginal crateriform mountains are merely
the basal remnants of immense volcanos, of which the summits either
have been blown off, or swallowed up in subterranean abysses.
From our elevated position we enjoyed an excellent view over the
island. The country on this side appears pretty well cultivated, being
divided into fields and studded with farm-houses. I was, however,
assured that of the whole land, not more than half is yet in a
productive state; if such be the case, considering the present large
export of sugar, this island, at some future period when thickly
peopled, will be of great value. Since England has taken possession of
it, a period of only twenty-five years, the export of sugar is said to
have increased seventy-five fold. One great cause of its prosperity is
the excellent state of the roads. In the neighbouring Isle of Bourbon,
which remains under the French government, the roads are still in the
same miserable state as they were here only a few years ago. Although
the French residents must have largely profited by the increased
prosperity of their island, yet the English government is far from
popular.
3rd.--In the evening Captain Lloyd, the Surveyor-general, so well known
from his examination of the Isthmus of Panama, invited Mr. Stokes and
myself to his country-house, which is situated on the edge of Wilheim
Plains, and about six miles from the Port. We stayed at this
delightful place two days; standing nearly 800 feet above the sea, the
air was cool and fresh, and on every side there were delightful walks.
Close by, a grand ravine has been worn to a depth of about 500 feet
through the slightly inclined streams of lava, which have flowed from
the central platform.
5th.--Captain Lloyd took us to the Riviere Noire, which is several
miles to the southward, that I might examine some rocks of elevated
coral. We passed through pleasant gardens, and fine fields of
sugar-cane growing amidst huge blocks of lava. The roads were bordered
by hedges of Mimosa, and near many of the houses there were avenues of
the mango. Some of the views, where the peaked hills and the
cultivated farms were seen together, were exceedingly picturesque; and
we were constantly tempted to exclaim, "How pleasant it would be to
pass one's life in such quiet abodes!" Captain Lloyd possessed an
elephant, and he sent it half way with us, that we might enjoy a ride
in true Indian fashion. The circumstance which surprised me most was
its quite noiseless step. This elephant is the only one at present on
the island; but it is said others will be sent for.
May 9th.--We sailed from Port Louis, and, calling at the Cape of Good
Hope, on the 8th of July, we arrived off St. Helena. This island, the
forbidding aspect of which has been so often described, rises abruptly
like a huge black castle from the ocean. Near the town, as if to
complete nature's defence, small forts and guns fill up every gap in
the rugged rocks. The town runs up a flat and narrow valley; the
houses look respectable, and are interspersed with a very few green
trees. When approaching the anchorage there was one striking view: an
irregular castle perched on the summit of a lofty hill, and surrounded
by a few scattered fir-trees, boldly projected against the sky.
The next day I obtained lodgings within a stone's throw of Napoleon's
tomb; [1] it was a capital central situation, whence I could make
excursions in every direction. During the four days I stayed here, I
wandered over the island from morning to night, and examined its
geological history. My lodgings were situated at a height of about
2000 feet; here the weather was cold and boisterous, with constant
showers of rain; and every now and then the whole scene was veiled in
thick clouds.
Near the coast the rough lava is quite bare: in the central and higher
parts, feldspathic rocks by their decomposition have produced a clayey
soil, which, where not covered by vegetation, is stained in broad bands
of many bright colours. At this season, the land moistened by constant
showers, produces a singularly bright green pasture, which lower and
lower down, gradually fades away and at last disappears. In latitude
16 degs., and at the trifling elevation of 1500 feet, it is surprising
to behold a vegetation possessing a character decidedly British. The
hills are crowned with irregular plantations of Scotch firs; and the
sloping banks are thickly scattered over with thickets of gorse,
covered with its bright yellow flowers. Weeping-willows are common on
the banks of the rivulets, and the hedges are made of the blackberry,
producing its well-known fruit. When we consider that the number of
plants now found on the island is 746, and that out of these fifty-two
alone are indigenous species, the rest having been imported, and most
of them from England, we see the reason of the British character of the
vegetation. Many of these English plants appear to flourish better than
in their native country; some also from the opposite quarter of
Australia succeed remarkably well. The many imported species must have
destroyed some of the native kinds; and it is only on the highest and
steepest ridges that the indigenous Flora is now predominant.
The English, or rather Welsh character of the scenery, is kept up by
the numerous cottages and small white houses; some buried at the bottom
of the deepest valleys, and others mounted on the crests of the lofty
hills. Some of the views are striking, for instance that from near Sir
W. Doveton's house, where the bold peak called Lot is seen over a dark
wood of firs, the whole being backed by the red water-worn mountains of
the southern coast. On viewing the island from an eminence, the first
circumstance which strikes one, is the number of the roads and forts:
the labour bestowed on the public works, if one forgets its character
as a prison, seems out of all proportion to its extent or value. There
is so little level or useful land, that it seems surprising how so many
people, about 5000, can subsist here. The lower orders, or the
emancipated slaves, are I believe extremely poor: they complain of the
want of work. From the reduction in the number of public servants
owing to the island having been given up by the East Indian Company,
and the consequent emigration of many of the richer people, the poverty
probably will increase. The chief food of the working class is rice
with a little salt meat; as neither of these articles are the products
of the island, but must be purchased with money, the low wages tell
heavily on the poor people. Now that the people are blessed with
freedom, a right which I believe they value fully, it seems probable
that their numbers will quickly increase: if so, what is to become of
the little state of St. Helena?
My guide was an elderly man, who had been a goatherd when a boy, and
knew every step amongst the rocks. He was of a race many times
crossed, and although with a dusky skin, he had not the disagreeable
expression of a mulatto. He was a very civil, quiet old man, and such
appears the character of the greater number of the lower classes. It
was strange to my ears to hear a man, nearly white and respectably
dressed, talking with indifference of the times when he was a slave.
With my companion, who carried our dinners and a horn of water, which
is quite necessary, as all the water in the lower valleys is saline, I
every day took long walks.
Beneath the upper and central green circle, the wild valleys are quite
desolate and untenanted. Here, to the geologist, there were scenes of
high interest, showing successive changes and complicated disturbances.
According to my views, St. Helena has existed as an island from a very
remote epoch: some obscure proofs, however, of the elevation of the
land are still extant. I believe that the central and highest peaks
form parts of the rim of a great crater, the southern half of which has
been entirely removed by the waves of the sea: there is, moreover, an
external wall of black basaltic rocks, like the coast-mountains of
Mauritius, which are older than the central volcanic streams. On the
higher parts of the island, considerable numbers of a shell, long
thought to be a marine species occur imbedded in the soil.
It proved to be a Cochlogena, or land-shell of a very peculiar form;
[2] with it I found six other kinds; and in another spot an eighth
species. It is remarkable that none of them are now found living.
Their extinction has probably been caused by the entire destruction of
the woods, and the consequent loss of food and shelter, which occurred
during the early part of the last century.
The history of the changes, which the elevated plains of Longwood and
Deadwood have undergone, as given in General Beatson's account of the
island, is extremely curious. Both plains, it is said in former times
were covered with wood, and were therefore called the Great Wood. So
late as the year 1716 there were many trees, but in 1724 the old trees
had mostly fallen; and as goats and hogs had been suffered to range
about, all the young trees had been killed. It appears also from the
official records, that the trees were unexpectedly, some years
afterwards, succeeded by a wire grass which spread over the whole
surface. [3] General Beatson adds that now this plain "is covered with
fine sward, and is become the finest piece of pasture on the island."
The extent of surface, probably covered by wood at a former period, is
estimated at no less than two thousand acres; at the present day
scarcely a single tree can be found there. It is also said that in
1709 there were quantities of dead trees in Sandy Bay; this place is
now so utterly desert, that nothing but so well attested an account
could have made me believe that they could ever have grown there. The
fact, that the goats and hogs destroyed all the young trees as they
sprang up, and that in the course of time the old ones, which were safe
from their attacks, perished from age, seems clearly made out. Goats
were introduced in the year 1502; eighty-six years afterwards, in the
time of Cavendish, it is known that they were exceedingly numerous.
More than a century afterwards, in 1731, when the evil was complete and
irretrievable, an order was issued that all stray animals should be
destroyed. It is very interesting thus to find, that the arrival of
animals at St. Helena in 1501, did not change the whole aspect of the
island, until a period of two hundred and twenty years had elapsed: for
the goats were introduced in 1502, and in 1724 it is said "the old
trees had mostly fallen." There can be little doubt that this great
change in the vegetation affected not only the land-shells, causing
eight species to become extinct, but likewise a multitude of insects.
St. Helena, situated so remote from any continent, in the midst of a
great ocean, and possessing a unique Flora, excites our curiosity. The
eight land-shells, though now extinct, and one living Succinea, are
peculiar species found nowhere else. Mr. Cuming, however, informs me
that an English Helix is common here, its eggs no doubt having been
imported in some of the many introduced plants. Mr. Cuming collected
on the coast sixteen species of sea-shells, of which seven, as far as
he knows, are confined to this island. Birds and insects, [4] as might
have been expected, are very few in number; indeed I believe all the
birds have been introduced within late years. Partridges and pheasants
are tolerably abundant; the island is much too English not to be
subject to strict game-laws. I was told of a more unjust sacrifice to
such ordinances than I ever heard of even in England. The poor people
formerly used to burn a plant, which grows on the coast-rocks, and
export the soda from its ashes; but a peremptory order came out
prohibiting this practice, and giving as a reason that the partridges
would have nowhere to build.
In my walks I passed more than once over the grassy plain bounded by
deep valleys, on which Longwood stands. Viewed from a short distance,
it appears like a respectable gentleman's country-seat. In front there
are a few cultivated fields, and beyond them the smooth hill of
coloured rocks called the Flagstaff, and the rugged square black mass
of the Barn. On the whole the view was rather bleak and uninteresting.
The only inconvenience I suffered during my walks was from the
impetuous winds. One day I noticed a curious circumstance; standing on
the edge of a plain, terminated by a great cliff of about a thousand
feet in depth, I saw at the distance of a few yards right to windward,
some tern, struggling against a very strong breeze, whilst, where I
stood, the air was quite calm. Approaching close to the brink, where
the current seemed to be deflected upwards from the face of the cliff,
I stretched out my arm, and immediately felt the full force of the
wind: an invisible barrier, two yards in width, separated perfectly
calm air from a strong blast.
I so much enjoyed my rambles among the rocks and mountains of St.
Helena, that I felt almost sorry on the morning of the 14th to descend
to the town. Before noon I was on board, and the Beagle made sail.
On the 19th of July we reached Ascension. Those who have beheld a
volcanic island, situated under an arid climate, will at once be able
to picture to themselves the appearance of Ascension. They will
imagine smooth conical hills of a bright red colour, with their summits
generally truncated, rising separately out of a level surface of black
rugged lava. A principal mound in the centre of the island, seems the
father of the lesser cones. It is called Green Hill: its name being
taken from the faintest tinge of that colour, which at this time of the
year is barely perceptible from the anchorage. To complete the
desolate scene, the black rocks on the coast are lashed by a wild and
turbulent sea.
The settlement is near the beach; it consists of several houses and
barracks placed irregularly, but well built of white freestone. The
only inhabitants are marines, and some negroes liberated from
slave-ships, who are paid and victualled by government. There is not a
private person on the island. Many of the marines appeared well
contented with their situation; they think it better to serve their
one-and-twenty years on shore, let it be what it may, than in a ship;
in this choice, if I were a marine, I should most heartily agree.
The next morning I ascended Green Hill, 2840 feet high, and thence
walked across the island to the windward point. A good cart-road leads
from the coast-settlement to the houses, gardens, and fields, placed
near the summit of the central mountain. On the roadside there are
milestones, and likewise cisterns, where each thirsty passer-by can
drink some good water. Similar care is displayed in each part of the
establishment, and especially in the management of the springs, so that
a single drop of water may not be lost: indeed the whole island may be
compared to a huge ship kept in first-rate order. I could not help,
when admiring the active industry, which had created such effects out
of such means, at the same time regretting that it had been wasted on
so poor and trifling an end. M. Lesson has remarked with justice, that
the English nation would have thought of making the island of Ascension
a productive spot, any other people would have held it as a mere
fortress in the ocean.
Near this coast nothing grows; further inland, an occasional green
castor-oil plant, and a few grasshoppers, true friends of the desert,
may be met with. Some grass is scattered over the surface of the
central elevated region, and the whole much resembles the worse parts
of the Welsh mountains. But scanty as the pasture appears, about six
hundred sheep, many goats, a few cows and horses, all thrive well on
it. Of native animals, land-crabs and rats swarm in numbers. Whether
the rat is really indigenous, may well be doubted; there are two
varieties as described by Mr. Waterhouse; one is of a black colour,
with fine glossy fur, and lives on the grassy summit, the other is
brown-coloured and less glossy, with longer hairs, and lives near the
settlement on the coast. Both these varieties are one-third smaller
than the common black rat (M. rattus); and they differ from it both in
the colour and character of their fur, but in no other essential
respect. I can hardly doubt that these rats (like the common mouse,
which has also run wild) have been imported, and, as at the Galapagos,
have varied from the effect of the new conditions to which they have
been exposed: hence the variety on the summit of the island differs
from that on the coast. Of native birds there are none; but the
guinea-fowl, imported from the Cape de Verd Islands, is abundant, and
the common fowl has likewise run wild. Some cats, which were
originally turned out to destroy the rats and mice, have increased, so
as to become a great plague. The island is entirely without trees, in
which, and in every other respect, it is very far inferior to St.
Helena.
One of my excursions took me towards the S. W. extremity of the island.
The day was clear and hot, and I saw the island, not smiling with
beauty, but staring with naked hideousness. The lava streams are
covered with hummocks, and are rugged to a degree which, geologically
speaking, is not of easy explanation. The intervening spaces are
concealed with layers of pumice, ashes and volcanic tuff. Whilst
passing this end of the island at sea, I could not imagine what the
white patches were with which the whole plain was mottled; I now found
that they were seafowl, sleeping in such full confidence, that even in
midday a man could walk up and seize hold of them. These birds were
the only living creatures I saw during the whole day. On the beach a
great surf, although the breeze was light, came tumbling over the
broken lava rocks.
The geology of this island is in many respects interesting. In several
places I noticed volcanic bombs, that is, masses of lava which have
been shot through the air whilst fluid, and have consequently assumed a
spherical or pear-shape. Not only their external form, but, in several
cases, their internal structure shows in a very curious manner that
they have revolved in their aerial course. The internal structure of
one of these bombs, when broken, is represented very accurately in the
woodcut. The central part is coarsely cellular, the cells decreasing
in size towards the exterior; where there is a shell-like case about
the third of an inch in thickness, of compact stone, which again is
overlaid by the outside crust of finely cellular lava. I think there
can be little doubt, first that the external crust cooled rapidly in
the state in which we now see it; secondly, that the still fluid lava
within, was packed by the centrifugal force, generated by
[picture]
the revolving of the bomb, against the external cooled crust, and so
produced the solid shell of stone; and lastly, that the centrifugal
force, by relieving the pressure in the more central parts of the bomb,
allowed the heated vapours to expand their cells, thus forming the
coarse cellular mass of the centre.
A hill, formed of the older series of volcanic rocks, and which has
been incorrectly considered as the crater of a volcano, is remarkable
from its broad, slightly hollowed, and circular summit having been
filled up with many successive layers of ashes and fine scoriae. These
saucer-shaped layers crop out on the margin, forming perfect rings of
many different colours, giving to the summit a most fantastic
appearance; one of these rings is white and broad, and resembles a
course round which horses have been exercised; hence the hill has been
called the Devil's Riding School. I brought away specimens of one of
the tufaceous layers of a pinkish colour and it is a most extraordinary
fact, that Professor Ehrenberg [5] finds it almost wholly composed of
matter which has been organized: he detects in it some
siliceous-shielded fresh-water infusoria, and no less than twenty-five
different kinds of the siliceous tissue of plants, chiefly of grasses.
From the absence of all carbonaceous matter, Professor Ehrenberg
believes that these organic bodies have passed through the volcanic
fire, and have been erupted in the state in which we now see them. The
appearance of the layers induced me to believe that they had been
deposited under water, though from the extreme dryness of the climate I
was forced to imagine, that torrents of rain had probably fallen during
some great eruption, and that thus a temporary lake had been formed
into which the ashes fell. But it may now be suspected that the lake
was not a temporary one. Anyhow, we may feel sure, that at some former
epoch the climate and productions of Ascension were very different from
what they now are. Where on the face of the earth can we find a spot,
on which close investigation will not discover signs of that endless
cycle of change, to which this earth has been, is, and will be
subjected?
On leaving Ascension, we sailed for Bahia, on the coast of Brazil, in
order to complete the chronometrical measurement of the world. We
arrived there on August 1st, and stayed four days, during which I took
several long walks. I was glad to find my enjoyment in tropical scenery
had not decreased from the want of novelty, even in the slightest
degree. The elements of the scenery are so simple, that they are worth
mentioning, as a proof on what trifling circumstances exquisite natural
beauty depends.
The country may be described as a level plain of about three hundred
feet in elevation, which in all parts has been worn into flat-bottomed
valleys. This structure is remarkable in a granitic land, but is
nearly universal in all those softer formations of which plains are
usually composed. The whole surface is covered by various kinds of
stately trees, interspersed with patches of cultivated ground, out of
which houses, convents, and chapels arise. It must be remembered that
within the tropics, the wild luxuriance of nature is not lost even in
the vicinity of large cities: for the natural vegetation of the hedges
and hill-sides overpowers in picturesque effect the artificial labour
of man. Hence, there are only a few spots where the bright red soil
affords a strong contrast with the universal clothing of green. From
the edges of the plain there are distant views either of the ocean, or
of the great Bay with its low-wooded shores, and on which numerous
boats and canoes show their white sails. Excepting from these points,
the scene is extremely limited; following the level pathways, on each
hand, only glimpses into the wooded valleys below can be obtained. The
houses I may add, and especially the sacred edifices, are built in a
peculiar and rather fantastic style of architecture. They are all
whitewashed; so that when illumined by the brilliant sun of midday, and
as seen against the pale blue sky of the horizon, they stand out more
like shadows than real buildings.
Such are the elements of the scenery, but it is a hopeless attempt to
paint the general effect. Learned naturalists describe these scenes of
the tropics by naming a multitude of objects, and mentioning some
characteristic feature of each. To a learned traveller this possibly
may communicate some definite ideas: but who else from seeing a plant
in an herbarium can imagine its appearance when growing in its native
soil? Who from seeing choice plants in a hothouse, can magnify some
into the dimensions of forest trees, and crowd others into an entangled
jungle? Who when examining in the cabinet of the entomologist the gay
exotic butterflies, and singular cicadas, will associate with these
lifeless objects, the ceaseless harsh music of the latter, and the lazy
flight of the former,--the sure accompaniments of the still, glowing
noon-day of the tropics? It is when the sun has attained its greatest
height, that such scenes should be viewed: then the dense splendid
foliage of the mango hides the ground with its darkest shade, whilst
the upper branches are rendered from the profusion of light of the most
brilliant green. In the temperate zones the case is different--the
vegetation there is not so dark or so rich, and hence the rays of the
declining sun, tinged of a red, purple, or bright yellow color, add
most to the beauties of those climes.
When quietly walking along the shady pathways, and admiring each
successive view, I wished to find language to express my ideas. Epithet
after epithet was found too weak to convey to those who have not
visited the intertropical regions, the sensation of delight which the
mind experiences. I have said that the plants in a hothouse fail to
communicate a just idea of the vegetation, yet I must recur to it. The
land is one great wild, untidy, luxuriant hothouse, made by Nature for
herself, but taken possession of by man, who has studded it with gay
houses and formal gardens. How great would be the desire in every
admirer of nature to behold, if such were possible, the scenery of
another planet! yet to every person in Europe, it may be truly said,
that at the distance of only a few degrees from his native soil, the
glories of another world are opened to him. In my last walk I stopped
again and again to gaze on these beauties, and endeavoured to fix in my
mind for ever, an impression which at the time I knew sooner or later
must fail. The form of the orange-tree, the cocoa-nut, the palm, the
mango, the tree-fern, the banana, will remain clear and separate; but
the thousand beauties which unite these into one perfect scene must
fade away: yet they will leave, like a tale heard in childhood, a
picture full of indistinct, but most beautiful figures.
August 6th.--In the afternoon we stood out to sea, with the intention
of making a direct course to the Cape de Verd Islands. Unfavourable
winds, however, delayed us, and on the 12th we ran into Pernambuco,--a
large city on the coast of Brazil, in latitude 8 degs. south. We
anchored outside the reef; but in a short time a pilot came on board
and took us into the inner harbour, where we lay close to the town.
Pernambuco is built on some narrow and low sand-banks, which are
separated from each other by shoal channels of salt water. The three
parts of the town are connected together by two long bridges built on
wooden piles. The town is in all parts disgusting, the streets being
narrow, ill-paved, and filthy; the houses, tall and gloomy. The season
of heavy rains had hardly come to an end, and hence the surrounding
country, which is scarcely raised above the level of the sea, was
flooded with water; and I failed in all my attempts to take walks.
The flat swampy land on which Pernambuco stands is surrounded, at the
distance of a few miles, by a semicircle of low hills, or rather by the
edge of a country elevated perhaps two hundred feet above the sea. The
old city of Olinda stands on one extremity of this range. One day I
took a canoe, and proceeded up one of the channels to visit it; I found
the old town from its situation both sweeter and cleaner than that of
Pernambuco. I must here commemorate what happened for the first time
during our nearly five years' wandering, namely, having met with a want
of politeness. I was refused in a sullen manner at two different
houses, and obtained with difficulty from a third, permission to pass
through their gardens to an uncultivated hill, for the purpose of
viewing the country. I feel glad that this happened in the land of the
Brazilians, for I bear them no good will--a land also of slavery, and
therefore of moral debasement. A Spaniard would have felt ashamed at
the very thought of refusing such a request, or of behaving to a
stranger with rudeness. The channel by which we went to and returned
from Olinda, was bordered on each side by mangroves, which sprang like
a miniature forest out of the greasy mud-banks. The bright green
colour of these bushes always reminded me of the rank grass in a
church-yard: both are nourished by putrid exhalations; the one speaks
of death past, and the other too often of death to come.
The most curious object which I saw in this neighbourhood, was the reef
that forms the harbour. I doubt whether in the whole world any other
natural structure has so artificial an appearance. [6] It runs for a
length of several miles in an absolutely straight line, parallel to,
and not far distant from, the shore. It varies in width from thirty to
sixty yards, and its surface is level and smooth; it is composed of
obscurely stratified hard sandstone. At high water the waves break
over it; at low water its summit is left dry, and it might then be
mistaken for a breakwater erected by Cyclopean workmen. On this coast
the currents of the sea tend to throw up in front of the land, long
spits and bars of loose sand, and on one of these, part of the town of
Pernambuco stands. In former times a long spit of this nature seems to
have become consolidated by the percolation of calcareous matter, and
afterwards to have been gradually upheaved; the outer and loose parts
during this process having been worn away by the action of the sea, and
the solid nucleus left as we now see it. Although night and day the
waves of the open Atlantic, turbid with sediment, are driven against
the steep outside edges of this wall of stone, yet the oldest pilots
know of no tradition of any change in its appearance. This durability
is much the most curious fact in its history: it is due to a tough
layer, a few inches thick, of calcareous matter, wholly formed by the
successive growth and death of the small shells of Serpulae, together
with some few barnacles and nulliporae. These nulliporae, which are
hard, very simply-organized sea-plants, play an analogous and important
part in protecting the upper surfaces of coral-reefs, behind and within
the breakers, where the true corals, during the outward growth of the
mass, become killed by exposure to the sun and air. These
insignificant organic beings, especially the Serpulae, have done good
service to the people of Pernambuco; for without their protective aid
the bar of sandstone would inevitably have been long ago worn away and
without the bar, there would have been no harbour.
On the 19th of August we finally left the shores of Brazil. I thank
God, I shall never again visit a slave-country. To this day, if I hear
a distant scream, it recalls with painful vividness my feelings, when
passing a house near Pernambuco, I heard the most pitiable moans, and
could not but suspect that some poor slave was being tortured, yet knew
that I was as powerless as a child even to remonstrate. I suspected
that these moans were from a tortured slave, for I was told that this
was the case in another instance. Near Rio de Janeiro I lived opposite
to an old lady, who kept screws to crush the fingers of her female
slaves. I have stayed in a house where a young household mulatto,
daily and hourly, was reviled, beaten, and persecuted enough to break
the spirit of the lowest animal. I have seen a little boy, six or
seven years old, struck thrice with a horse-whip (before I could
interfere) on his naked head, for having handed me a glass of water not
quite clean; I saw his father tremble at a mere glance from his
master's eye. These latter cruelties were witnessed by me in a Spanish
colony, in which it has always been said, that slaves are better
treated than by the Portuguese, English, or other European nations. I
have seen at Rio de Janeiro a powerful negro afraid to ward off a blow
directed, as he thought, at his face. I was present when a
kind-hearted man was on the point of separating forever the men, women,
and little children of a large number of families who had long lived
together. I will not even allude to the many heart-sickening
atrocities which I authentically heard of;--nor would I have mentioned
the above revolting details, had I not met with several people, so
blinded by the constitutional gaiety of the negro as to speak of
slavery as a tolerable evil. Such people have generally visited at the
houses of the upper classes, where the domestic slaves are usually well
treated, and they have not, like myself, lived amongst the lower
classes. Such inquirers will ask slaves about their condition; they
forget that the slave must indeed be dull, who does not calculate on
the chance of his answer reaching his master's ears.
It is argued that self-interest will prevent excessive cruelty; as if
self-interest protected our domestic animals, which are far less likely
than degraded slaves, to stir up the rage of their savage masters. It
is an argument long since protested against with noble feeling, and
strikingly exemplified, by the ever-illustrious Humboldt. It is often
attempted to palliate slavery by comparing the state of slaves with our
poorer countrymen: if the misery of our poor be caused not by the laws
of nature, but by our institutions, great is our sin; but how this
bears on slavery, I cannot see; as well might the use of the
thumb-screw be defended in one land, by showing that men in another
land suffered from some dreadful disease. Those who look tenderly at
the slave owner, and with a cold heart at the slave, never seem to put
themselves into the position of the latter; what a cheerless prospect,
with not even a hope of change! picture to yourself the chance, ever
hanging over you, of your wife and your little children--those objects
which nature urges even the slave to call his own--being torn from you
and sold like beasts to the first bidder! And these deeds are done and
palliated by men, who profess to love their neighbours as themselves,
who believe in God, and pray that his Will be done on earth! It makes
one's blood boil, yet heart tremble, to think that we Englishmen and
our American descendants, with their boastful cry of liberty, have been
and are so guilty: but it is a consolation to reflect, that we at least
have made a greater sacrifice, than ever made by any nation, to expiate
our sin.
On the last day of August we anchored for the second time at Porto
Praya in the Cape de Verd archipelago; thence we proceeded to the
Azores, where we stayed six days. On the 2nd of October we made the
shore, of England; and at Falmouth I left the Beagle, having lived on
board the good little vessel nearly five years.
Our Voyage having come to an end, I will take a short retrospect of the
advantages and disadvantages, the pains and pleasures, of our
circumnavigation of the world. If a person asked my advice, before
undertaking a long voyage, my answer would depend upon his possessing a
decided taste for some branch of knowledge, which could by this means
be advanced. No doubt it is a high satisfaction to behold various
countries and the many races of mankind, but the pleasures gained at
the time do not counterbalance the evils. It is necessary to look
forward to a harvest, however distant that may be, when some fruit will
be reaped, some good effected.
Many of the losses which must be experienced are obvious; such as that
of the society of every old friend, and of the sight of those places
with which every dearest remembrance is so intimately connected. These
losses, however, are at the time partly relieved by the exhaustless
delight of anticipating the long wished-for day of return. If, as
poets say, life is a dream, I am sure in a voyage these are the visions
which best serve to pass away the long night. Other losses, although
not at first felt, tell heavily after a period: these are the want of
room, of seclusion, of rest; the jading feeling of constant hurry; the
privation of small luxuries, the loss of domestic society and even of
music and the other pleasures of imagination. When such trifles are
mentioned, it is evident that the real grievances, excepting from
accidents, of a sea-life are at an end. The short space of sixty years
has made an astonishing difference in the facility of distant
navigation. Even in the time of Cook, a man who left his fireside for
such expeditions underwent severe privations. A yacht now, with every
luxury of life, can circumnavigate the globe. Besides the vast
improvements in ships and naval resources, the whole western shores of
America are thrown open, and Australia has become the capital of a
rising continent. How different are the circumstances to a man
shipwrecked at the present day in the Pacific, to what they were in the
time of Cook! Since his voyage a hemisphere has been added to the
civilized world.
If a person suffer much from sea-sickness, let him weigh it heavily in
the balance. I speak from experience: it is no trifling evil, cured in
a week. If, on the other hand, he take pleasure in naval tactics, he
will assuredly have full scope for his taste. But it must be borne in
mind, how large a proportion of the time, during a long voyage, is
spent on the water, as compared with the days in harbour. And what are
the boasted glories of the illimitable ocean. A tedious waste, a
desert of water, as the Arabian calls it. No doubt there are some
delightful scenes. A moonlight night, with the clear heavens and the
dark glittering sea, and the white sails filled by the soft air of a
gently blowing trade-wind, a dead calm, with the heaving surface
polished like a mirror, and all still except the occasional flapping of
the canvas. It is well once to behold a squall with its rising arch and
coming fury, or the heavy gale of wind and mountainous waves. I
confess, however, my imagination had painted something more grand, more
terrific in the full-grown storm. It is an incomparably finer spectacle
when beheld on shore, where the waving trees, the wild flight of the
birds, the dark shadows and bright lights, the rushing of the torrents
all proclaim the strife of the unloosed elements. At sea the albatross
and little petrel fly as if the storm were their proper sphere, the
water rises and sinks as if fulfilling its usual task, the ship alone
and its inhabitants seem the objects of wrath. On a forlorn and
weather-beaten coast, the scene is indeed different, but the feelings
partake more of horror than of wild delight.
Let us now look at the brighter side of the past time. The pleasure
derived from beholding the scenery and the general aspect of the
various countries we have visited, has decidedly been the most constant
and highest source of enjoyment. It is probable that the picturesque
beauty of many parts of Europe exceeds anything which we beheld. But
there is a growing pleasure in comparing the character of the scenery
in different countries, which to a certain degree is distinct from
merely admiring its beauty. It depends chiefly on an acquaintance with
the individual parts of each view. I am strongly induced to believe
that as in music, the person who understands every note will, if he
also possesses a proper taste, more thoroughly enjoy the whole, so he
who examines each part of a fine view, may also thoroughly comprehend
the full and combined effect. Hence, a traveller should be a botanist,
for in all views plants form the chief embellishment. Group masses of
naked rock, even in the wildest forms, and they may for a time afford a
sublime spectacle, but they will soon grow monotonous. Paint them with
bright and varied colours, as in Northern Chile, they will become
fantastic; clothe them with vegetation, they must form a decent, if not
a beautiful picture.
When I say that the scenery of parts of Europe is probably superior to
anything which we beheld, I except, as a class by itself, that of the
intertropical zones. The two classes cannot be compared together; but
I have already often enlarged on the grandeur of those regions. As the
force of impressions generally depends on preconceived ideas, I may
add, that mine were taken from the vivid descriptions in the Personal
Narrative of Humboldt, which far exceed in merit anything else which I
have read. Yet with these high-wrought ideas, my feelings were far
from partaking of a tinge of disappointment on my first and final
landing on the shores of Brazil.
Among the scenes which are deeply impressed on my mind, none exceed in
sublimity the primeval forests undefaced by the hand of man; whether
those of Brazil, where the powers of Life are predominant, or those of
Tierra del Fuego, where Death and decay prevail. Both are temples
filled with the varied productions of the God of Nature:--no one can
stand in these solitudes unmoved, and not feel that there is more in
man than the mere breath of his body. In calling up images of the
past, I find that the plains of Patagonia frequently cross before my
eyes; yet these plains are pronounced by all wretched and useless. They
can be described only by negative characters; without habitations,
without water, without trees, without mountains, they support merely a
few dwarf plants. Why, then, and the case is not peculiar to myself,
have these arid wastes taken so firm a hold on my memory? Why have not
the still more level, the greener and more fertile Pampas, which are
serviceable to mankind, produced an equal impression? I can scarcely
analyze these feelings: but it must be partly owing to the free scope
given to the imagination. The plains of Patagonia are boundless, for
they are scarcely passable, and hence unknown: they bear the stamp of
having lasted, as they are now, for ages, and there appears no limit to
their duration through future time. If, as the ancients supposed, the
flat earth was surrounded by an impassable breadth of water, or by
deserts heated to an intolerable excess, who would not look at these
last boundaries to man's knowledge with deep but ill-defined sensations?
Lastly, of natural scenery, the views from lofty mountains, through
certainly in one sense not beautiful, are very memorable. When looking
down from the highest crest of the Cordillera, the mind, undisturbed by
minute details, was filled with the stupendous dimensions of the
surrounding masses.
Of individual objects, perhaps nothing is more certain to create
astonishment than the first sight in his native haunt of a
barbarian--of man in his lowest and most savage state. One's mind
hurries back over past centuries, and then asks, could our progenitors
have been men like these?--men, whose very signs and expressions are
less intelligible to us than those of the domesticated animals; men,
who do not possess the instinct of those animals, nor yet appear to
boast of human reason, or at least of arts consequent on that reason. I
do not believe it is possible to describe or paint the difference
between savage and civilized man. It is the difference between a wild
and tame animal: and part of the interest in beholding a savage, is the
same which would lead every one to desire to see the lion in his
desert, the tiger tearing his prey in the jungle, or the rhinoceros
wandering over the wild plains of Africa.
Among the other most remarkable spectacles which we have beheld, may be
ranked, the Southern Cross, the cloud of Magellan, and the other
constellations of the southern hemisphere--the water-spout--the glacier
leading its blue stream of ice, overhanging the sea in a bold
precipice--a lagoon-island raised by the reef-building corals--an
active volcano--and the overwhelming effects of a violent earthquake.
These latter phenomena, perhaps, possess for me a peculiar interest,
from their intimate connection with the geological structure of the
world. The earthquake, however, must be to every one a most impressive
event: the earth, considered from our earliest childhood as the type of
solidity, has oscillated like a thin crust beneath our feet; and in
seeing the laboured works of man in a moment overthrown, we feel the
insignificance of his boasted power.
It has been said, that the love of the chase is an inherent delight in
man--a relic of an instinctive passion. If so, I am sure the pleasure
of living in the open air, with the sky for a roof and the ground for a
table, is part of the same feeling, it is the savage returning to his
wild and native habits. I always look back to our boat cruises, and my
land journeys, when through unfrequented countries, with an extreme
delight, which no scenes of civilization could have created. I do not
doubt that every traveller must remember the glowing sense of happiness
which he experienced, when he first breathed in a foreign clime, where
the civilized man had seldom or never trod.
There are several other sources of enjoyment in a long voyage, which
are of a more reasonable nature. The map of the world ceases to be a
blank; it becomes a picture full of the most varied and animated
figures. Each part assumes its proper dimensions: continents are not
looked at in the light of islands, or islands considered as mere
specks, which are, in truth, larger than many kingdoms of Europe.
Africa, or North and South America, are well-sounding names, and easily
pronounced; but it is not until having sailed for weeks along small
portions of their shores, that one is thoroughly convinced what vast
spaces on our immense world these names imply.
From seeing the present state, it is impossible not to look forward
with high expectations to the future progress of nearly an entire
hemisphere. The march of improvement, consequent on the introduction
of Christianity throughout the South Sea, probably stands by itself in
the records of history. It is the more striking when we remember that
only sixty years since, Cook, whose excellent judgment none will
dispute, could foresee no prospect of a change. Yet these changes have
now been effected by the philanthropic spirit of the British nation.
In the same quarter of the globe Australia is rising, or indeed may be
said to have risen, into a grand centre of civilization, which, at some
not very remote period, will rule as empress over the southern
hemisphere. It is impossible for an Englishman to behold these distant
colonies, without a high pride and satisfaction. To hoist the British
flag, seems to draw with it as a certain consequence, wealth,
prosperity, and civilization.
In conclusion, it appears to me that nothing can be more improving to a
young naturalist, than a journey in distant countries. It both
sharpens, and partly allays that want and craving, which, as Sir J.
Herschel remarks, a man experiences although every corporeal sense be
fully satisfied. The excitement from the novelty of objects, and the
chance of success, stimulate him to increased activity. Moreover, as a
number of isolated facts soon become uninteresting, the habit of
comparison leads to generalization. On the other hand, as the
traveller stays but a short time in each place, his descriptions must
generally consist of mere sketches, instead of detailed observations.
Hence arises, as I have found to my cost, a constant tendency to fill
up the wide gaps of knowledge, by inaccurate and superficial hypotheses.
But I have too deeply enjoyed the voyage, not to recommend any
naturalist, although he must not expect to be so fortunate in his
companions as I have been, to take all chances, and to start, on
travels by land if possible, if otherwise, on a long voyage. He may
feel assured, he will meet with no difficulties or dangers, excepting
in rare cases, nearly so bad as he beforehand anticipates. In a moral
point of view, the effect ought to be, to teach him good-humoured
patience, freedom from selfishness, the habit of acting for himself,
and of making the best of every occurrence. In short, he ought to
partake of the characteristic qualities of most sailors. Travelling
ought also to teach him distrust; but at the same time he will
discover, how many truly kind-hearted people there are, with whom he
never before had, or ever again will have any further communication,
who yet are ready to offer him the most disinterested assistance.
[1] After the volumes of eloquence which have poured forth on this
subject, it is dangerous even to mention the tomb. A modern traveller,
in twelve lines, burdens the poor little island with the following
titles,--it is a grave, tomb, pyramid, cemetery, sepulchre, catacomb,
sarcophagus, minaret, and mausoleum!
[2] It deserves notice, that all the many specimens of this shell found
by me in one spot, differ as a marked variety, from another set of
specimens procured from a different spot.
[3] Beatson's St. Helena. Introductory chapter, p. 4.
[4] Among these few insects, I was surprised to find a small Aphodius
(nov. spec.) and an Oryctes, both extremely numerous under dung. When
the island was discovered it certainly possessed no quadruped,
excepting perhaps a mouse: it becomes, therefore, a difficult point to
ascertain, whether these stercovorous insects have since been imported
by accident, or if aborigines, on what food they formerly subsisted. On
the banks of the Plata, where, from the vast number of cattle and
horses, the fine plains of turf are richly manured, it is vain to seek
the many kinds of dung-feeding beetles, which occur so abundantly in
Europe. I observed only an Oryctes (the insects of this genus in
Europe generally feed on decayed vegetable matter) and two species of
Phanaeus, common in such situations. On the opposite side of the
Cordillera in Chiloe, another species of Phanaeus is exceedingly
abundant, and it buries the dung of the cattle in large earthen balls
beneath the ground. There is reason to believe that the genus
Phanaeus, before the introduction of cattle, acted as scavengers to
man. In Europe, beetles, which find support in the matter which has
already contributed towards the life of other and larger animals, are
so numerous that there must be considerably more than one hundred
different species. Considering this, and observing what a quantity of
food of this kind is lost on the plains of La Plata, I imagined I saw
an instance where man had disturbed that chain, by which so many
animals are linked together in their native country. In Van Diemen's
Land, however, I found four species of Onthophagus, two of Aphodius,
and one of a third genus, very abundantly under the dung of cows; yet
these latter animals had been then introduced only thirty-three years.
Previous to that time the kangaroo and some other small animals were
the only quadrupeds; and their dung is of a very different quality from
that of their successors introduced by man. In England the greater
number of stercovorous beetles are confined in their appetites; that
is, they do not depend indifferently on any quadruped for the means of
subsistence. The change, therefore, in habits which must have taken
place in Van Diemen's Land is highly remarkable. I am indebted to the
Rev. F. W. Hope, who, I hope, will permit me to call him my master in
Entomology, for giving me the names of the foregoing insects.
[5] Monats. der Konig. Akad. d. Wiss. zu Berlin. Vom April, 1845.
[6] I have described this Bar in detail, in the Lond. and Edin. Phil.
Mag., vol. xix. (1841), p. 257.