On the northern coast of the island a great misfortune occurred on

Christmas Eve. An inexperienced steersman was at the _Santa Maria's_

rudder, and let the vessel run on a sandbank, where it became a wreck.

The crew had to take refuge on the _Niña_. The natives helped to save

all that was on board, and not even a pin was stolen.

But the _Niña_ could not hold them all, and how were they to get back to

Spain? Columbus found a way out of the difficulty. He decided to found a

colony on the coast. Forty men were to be left behind to search for

gold, and by the time Columbus returned from Spain they would no doubt

have a tun full of the precious metal, and that would be enough for the

conquest of Jerusalem. The sailors were only too glad to remain, for

they found the natives accommodating and the climate good. It was in all

respects much pleasanter than to endure hardship on the _Niña_, and

perhaps founder with the wretched little ship.

Accordingly, a blockhouse was built of wreckage from the _Santa Maria_,

was surrounded by a wall and moat and provisioned, and after presenting

the chief of the Indians with a shirt and a pair of gloves, Columbus

weighed anchor and steered for home.

He had not sailed far before he fell in with the _Pinta_, and took the

independent Pinzon into favour again. Then they sailed eastwards across

the Atlantic.

On February 12 a storm arose. All the sails were furled and the two

ships lost sight of one another for good. The _Niña_ pitched horribly

and threatened to sink. All made ready for death. Columbus, fearing that

his discoveries would perish with him, wrote a narrative on parchment,

covered it with wax and placed it in a cask, which was entrusted to the

angry waves. The sailors thought that it was an offering with which

Columbus sought to allay the storm.

A few days later the _Niña_ arrived safely at the southernmost island of

the Azores, and thence continued her voyage to the mouth of the Tagus

and Lisbon.

On March 15 the inhabitants of Palos saw the most famous of all the

ships of the world come into the harbour. The people streamed down with

the wildest jubilation and all the church bells were rung. The same

evening the _Pinta_ also sailed in, but was very differently received,

for it was already known that Pinzon wished to usurp the honour of the

discovery, being convinced that Columbus's vessel had been lost in the

storm. No one took any notice of him, and he died a few days later,

probably of chagrin and sorrow.

In Seville Columbus received a summons from the King and Queen, who were

staying in Barcelona. His journey through Spain was one great triumphal

progress. He was feted as a conqueror in every town. He was conducted in

a brilliant procession through the streets, six copper-brown "Indians"

marching at the head with coloured feathers in their head-dresses. This

was Christopher Columbus, who had given new lands to Spain, who had

discovered a convenient sea route to India just at the time when the

Portuguese were looking for a route thither round the coast of Africa.

In Barcelona all his titles and privileges were solemnly confirmed. Now

he was actually the Admiral of the Ocean and Viceroy of India. Now he

had attained the height of worldly honour.

Then began the time of adversity.

On his second voyage, when he set out with seventeen ships, he

discovered the northern Antilles as far as Porto Rico and came in

contact with cannibals. At Haiti he found that the forty men whom he had

left behind on his first voyage had been killed by the natives. He took

it for granted that Cuba was the mainland of Asia, and that thence the

journey to Spain might be made dryshod by following Marco Polo's

footsteps. Discontent was rife among his men, the natives rose up

against the intruders, rivals sprang up around him like mushrooms, and

in the home country he was abused by high and low.

He returned to Spain to put everything right; but this time he was no

longer received with rejoicing, and found that he had now a formidable

rival in Portugal. In the year 1497 Vasco da Gama discovered the real

sea route to the real India by sailing round the south of Africa, an

event which, in the eyes of that generation, quite eclipsed the

discoveries of Columbus. In India inexhaustible riches were to be found,

whereas the poor islands of Columbus had simply cost money, ships, and

men.

But the strong will of Columbus overcame all obstacles, and for the

third time he sailed for his fictitious India. Now he held a more

southerly course, and discovered the island Trinidad, and found that the

water between it and the coast of Venezuela was fresh. There must then

be a large river near. This river was the Orinoco.

Disturbances broke out again in Haiti, and Columbus's opponents sent

home complaints against him. A Royal Commission was sent out to hold an

enquiry, and in the end arrested the Admiral and sent him in chains to

Spain. The captain of the vessel wished to remove his fetters and leave

him free as long as he was on board, but Columbus would not consent, for

he wished to retain them as a "reminder of the reward he had got for his

services."

But when he was led in chains through the streets of Cadiz, the scene of

his former triumph, the displeasure of the people was aroused, and at

the Court Columbus met with a friendly reception. He even succeeded in

fitting out a fourth expedition and crossed the Atlantic in nineteen

days. The new Governor forbade him to land, and Columbus expressed his

indignation that he, the discoverer, should not be allowed to set foot

on his own islands. He then steered westwards and came to the coast of

Honduras, and thence followed the coast of Nicaragua southwards. He

fully and firmly believed that this was Malacca, and that farther south

would be found a passage to India proper. He sailed back towards Cuba,

but was driven by bad weather to Jamaica, where in great extremity he

had to run his ship ashore. One of his trusty men rowed for four days in

a canoe over the open sea to Haiti to beg for help. Meanwhile the

shipwrecked men were in hard case. The natives threatened them, and

refused them all help. Columbus knew that an eclipse of the moon would

shortly occur, and told the natives that if they would not help them,

the God of the Spaniards would for ever deprive them of the light of the

moon. And when the shadow of the earth began to move over the moon's

disc, the natives were terrified, fell at the feet of Columbus, and

promised him everything. He pretended to consider the matter, but at

last allowed himself to be persuaded and promised that they should keep

their moon. And then the shadow moved off quietly into space, leaving

the moon as bright as a silver shield.

At last he received assistance, and in 1504 was back in Spain. No one

now paid any attention to him. His property was confiscated, his titles

were not restored to him, and even the outstanding pay of his followers

was kept back. Ill with gout and vexation, he stayed at first in

Seville. His former friends did not know him. Lonely and crushed down by

grief and disappointment, he died in 1506 at Valladolid. No one took any

notice of his decease, and not a chronicle of the time contains a word

about his death. Even in the grave he seemed to find no rest. He was

first interred quietly in Valladolid; then his remains were transferred

to a monastery church in Seville; half a lifetime later his body was

carried to San Domingo in Haiti, where it rested for 250 years until it

was deposited in the cathedral of Havana in Cuba; and finally, when Cuba

was lost to the United States, the remains of the great discoverer were

again brought back to Spain.

Columbus was a tall, powerfully built man, with an aquiline nose, a pink

and freckled complexion, light-blue eyes and red hair, which early

became white in consequence of much thought and great sorrows. During

four centuries of admiration and detraction his life and character have

been dissected and torn to bits. Some have seen in him a saint, a

prophet; others have called him a crafty adventurer, who stole

Toscanelli's plan in order to gain power, honour, and wealth for

himself. But when, about twenty years ago, the fourth century since his

discovery was completed, full amends were made to his memory and his

achievements were celebrated throughout the world. He opened new fields

for unborn generations, he extended the bounds of the earth, and guided

the world's history into new channels.

Four years before the death of Columbus, Amerigo Vespucci of Florence,

who made four voyages across the ocean, suggested that the new lands had

nothing to do with Asia, but were a "New World" in distinction to the

Old; and a German schoolmaster, who wrote a geographical text-book,

suggested in the introduction that as the fourth continent had been

discovered by Amerigo Vespucci (Americus Vesputius), there was no reason

why it should not be called Amerigo or America after its discoverer. The

proposal was accepted, and only too late was it realised that Columbia

would have been the proper name.

One discovery followed after another, and the coasts of America

gradually assumed on charts and maps the form with which we are

familiar. Let us for a moment dwell on another of the most striking

voyages in the history of the world. In the year 1519 the Portuguese

Magelhaens sailed along the east coast of South America and discovered

the strait which still bears his name; and what is more, he found at

last, through this strait, the western passage to India. He sailed over

an immense ocean, where the weather was good and no storms threatened

his ships; and accordingly he called it the Pacific Ocean. Other

dangers, however, awaited him. The mariners sailed for four months over

unbroken sea, suffering from hunger and disease. At last three of the

vessels reached the Philippines. There Magelhaens landed with a small

party, and was overpowered and slain by the natives. Only one of the

ships, the _Victoria_, came home, but this was the first vessel which

sailed round the world.

During the succeeding centuries white men struck their claws ever firmer

into America. The Indians were forced back into the backwoods, and in

North America they have been almost exterminated. Under French, and

later, under English rule, those parts of North America have developed

an unexpected power and wealth which were despised by the Spaniards, who

in their boundless greed of gain thought of nothing but gold.

NEW YORK

In a house in a Swedish countryside sit an old man and woman talking

seriously.

"It is a great pity," says the old woman, "that Gunnar is beginning to

think of America again."

"Yes, he will never rest," replies the old man, "till we have given our

consent and let him go. To-day he says that an emigration 'touter' has

promised him gold and green forests if he will take a ticket for one of

the Bremen line steamers. I reminded him that the farm is unencumbered,

but he answered that it could not provide for both his brothers and

himself. 'It was a very different thing for you, father,' he said, 'but

there are three of us to divide the produce.' He thinks it is a hopeless

task to grub in our poor stony hills, when boundless plains in the

western states of North America are only waiting to be ploughed, and in

any factory he can be earning wages so large as to yield a small income

for several years."

"Yes, indeed, I know, it is his cousins who have put this fancy in his

head with their glowing letters. But I suppose we cannot prevent him

going if his heart is set on it?"

"What can we do? He is a free man and must go his own way."

"Well, perhaps it is best. When he is home-sick he will come back

again."

"I am afraid it will be long enough before that happens. At starting all

seems so fine. 'I shall soon come home with a small pile.' In reality

all his memories will grow faint within a year, and the distance to the

red cottage will seem to grow longer as time flies. I mourn for him as

dead already; he will never come back."

* * * * *

A few days after this our emigrant Gunnar breaks all ties and tears up

all the roots which since his birth have held him bound to the soil of

Sweden. He travels by the shortest route to Bremen and steps on board an

emigrant steamer for New York. During the long hours of the voyage the

people sit on deck and talk of the great country to which they are all

bound. Before the last lighthouse on the coast of Europe is lost to

sight, Gunnar seems to have all America at his finger-ends. The same

names are always ringing in his ears--New York, Philadelphia, Chicago,

and San Francisco have become quite familiar, and he has only to insert

between them a number of smaller towns, a few rivers, mountains, and

lakes, to draw in a few railway lines, to remember the great country of

Canada to the north and mountainous Mexico in the south, to place at

three of the corners of the continent the peninsulas of Alaska,

California, and Florida, and at the fourth the large island of

Newfoundland, and then his map of North America is complete.

* * * * *

The voyage over the Atlantic draws to an end. One day a growing

restlessness and excitement is perceptible, and the travellers cast

inquiring glances ahead. It is said that the American coast will be

visible in an hour. And so it is. An irregular line appears to

starboard. That is Long Island. Two hours more, and the boat glides into

the mouth of the Hudson River and comes alongside at Ellis Island in the

harbour of New York. A row of other vessels lie moored at the quays.

These also have brought immigrants to America and will soon return to

fetch more. They must go backwards and forwards year out and year in to

carry three thousand persons daily to the United States.

Gunnar has packed his things in good time and takes up a favourable

position from which he can observe his fellow-travellers. He has never

heard such a noise and never seen such bustle. The people throng the

gangways, call to one another, haul out their discoloured portmanteaus

and their roped bundles. There are seen Swedes and Germans, Polish and

Russian Jews, Galicians and Croats mingled together, some well dressed

and with overcoats, others in tattered clothes and with a coarse

handkerchief in place of a collar.

Yonder, overlooking New York harbour, stands the colossal statue of

Liberty, a female figure holding a torch in her right hand. When

darkness lies over the earth she throws a dazzling beam of electric

light out over the water, the quays, houses, and ships. But Gunnar

experiences no feeling of freedom as he sets his foot on American soil.

He and all his fellow-travellers are provided with numbered tickets and

marshalled into long compartments in a huge hall. Then they are called

out one after another to be questioned, and a doctor comes and examines

them. Those who suffer from lung disease or other complaint, or being

old and feeble have no prospect of gaining a livelihood, receive a

peremptory order of exclusion on grey paper and must return by the next

vessel to their fatherland. The others who pass the examination proceed

in small steamers to the great city, where, among the four millions of

New York, they vanish like chaff before the wind.

From whatever land they may come they always find fellow-countrymen in

New York, for this city is a conglomeration of all the peoples of the

world, and seventy different languages are spoken in it. A third of its

inhabitants have been born in foreign countries. In Brooklyn, the

quarter on Long Island, there are whole streets where only Swedes live.

In the "Little Italy" quarter live more Italians than there are in

Naples, in the "Chinese Town" there are five thousand Chinese, and even

Jews from Russia and Poland have their own quarter. Gunnar soon finds

that New York is more complicated than he supposed when he was rolling

out on the Atlantic.

Meanwhile he decides to take it easy at first, and to learn his way

about before plunging into the struggle for existence. In Brooklyn he

soon meets with a fellow-countryman and gets a roof over his head. A

pleasant, well-to-do railway employé from Stockholm takes pleasure in

showing him about and impressing him with his knowledge of America.

"This town must be old," says Gunnar, "or it could not have grown so

large."

"Old! No, certainly not. Compared to Stockholm it is a mere child. It is

barely three hundred years old, and at the time of Gustavus Adolphus it

did not contain a thousand inhabitants. But now it is second only to

London."

"That is wonderful. How can you account for New York becoming so large?

Stockholm and Bremen are pigmies beside it. I have never seen the like

in my life. There are forests of masts and steamboat funnels in all

directions, and at the quays vessels are loaded and unloaded with the

most startling speed."

"Yes, but you must remember that the population of the United States

increases at an extraordinary rate. During last century it doubled every

twenty years. And remember also that nearly half the foreign trade of

the Union passes through New York. Hence are exported grain, meat,

tobacco, cotton, petroleum, manufactured goods, and many other things.

It is, therefore, not remarkable that New York needs 36 miles of quays

with warehouses, and that more than seventy steamboat lines sail to and

from the port. And, besides, it is a great industrial town. Think of its

position and its fine harbour! Eastward lies the Atlantic with routes to

Europe; westwards run innumerable railway lines, five of which stretch

right through to the Pacific coast."

"Tell me something about the railways," exclaims Gunnar, who wants to go

out west at the first favourable opportunity.

"Yes, I can give you information about them, for I have been working on

several lines. As far back as 1840 the United States had 2800 miles of

railway, and twenty years later 30,000 miles. Now it has nearly two

hundred and forty thousand miles of rails, a strip which would reach to

the moon or ten times round the equator. The United States have more

railways than all Europe, though the population is only a fifth that of

Europe; but the area is about the same."

"How do you explain this rapid development of railway enterprise?"

"Well, the fact is that at first the aim was to fill up the gaps between

the waterways. Rivers were relied on as long as possible, and the first

railways were built in districts where there were no large rivers. Then

in course of time various lines converged together, new railways were

constructed, and now the forty-nine States are covered with a connected

network of lines. Moreover, the country roads are so bad that they must

be supplemented by railways."

"A large number of bridges must be necessary across all the large

rivers?"

"Yes, certainly. The Americans are adepts in bridge-building, and the

railway bridges over the Mississippi and Missouri and other rivers are

masterpieces of the boldest art. Where lines cross deeply eroded

valleys, bridges of timber were formerly built, like sky-scraping

parapets with rails laid along the top; but such bridges are now fast

disappearing and iron bridges are built, and the trains run at full

speed over elegant erections which from a distance look just like a

spider's web. Just look to your left. There you have one of the world's

strongest bridges, the suspension bridge between New York and Brooklyn.

It is of colossal dimensions, and yet it looks so fine and delicate as

it hangs between its two mighty piers. You see that vessels with the

tallest masts can pass clear below, for it is poised 135 feet above high

water. The length is nearly a mile and a quarter. It is wonderful that

men have been able to stretch this huge span of iron above the water.

Wait a little and you will see a kind of aerial railway."

Then the Stockholm man takes his new friend to a station to travel on

the elevated railway through New York. Gunnar's astonishment is beyond

bounds as he rushes along on a framework, supported by innumerable iron

pillars, over streets and squares, and sees the seething crowd moving in

carriages and on foot below his feet.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXII. "SKY-SCRAPERS" IN NEW YORK.]

"Here is the Central Park. Is it not delightful with its leafy trees and

cool pools? In summer it is burning hot in the town, and it is

refreshing to rest an hour or two in the shade of the trees. The winters

are equally cold, and raw, biting winds blow from the east coast. Here

is Fifth Avenue, the finest street of New York. In the row of palaces

you see here live millionaires, railway kings, steel kings, petroleum

kings, corn kings, a whole crop of kings. But I would rather we went to

look at the rows of houses facing the Hudson River."

"New York lies, then, on the Hudson River?"

"That is so, but more properly speaking New York stands on the island of

Manhattan in the mouth of the river. We are standing, then, on

Manhattan, and it is interesting to recall the fact that this island was

sold three hundred years ago by Indians to Dutchmen for the sum of four

pounds. It is rather more valuable now! Just look at the hideous

sky-scrapers with their twenty and thirty storeys" (Plate XXXII.).

"I was just wondering why houses are built so enormously high."

"That is owing to the tremendous value of the ground. When there is not

space enough to build out laterally, the buildings are piled up

heavenwards, where there is plenty of room. They are certainly not

handsome. Look at this row of houses, some of moderate height, others as

tall as chimneys. Are they not like a row of keys moved by invisible

gigantic fingers?"

"I should not like to live in such a building, I am sure. On the top

floor I should be giddy with the height, and on the first I should

expect the whole mass to tumble down on me."

"We are better off in Brooklyn, where the houses are of moderate height.

To-morrow I will show you something not less remarkable than the wealthy

quarter of the city. I will take you to the Chinese town. There Chinese

swarm in the dirty lanes; there the whole place reeks of onions and

tobacco and spirits from the public-houses; there are vile gambling

hells and opium dens; and there paper lanterns on fishing rods hang

outside the tea-houses. Then we can take a look at 'Little Italy,' a

purely Italian town in the midst of the New York of the Americans. There

you will see only Italian books in the book-shops, there Italian

newspapers are read, there wax candles burn round images of the Madonna

in the churches, and black-haired, brown-eyed children from sunny Italy

play in the gutters. And we must not forget 'Little Russia,' the Jews'

quarter. The Jews are a remarkable people; you never see them drunk, and

you never hear of any crime or felony committed by them. They live

poorly, cheaply, and sparingly, and seem cheerful in their booths beside

the streets."

"All this is very well, but I do not understand where all the immigrants

go. I am told that as many as three thousand persons land daily on Ellis

Island. At this rate New York receives yearly an addition of a million

souls."

"Yes, but how many do you think remain in New York? Most of them go up

country and out westwards. Some improve their position and then repair

to other fields of work. But many also stay here and increase the slum

population. The immigrants who are destitute on landing take work in

factories at any wage they can get. The wages they receive seem very

high compared to those in their own country, but they are low for

America. Accordingly the immigrant Europeans thrust out the Americans,

and therefore there are two millions out of work in the United States.

And so there are failures, human wrecks, who are a burden to others. If

you like we will try this evening to get to a midnight mission and see

the poor wretches waiting in crowds for the doors to open. They have a

worn, listless expression, but when the doors are open they wake up and

rush in, fill all the benches in the large hall, and go to sleep in all

imaginable positions."

"What do they do there?"

"A missionary preaches to them, but they are hungry and weary, and sleep

soundly on their benches. Among them you will find tramps and vagabonds,

professional beggars and thieves, idlers and men out of work. In the

daytime they beg and steal, and now at night they take their sleep in

the mission. When the preacher finishes, they file out and go to the

bread stalls to get food. Such is their life day after day, and they

sink ever deeper into misery."

"They are the slag that remains after the precious metal has run off, of

course. It is curious to think of a people that is increased by a

never-failing stream of immigrants. What will be the end of it?"

"No one can answer that question. Everything is possible with Americans.

They are a mixture of English, Scandinavian, German, Dutch, Italian, and

Russian blood, to name only the principal constituents of this complex

blend, this huge incorporation. Out of all these elements one day an

American race will emerge, when Ellis Island has closed its gates to

emigrants from Europe."

[Illustration: NORTH AMERICA.]

"Tell me another thing, now. Why is not New York, the most important

city, also the capital of the country?"

"It was thought that the city which bears the name of the great

Washington had a more convenient and more central position with regard

to the States of the original federation. The population of Washington

is only about 330,000, and there are fifteen larger cities in the United

States, but it is the centre of government. There the President lives in

White House, there Congress assembles in the Capitol, there stands the

Washington monument surrounded by large national buildings, and there

three universities are established."

CHICAGO AND THE GREAT LAKES

After our friend Gunnar has seen as much as he wants of New York, he

obtains a good post in a large factory, but he stays there only two

months, for with other Swedes he receives an offer from Philadelphia

which he does not hesitate to accept. His idea is to work his way

gradually westward. If he can only get as far as Chicago he thinks it

will not be difficult to go on to San Francisco.

Now he works in a yard where more than a thousand locomotives are made

annually. This yard seems to him quite a town in itself. Here the iron

is made white hot in immense furnaces, there it is hammered and rolled,

and with irresistible power human hands convert the hard steel into

steam boilers, wheels, axles, and parts of machines which are put

together to form engines. The workshop is traversed in all directions by

rails, and the completed steam-horses are sent out all over the railway

systems of the United States.

Gunnar learns from his mates that Philadelphia is one of the largest

cities of the world, with nearly a million and a half inhabitants, and

that in America only New York and Chicago are larger.

* * * * *

After a while, however, Gunnar has had enough of Philadelphia, and takes

a ticket for Pittsburg, the steel and iron capital, where immigrants

never need be in want of a post. He travels without a change of

carriages between the two towns, traversing the whole of Pennsylvania.

Innumerable branch lines diverge in all directions, for towns and

villages are everywhere. Here a railway runs to a mine, there another to

a district rich in maize and tobacco, and here again a third to a timber

yard. At the station stand long trains laden with grain, planks,

petroleum, cotton, reaping machines, coal--in fact all the wares that

the earth can produce by its fertility, and men by the labour of their

hands.

The country becomes hilly, and the train winds about through the

northernmost part of the Alleghany Mountains. Gunnar lets his eyes rove

with strained attention over the dark woods, the waving fields, and the

smoke rising from villages and farmhouses, when an American comes and

sits down on the seat just in front of him.

"I see that you are a newcomer in America," says the stranger. "It may

then interest you to know that the crest of the Alleghany Mountains,

composed of granite, gneiss, and slates, is the watershed between the

Atlantic and the Mississippi. You must not suppose that these mountains

are everywhere as low as here; far down south-west, in North Carolina,

there are summits more than six thousand feet high. Maize and fruit are

grown in the valleys, and there are fine forests of pines and foliage

trees. And there are places where you lose yourself in dense clumps of

rhododendrons and climbing plants. And there are wild recesses where men

never go, but where bears and wolves have their haunts among broken

branches and twigs, fallen trunks and moss-grown granite boulders, and

where nothing is changed since the time when the Indian tribes went on

the war-path. But where are you bound for?"

"I am going to Pittsburg to look for work, for I was a smith at home."

"Oh, Pittsburg! I was foreman in some steel works there for two years,

and I have never seen anything more wonderful. You know that this town

has sprung up out of the earth as if by magic. When petroleum springs

were discovered, it increased at double the rate, and now it is one of

the world's largest industrial towns, and, as regards iron and steel,

the first in America. Here materials are manufactured to the value of

more than nineteen million pounds annually. Almost inexhaustible

deposits of coal are found in the neighbourhood. More than twenty

railway lines converge to Pittsburg, which also has the advantage of

three navigable rivers, and a network of canals. And round about the

town are suburbs full of machine factories, steel works, and glass

works. The neighbourhood has a million of inhabitants, a third of them

foreigners, mostly Slavs, Italians, and Hungarians. You have a kind of

feeling of oppression when you see from a height this forest of reeking

factory chimneys, and when you think of the unfortunate men that slave

under this cloud of coal smoke. There is a hammering and beating

everywhere, and a rumble of trains rolling over the rails. Overheated

furnaces bubble and boil, and sparks fly out under the steam hammers. At

night you might think you were in the bottom of a volcano, where lava

boils under the ashes ready to roll out and destroy everything. A weird

reddish-yellow light flames forth from thousands of fires, lighting up

the under side of the thick smoke cloud. I am sorry for you if you are

going to Pittsburg. You had much better travel straight on to Chicago.

Not that Chicago is a paradise, but there are better openings there, and

you will be nearer the great West with its inexhaustible resources."

"Thanks for your advice. I am the more ready to follow it because I

always intended to get to Chicago sometime."

"From Pittsburg," continues the American, "a line runs direct to the

large town of St. Louis on the Mississippi. St. Louis is a junction of

great importance, for not only do a whole series of great railway lines

meet there, but also innumerable steamboats ply from there up the

Mississippi and Missouri, and to all the large towns on their

tributaries. St. Louis is the centre of all the winding waterways which

intersect all parts of the United States. And there you can travel on

comfortable flat-bottomed steamers along the main river to New Orleans,

a great harbour for the export of cotton. You can well conceive what a

blessing and source of wealth this river is to our country. It is of

immense extent, for it is the longest river in the world, if we take its

length from the sources of the Missouri in the Rocky Mountains, and in

the area of its basin it is second only to the Amazons. Its plain is

exceedingly fruitful, and far around its banks grain shoots up out of

the soil to feed many millions of human beings. And its waterways,

ramifying like the nerves of a leaf, facilitate communication and the

transport of goods between the different States.

"You should just see how the great river rises in spring. You might

think you were sailing on a large lake, and, as a matter of fact, it

floods an area as large as Lake Superior. If the Mississippi is a

blessing to men, on the other hand in spring it exacts a heavy tax from

them. The vast volumes of brown, muddy water often cut off sharp bends

from the river-bed and take short cuts through narrow promontories. By

such tricks the length of the river is not infrequently shortened by ten

or twelve miles here and there. But you can imagine the trouble this

causes. A town standing on such a bend may one fine day find itself six

miles from the bank. In another the inhabitants are in danger of being

at any time drowned like cats. A railway bridge may suddenly be

suspended over dry land, while the river has swept away rails and

embankment a little farther off. Our engineers have great difficulty in

protecting constructions from the capricious river in spring. Not a year

passes without the Mississippi causing terrible destruction and

inflicting great loss on those who dwell near its banks, especially in

cattle.

"You have only to see this water to comprehend what immense quantities

of earth, sand, and mud are yearly carried down by it. And all this silt

is deposited in the flat delta below New Orleans. Therefore the delta

extends from year to year farther out into the Gulf of Mexico. This is

an easy way of increasing our territory, but we would willingly

sacrifice the gain if we could get rid of the terrible floods in

spring."

The train with our two travellers on board has now crossed the boundary

of Pennsylvania, and is making its way westwards through the states of

Ohio and Indiana. Boundless plains extend to north and south, planted

with maize, wheat, oats, and tobacco. Maize fields, however, are the

most frequent, and the harvest is just beginning. Gigantic reaping

machines, drawn by troops of horses, mow down the grain and bind it into

sheaves, while other machines throw it into waggons. The reapers have

only to drive the horses; all the rest is done by the machines.

Certainly men's hands could never be able to deal with all this grain;

whole armies could be hidden under the ears of maize.

Now the train skirts the shore of Lake Michigan, which stretches its

blue surface northwards, and a little later halts at Chicago.

* * * * *

Gunnar has been directed to an agency for Swedish workmen, and the first

thing he does is to call there. In a day or two he obtains work in the

timber business, and goes up to Canada in a large cargo steamer which

carries timber from the forests of Canada to Chicago. Here the timber

supplies seem to him inexhaustible when he sees the dark coniferous

woods on the shores and hills, and when he notices that hundreds of

steamboats are carrying the same freight. The workman beside him, an

Englishman, boasts of the immense territory which occupies almost all

the northern half of North America.

"Canada is the most precious jewel in the crown of Great Britain, next

to the mother-country and India."

"Why is Canada so valuable? I always thought that its population was

very small."

"It has not many people; you are right there. Canada has only seven

million inhabitants."

"Oh, not more! That is just about as many as Greater London."

"Yes; and yet Canada is as large as all Europe and as the United States

of America. It stretches so far to east and west that it occupies a

fourth part of the circuit of the earth, and if you travel from Montreal

to Vancouver you have a journey of 2906 miles. But you can well

understand that such an extensive country, even though it is thinly

peopled, especially in its cold, northern parts, must yield much that is

valuable to its owners."

"Yes, certainly; so it is in Siberia, where the population is also

scanty."

"Just so. In Canada fields, mountains, forests, and water yield an

immense revenue. Think only of all the agricultural produce which is

shipped from here, not to speak of gold, fish, and furs. The wheat

produced in Canada is alone worth over 22 million pounds sterling a

year. There are also huge areas which are worthless. We get little

advantage from the northern coasts, where the Eskimos live."

"You are quite at home on these lakes?"

"Oh yes. When a man has sailed to and fro over them for ten years, he

knows all about the roadsteads and channels, and about when the ice

forms and breaks up, and when there is a prospect of a storm."

"But the storms cannot be very dangerous?"

"Ah, you do not believe in them. All the same they may be just as

dangerous as in the Atlantic, and when a real hurricane comes, the

skipper will do well to seek shelter, or at the best he will lose his

cargo. You will soon have opportunities of seeing, hearing, and feeling

how the surge beats just as on the coast of the ocean. But then, all

these lakes have an aggregate area more than half as large as the

Baltic, and if we take the depth into account we shall find that the

volume of water is the same as in the Baltic. Lake Superior is the

largest lake in the world. Beyond the point yonder lies Lake Huron. You

must acknowledge that this scenery is beautiful. Have you ever seen

anything to equal this sheet of dark-blue water, the dark-green woods,

and the grand peaceful shores? It is a pity that we do not go to Lake

Erie, for at its eastern extremity is one of the wonders of the world

and the most famous spectacle in North America."

[Illustration: PLATE XXXIII. NIAGARA FALLS.]

"You mean the Falls of Niagara, which I have heard described so many

times?"

"Yes. Think of a steamboat on Lake Erie sucked along by the stream that

flows to Ontario. This lake lies 300 feet lower than Erie, and about

half-way between the two lakes the water passes over a sharp bar and

plunges with a thundering roar into the depth below (Plate XXXIII.). The

barrier itself, which is a thousand yards broad, is formed of a huge

stratum of sandstone, and the rocks under it are loose slates. Erosion

proceeds more rapidly in the slates than in the hard limestone, which,

therefore, overhangs like the projecting leaf of a table, and the

collected volumes of water hurl themselves over it. But when the

limestone is so far undermined that it is no longer able to bear the

weight of the water, fragments break off from time to time from its edge

and fall into the abyss with a deafening noise. Thus in time the fall

wears away the barrier and Niagara is moving back in the direction of

Lake Erie."

"Moving, do you say? The movement can surely not be rapid."

"Oh no; Niagara needs about seventeen thousand years to move half a mile

nearer to Lake Erie."

"That's all right, for now I can be sure it will be there when I visit

it at some future opportunity."

"Yes, and you would find it even if a crowd of railway lines did not run

to it. You hear the roar of the 'thunder water' forty miles away, and

when you come closer you see dense clouds of foam and spray rising from

the ravine 150 feet below the threshold of the Fall. Yes, Niagara is the

most wonderful thing I have seen. In all the world it is surpassed only

by the Victoria Falls of the Zambesi, discovered by Livingstone. One

feels small and overawed when one ventures on the bridges above and

below the Fall, and sees its 280,000 cubic feet of water gliding one

moment smooth as oil over the barrier, and the next dashing into foam

and spray below with a thundering noise."

"It would not be pleasant to be sucked over the edge."

"And yet a reckless fellow once made the journey. For safety he crept

into a large, stout barrel, well padded inside with cushions. Packed in

this way, he let the barrel drift with the stream, tip over the edge of

the barrier, and fall perpendicularly into the pool below. As long as he

floated in the quiet drift, and even when he fell with the column of

water, he ran no danger. It was when he plumped down on to the water

below and span round in the whirlpools, bumped against rocks rising up

from the bottom, and was carried at a furious pace down under the watery

vault. But the traveller got through and was picked up in quiet water."

"I suppose that there are bridges over the Niagara River as over all the

others in the country?"

"Certainly. Among them is an arched bridge of steel below the Falls

which has a single span of 270 yards, and is the most rigid bridge in

the world."

"Tell me, where does all this water go to below Niagara?"

"Well, it flows out into Lake Ontario, opposite Toronto, the largest

town in Canada. Then it runs out of the lake's north-eastern corner,

forming winding channels among a number of islands, which are called The

Thousand Islands. Then the river, which is called the St. Lawrence, is

sometimes narrow and rapid and sometimes expands into lake-like reaches.

At the large town of Montreal begins the quiet course, and below Quebec

the St. Lawrence opens out like a huntsman's horn. The river is frozen

over every year, and in some places the ice is so thick that rails can

be laid on it and heavy goods trains run over it. In spring, when the

ice begins to break up, the neighbourhood of the river is dangerous, and

sometimes mountains of ice thrust themselves over the lower parts of

Montreal. It can be cold in Montreal--down to-30°. It is still worse in

northern Canada. And the summer is short in this country."

"You have just mentioned Toronto, Montreal, and Quebec. Which is the

capital?"

"Oh, none of these is the capital of the Colony. That honour belongs to

the small town of Ottawa. And now I will tell you something

extraordinary. The Dominion of Canada is situated between two

goldfields. In the extreme east is Newfoundland, in the extreme west

Klondike. I shall never forget the gold fever which seized adventurers

in nearly all countries when it was known that the precious metal

occurred in large quantities in the gravel and sand-beds on the banks of

the Yukon River. I was one of them myself. Men rushed wildly off to get

there in time and stake out small claims in the auriferous soil. What a

wild life! How we suffered! We had to pay a shilling for a biscuit and a

dollar for a box of sardines. We were glad when a hunter shot elk and

reindeer, and sold the meat for an exorbitant price in gold dust. We

lived huddled up in wretched tents and were perished with cold. Furious

snowstorms swept during winter over the dreary country and the

temperature fell to-67°. And what a toil to get hold of the miserable

gold! The ground is always frozen up there. To work in it you must first

thaw the soil with fire. By degrees the situation improved and a small

town grew up on the goldfield, and in a few years the gold won attained

to the value of five millions sterling."

"And the other gold mine, then?"

"Newfoundland. A cold polar current brings yearly quantities of seal,

cod, salmon, herring, and lobster down to the banks of Newfoundland,

where more than fifty thousand fishermen are engaged in catching them.

As the fish brings in yearly a revenue of several millions, this

easternmost island of North America may well be called a gold mine too."

THROUGH THE GREAT WEST

After a few profitable voyages on Lakes Michigan and Huron, Gunnar has

saved so much that he can carry out his plan of travelling to the

extreme West. He intends to let his dollars fly in railway fares, and,

after he has seen enough of the great cities of America, to settle down

in the most attractive district. There he will stay and work until he

has saved up enough to buy a farm of his own in his native country.

He sets off from Chicago and leaves St. Louis behind him, and is carried

by a train on the Pacific Railway through Missouri and Kansas westwards.

In the latter State he flies over boundless prairies.

Eventually a German naturalist enters Gunnar's carriage when the train

stops at a large station. He is dusty and out of breath, and is glad to

rest when he has seen his boxes and chests stowed away in the luggage

van. Like all Germans he is alert and observant, agreeable and

talkative, and the train has not crossed the boundary between Kansas and

Colorado before he has learned all about Gunnar's experiences and

plans.

Soon the German on his part explains the business which has brought him

out to the Far West.

"I have received a grant from the University of Heidelberg to collect

plants and animals in the western States, and I travel as cheaply as I

can so that the money may last longer. I love this great America. Have

you noticed how colossal everything is in this country, whether the good

God or wicked man be the master-builder? If you cross a mountain range

like the Rocky Mountains, or its South American continuation, the Andes,

it is the longest in the world. If you roll over a river, as the

Mississippi-Missouri, you hear that this also is the longest that

exists. If you travel by steamboat over the Canadian lakes, you are told

that no sheets of fresh water in the world surpass them. And think of

all these innumerable large towns that have sprung up within a century

or two. And these railways, these astonishing bridges, these

inexhaustible natural resources, and this world-embracing commerce. How

alert and industrious is this people, how quickly everything develops,

how much more bustle and feverish haste there is than in the Old World!"

"It is charming to see the Rocky Mountains become more and more

distinct, and the different chains and ridges stand out more sharply as

we approach."

"Yes, indeed. You notice by the speed of the train that we are already

mounting upwards. You see the prairies pass into the foot of the hills.

We shall soon come into the zone of dwarf oaks and mahogany trees.

Higher up are slopes covered with fine pine woods, and willows and

alders grow along the banks of the streams."

"You speak of trees. Is it true, as a skipper on Lake Michigan told me,

that there are trees here in the west which are over three hundred feet

high?"

"Quite true. Your informant meant, of course, the two species of the

coniferous family which are called mammoth trees, because they are the

giants of the vegetable kingdom, as the mammoths were of the animal

kingdom. They grow on the western flanks of the Sierra Nevada in

California. When one sees these heaven-aspiring trees one is tempted to

believe that their only aim in life is to rise so high that they may

look over the crest of the coast range and have a free view of the

Pacific Ocean. One of these giants which fell long ago had a height of

435 feet and a girth of 110 feet at the base. It was called the 'Father

of the Forest.' The trunk is hollow. There is also another fallen

mammoth called the 'Riding School,' because a man on horseback can ride

some way into the inside. These trees are supposed to be several

thousand years old. The place in the Sierra Nevada where the last giants

stand on their ancient roots is protected and is the property of the

whole people. If the law did not protect the trees, they would go the

same way as the bisons and Indians."

"Is there not also a reserved area in the Rocky Mountains?"

"Yes; the Yellowstone National Park in the state of Wyoming. It is a

wonderful place, and whole books have been written about it. There are

as many as four thousand hot springs and a hundred geysers in the lower

part of the valley between the crests of the Rocky Mountains. The Giant

Geyser shoots up to a height of 250 feet, and 'Old Faithful' spouts up

once an hour. The Park contains many other natural wonders, and there

are preserved herds of wild animals, such as elks, antelopes, and stags.

Even beavers have found a refuge in its streams."

"Are there dangerous beasts of prey in these mountains?" asks Gunnar

while the train puffs and rolls heavily up a dark valley.

"Yes; the grizzly bear is the largest of them. He is not so particularly

dangerous, and at any rate is better than his reputation. If he is only

left in peace he will not come near a man, and if he is attacked he

almost always takes to flight. But if he is wounded at close quarters he

may take a terrible revenge, and he is the strongest of all the animals

in his native haunts. It was formerly considered a great honour to wear

a necklace of a grizzly bear's teeth and claws.

"It is a fine sight to see a grizzly bear roaming through the woods and

thickets, where he considers himself absolute master of all the animals

of the region. He is sometimes brownish, sometimes grey, and a grey bear

is supposed to be more dangerous than a brown. He lives like all other

bears, hibernates, eats berries, fruit, nuts, and roots, but he also

kills animals and is said to be very expert in fishing. I will tell you

a little hunting story.

"A white hunter was once eager for an opportunity of killing a grizzly

bear, and a young Indian undertook to lead him to a spot where he would

not have to wait long. The two marksmen hid behind a small knoll, after

having laid out a newly-killed deer as bait. The Indian, who knew the

habits of bears, was not mistaken. Soon a huge bear came waddling out

of the wood with such a ridiculous gait that the white hunter could

hardly control his laughter, though the Indian remained silent and

serious. The old fellow stopped frequently, lifted his nose in the air,

and looked about to convince himself that no danger lurked around. Once

he began to scratch in the ground, and then smelled his forepaws and lay

down on his back and rolled. He wanted probably to rub his coat in some

strongly smelling plant.

"Then he went on again. After a time he sat and clawed his fur, looked

at his paws, and licked his pads. Then he scratched himself behind the

ears with his hind paws. And when his toilet was finished he trotted

straight towards the place where the deer lay. When he saw the animal he

was surprised, reared up on his hind legs to his full height, cocked his

ears, wrinkled his forehead, and seemed perplexed. When he was sure that

the stag was dead he went up to it and smelt it. Then he went round and

nosed about on the other side to see if the animal were dead on that

side also.

"His meditations were here interrupted, for the white hunter fired and

the bear fell, but raised himself again on his hind legs. The hunter

followed his example, but the Indian, who saw that the bear was in an

angry and revengeful mood, advised him to hide himself again quickly.

Too late! The furious bear had seen his enemy, and rushed in a rolling

gallop towards his hiding-place. The hunter found it best to run, and in

a minute was with the Indian perched on the bough of an oak. Here they

loaded their guns again, while the bear, limping on three legs, made for

the tree. Hit by two bullets he fell down, tore up the earth and grass

with his claws, and at last became still."

"It is a shame," said Gunnar, "to kill these kings of the Rocky

Mountains for amusement or to gain a name as a hunter. Probably they are

fated to pass away like the bisons and Indians."

"Oh no, not yet. They will long survive in inaccessible regions of the

mountains and in the uninhabited parts of Canada. But certainly it is a

shame to destroy them unnecessarily, particularly when we hear of such a

deed of chivalry as the following.

"A traveller took a young grizzly bear with him to Europe, and on board

he was a general favourite. He drank and ate and played with the

sailors, and, curiously enough, conceived a great friendship for a small

antelope which travelled with him. When the vessel came into port and

the antelope was being led along a street, a large bulldog fell on the

defenceless animal. The bear, which was led behind the antelope by a

chain, perceived his friend's danger, tore himself away from his keeper

with a single jerk, threw himself on the bulldog, and mauled him so

badly that he ran away howling with pain."

* * * * *

"You may well declare," says Gunnar, "that everything in America is on a

large scale, but all the same lions and tigers are not found here."

"No, but there are jaguars and pumas instead. Both are more common in

South than in North America, where the jaguar only comes as far north as

the south-western States and Mexico. They are found in the outskirts of

forests and in the tall grass of the pampas, where wild horsemen track

them down, catch them in lassoes, and drag them after their horses till

they are strangled. The jaguar also frequents thickets on the

river-banks and marshes. He keeps to the ground, whereas the bold and

agile puma even pursues monkeys in the trees. With shrill screams and

cries of warning the monkeys fly from tree to tree, but the puma is

after them, crawls out along a swaying branch and jumps over to another

on the next tree. Both are bloodthirsty robbers, but the jaguar is the

larger, stronger, and more savage. He can never be properly tamed, and

never loses his innate treacherousness, but the puma becomes as tame as

a dog.

"The puma never attacks a man, but you must be on your guard against a

jaguar. Both are enemies of flocks and herds, but while the puma never

worries tame animals larger than sheep, the jaguar will often attack

horses, mules, and young cattle. The jaguar hunts only at daybreak and

twilight, or when the moon shines brightly; the puma only in the evening

and at night. The puma is dark reddish-yellow, the jaguar orange with

black spots and rings on his fur, a marking which reminds one of the

colour of certain poisonous snakes. The puma's cubs are charming little

creatures, like kittens, but larger. Their eyes do not open until they

are ten days old; then they begin to crawl about very awkwardly,

tumbling down at every other step, and climb up on their mother's back.

They soon become sure on their feet and, like kittens, play with their

mother's tail.

"The jaguar is a keen and patient hunter. He crawls along on his belly

like a cat, and from the recesses of the thicket watches his victim

without moving an eye. He creeps nearer with wonderful agility and

noiselessness, and when he is sure of success he makes his spring, tears

open the throat of the antelope, sheep, or waterhog, and drags his booty

into the thicket. Small animals he swallows hair and all. Of a horse he

eats as much as he can, and then goes off to sleep in some concealed

spot. When he awakes he goes back to his meal.

"On one road in South America twenty Indians were killed by jaguars

within a lifetime. If a man has presence of mind enough to shout and

make a noise and go towards the brute, the latter withdraws. Otherwise

he is lost, for even if he escapes with his life, the wounds inflicted

by the jaguar's blunt claws and teeth are terrible and dangerous. There

are Indians in South America who are said to hunt the jaguar in the

following manner. They wrap a sheepskin round the left arm and in the

right hand hold a sharp two-edged knife. Then they beat up the jaguar

and set dogs at him. He gets up on his hind legs like a bear, and

attacks one of the Indians. The man puts out his left arm for him to

bite, and at the same time runs his knife into the beast's heart.

"A traveller relates a very good jaguar tale. Some sailors from Europe

had landed on the bank of a river in South America. Suddenly they saw a

jaguar swimming over from the farther bank. They hurriedly seized their

guns, manned their boat, and rowed out to meet the animal. A shot was

fired and the jaguar was wounded, but instead of making off, he came

straight for the boat. The sailors belaboured him with the oars, but he

paid no attention and managed to drag himself on to the boat, when the

crew all jumped out and swam to the bank. The jaguar remained, and

drifted comfortably down the river. A little farther down came a boat of

other sailors, and this time it was the jaguar who jumped out and

disappeared among the thickets on the bank. It was a great feat to make

his escape after tackling two boats' crews."

* * * * *

The train continues on its noisy course through the mountains. Dark,

wild glens open on either side. The monotonous rumble of the wheels on

the rails has a soothing effect, and the German, following the example

of many other travellers, goes to sleep in his corner.

But when the tireless locomotive draws its row of heavy carriages out on

to a giddy bridge and the waves of sound sing in brighter tones than in

the enclosed valleys, the compartment wakes to life again. People look

out of the windows and gaze at the yawning depth beneath them. The

train seems to be rolling out into space on the way to heaven.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXIV. CAÑONS ON THE COLORADO RIVER.]

The German lights a cigar and begins another lecture to his

fellow-traveller.

"Here we are passing over one of the source streams of the Colorado

River. You seem disinclined to admit that everything is grand in

America, but I maintain that nothing in the world can compare with the

great cañon of the Colorado. You may believe me or not. You may talk of

fire-vomiting mountains and coral reefs, of the peak of Mount Everest

and the great abysses of the ocean, of our light blue Alps in Europe and

of the dark forests of Africa, nay, you may take me where you will in

the world, but I shall still maintain that there is no stupendous

overpowering beauty comparable to the cañons of the Colorado River

(Plate XXXIV.).

"Listen! This river which discharges its waters into the Gulf of

California is fed by numerous streams in the rainy, elevated regions of

the Rocky Mountains. But where the united river leaves Utah and passes

into Arizona, it traverses a dry plateau country with little rain, where

its waters have cut their way down through mountain limestone to a depth

of 6000 feet. The strata are horizontal, and the whole series has been

cleared away by the continued erosive power of water, aided by gravel

and boulders. This work has been going on from the commencement of the

period in the world's history known as the Pliocene Age, and it is

reckoned that the interval which must have elapsed since then must have

amounted to millions of years. And yet this space of time, from the

Pliocene Age to our own, must, geologically speaking, be extremely

insignificant compared to the length of the great geological periods.

The six thousand years which we call the historical period is but the

beat of a second on the clock of eternity, and what the historian calls

primeval times is the latest and most recent period in the last of all

the geologist's ages. For while the historian deals with revolutions of

the sun of only 365 days, the geologist is only satisfied with thousands

and millions of years. The Colorado River has presented him with one of

the standards by which he is able to calculate lapse of time. You will

acknowledge that it is no small feat for running water to cut its way

down through solid rock to a depth of 6500 feet; and these cañons are

more than 180 miles long and four to eleven miles broad.

"By its work here the river has sculptured in the face of the earth a

landscape which awes and astonishes the spectator. It is like nothing

he has ever seen before. When he stood at the foot of the Alps he gazed

up at the snow-clad wastes of the mighty mountain masses. When he stands

at the edge of the cañons of the Colorado he looks down and sees a

yawning chasm, and on the other side of the giddy ravine the walls rise

perpendicular or sloping. He seems to stand before the artistically

decorated facade of a gigantic house or palace in an immense town. He

sees in the walls of the valley, niches and excavations like a Roman

theatre, with benches rising in tiers. At their sides stand gables and

projections of rock, like turrets and buttresses. Under huge cornices

rise columns standing out or attached at the back, all planned on the

same gigantic scale. The precipitous cliffs are dark, and the whole

country is coloured in pink, yellow, red, and warm brown tones. The sun

pours its gold over the majestic desolation. No grassy sward, no

vegetation carpets the horizontal or vertical surfaces with green. Here

and there a pine leans its crown over the chasm, and when the cones fall

they go right down to the bottom.

"In the early morning, when the air is still pure and clear after the

coolness of the night, and when the sun is low, the cañon lies in deep

gloom, and behind the brightly lighted tops of the columns the shadows

lie as black as soot. Then the bold sculpturing stands out in all its

glory. On a quiet night, when the moon holds its crescent above the

earth, an oppressive silence prevails over this region. The roar of the

river is not heard, for the distance is too great. A feeling of romance

takes hold of the visitor. He fancies himself in a fairy world. Only a

step over the edge and he would soar on invisible wings to a bright

wonderland."

At Salt Lake City the German leaves the train to begin his

investigations round the Great Salt Lake and the Mormon capital. Gunnar

travels on through the mountainous districts of Nevada and California,

and when the train at last pulls up at San Francisco he has reached the

goal of his hopes.

Here is one of the finest cities in the world, situated on a peninsula

in a deep and spacious inlet surrounded by mountains. Almost all traces

of the terrible earthquake which a few years ago destroyed the city have

disappeared, and splendid new buildings of iron and stone have sprung up

from the rubbish heaps, for as a commercial emporium San Francisco has

the same importance with relation to the great routes across the Pacific

as New York has on the Atlantic side.

IV

SOUTH AMERICA

THE INCA EMPIRE

A terrestrial globe naturally presents a better image of the earth than

any map, for it shows plainly the continents and the configuration of

the oceans, and exhibits clearly their position and relative size. If

you examine such a globe, you notice that the North Pole lies in the

midst of a sea, surrounded by great masses of land, whereas the South

Pole is in an extensive land surrounded by a wide sea. Perhaps you

wonder why all the continents send out peninsulas southwards? Just look

at the Scandinavian Peninsula, and look at Spain, Italy, and Greece. Do

not Kamtchatka and Korea, Arabia and the Indian Peninsula all point

south? South America, Africa, and Australia are drawn out into wedges

narrowing southwards. They are like stalactites in a grotto. But however

much you may puzzle over the globe, and however much you may question

learned men, you will never know why the earth's surface has assumed

exactly the form it has and no other.

On another occasion you may remark that Europe, Asia, Africa, and

Australia lie in an almost continuous curve in the eastern hemisphere,

while America has the western hemisphere all to itself. There it lies as

a huge dividing wall between two oceans. You wonder why the New World

has such a peculiar form stretching from pole to pole.

Perhaps you think that the Creator must have changed His mind at the

last moment, and decided to make two distinct continents of America. You

seem to see the marks of His omnipotent hands. With the left He held

North America, and in the right South America. Where Hudson Bay runs

into the land lay His forefinger, and the Gulf of Mexico is the

impression of His thumb. South America He gripped with the whole hand,

and there is only a slight mark of the thumb just on the boundary

between Peru and Chile. It almost looks as if He grasped the continent

so tightly that its western border was crumpled into great wrinkles and

folds which we men call the Rocky Mountains and the Andes. If we did not

know that it is the ocean winds that feed the rivers with rain, we

should be tempted to believe that the Mississippi, Amazons, Rio de la

Plata, and other rivers were moisture still running out of the mountains

under the pressure of the Creator's hands.

And so He has divided America into two. In one place the connection

broke, but the fragments still remain, and we call them the West Indies

or Antilles. In other places the material was too tough. Mexico thins

out southwards as though it were going to end in the sea, and Central

America is stretched like a wrung-out cloth. Between Guatemala and

Honduras it is almost torn through, and the large lake of Nicaragua is

another weak point. But where Costa Rica passes into the Isthmus of

Panama the connection between the two halves of the New World has been

almost broken and hangs only by a hair. The peninsula, however, resisted

the pull, and has held, though reduced to a breadth of forty miles.

Then, of course, man must come and help the Creator to finish the work

which He Himself found very good. It was long before men ventured on so

gigantic an undertaking, but as they had succeeded in separating Africa

from Asia, it was no doubt feasible to blast a canal through the hills

of the Isthmus of Panama, 300 feet high. It has cost many years and many

millions, but the great cutting will soon be ready which will sever

South America from the northern half of the New World. It is surely a

splendid undertaking to make it possible for a vessel to sail from

Liverpool direct to San Francisco without rounding the whole of South

America, and at a single blow to shorten the distance by near 6000

miles.

The bridge still stands unbroken, however, and we come dryshod over to

South America just where the Andes begin their mighty march along all

the west coast. Their ranges rise, here in double and there in many

folds, like ramparts against the Pacific Ocean, and between the ranges

lie plains at a height of 12,000 feet. Here also lift themselves on high

the loftiest summits of the New World--Aconcagua in Argentina, the

highest of all, an extinct volcano covered with eternal snow and

glistening glaciers; Sorata in Bolivia; the extinct volcano Chimborazo

in Ecuador, like a marble dome; and lastly, one of the earth's most

noted mountains, Cotopaxi, the highest of all still active volcanoes

(Plate XXXV.). Stand for a moment in the valley above the tree limit,

where only scattered plants can find hold in the hard ground. You see a

cone as regular as the peak of Fujiyama. The crater is 2500 feet in

diameter, and from its edge, 19,600 feet high, the snow-cap falls down

the mountain sides like the rays of a gigantic starfish. When the

Spanish conquerors, nearly four hundred years ago, took possession of

these formerly free countries, Cotopaxi had one of its fearful

eruptions; and even in more recent times European travellers have seen

the mantle of snow melt away as from a lighted furnace, while a

brownish-red reflection from the glowing crater lighted up the

devastation caused in the villages and valleys at the foot of the

mountain by the flood of melted snow and streams of lava.

[Illustration: SOUTH AMERICA.]

Even under the burning sun of the equator, then, these giants stand with

mantles of eternal snow and glittering blue fields of ice in the

bitterly cold atmosphere. Up there you would think that you were near

the pole. There are no trees on the high crests, which seem to rise up

from the depths of the Pacific Ocean; but the climate is good, and

agriculture yields sustenance to men. On the eastern flanks, which are

watered by abundant rains, the vegetation is exceedingly luxuriant, and

here the traveller enters the primeval forests of the tropics. Here is

the home of the cinchona tree, here orchids bloom among the tall trunks,

and here whole woods are entangled in a network of lianas. Immense areas

of Brazil and Bolivia are covered with impenetrable primeval forests,

which even still present an obstacle to the advance of the explorer.

Thus we find in the Andes all zones from the hot to the cold, from

tropical forests to barren heights, from the equator to high southern

latitudes.

Among these mountains dwelled in former times a remarkable and

law-abiding people, who under judicious and cautious kings attained a

high standard of power and development. To the leading tribe several

adjacent peoples allied themselves, and in time the mightiest and most

highly-cultured kingdom of South America flourished among them.

According to tradition, the ruling royal family took its rise where the

icefields of some of the loftiest summits of the Andes are reflected in

the mirror of Lake Titicaca. The king was called Inca, and when we speak

of the Inca Kingdom we mean old Peru, whose people were crushed and

annihilated by the Spaniards.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXV. COTOPAXI.]

The Inca Empire extended from Colombia and Ecuador in the north far down

to the present Chile. The Inca's power was unlimited, and after death he

was honoured with divine rites. He was surrounded with wealth and

grandeur. A red headband with white and black feathers was the sign of

his royal dignity. By his side stood the High Priest, who had to inquire

into and proclaim the will of the gods.

In Cuzco, the holy city of the Indians, north-west of the Titicaca lake,

the Inca people had erected a splendid temple to the sun and moon. The

halls of the sun temple were overlaid with plates of the ruddiest gold,

and the friezes and doors were of the same precious metal. In the

principal hall was worshipped an image of the sun with a human face in

the centre, surrounded by rays of precious stones. In another hall the

image of the moon goddess glittered in silver.

The sun and moon were, then, the objects of the deepest reverence. But

the Inca people also prayed to the rainbow and to the god of thunder,

and believed that certain inferior deities protected their herds,

dwellings, fields, and canals. They wore on the neck amulets which

shielded them from danger and sudden death, and were eventually buried

with them.

The dead were sewed up in hides or matting and interred under the

dwelling-house, or, in the case of important men, in special funereal

towers. On the coast the body was placed among boulders, in sand-banks,

or in large vessels of earthenware. With a dead man were laid his

weapons and implements, with women their utensils and handiwork, with

children their playthings. To the dead, flowers and fruit were offered,

and llamas were sacrificed. Dead Incas were deposited in the temple of

the sun, and their wives in the hall of the moon.

The Festival of the Sun was held at the winter solstice, and on this

occasion the Inca himself officiated as High Priest in his capacity as

the "son of the sun." Then was lighted a fire on the altar of the sun,

which was kept in all the year by the virgins of the sun. These had a

convent near the temple, the royal palace and the house of nobles. It

was also their duty to make costly robes for the priests and princes, to

brew maize beer for the festivals of the gods, and after victories or a

change of Incas to offer themselves to the gods.

The earlier history of the Inca people is lost in tradition and the mist

of legends. We know more of their administration and social condition,

for the Spanish conquerors saw all with their own eyes. The constitution

was communistic. All the land, fields, and pastures was divided into

three parts, of which two belonged to the Inca and the priesthood, and

the third to the people. The cultivation of the land was supervised by a

commissioner of the government, who had to see that the produce was

equitably distributed, and that the ground was properly manured with

guano from the islands on the west coast. Clothes and domestic animals

were also distributed by the State to the people. All labour was

executed in common for the good of the State; roads and bridges were

made, mines worked, weapons forged, and all the men capable of bearing

arms had to join the ranks when the kingdom was threatened by hostile

tribes. The harvest was stored in government warehouses in the various

provinces. An extremely accurate account was kept of all goods belonging

to the State, such as provisions, clothes, and weapons. A register was

kept of births and deaths. No one might change his place of abode

without permission, and no one might engage in any other occupation than

that of his father. Military order was maintained everywhere, and

therefore the Inca people were able to subdue their neighbours.

Everything was noted down, and yet this remarkable people had no written

characters, but used cords instead, with knots and loops of various

colours having different meanings. If the Inca wished to send an order

to a distant province, he despatched a running messenger with a bundle

of knotted strings. The recipient had only to look at the strings to

find out the business on hand.

To facilitate the movement of troops, the Incas constructed two

excellent roads which met at Cuzco--one in the mountainous country, the

other along the coast. Europeans have justly admired these grand

constructions. The military roads were paved with stone, and had walls

and avenues of trees. At certain intervals were inns where the

swift-footed couriers could pass the night. The principal highway ran

from Cuzco to Quito. When the Inca himself was on a journey, he sat on a

golden throne carried on a litter by the great nobles of the empire.

European explorers still discover grand relics of the Inca period. The

people did not know the arch, and did not use bricks and mortar, yet

their temples and fortresses, their gates, towers, and walls are real

gems of architecture. The joins between the blocks are often scarcely

visible, and some portals are hewn out of a single block with artistic

and original chiselled figures and images of the sun god on the façades.

Their skill in pottery was of equal excellence, and as workers in metal

there was none to match them in the South American continent. They made

clubs and axes of bronze, and vessels and ornaments of gold and silver.

In their graves modern explorers have found many striking proofs of

their proficiency in the art of weaving. They used the wool of llamas,

alpacas, vicuñas, and guanacos. These species of animal, allied to the

camel, still render great services to the Indians. The llama is

distributed over the greater part of the Andes, and the male only is

used as a transport animal. The llama is shy, stupid, and quiet, and his

head is somewhat like a sheep's. The alpaca does not carry loads, but is

kept as a domestic animal for the sake of its meat and wool. The vicuña

and guanaco also do not work in the service of man. The latter is found

chiefly on the steppes of Patagonia, where he meets the fate of the

South American ostrich and falls to the arrows of the Indians.

The Inca people wove clothes of the wool of these animals as well as of

cotton. The chief garment of the men was a short shirt without sleeves,

of the women a longer shirt with a belt round the waist. The men wore

short hair with a black bandage round the head; and outside the bandage

they wound a noose or lasso. The women wore their hair long. Sandals

covered the feet, and in the ear-lobes were inserted round pegs. The

people reared and grazed cattle, as we have seen, and were hunters and

fishermen. They grew potatoes and many other root crops, bananas,

tobacco, and cotton, and sowed extensive fields of maize. They had all

the characteristics of the American race--a short skull, sharply cut

features, and a powerfully built body.

* * * * *

For centuries the Inca people had lived in undisturbed repose in their

beautiful valleys and on their sunlit tablelands between the mountain

ranges--or _cordilleras_, as they are called--which compose the Andes.

If their peace was occasionally disturbed by neighbouring tribes,

messages in knotted signs flew through the country, and the roads were

full of armed men; but the Inca kings dreamed of no serious danger. For

several hundred years their power had passed from father to son, and no

neighbour was strong enough to wrest the sceptre from the Inca king's

hand. Not a whisper of such names as Chimborazo and Cotopaxi had

reached Europe.

A great Inca had recently died and bequeathed his power to his two sons,

Huascar and Atahualpa. Just as always in the Old World, such a partition

produced friction and disputes, and at length civil war broke out. After

four hundred years, we read with sorrow the account of the suicidal

strife which harried old Peru, divided the Inca people into two hostile

factions, and thus made them an easy prey to the conquerors.

Scarcely had the clash of arms died out after the brave and chivalrous

Cortez had burned his ships on the coast of Mexico, subdued the kingdom

of Montezuma, and placed it under the crown of Castille, before another

Spanish conqueror, the rough, cruel, and treacherous Pizarro, cast his

eyes southwards, covetous of new gold countries. With a handful of

adventurers, he made his way down to Peru, but soon perceived that he

could not succeed without help from the home country. The Emperor

Charles V. listened to his tale of gold and green forests, and in the

year 1531 Pizarro set out again, this time with a company of 180

well-armed cavaliers. By degrees he gathered fresh reinforcements,

landed on the coast of Peru, and marched into the Inca kingdom.

Pizarro was clever and courageous, but, unlike Cortez, he was a base man

and a scoundrel. He had no education or proper feeling, and could not

even write his name, but he was cunning and knew how to take advantage

of favourable circumstances. By means of scouts and ambassadors he soon

made himself fully acquainted with the situation. He lulled the fears of

Atahualpa by offers of peace, with the result that the Inca king

requested his assistance to crush his brother Huascar. If the brothers

had held together, they could have driven the Spanish pestilence out of

the country. Now the fate of both was sealed.

It was agreed that Atahualpa should come in person to Pizarro's camp,

and he arrived in pomp and state, escorted by an army of 30,000 men. He

naturally wished to impress his ally with his power. He sat raised on a

litter of gold, and was surrounded by all his generals.

Then Pizarro's military chaplain stepped forth, a Catholic priest. In

one hand he held a crucifix, in the other a breviary. Raising his

crucifix, he exhorted the Inca king in the name of Jesus to accept

Christianity and to acknowledge the King of Castille as his master.

Atahualpa retained his composure, and simply answered that no one could

deprive him of the rights inherited from his fathers. He would not

forswear his fathers' faith and did not understand what the priest said.

"It is written here in this book," cried the priest, and handed the

breviary to the king. Atahualpa held the book to his ear, listened, and

said as he threw the breviary on the ground, "Your book does not speak."

Without warning, a massacre was commenced. The cannon and muskets of the

Spaniards ploughed red furrows in the ranks of the Peruvians. Protected

by their helmets and harness of steel, and with halberts and lances

lowered, the cavaliers swept irresistibly through the ranks of

half-naked natives and spread terror and confusion around them. All that

could be reached with sword, spear, or bullet were mercilessly

slaughtered. Four thousand dead bodies lay scattered over the ground,

among thousands wounded and bleeding. The rest of the army was

completely scattered and took to flight. The Inca king himself had been

early taken captive to be kept as a hostage. Enormous plunder fell into

the hands of the victors. The report of a land of gold in the south had

not been an empty tale; here was gold in heaps. The loot was generously

divided between the officers and men, and, with the crucifix raised to

heaven, the priest read mass while the other villains thanked God for

victory.

The captive Inca king begged and prayed to be set at liberty. But

Pizarro promised to release him only after he had bound himself to fill

a moderate-sized room with gold from the floor up to as high as he could

reach with his hand. Then messages in knotted cords were carried through

all the country which remained faithful to Atahualpa, and vessels,

bowls, ornaments, and ingots of gold poured in from temples and palaces.

In a short time the room was filled and the ransom paid, but the Inca

king was still kept a prisoner. He reminded Pizarro of his promised

word. The unscrupulous adventurer laughed in his black beard. Instead of

keeping his promise, he accused Atahualpa of conspiracy, condemned him

to death, and the innocent and pious Indian king was strangled in

prison. By this abominable deed the whole Spanish conquest was covered

with shame and disgrace.

One of Pizarro's comrades in arms, Almagro, now arrived with

reinforcements, and with an army of 500 men Pizarro marched on through

the high lands to the capital, Cuzco, which he captured. Then he fell

out with Almagro, and the latter determined to seek out other gold

countries in the south on his own account. With a small party he marched

up into the mountains of Bolivia, and then followed the coast southwards

to the neighbourhood of Aconcagua. He certainly found no gold, but he

achieved a great exploit, for he led his troop through the dreaded

Atacama desert.

Meanwhile Pizarro ruled in the conquered kingdom. Close to the coast he

founded Lima, which was afterwards for a long period the residence of

the Spanish viceroy, and is now, with nearly 150,000 inhabitants, still

the capital of Peru. It has a large number of monasteries and churches,

and a stately cathedral. The port town, Callao, was almost totally

destroyed a hundred and sixty-six years ago by a tidal wave, which

drowned the inhabitants and swept away the houses; but it gradually

regained its prosperity, and now has 50,000 inhabitants.

At length, however, Pizarro roused a formidable insurrection by his

cruelty, and while he was besieged in Lima his three brothers were shut

up in Cuzco. Just then Almagro returned from the Atacama desert,

defeated the Peruvians, seized Cuzco, and made the three Pizarro

brothers prisoners. But the fourth brother, the conqueror, succeeded in

effecting their liberation and in capturing Almagro, who was at once

sent to the gallows. A few years later, however, Almagro's friends

wreaked vengeance on Pizarro; a score of conspirators rushed into the

governor's palace and made their way with drawn swords into the room

where Pizarro was surrounded by some friends and servants. Most of these

jumped through the window; the rest were cut down. Pizarro defended

himself bravely, but after killing four of his assailants he fell to the

ground, and with a loud voice asked to be allowed to make his

confession. While he was making the sign of the cross on the ground, a

sword was thrust into his throat.

The murdered Inca king is an emblem of bleeding South America. All was

done, it was pretended, in order to spread enlightenment and

Christianity, but in reality the children of the country were lured to

destruction, deluded to fill Spanish coffers with gold, and then in

requital were persecuted to death. Civilisation had no part in the

matter; it was only a question of robbery and greed of gain, and when

these desires were satisfied, the descendants of the Incas might be

swept off the earth.

THE AMAZONS RIVER

In Peru the largest river of the world takes its source, and streams

northwards among the verdant _cordilleras_ of the Andes. Wheat waves on

its banks, and here and there stands a funereal tower or a ruin from

Inca times. Small rafts take the place of bridges, and at high water the

river rushes foaming furiously through the valley.

And then it suddenly turns eastwards and cuts its way with unbridled

fury through the eastern ridges of the Andes. The water forces itself

through ravines barely 50 yards wide and dashes with a deafening roar

over falls and rapids. Sometimes the river rests from its labours,

expanding to a width of two or three furlongs. Crystal affluents hurry

down from the snow-fields of the Andes to join it. It takes its tribute

of water from mountain and forest, and is indeed a majestic stream when

it leaves the last hills behind.

The source of the Amazons was discovered in 1535 by Marañon, a Spanish

soldier. Vicente Pinzon had discovered its mouth in the year 1500. But

Marañon, on the one hand, had no notion where the river emerged into the

sea, and Pinzon, on the other, knew not where the headwaters purled

through the valley. It was reserved for another Spaniard to solve the

problem. Let us follow Orellana on his adventurous journey.

Gonzalo Pizarro served under his brother, the conqueror, in northern

Peru. There he heard of rich gold countries in the east, and decided to

seek them. With an army of 350 Spanish cavalry and infantry, as well as

4000 Indians, he set out from Quito and marched over the Andes past the

foot of Cotopaxi to the lowlands of the Napo River.

It was a reckless enterprise. The Indians were frozen to death in crowds

on the great heights. Instead of gold, nothing was found but wearisome

savannahs and swamps, and dismal forests soaked with two months' rain.

Instead of useful domestic animals, no creature was seen but the

thick-skinned tapir, which, with a long beak-like nose, crops plants and

leaves and frequents swampy tracts in the heart of the primeval forest.

The few natives were hostile.

When the troop reached the Napo River on New Year's Day, 1540, Pizarro

decided to send the bold seaman Orellana on in front down the river to

look for people and provisions, for famine with all its tortures

threatened them.

A camp was set up and a wharf constructed. A small brigantine for sails

and oars was hastily put together, and Orellana stepped on board with a

crew of fifty men, and the boat was borne down the strong current.

Dark and silent woods stood on both sides. No villages, no human beings

were seen. Tall trees stood on the bank like triumphal arches, and from

their boughs hung lianas serving as rope ladders and swings for sportive

monkeys with prehensile tails. Day after day the vessel glided farther

into this humid land never before seen by white men. The Spaniards

looked in vain for natives, and their eyes tried in vain to pierce the

green murkiness between the tree trunks. The men showed increasing

uneasiness; but Orellana sat quietly at the helm, gave his orders to the

rowers, and had the sail hoisted to catch the breeze that swept over the

water.

No camping-places on points of the bank, no huts roofed with palm leaves

or grass, no smoke indicated the vicinity of Indians. In a thicket by a

brook lay a boa constrictor, a snake allied to the python of the Old

World, in easy, elegant coils, digesting a small rodent somewhat like a

hare and called an agouti. At the margin of the bank some water-hogs

wallowed in the sodden earth full of roots, and under a vault of thorny

bushes lay their worst enemy, the jaguar, in ambush, his eyes glowing

like fire.

At length the country became more open. Frightened Indians appeared on

the bank, and their huts peeped through the forest avenues. Orellana

moored his boat and landed with his men. The savages were quiet, and

received the Spaniards trustingly, so the latter stayed for a time and

collected all the provisions they could obtain. The Indians spoke of a

great water in the south which could be reached in ten days.

The fifty Spaniards were now in excellent spirits, and set to work

eagerly to construct another smaller sailing vessel. When this was done,

Orellana filled both his boats with provisions, manned the larger with

thirty and the smaller with twenty men, and continued his wonderful

journey, which was to furnish the explanation of the great river system

of tropical America. Around him stretched the greatest tropical lowland

of the world, before him ran the most voluminous river of the earth. He

saw nothing but forest and water, a bewitched country. He had no

equipment beyond that which was afforded by the Napo's banks, and his

men grumbled daily at the long, dangerous voyage.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXVI. INDIAN HUTS ON THE AMAZONS RIVER.]

After ten days the two boats came to the "great water," where the Napo

yields its tribute to the Amazons River. The latter was then rising

fast, and when it is at its height, in June and July, the water lies

forty feet above its low water-level. Farther down the difference tends

to disappear, for the northern tributaries come from the equator, where

it rains at all seasons, while the southern rise at different times

according to the widely separated regions where their sources lie. To

travel from the foot of the _cordilleras_ to the mouth the high water of

the main river takes two months.

The Spaniards felt as if they were carried over a boundless lake. Where

the banks are low the forests are flooded for miles, and the trees stand

up out of the water. Then the wild animals fly to safer districts, and

only water birds and forest birds remain, with such four-footed animals

as spend all their lives in trees. The fifty men noticed that certain

stretches on the banks were never reached by the high water, and it was

only at these places that the Indians built their huts, just as the

indiarubber gatherers do at the present day (Plate XXXIV.).

When the high water retired, large patches of the loose, sodden banks

were undermined, and fell into the river, weighed down by the huge trees

they supported. Islands of timber, roots, earth, and lianas were carried

away by the current. Some stranded on shallows in the middle of the

river, others grounded at projections of the bank, and other rubbish was

piled up against them till the whole mass broke away and danced down the

river towards the sea. Here the men had to be careful, for at any moment

the boats might capsize against a grounded tree trunk. Deep pools also

were found, and the current ran at the rate of 2-1/2 feet a second, and

they often had the help of the wind.

They soon learned to know by the changed appearance of the forest where

they could land. Where the royal crowns of foliaged trees reared their

waving canopy above the palms they could be sure of finding dry ground;

but if the palms with verdant luxuriance raised their plumes above low

brushwood, they might be sure that the bank was flooded by the river.

If the voyage on the capricious river was dangerous, the Spaniards were

still more disturbed by Indians, who came paddling up in their canoes

and showered poisoned arrows on the boats. To get through in safety, the

explorers had to avoid the banks as much as possible.

At the end of May they drifted past the mouth of the Rio Negro, which

discharges a large volume of water, for it collects streams from

Venezuela and Guiana, and from the wet _llanos_, or open plains, north

of the Amazons River. Where the great tributary is divided by islands it

attains a breadth of as much as thirty miles.

Here Orellana stayed several weeks with friendly Indians, who lived in

pretty huts under the boughs of bananas. The vessels were repaired, and

provisions taken on board--maize, chickens, turtles, and fish. There

were swarms of edible turtles, and the Indians caught them and collected

their eggs; and the fish were abundant and various--no wonder, when two

thousand species of fish live in the basin of the Amazons.

Shortly afterwards they glided past the mouth of the Madeira, a mile and

a half broad, which discharges a volume of water little inferior to that

of the main river. For the Madeira has its sources far to the south, and

descends partly from the _cordilleras_ of Peru and Bolivia, partly from

the plateau of Brazil.

Woods and no end of water, month after month! The heat is the same all

the year round--not very excessive, seldom 104°, but still oppressive

and enervating because of the humidity of the air. Yet the voyage was

not monotonous. Leaning against the masts and gunwale, or leisurely

moving the oars, the soldiers could observe the dolphins leaping in the

river, the sudden darts of the alligators as they hunted the fish

through the water, or the clumsy movements of the manati, one of the

Sirenia, as it cropped grass at the edge of the bank, to the danger of

the eel-like lung fish, which sometimes goes up on to dry land.

Sometimes they saw the Indians in light canoes pursue manatis and

alligators with harpoons for the sake of their flesh, and perhaps they

felt a shiver at the sight of the huge water-snakes of the Amazons

River.

On they went through the immense forest which extends from the foot of

the Andes and the sources of the Madeira to the mouths of the

Orinoco--through this dense, rank carpet which covers all the lowlands

of Brazil with its teeming and superabundant life, and which is so

bountifully watered by tropical rains and flooded rivers. All the rain

that falls on the _llanos_ and the _selvas_ (as the wooded plains are

called) makes its way through innumerable affluents to the Amazons and

enters the sea through its trumpet-shaped mouth. The river, with its

forests, is like a cornucopia of vast, wild, irrepressible nature, where

life breathes and pulsates, where it bubbles and ripples, seethes and

ferments in the soft productive soil, where animals swarm, and beetles

and butterflies are more numerous than anywhere else on our earth, and

are clad in the most gorgeous hues of the tropics. There old trees on

the bank are undermined and washed away, while others decay in the

sultry recesses of the forest. There the earth is constantly fertilised

by the manure of animals and their corpses and by dead vegetation, and

there new generations are continually rising up from the graves in

nature's inexhaustible kingdom.

The Spaniards had no time to make excursions into the country from their

camps. It is difficult to make one's way through this intricate, ragged

network of climbing plants between trunks, boughs, bushes, and

undergrowth. In the interior, far away from the waterways, and

especially between some of the southern tributaries, lie forests unknown

and untrodden since heathen times. Perhaps there are Indian tribes among

them who have not yet heard that America has been discovered, and who

may congratulate themselves that the forests are too much for the white

men.

There palms predominate in a peaceful Eden, and at their feet flourish

ferns with stems as hard as wood. In the bamboo clumps the jaguars play

with their cubs, and on the outskirts of the swamps the peccary, a sort

of small pig, jumps on his long, supple legs. A dark-green gloom

prevails under the tall bay-trees, and their stems stand under their

crowns like the columns of a church nave. There thrive mimosas and

various species of fig, and climbing palms are not ashamed of their

inquisitiveness.

See this tree 200 feet high, with its round, hard fruits as large as a

child's head! When they are ripe they fall, and the shell opens to let

out the triangular seeds which we call Brazil nuts.

Look at the indiarubber tree with its light-coloured stem, its

light-green foliage, and its white sap, which, when congealed, rolls

round motor wheels through streets and roads.

Here again is a tree that every one knows about. It grows to a height of

50 feet, and bears large, smooth, leathery leaves, but its blossoms

issue from the stem and not among the foliage. Its cucumber-shaped

orange fruits ripen at almost all seasons in the perpetual summer of the

Amazons. In the fruit the seeds lie in rows. The tree grows wild in the

forests, but was cultivated by the Indians before the arrival of white

men, and they prepared from it a drink which they called "chocolatl." It

was bitter, but the addition of sugar and vanilla made it palatable.

This tree is called the cocoa-tree.

Still better known and more popular is another drink--coffee. The

coffee-tree is not found in the primeval forests, but in plantations,

and even there it is a guest, for its native country is Kaffa in

Abyssinia, and coffee came from Arabia to Europe through Constantinople.

Now Brazil produces three-fourths of all the world's coffee, and in all

thousands of millions of pounds of coffee are consumed yearly.

The vanilla plant, also, is one of the wonderful inmates of the forests.

In order that the wild plants which are indigenous in the mountain

forests of Mexico and Peru may produce fruit, the pollen must be carried

by insects. Many years ago the plant was transported to the island of

Réunion in the Indian Ocean, where it throve capitally, but bore no

fruit. The helpful insects of its native country were absent. Then

artificial fertilisation with pollen was successfully attempted, and now

Réunion supplies most of the vanilla in the world's markets.

Think again of all the animals which live in the forest and its

outskirts towards the savannahs! There is the singular opossum, and

there is the sluggish, scaly armadillo, which loves the detestable

termites--those white ants which, with their sharp mandibles, gnaw to

pieces paper, clothes, wood, the whole house in fact. Then there is the

climbing sloth, with its round monkey head and large curved claws. All

day long it remains sleepily hanging under a bough, and only wakes up

when night falls. It lives only on trees and eats leaves. In far-back

ages there were sloths as large as rhinoceroses and elephants. We have,

too, the raccoon in a greyish-yellow coat, also a nocturnal animal,

which sleeps during the day in a hollow tree. He lives on small mammals

and birds, eggs and fruits, but before he swallows his food he cleans it

well, generally in water.

There is a perpetual gloom under the crowns of the foliaged trees and

palms. It is the home of shadows. Only lianas, these parasites of the

vegetable kingdom, raise their stems above the dusky vault to open their

calyces in the sun. Round them flutter innumerable butterflies in gaudy

colours. On the border between sunlight and shade scream droll parrots,

and busy pigeons steer their way among the trees on rustling wings.

There humming-birds dart like arrows through the air. They are small,

dainty birds with breast, neck, and head shining like metal with the

brightest, most vivid colouring. They build their nests carefully with

vegetable fibres and moss, and their beaks are long and fine as a reed.

There is a humming-bird which does not grow longer than an inch and a

half, and weighs little more than fifteen grains.

We must now go back to see how Orellana got on with his two brigantines.

Below the mouth of the Madeira he landed once on the northern bank in a

region inhabited only by tall Amazons, from whom the river received its

name. But the tale of Amazons was really a sailor's romance, just as the

Spaniards dreamed of Eldorado, or the land of gold.

On they went and the river never ended. During their voyage they saw in

lakes by the bank, well sheltered and exposed to the sun, the grandest

of all flowers, the _Victoria regia_ of the water-lily family, floating

on the water. Its leaves measure six feet in diameter, and the blossoms

are more than a foot across. The flowers open only two evenings, first

white and then purple.

Between the mouths of the mighty tributaries Tapajos and Xingu the

Spaniards saw the great grassy plains stretching up to the river. They

only just escaped cannibals on the northern bank. Warned by friendly

Indians, they were on their guard against the _piroroca_, the mysterious

bore, fifteen feet high, which is connected with the flow of the tide

and rushes up the river twice a month from the sea, devastating

everything. Finally they came to the northern mouth of the Amazons

River, having traversed 2500 out of the 3600 miles of its length.

Here Orellana decked his vessels over and sailed out to sea, making for

the West Indies along the coasts of Guiana and Venezuela. Even after the

coast was lost to sight he still sailed in yellow, muddy, fresh water,

and he was far to the north before he came to blue-green sea-water. For

three hundred miles from the mouth the fresh river water overlies the

salt. At Christmas he dropped his anchor on the coast of San Domingo,

and his grand exploit was achieved.

V

IN THE SOUTH SEAS

ALBATROSSES AND WHALES

Like the sting on the scorpion's poison gland, Tierra del Fuego, the

most southern land of America, juts out into the southern sea. It is

separated from the mainland by the sound which bears the name of the

intrepid Magellan. In the primeval forests of the interior grow

evergreen beeches, and there copper-brown Indians of the Ona tribe

formerly held unlimited sway. Like their brethren all over the New

World, they have been thrust out by white men and are doomed to

extinction. They were only sojourners on the coasts of Tierra del Fuego,

and their term has expired. Only a few now remain, but they still retain

the old characteristics of their race, are powerfully built, warlike and

brave, live at feud with their neighbours, and kindle their camp fires

in the woods, on the shores of lakes, or on the coast.

Many a sailing vessel has come to grief in the Straits of Magellan. The

channel is dangerous, and has a bad reputation for violent squalls,

which beat down suddenly over the precipitous cliffs. It is safer to

keep to the open sea and sail to the south of the islands of Tierra del

Fuego. Here the surges of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans roar together

against the high cliffs of Cape Horn.

Who listens to this song, who gazes with royal disdain down over the

spray, who wonders why the breakers have been there for thousands of

years pounding against gates that never open, who soars at this moment

with outspread wings over Cape Horn--who but the albatross, the largest

of all storm birds, the boldest and most unwearied of all the winged

inhabitants of the realm of air?

Look at him well, for in a second he will be gone. You see that he is

as large as a swan, has a short, thick neck, a large head with a

powerful pink and yellowish bill, and that he is quite white except

where his wing feathers are black. His wings are wonders of creation.

When he folds them, they cling close to the body and seem to disappear;

but now he has spread them out, and they measure twelve feet from tip to

tip. They are long and narrow, thin and finely formed as a sword blade.

He moves them with amazing steadiness, and excels all other birds in

strength and endurance. No bird has such an elegant and majestic flight.

He spreads his wings like sails with taut sheets, and soars at a

whistling pace up against the wind. Follow him with your eyes hour after

hour in the hardest wind, and you will see that he makes a scarcely

perceptible beat of his wings only every seventh minute, keeping them

between whiles perfectly still. That is his secret. All his skill

consists in his manner of holding his wings expanded and the inclination

he gives to his excellent monoplane in relation to his body and the

wind. Everything else, change of elevation, and movement forwards with

or against the wind, is managed by the wind itself. When he wishes to

rise from the surface of the sea he spreads his wings, turns towards the

wind, and lets it lift him up. Then he soars in elegant curves and

glides up the invisible hills of the atmosphere.

Most noteworthy is the perfect freedom of the albatross. He shuns the

mainland and breeds on solitary islands; he can scarcely move on the

ground, and when he is forced to alight he waddles clumsily along like a

swan. He comes in contact with the earth only at the nest, where the hen

sits on her single egg and tucks her white head under her wing.

Otherwise he does not touch the ground. He finds his food on the surface

of the sea, and spends three-fourths of his life in the air. There he

soars about from sea to sea like a satellite to the earth, moving freely

and lightly round the heavy globe as it rolls through space.

He is not restricted to any particular course, no distance is too great

for him; he simply rests on his wings and sweeps easily from ocean to

ocean. He is, however, rarer in the Atlantic than in the Pacific Ocean,

and he avoids the heat of equatorial regions. He sails in any other

direction he pleases, where he has most prospect of satisfying his

voracious appetite.

What do you think of an albatross which was caught on a vessel and

marked so that it might be recognised again, and which then followed the

vessel for six days and nights watching for any refuse thrown out? The

ship was in the open sea and was sailing twelve knots an hour, but the

albatross did not tire. Nay, he made circles of miles round the vessel

at a considerable height. On board the ship the watch was changed time

after time, for man must rest and sleep, but the albatross needed

neither sleep nor rest. He had no one to whom he could entrust the

management of his wings while he slept at night. He kept awake for a

week without showing any signs of weariness. He flew on and on,

sometimes disappearing astern, and an hour later appearing again and

sweeping down on the vessel from the front. That it was the same

albatross was proved by the mark painted on the breast. Only on the

seventh day did he leave the ship, dissatisfied with the fare set before

him. He was then hundreds of miles from the nearest coast.

Just think of all the wonderful and remarkable sights he must witness on

his airy course! He sees everything that takes place on the decks of

large sailing vessels, and the smoke rising out of the steamers'

funnels. He marks the clumsy movements of the twenty-feet-long

sea-elephants on the gravel shore of the islands of South Georgia, east

of Cape Horn, and sees the black or grey backs of whales rolling on the

surface of the water.

Perhaps he has some time wandered away northwards over the Atlantic and

seen whalers attack the blue whale--the largest animal now living in the

world, for it often attains to a length of 90 feet. At the present day

whalers use strongly built, swift, and easily handled steam-launches,

and shoot the harpoon out from the bow with a pivoted gun. In the head

of the harpoon is a pointed shell which explodes in the body of the

whale, dealing a mortal wound, and at the butt end a thick rope is

secured. The vessel follows the whale until it is dead. Then it is

hauled up with a steam winch and towed to a whaling station in some bay

on the coast, where it is flitched. Then the oil is boiled out, poured

into casks, and sent to market.

Much more picturesque and more dangerous was the whaling witnessed in

northern seas by the forefathers of the albatross, for man has been for

a thousand years the worst enemy of the whale, and some species are

almost exterminated. Then the whalers did not use a gun, but threw the

harpoon by hand. Every vessel had several keelless whale-boats, pointed

at both bow and stern, so that they could be rowed forwards or

backwards. When a whale was seen in the distance the boats set out,

each boat manned by six experienced whalers. One of them was the

coxswain, another the harpooner, while the others sat at the oars. The

harpoon line, an inch thick, lay carefully coiled up, and ran out

through a brass eye in the bow. Every man knew from long experience what

he had to do at any particular minute, and therefore there was silence

on board, all working without orders.

When all is ready one of the boats rows towards the whale, and the

harpooner throws his sharp weapon with all his strength into the whale's

flank. Almost before the harpoon has struck the boat is backed swiftly.

Wild with pain, the whale may strike the boat from above with his

powerful horizontal caudal fin and crush it at a blow, or he may dive

below the boat and upset it, but usually he thinks only of making his

escape. He makes for the depths in fright, and the harpoon line runs

out, the strands producing a singing sound. Great care is necessary, for

if the line curls round a man's leg he is carried overboard and is lost.

The whale dives at once to a depth of a couple of hundred fathoms. There

it is dark and quiet, and he remains there half an hour or an hour, till

at length he is obliged to come up to breathe. The lie of the line in

the water shows approximately where he will come up again, and another

boat rows to the spot. As soon as he appears above the surface a second

harpoon whistles through the air.

The whale is now too breathless to dive. He swims along the surface and

lashes the waves with his tail to free himself from his tormentors. He

speeds along at a desperate pace, dashing the waves into spray around

him and drawing the boats after him. The crews have hauled in the lines,

and the boats are quite close to the whale, but they must be ready to

pay out the lines if the whale dives. The boats' prows are tilted high

up into the air and the water streams off them. They shoot forward like

mad things through the foaming sea, whether it be day or night, and

pitch up and down over the crests of the waves. With stretched muscles,

clenched teeth, and glaring eyes the whale-hunters follow the movements

of the whale and the boat.

They notice that the pace slackens. The whale begins to tire, and at

last is quite exhausted. Its movements become irregular, it stops and

throws itself about so that the water spurts up round it. Then a boat

rows up, and a long spear is thrust in three feet deep towards the

animal's heart, and perhaps an explosive bullet is fired. If the

lungs are pierced the whale sends up jets of blood from its

nostrils--"hoisting the red flag," in the language of whalers. Its time

is come; it gives up the struggle, and its death tremors show that

another of the giants of the ocean has bid a last farewell to its

boundless realm.

ROBINSON CRUSOE'S ISLAND