After having spent two sessions in Edinburgh, my father perceived, or
he heard from my sisters, that I did not like the thought of being a
physician, so he proposed that I should become a clergyman. He was very
properly vehement against my turning into an idle sporting man, which
then seemed my probable destination. I asked for some time to consider,
as from what little I had heard or thought on the subject I had
scruples about declaring my belief in all the dogmas of the Church of
England; though otherwise I liked the thought of being a country
clergyman. Accordingly I read with care ‘Pearson on the Creed,’ and a
few other books on divinity; and as I did not then in the least doubt
the strict and literal truth of every word in the Bible, I soon
persuaded myself that our Creed must be fully accepted.
Considering how fiercely I have been attacked by the orthodox, it seems
ludicrous that I once intended to be a clergyman. Nor was this
intention and my father’s wish ever formerly given up, but died a
natural death when, on leaving Cambridge, I joined the “Beagle” as
naturalist. If the phrenologists are to be trusted, I was well fitted
in one respect to be a clergyman. A few years ago the secretaries of a
German psychological society asked me earnestly by letter for a
photograph of myself; and some time afterwards I received the
proceedings of one of the meetings, in which it seemed that the shape
of my head had been the subject of a public discussion, and one of the
speakers declared that I had the bump of reverence developed enough for
ten priests.
As it was decided that I should be a clergyman, it was necessary that I
should go to one of the English universities and take a degree; but as
I had never opened a classical book since leaving school, I found to my
dismay, that in the two intervening years I had actually forgotten,
incredible as it may appear, almost everything which I had learnt, even
to some few of the Greek letters. I did not therefore proceed to
Cambridge at the usual time in October, but worked with a private tutor
in Shrewsbury, and went to Cambridge after the Christmas vacation,
early in 1828. I soon recovered my school standard of knowledge, and
could translate easy Greek books, such as Homer and the Greek
Testament, with moderate facility.
During the three years which I spent at Cambridge my time was wasted,
as far as the academical studies were concerned, as completely as at
Edinburgh and at school. I attempted mathematics, and even went during
the summer of 1828 with a private tutor (a very dull man) to Barmouth,
but I got on very slowly. The work was repugnant to me, chiefly from my
not being able to see any meaning in the early steps in algebra. This
impatience was very foolish, and in after years I have deeply regretted
that I did not proceed far enough at least to understand something of
the great leading principles of mathematics, for men thus endowed seem
to have an extra sense. But I do not believe that I should ever have
succeeded beyond a very low grade. With respect to Classics I did
nothing except attend a few compulsory college lectures, and the
attendance was almost nominal. In my second year I had to work for a
month or two to pass the Little-Go, which I did easily. Again, in my
last year I worked with some earnestness for my final degree of B.A.,
and brushed up my Classics, together with a little Algebra and Euclid,
which latter gave me much pleasure, as it did at school. In order to
pass the B.A. examination, it was also necessary to get up Paley’s
‘Evidences of Christianity,’ and his ‘Moral Philosophy.’ This was done
in a thorough manner, and I am convinced that I could have written out
the whole of the ‘Evidences’ with perfect correctness, but not of
course in the clear language of Paley. The logic of this book and, as I
may add, of his ‘Natural Theology,’ gave me as much delight as did
Euclid. The careful study of these works, without attempting to learn
any part by rote, was the only part of the academical course which, as
I then felt and as I still believe, was of the least use to me in the
education of my mind. I did not at that time trouble myself about
Paley’s premises; and taking these on trust, I was charmed and
convinced by the long line of argumentation. By answering well the
examination questions in Paley, by doing Euclid well, and by not
failing miserably in Classics, I gained a good place among the oi
polloi or crowd of men who do not go in for honours. Oddly enough, I
cannot remember how high I stood, and my memory fluctuates between the
fifth, tenth, or twelfth, name on the list. (Tenth in the list of
January 1831.)
Public lectures on several branches were given in the University,
attendance being quite voluntary; but I was so sickened with lectures
at Edinburgh that I did not even attend Sedgwick’s eloquent and
interesting lectures. Had I done so I should probably have become a
geologist earlier than I did. I attended, however, Henslow’s lectures
on Botany, and liked them much for their extreme clearness, and the
admirable illustrations; but I did not study botany. Henslow used to
take his pupils, including several of the older members of the
University, field excursions, on foot or in coaches, to distant places,
or in a barge down the river, and lectured on the rarer plants and
animals which were observed. These excursions were delightful.
Although, as we shall presently see, there were some redeeming features
in my life at Cambridge, my time was sadly wasted there, and worse than
wasted. From my passion for shooting and for hunting, and, when this
failed, for riding across country, I got into a sporting set, including
some dissipated low-minded young men. We used often to dine together in
the evening, though these dinners often included men of a higher stamp,
and we sometimes drank too much, with jolly singing and playing at
cards afterwards. I know that I ought to feel ashamed of days and
evenings thus spent, but as some of my friends were very pleasant, and
we were all in the highest spirits, I cannot help looking back to these
times with much pleasure.
But I am glad to think that I had many other friends of a widely
different nature. I was very intimate with Whitley (Rev. C. Whitley,
Hon. Canon of Durham, formerly Reader in Natural Philosophy in Durham
University.), who was afterwards Senior Wrangler, and we used
continually to take long walks together. He inoculated me with a taste
for pictures and good engravings, of which I bought some. I frequently
went to the Fitzwilliam Gallery, and my taste must have been fairly
good, for I certainly admired the best pictures, which I discussed with
the old curator. I read also with much interest Sir Joshua Reynolds’
book. This taste, though not natural to me, lasted for several years,
and many of the pictures in the National Gallery in London gave me much
pleasure; that of Sebastian del Piombo exciting in me a sense of
sublimity.
I also got into a musical set, I believe by means of my warm-hearted
friend, Herbert (The late John Maurice Herbert, County Court Judge of
Cardiff and the Monmouth Circuit.), who took a high wrangler’s degree.
From associating with these men, and hearing them play, I acquired a
strong taste for music, and used very often to time my walks so as to
hear on week days the anthem in King’s College Chapel. This gave me
intense pleasure, so that my backbone would sometimes shiver. I am sure
that there was no affectation or mere imitation in this taste, for I
used generally to go by myself to King’s College, and I sometimes hired
the chorister boys to sing in my rooms. Nevertheless I am so utterly
destitute of an ear, that I cannot perceive a discord, or keep time and
hum a tune correctly; and it is a mystery how I could possibly have
derived pleasure from music.
My musical friends soon perceived my state, and sometimes amused
themselves by making me pass an examination, which consisted in
ascertaining how many tunes I could recognise when they were played
rather more quickly or slowly than usual. ‘God save the King,’ when
thus played, was a sore puzzle. There was another man with almost as
bad an ear as I had, and strange to say he played a little on the
flute. Once I had the triumph of beating him in one of our musical
examinations.
But no pursuit at Cambridge was followed with nearly so much eagerness
or gave me so much pleasure as collecting beetles. It was the mere
passion for collecting, for I did not dissect them, and rarely compared
their external characters with published descriptions, but got them
named anyhow. I will give a proof of my zeal: one day, on tearing off
some old bark, I saw two rare beetles, and seized one in each hand;
then I saw a third and new kind, which I could not bear to lose, so
that I popped the one which I held in my right hand into my mouth.
Alas! it ejected some intensely acrid fluid, which burnt my tongue so
that I was forced to spit the beetle out, which was lost, as was the
third one.
I was very successful in collecting, and invented two new methods; I
employed a labourer to scrape during the winter, moss off old trees and
place it in a large bag, and likewise to collect the rubbish at the
bottom of the barges in which reeds are brought from the fens, and thus
I got some very rare species. No poet ever felt more delighted at
seeing his first poem published than I did at seeing, in Stephens’
‘Illustrations of British Insects,’ the magic words, “captured by C.
Darwin, Esq.” I was introduced to entomology by my second cousin W.
Darwin Fox, a clever and most pleasant man, who was then at Christ’s
College, and with whom I became extremely intimate. Afterwards I became
well acquainted, and went out collecting, with Albert Way of Trinity,
who in after years became a well-known archaeologist; also with H.
Thompson of the same College, afterwards a leading agriculturist,
chairman of a great railway, and Member of Parliament. It seems
therefore that a taste for collecting beetles is some indication of
future success in life!
I am surprised what an indelible impression many of the beetles which I
caught at Cambridge have left on my mind. I can remember the exact
appearance of certain posts, old trees and banks where I made a good
capture. The pretty Panagaeus crux-major was a treasure in those days,
and here at Down I saw a beetle running across a walk, and on picking
it up instantly perceived that it differed slightly from P. crux-major,
and it turned out to be P. quadripunctatus, which is only a variety or
closely allied species, differing from it very slightly in outline. I
had never seen in those old days Licinus alive, which to an uneducated
eye hardly differs from many of the black Carabidous beetles; but my
sons found here a specimen, and I instantly recognised that it was new
to me; yet I had not looked at a British beetle for the last twenty
years.
I have not as yet mentioned a circumstance which influenced my whole
career more than any other. This was my friendship with Professor
Henslow. Before coming up to Cambridge, I had heard of him from my
brother as a man who knew every branch of science, and I was
accordingly prepared to reverence him. He kept open house once every
week when all undergraduates, and some older members of the University,
who were attached to science, used to meet in the evening. I soon got,
through Fox, an invitation, and went there regularly. Before long I
became well acquainted with Henslow, and during the latter half of my
time at Cambridge took long walks with him on most days; so that I was
called by some of the dons “the man who walks with Henslow;” and in the
evening I was very often asked to join his family dinner. His knowledge
was great in botany, entomology, chemistry, mineralogy, and geology.
His strongest taste was to draw conclusions from long-continued minute
observations. His judgment was excellent, and his whole mind well
balanced; but I do not suppose that any one would say that he possessed
much original genius. He was deeply religious, and so orthodox that he
told me one day he should be grieved if a single word of the
Thirty-nine Articles were altered. His moral qualities were in every
way admirable. He was free from every tinge of vanity or other petty
feeling; and I never saw a man who thought so little about himself or
his own concerns. His temper was imperturbably good, with the most
winning and courteous manners; yet, as I have seen, he could be roused
by any bad action to the warmest indignation and prompt action.
I once saw in his company in the streets of Cambridge almost as horrid
a scene as could have been witnessed during the French Revolution. Two
body-snatchers had been arrested, and whilst being taken to prison had
been torn from the constable by a crowd of the roughest men, who
dragged them by their legs along the muddy and stony road. They were
covered from head to foot with mud, and their faces were bleeding
either from having been kicked or from the stones; they looked like
corpses, but the crowd was so dense that I got only a few momentary
glimpses of the wretched creatures. Never in my life have I seen such
wrath painted on a man’s face as was shown by Henslow at this horrid
scene. He tried repeatedly to penetrate the mob; but it was simply
impossible. He then rushed away to the mayor, telling me not to follow
him, but to get more policemen. I forget the issue, except that the two
men were got into the prison without being killed.
Henslow’s benevolence was unbounded, as he proved by his many excellent
schemes for his poor parishioners, when in after years he held the
living of Hitcham. My intimacy with such a man ought to have been, and
I hope was, an inestimable benefit. I cannot resist mentioning a
trifling incident, which showed his kind consideration. Whilst
examining some pollen-grains on a damp surface, I saw the tubes
exserted, and instantly rushed off to communicate my surprising
discovery to him. Now I do not suppose any other professor of botany
could have helped laughing at my coming in such a hurry to make such a
communication. But he agreed how interesting the phenomenon was, and
explained its meaning, but made me clearly understand how well it was
known; so I left him not in the least mortified, but well pleased at
having discovered for myself so remarkable a fact, but determined not
to be in such a hurry again to communicate my discoveries.
Dr. Whewell was one of the older and distinguished men who sometimes
visited Henslow, and on several occasions I walked home with him at
night. Next to Sir J. Mackintosh he was the best converser on grave
subjects to whom I ever listened. Leonard Jenyns (The well-known Soame
Jenyns was cousin to Mr. Jenyns’ father.), who afterwards published
some good essays in Natural History (Mr. Jenyns (now Blomefield)
described the fish for the Zoology of the “Beagle”; and is author of a
long series of papers, chiefly Zoological.), often stayed with Henslow,
who was his brother-in-law. I visited him at his parsonage on the
borders of the Fens [Swaffham Bulbeck], and had many a good walk and
talk with him about Natural History. I became also acquainted with
several other men older than me, who did not care much about science,
but were friends of Henslow. One was a Scotchman, brother of Sir
Alexander Ramsay, and tutor of Jesus College: he was a delightful man,
but did not live for many years. Another was Mr. Dawes, afterwards Dean
of Hereford, and famous for his success in the education of the poor.
These men and others of the same standing, together with Henslow, used
sometimes to take distant excursions into the country, which I was
allowed to join, and they were most agreeable.
Looking back, I infer that there must have been something in me a
little superior to the common run of youths, otherwise the
above-mentioned men, so much older than me and higher in academical
position, would never have allowed me to associate with them. Certainly
I was not aware of any such superiority, and I remember one of my
sporting friends, Turner, who saw me at work with my beetles, saying
that I should some day be a Fellow of the Royal Society, and the notion
seemed to me preposterous.
During my last year at Cambridge, I read with care and profound
interest Humboldt’s ‘Personal Narrative.’ This work, and Sir J.
Herschel’s ‘Introduction to the Study of Natural Philosophy,’ stirred
up in me a burning zeal to add even the most humble contribution to the
noble structure of Natural Science. No one or a dozen other books
influenced me nearly so much as these two. I copied out from Humboldt
long passages about Teneriffe, and read them aloud on one of the
above-mentioned excursions, to (I think) Henslow, Ramsay, and Dawes,
for on a previous occasion I had talked about the glories of Teneriffe,
and some of the party declared they would endeavour to go there; but I
think that they were only half in earnest. I was, however, quite in
earnest, and got an introduction to a merchant in London to enquire
about ships; but the scheme was, of course, knocked on the head by the
voyage of the “Beagle”.
My summer vacations were given up to collecting beetles, to some
reading, and short tours. In the autumn my whole time was devoted to
shooting, chiefly at Woodhouse and Maer, and sometimes with young Eyton
of Eyton. Upon the whole the three years which I spent at Cambridge
were the most joyful in my happy life; for I was then in excellent
health, and almost always in high spirits.
As I had at first come up to Cambridge at Christmas, I was forced to
keep two terms after passing my final examination, at the commencement
of 1831; and Henslow then persuaded me to begin the study of geology.
Therefore on my return to Shropshire I examined sections, and coloured
a map of parts round Shrewsbury. Professor Sedgwick intended to visit
North Wales in the beginning of August to pursue his famous geological
investigations amongst the older rocks, and Henslow asked him to allow
me to accompany him. (In connection with this tour my father used to
tell a story about Sedgwick: they had started from their inn one
morning, and had walked a mile or two, when Sedgwick suddenly stopped,
and vowed that he would return, being certain “that damned scoundrel”
(the waiter) had not given the chambermaid the sixpence intrusted to
him for the purpose. He was ultimately persuaded to give up the
project, seeing that there was no reason for suspecting the waiter of
especial perfidy.—F.D.) Accordingly he came and slept at my father’s
house.
A short conversation with him during this evening produced a strong
impression on my mind. Whilst examining an old gravel-pit near
Shrewsbury, a labourer told me that he had found in it a large worn
tropical Volute shell, such as may be seen on the chimney-pieces of
cottages; and as he would not sell the shell, I was convinced that he
had really found it in the pit. I told Sedgwick of the fact, and he at
once said (no doubt truly) that it must have been thrown away by some
one into the pit; but then added, if really embedded there it would be
the greatest misfortune to geology, as it would overthrow all that we
know about the superficial deposits of the Midland Counties. These
gravel-beds belong in fact to the glacial period, and in after years I
found in them broken arctic shells. But I was then utterly astonished
at Sedgwick not being delighted at so wonderful a fact as a tropical
shell being found near the surface in the middle of England. Nothing
before had ever made me thoroughly realise, though I had read various
scientific books, that science consists in grouping facts so that
general laws or conclusions may be drawn from them.
Next morning we started for Llangollen, Conway, Bangor, and Capel
Curig. This tour was of decided use in teaching me a little how to make
out the geology of a country. Sedgwick often sent me on a line parallel
to his, telling me to bring back specimens of the rocks and to mark the
stratification on a map. I have little doubt that he did this for my
good, as I was too ignorant to have aided him. On this tour I had a
striking instance of how easy it is to overlook phenomena, however
conspicuous, before they have been observed by any one. We spent many
hours in Cwm Idwal, examining all the rocks with extreme care, as
Sedgwick was anxious to find fossils in them; but neither of us saw a
trace of the wonderful glacial phenomena all around us; we did not
notice the plainly scored rocks, the perched boulders, the lateral and
terminal moraines. Yet these phenomena are so conspicuous that, as I
declared in a paper published many years afterwards in the
‘Philosophical Magazine’ (‘Philosophical Magazine,’ 1842.), a house
burnt down by fire did not tell its story more plainly than did this
valley. If it had still been filled by a glacier, the phenomena would
have been less distinct than they now are.
At Capel Curig I left Sedgwick and went in a straight line by compass
and map across the mountains to Barmouth, never following any track
unless it coincided with my course. I thus came on some strange wild
places, and enjoyed much this manner of travelling. I visited Barmouth
to see some Cambridge friends who were reading there, and thence
returned to Shrewsbury and to Maer for shooting; for at that time I
should have thought myself mad to give up the first days of
partridge-shooting for geology or any other science.
“VOYAGE OF THE ‘BEAGLE’ FROM DECEMBER 27, 1831, TO OCTOBER 2, 1836.”
On returning home from my short geological tour in North Wales, I found
a letter from Henslow, informing me that Captain Fitz-Roy was willing
to give up part of his own cabin to any young man who would volunteer
to go with him without pay as naturalist to the Voyage of the “Beagle”.
I have given, as I believe, in my MS. Journal an account of all the
circumstances which then occurred; I will here only say that I was
instantly eager to accept the offer, but my father strongly objected,
adding the words, fortunate for me, “If you can find any man of common
sense who advises you to go I will give my consent.” So I wrote that
evening and refused the offer. On the next morning I went to Maer to be
ready for September 1st, and, whilst out shooting, my uncle (Josiah
Wedgwood.) sent for me, offering to drive me over to Shrewsbury and
talk with my father, as my uncle thought it would be wise in me to
accept the offer. My father always maintained that he was one of the
most sensible men in the world, and he at once consented in the kindest
manner. I had been rather extravagant at Cambridge, and to console my
father, said, “that I should be deuced clever to spend more than my
allowance whilst on board the ‘Beagle’;” but he answered with a smile,
“But they tell me you are very clever.”
Next day I started for Cambridge to see Henslow, and thence to London
to see Fitz-Roy, and all was soon arranged. Afterwards, on becoming
very intimate with Fitz-Roy, I heard that I had run a very narrow risk
of being rejected, on account of the shape of my nose! He was an ardent
disciple of Lavater, and was convinced that he could judge of a man’s
character by the outline of his features; and he doubted whether any
one with my nose could possess sufficient energy and determination for
the voyage. But I think he was afterwards well satisfied that my nose
had spoken falsely.
Fitz-Roy’s character was a singular one, with very many noble features:
he was devoted to his duty, generous to a fault, bold, determined, and
indomitably energetic, and an ardent friend to all under his sway. He
would undertake any sort of trouble to assist those whom he thought
deserved assistance. He was a handsome man, strikingly like a
gentleman, with highly courteous manners, which resembled those of his
maternal uncle, the famous Lord Castlereagh, as I was told by the
Minister at Rio. Nevertheless he must have inherited much in his
appearance from Charles II., for Dr. Wallich gave me a collection of
photographs which he had made, and I was struck with the resemblance of
one to Fitz-Roy; and on looking at the name, I found it Ch. E. Sobieski
Stuart, Count d’Albanie, a descendant of the same monarch.
Fitz-Roy’s temper was a most unfortunate one. It was usually worst in
the early morning, and with his eagle eye he could generally detect
something amiss about the ship, and was then unsparing in his blame. He
was very kind to me, but was a man very difficult to live with on the
intimate terms which necessarily followed from our messing by ourselves
in the same cabin. We had several quarrels; for instance, early in the
voyage at Bahia, in Brazil, he defended and praised slavery, which I
abominated, and told me that he had just visited a great slave-owner,
who had called up many of his slaves and asked them whether they were
happy, and whether they wished to be free, and all answered “No.” I
then asked him, perhaps with a sneer, whether he thought that the
answer of slaves in the presence of their master was worth anything?
This made him excessively angry, and he said that as I doubted his word
we could not live any longer together. I thought that I should have
been compelled to leave the ship; but as soon as the news spread, which
it did quickly, as the captain sent for the first lieutenant to assuage
his anger by abusing me, I was deeply gratified by receiving an
invitation from all the gun-room officers to mess with them. But after
a few hours Fitz-Roy showed his usual magnanimity by sending an officer
to me with an apology and a request that I would continue to live with
him.
His character was in several respects one of the most noble which I
have ever known.
The voyage of the “Beagle” has been by far the most important event in
my life, and has determined my whole career; yet it depended on so
small a circumstance as my uncle offering to drive me thirty miles to
Shrewsbury, which few uncles would have done, and on such a trifle as
the shape of my nose. I have always felt that I owe to the voyage the
first real training or education of my mind; I was led to attend
closely to several branches of natural history, and thus my powers of
observation were improved, though they were always fairly developed.
The investigation of the geology of all the places visited was far more
important, as reasoning here comes into play. On first examining a new
district nothing can appear more hopeless than the chaos of rocks; but
by recording the stratification and nature of the rocks and fossils at
many points, always reasoning and predicting what will be found
elsewhere, light soon begins to dawn on the district, and the structure
of the whole becomes more or less intelligible. I had brought with me
the first volume of Lyell’s ‘Principles of Geology,’ which I studied
attentively; and the book was of the highest service to me in many
ways. The very first place which I examined, namely St. Jago in the
Cape de Verde islands, showed me clearly the wonderful superiority of
Lyell’s manner of treating geology, compared with that of any other
author, whose works I had with me or ever afterwards read.
Another of my occupations was collecting animals of all classes,
briefly describing and roughly dissecting many of the marine ones; but
from not being able to draw, and from not having sufficient anatomical
knowledge, a great pile of MS. which I made during the voyage has
proved almost useless. I thus lost much time, with the exception of
that spent in acquiring some knowledge of the Crustaceans, as this was
of service when in after years I undertook a monograph of the
Cirripedia.
During some part of the day I wrote my Journal, and took much pains in
describing carefully and vividly all that I had seen; and this was good
practice. My Journal served also, in part, as letters to my home, and
portions were sent to England whenever there was an opportunity.
The above various special studies were, however, of no importance
compared with the habit of energetic industry and of concentrated
attention to whatever I was engaged in, which I then acquired.
Everything about which I thought or read was made to bear directly on
what I had seen or was likely to see; and this habit of mind was
continued during the five years of the voyage. I feel sure that it was
this training which has enabled me to do whatever I have done in
science.
Looking backwards, I can now perceive how my love for science gradually
preponderated over every other taste. During the first two years my old
passion for shooting survived in nearly full force, and I shot myself
all the birds and animals for my collection; but gradually I gave up my
gun more and more, and finally altogether, to my servant, as shooting
interfered with my work, more especially with making out the geological
structure of a country. I discovered, though unconsciously and
insensibly, that the pleasure of observing and reasoning was a much
higher one than that of skill and sport. That my mind became developed
through my pursuits during the voyage is rendered probable by a remark
made by my father, who was the most acute observer whom I ever saw, of
a sceptical disposition, and far from being a believer in phrenology;
for on first seeing me after the voyage, he turned round to my sisters,
and exclaimed, “Why, the shape of his head is quite altered.”
To return to the voyage. On September 11th (1831), I paid a flying
visit with Fitz-Roy to the “Beagle” at Plymouth. Thence to Shrewsbury
to wish my father and sisters a long farewell. On October 24th I took
up my residence at Plymouth, and remained there until December 27th,
when the “Beagle” finally left the shores of England for her
circumnavigation of the world. We made two earlier attempts to sail,
but were driven back each time by heavy gales. These two months at
Plymouth were the most miserable which I ever spent, though I exerted
myself in various ways. I was out of spirits at the thought of leaving
all my family and friends for so long a time, and the weather seemed to
me inexpressibly gloomy. I was also troubled with palpitation and pain
about the heart, and like many a young ignorant man, especially one
with a smattering of medical knowledge, was convinced that I had heart
disease. I did not consult any doctor, as I fully expected to hear the
verdict that I was not fit for the voyage, and I was resolved to go at
all hazards.
I need not here refer to the events of the voyage—where we went and
what we did—as I have given a sufficiently full account in my published
Journal. The glories of the vegetation of the Tropics rise before my
mind at the present time more vividly than anything else; though the
sense of sublimity, which the great deserts of Patagonia and the
forest-clad mountains of Tierra del Fuego excited in me, has left an
indelible impression on my mind. The sight of a naked savage in his
native land is an event which can never be forgotten. Many of my
excursions on horseback through wild countries, or in the boats, some
of which lasted several weeks, were deeply interesting: their
discomfort and some degree of danger were at that time hardly a
drawback, and none at all afterwards. I also reflect with high
satisfaction on some of my scientific work, such as solving the problem
of coral islands, and making out the geological structure of certain
islands, for instance, St. Helena. Nor must I pass over the discovery
of the singular relations of the animals and plants inhabiting the
several islands of the Galapagos archipelago, and of all of them to the
inhabitants of South America.
As far as I can judge of myself, I worked to the utmost during the
voyage from the mere pleasure of investigation, and from my strong
desire to add a few facts to the great mass of facts in Natural
Science. But I was also ambitious to take a fair place among scientific
men,—whether more ambitious or less so than most of my fellow-workers,
I can form no opinion.
The geology of St. Jago is very striking, yet simple: a stream of lava
formerly flowed over the bed of the sea, formed of triturated recent
shells and corals, which it has baked into a hard white rock. Since
then the whole island has been upheaved. But the line of white rock
revealed to me a new and important fact, namely, that there had been
afterwards subsidence round the craters, which had since been in
action, and had poured forth lava. It then first dawned on me that I
might perhaps write a book on the geology of the various countries
visited, and this made me thrill with delight. That was a memorable
hour to me, and how distinctly I can call to mind the low cliff of lava
beneath which I rested, with the sun glaring hot, a few strange desert
plants growing near, and with living corals in the tidal pools at my
feet. Later in the voyage, Fitz-Roy asked me to read some of my
Journal, and declared it would be worth publishing; so here was a
second book in prospect!
Towards the close of our voyage I received a letter whilst at
Ascension, in which my sisters told me that Sedgwick had called on my
father, and said that I should take a place among the leading
scientific men. I could not at the time understand how he could have
learnt anything of my proceedings, but I heard (I believe afterwards)
that Henslow had read some of the letters which I wrote to him before
the Philosophical Society of Cambridge (Read at the meeting held
November 16, 1835, and printed in a pamphlet of 31 pages for
distribution among the members of the Society.), and had printed them
for private distribution. My collection of fossil bones, which had been
sent to Henslow, also excited considerable attention amongst
palaeontologists. After reading this letter, I clambered over the
mountains of Ascension with a bounding step, and made the volcanic
rocks resound under my geological hammer. All this shows how ambitious
I was; but I think that I can say with truth that in after years,
though I cared in the highest degree for the approbation of such men as
Lyell and Hooker, who were my friends, I did not care much about the
general public. I do not mean to say that a favourable review or a
large sale of my books did not please me greatly, but the pleasure was
a fleeting one, and I am sure that I have never turned one inch out of
my course to gain fame.
FROM MY RETURN TO ENGLAND (OCTOBER 2, 1836) TO MY MARRIAGE (JANUARY 29,
1839.)
These two years and three months were the most active ones which I ever
spent, though I was occasionally unwell, and so lost some time. After
going backwards and forwards several times between Shrewsbury, Maer,
Cambridge, and London, I settled in lodgings at Cambridge (In
Fitzwilliam Street.) on December 13th, where all my collections were
under the care of Henslow. I stayed here three months, and got my
minerals and rocks examined by the aid of Professor Miller.
I began preparing my ‘Journal of Travels,’ which was not hard work, as
my MS. Journal had been written with care, and my chief labour was
making an abstract of my more interesting scientific results. I sent
also, at the request of Lyell, a short account of my observations on
the elevation of the coast of Chile to the Geological Society.
(‘Geolog. Soc. Proc. ii. 1838, pages 446-449.)
On March 7th, 1837, I took lodgings in Great Marlborough Street in
London, and remained there for nearly two years, until I was married.
During these two years I finished my Journal, read several papers
before the Geological Society, began preparing the MS. for my
‘Geological Observations,’ and arranged for the publication of the
‘Zoology of the Voyage of the “Beagle”.’ In July I opened my first
note-book for facts in relation to the Origin of Species, about which I
had long reflected, and never ceased working for the next twenty years.
During these two years I also went a little into society, and acted as
one of the honorary secretaries of the Geological Society. I saw a
great deal of Lyell. One of his chief characteristics was his sympathy
with the work of others, and I was as much astonished as delighted at
the interest which he showed when, on my return to England, I explained
to him my views on coral reefs. This encouraged me greatly, and his
advice and example had much influence on me. During this time I saw
also a good deal of Robert Brown; I used often to call and sit with him
during his breakfast on Sunday mornings, and he poured forth a rich
treasure of curious observations and acute remarks, but they almost
always related to minute points, and he never with me discussed large
or general questions in science.
During these two years I took several short excursions as a relaxation,
and one longer one to the Parallel Roads of Glen Roy, an account of
which was published in the ‘Philosophical Transactions.’ (1839, pages
39-82.) This paper was a great failure, and I am ashamed of it. Having
been deeply impressed with what I had seen of the elevation of the land
of South America, I attributed the parallel lines to the action of the
sea; but I had to give up this view when Agassiz propounded his
glacier-lake theory. Because no other explanation was possible under
our then state of knowledge, I argued in favour of sea-action; and my
error has been a good lesson to me never to trust in science to the
principle of exclusion.
As I was not able to work all day at science, I read a good deal during
these two years on various subjects, including some metaphysical books;
but I was not well fitted for such studies. About this time I took much
delight in Wordsworth’s and Coleridge’s poetry; and can boast that I
read the ‘Excursion’ twice through. Formerly Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost’
had been my chief favourite, and in my excursions during the voyage of
the “Beagle”, when I could take only a single volume, I always chose
Milton.
FROM MY MARRIAGE, JANUARY 29, 1839, AND RESIDENCE IN UPPER GOWER
STREET, TO OUR LEAVING LONDON AND SETTLING AT DOWN, SEPTEMBER 14,
1842.
(After speaking of his happy married life, and of his children, he
continues:—)
During the three years and eight months whilst we resided in London, I
did less scientific work, though I worked as hard as I possibly could,
than during any other equal length of time in my life. This was owing
to frequently recurring unwellness, and to one long and serious
illness. The greater part of my time, when I could do anything, was
devoted to my work on ‘Coral Reefs,’ which I had begun before my
marriage, and of which the last proof-sheet was corrected on May 6th,
1842. This book, though a small one, cost me twenty months of hard
work, as I had to read every work on the islands of the Pacific and to
consult many charts. It was thought highly of by scientific men, and
the theory therein given is, I think, now well established.
No other work of mine was begun in so deductive a spirit as this, for
the whole theory was thought out on the west coast of South America,
before I had seen a true coral reef. I had therefore only to verify and
extend my views by a careful examination of living reefs. But it should
be observed that I had during the two previous years been incessantly
attending to the effects on the shores of South America of the
intermittent elevation of the land, together with denudation and the
deposition of sediment. This necessarily led me to reflect much on the
effects of subsidence, and it was easy to replace in imagination the
continued deposition of sediment by the upward growth of corals. To do
this was to form my theory of the formation of barrier-reefs and
atolls.
Besides my work on coral-reefs, during my residence in London, I read
before the Geological Society papers on the Erratic Boulders of South
America (‘Geolog. Soc. Proc.’ iii. 1842.), on Earthquakes (‘Geolog.
Trans. v. 1840.), and on the Formation by the Agency of Earth-worms of
Mould. (‘Geolog. Soc. Proc. ii. 1838.) I also continued to superintend
the publication of the ‘Zoology of the Voyage of the “Beagle”.’ Nor did
I ever intermit collecting facts bearing on the origin of species; and
I could sometimes do this when I could do nothing else from illness.
In the summer of 1842 I was stronger than I had been for some time, and
took a little tour by myself in North Wales, for the sake of observing
the effects of the old glaciers which formerly filled all the larger
valleys. I published a short account of what I saw in the
‘Philosophical Magazine.’ (‘Philosophical Magazine,’ 1842.) This
excursion interested me greatly, and it was the last time I was ever
strong enough to climb mountains or to take long walks such as are
necessary for geological work.
During the early part of our life in London, I was strong enough to go
into general society, and saw a good deal of several scientific men,
and other more or less distinguished men. I will give my impressions
with respect to some of them, though I have little to say worth saying.
I saw more of Lyell than of any other man, both before and after my
marriage. His mind was characterised, as it appeared to me, by
clearness, caution, sound judgment, and a good deal of originality.
When I made any remark to him on Geology, he never rested until he saw
the whole case clearly, and often made me see it more clearly than I
had done before. He would advance all possible objections to my
suggestion, and even after these were exhausted would long remain
dubious. A second characteristic was his hearty sympathy with the work
of other scientific men. (The slight repetition here observable is
accounted for by the notes on Lyell, etc., having been added in April,
1881, a few years after the rest of the ‘Recollections’ were written.)
On my return from the voyage of the “Beagle”, I explained to him my
views on coral-reefs, which differed from his, and I was greatly
surprised and encouraged by the vivid interest which he showed. His
delight in science was ardent, and he felt the keenest interest in the
future progress of mankind. He was very kind-hearted, and thoroughly
liberal in his religious beliefs, or rather disbeliefs; but he was a
strong theist. His candour was highly remarkable. He exhibited this by
becoming a convert to the Descent theory, though he had gained much
fame by opposing Lamarck’s views, and this after he had grown old. He
reminded me that I had many years before said to him, when discussing
the opposition of the old school of geologists to his new views, “What
a good thing it would be if every scientific man was to die when sixty
years old, as afterwards he would be sure to oppose all new doctrines.”
But he hoped that now he might be allowed to live.
The science of Geology is enormously indebted to Lyell—more so, as I
believe, than to any other man who ever lived. When [I was] starting on
the voyage of the “Beagle”, the sagacious Henslow, who, like all other
geologists, believed at that time in successive cataclysms, advised me
to get and study the first volume of the ‘Principles,’ which had then
just been published, but on no account to accept the views therein
advocated. How differently would anyone now speak of the ‘Principles’!
I am proud to remember that the first place, namely, St. Jago, in the
Cape de Verde archipelago, in which I geologised, convinced me of the
infinite superiority of Lyell’s views over those advocated in any other
work known to me.
The powerful effects of Lyell’s works could formerly be plainly seen in
the different progress of the science in France and England. The
present total oblivion of Elie de Beaumont’s wild hypotheses, such as
his ‘Craters of Elevation’ and ‘Lines of Elevation’ (which latter
hypothesis I heard Sedgwick at the Geological Society lauding to the
skies), may be largely attributed to Lyell.
I saw a good deal of Robert Brown, “facile Princeps Botanicorum,” as he
was called by Humboldt. He seemed to me to be chiefly remarkable for
the minuteness of his observations, and their perfect accuracy. His
knowledge was extraordinarily great, and much died with him, owing to
his excessive fear of ever making a mistake. He poured out his
knowledge to me in the most unreserved manner, yet was strangely
jealous on some points. I called on him two or three times before the
voyage of the “Beagle”, and on one occasion he asked me to look through
a microscope and describe what I saw. This I did, and believe now that
it was the marvellous currents of protoplasm in some vegetable cell. I
then asked him what I had seen; but he answered me, “That is my little
secret.”
He was capable of the most generous actions. When old, much out of
health, and quite unfit for any exertion, he daily visited (as Hooker
told me) an old man-servant, who lived at a distance (and whom he
supported), and read aloud to him. This is enough to make up for any
degree of scientific penuriousness or jealousy.
I may here mention a few other eminent men, whom I have occasionally
seen, but I have little to say about them worth saying. I felt a high
reverence for Sir J. Herschel, and was delighted to dine with him at
his charming house at the Cape of Good Hope, and afterwards at his
London house. I saw him, also, on a few other occasions. He never
talked much, but every word which he uttered was worth listening to.
I once met at breakfast at Sir R. Murchison’s house the illustrious
Humboldt, who honoured me by expressing a wish to see me. I was a
little disappointed with the great man, but my anticipations probably
were too high. I can remember nothing distinctly about our interview,
except that Humboldt was very cheerful and talked much.
—reminds me of Buckle whom I once met at Hensleigh Wedgwood’s. I was
very glad to learn from him his system of collecting facts. He told me
that he bought all the books which he read, and made a full index, to
each, of the facts which he thought might prove serviceable to him, and
that he could always remember in what book he had read anything, for
his memory was wonderful. I asked him how at first he could judge what
facts would be serviceable, and he answered that he did not know, but
that a sort of instinct guided him. From this habit of making indices,
he was enabled to give the astonishing number of references on all
sorts of subjects, which may be found in his ‘History of Civilisation.’
This book I thought most interesting, and read it twice, but I doubt
whether his generalisations are worth anything. Buckle was a great
talker, and I listened to him saying hardly a word, nor indeed could I
have done so for he left no gaps. When Mrs. Farrer began to sing, I
jumped up and said that I must listen to her; after I had moved away he
turned around to a friend and said (as was overheard by my brother),
“Well, Mr. Darwin’s books are much better than his conversation.”
Of other great literary men, I once met Sydney Smith at Dean Milman’s
house. There was something inexplicably amusing in every word which he
uttered. Perhaps this was partly due to the expectation of being
amused. He was talking about Lady Cork, who was then extremely old.
This was the lady who, as he said, was once so much affected by one of
his charity sermons, that she _borrowed_ a guinea from a friend to put
in the plate. He now said “It is generally believed that my dear old
friend Lady Cork has been overlooked,” and he said this in such a
manner that no one could for a moment doubt that he meant that his dear
old friend had been overlooked by the devil. How he managed to express
this I know not.
I likewise once met Macaulay at Lord Stanhope’s (the historian’s)
house, and as there was only one other man at dinner, I had a grand
opportunity of hearing him converse, and he was very agreeable. He did
not talk at all too much; nor indeed could such a man talk too much, as
long as he allowed others to turn the stream of his conversation, and
this he did allow.
Lord Stanhope once gave me a curious little proof of the accuracy and
fulness of Macaulay’s memory: many historians used often to meet at
Lord Stanhope’s house, and in discussing various subjects they would
sometimes differ from Macaulay, and formerly they often referred to
some book to see who was right; but latterly, as Lord Stanhope noticed,
no historian ever took this trouble, and whatever Macaulay said was
final.
On another occasion I met at Lord Stanhope’s house, one of his parties
of historians and other literary men, and amongst them were Motley and
Grote. After luncheon I walked about Chevening Park for nearly an hour
with Grote, and was much interested by his conversation and pleased by
the simplicity and absence of all pretension in his manners.
Long ago I dined occasionally with the old Earl, the father of the
historian; he was a strange man, but what little I knew of him I liked
much. He was frank, genial, and pleasant. He had strongly marked
features, with a brown complexion, and his clothes, when I saw him,
were all brown. He seemed to believe in everything which was to others
utterly incredible. He said one day to me, “Why don’t you give up your
fiddle-faddle of geology and zoology, and turn to the occult sciences!”
The historian, then Lord Mahon, seemed shocked at such a speech to me,
and his charming wife much amused.
The last man whom I will mention is Carlyle, seen by me several times
at my brother’s house, and two or three times at my own house. His talk
was very racy and interesting, just like his writings, but he sometimes
went on too long on the same subject. I remember a funny dinner at my
brother’s, where, amongst a few others, were Babbage and Lyell, both of
whom liked to talk. Carlyle, however, silenced every one by haranguing
during the whole dinner on the advantages of silence. After dinner
Babbage, in his grimmest manner, thanked Carlyle for his very
interesting lecture on silence.
Carlyle sneered at almost every one: one day in my house he called
Grote’s ‘History’ “a fetid quagmire, with nothing spiritual about it.”
I always thought, until his ‘Reminiscences’ appeared, that his sneers
were partly jokes, but this now seems rather doubtful. His expression
was that of a depressed, almost despondent yet benevolent man; and it
is notorious how heartily he laughed. I believe that his benevolence
was real, though stained by not a little jealousy. No one can doubt
about his extraordinary power of drawing pictures of things and men—far
more vivid, as it appears to me, than any drawn by Macaulay. Whether
his pictures of men were true ones is another question.
He has been all-powerful in impressing some grand moral truths on the
minds of men. On the other hand, his views about slavery were
revolting. In his eyes might was right. His mind seemed to me a very
narrow one; even if all branches of science, which he despised, are
excluded. It is astonishing to me that Kingsley should have spoken of
him as a man well fitted to advance science. He laughed to scorn the
idea that a mathematician, such as Whewell, could judge, as I
maintained he could, of Goethe’s views on light. He thought it a most
ridiculous thing that any one should care whether a glacier moved a
little quicker or a little slower, or moved at all. As far as I could
judge, I never met a man with a mind so ill adapted for scientific
research.
Whilst living in London, I attended as regularly as I could the
meetings of several scientific societies, and acted as secretary to the
Geological Society. But such attendance, and ordinary society, suited
my health so badly that we resolved to live in the country, which we
both preferred and have never repented of.