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Chapter XXI
(PLATE 101. ST. LOUIS, MAURITIUS.)
MAURITIUS TO ENGLAND.
Mauritius, beautiful appearance of.
Great crateriform ring of mountains.
Hindoos.
St. Helena.
History of the changes in the vegetation.
Cause of the extinction of land-shells.
Ascension.
Variation in the imported rats.
Volcanic bombs.
Beds of infusoria.
Bahia, Brazil.
Splendour of tropical scenery.
Pernambuco.
Singular reef.
Slavery.
Return to England.
Retrospect on our voyage.
APRIL 29, 1836.
In the morning we passed round the northern end of Mauritius, or
the Isle of France. From this point of view the aspect of the
island equalled the expectations raised by the many well-known
descriptions of its beautiful scenery. The sloping plain of the
Pamplemousses, interspersed with houses, and coloured by the large
fields of sugar-cane of a bright green, composed the foreground.
The brilliancy of the green was the more remarkable because it is a
colour which generally is conspicuous only from a very short
distance. Towards the centre of the island groups of wooded
mountains rose out of this highly cultivated plain; their summits,
as so commonly happens with ancient volcanic rocks, being jagged
into the sharpest points. Masses of white clouds were collected
around these pinnacles, as if for the sake of pleasing the
stranger's eye. The whole island, with its sloping border and
central mountains, was adorned with an air of perfect elegance: the
scenery, if I may use such an expression, appeared to the sight
harmonious.
I spent the greater part of the next day in walking about the town
and visiting different people. The town is of considerable size,
and is said to contain 20,000 inhabitants; the streets are very
clean and regular. Although the island has been so many years under
the English government, the general character of the place is quite
French: Englishmen speak to their servants in French, and the shops
are all French; indeed I should think that Calais or Boulogne was
much more Anglified. There is a very pretty little theatre in which
operas are excellently performed. We were also surprised at seeing
large booksellers' shops, with well-stored shelves;--music and
reading bespeak our approach to the old world of civilisation; for
in truth both Australia and America are new worlds.
The various races of men walking in the streets afford the most
interesting spectacle in Port Louis. Convicts from India are
banished here for life; at present there are about 800, and they
are employed in various public works. Before seeing these people, I
had no idea that the inhabitants of India were such noble-looking
figures. Their skin is extremely dark, and many of the older men
had large mustaches and beards of a snow-white colour; this,
together with the fire of their expression, gave them quite an
imposing aspect. The greater number had been banished for murder
and the worst crimes; others for causes which can scarcely be
considered as moral faults, such as for not obeying, from
superstitious motives, the English laws. These men are generally
quiet and well-conducted; from their outward conduct, their
cleanliness and faithful observance of their strange religious
rites, it was impossible to look at them with the same eyes as on
our wretched convicts in New South Wales.
SUNDAY, MAY 1, 1836.
I took a quiet walk along the sea-coast to the north of the town.
The plain in this part is quite uncultivated; it consists of a
field of black lava, smoothed over with coarse grass and bushes,
the latter being chiefly Mimosas. The scenery may be described as
intermediate in character between that of the Galapagos and of
Tahiti; but this will convey a definite idea to very few persons.
It is a very pleasant country, but it has not the charms of Tahiti,
or the grandeur of Brazil. The next day I ascended La Pouce, a
mountain so called from a thumb-like projection, which rises close
behind the town to a height of 2,600 feet. The centre of the island
consists of a great platform, surrounded by old broken basaltic
mountains, with their strata dipping seawards. The central
platform, formed of comparatively recent streams of lava, is of an
oval shape, thirteen geographical miles across in the line of its
shorter axis. The exterior bounding mountains come into that class
of structures called Craters of Elevation, which are supposed to
have been formed not like ordinary craters, but by a great and
sudden upheaval. There appear to me to be insuperable objections to
this view: on the other hand, I can hardly believe, in this and in
some other cases, that these marginal crateriform mountains are
merely the basal remnants of immense volcanos, of which the summits
either have been blown off or swallowed up in subterranean abysses.
From our elevated position we enjoyed an excellent view over the
island. The country on this side appears pretty well cultivated,
being divided into fields and studded with farm-houses. I was
however assured that of the whole land not more than half is yet in
a productive state; if such be the case, considering the present
large export of sugar, this island, at some future period when
thickly peopled, will be of great value. Since England has taken
possession of it, a period of only twenty-five years, the export of
sugar is said to have increased seventy-five fold. One great cause
of its prosperity is the excellent state of the roads. In the
neighbouring Isle of Bourbon, which remains under the French
government, the roads are still in the same miserable state as they
were here only a few years ago. Although the French residents must
have largely profited by the increased prosperity of their island,
yet the English government is far from popular.
MAY 3, 1836.
In the evening Captain Lloyd, the Surveyor-general, so well known
from his examination of the Isthmus of Panama, invited Mr. Stokes
and myself to his country-house, which is situated on the edge of
Wilheim Plains, and about six miles from the Port. We stayed at
this delightful place two days; standing nearly 800 feet above the
sea, the air was cool and fresh, and on every side there were
delightful walks. Close by a grand ravine has been worn to a depth
of about 500 feet through the slightly inclined streams of lava,
which have flowed from the central platform.
MAY 5, 1836.
Captain Lloyd took us to the Rivière Noire, which is several miles
to the southward, that I might examine some rocks of elevated
coral. We passed through pleasant gardens, and fine fields of
sugar-cane growing amidst huge blocks of lava. The roads were
bordered by hedges of Mimosa, and near many of the houses there
were avenues of the mango. Some of the views where the peaked hills
and the cultivated farms were seen together, were exceedingly
picturesque; and we were constantly tempted to exclaim "How
pleasant it would be to pass one's life in such quiet abodes!"
Captain Lloyd possessed an elephant, and he sent it half-way with
us, that we might enjoy a ride in true Indian fashion. The
circumstance which surprised me most was its quite noiseless step.
This elephant is the only one at present on the island; but it is
said others will be sent for.
MAY 9, 1836.
(PLATE 102. ST. HELENA.)
We sailed from Port Louis, and, calling at the Cape of Good Hope,
on the 8th of July we arrived off St. Helena. This island, the
forbidding aspect of which has been so often described, rises
abruptly like a huge black castle from the ocean. Near the town, as
if to complete nature's defence, small forts and guns fill up every
gap in the rugged rocks. The town runs up a flat and narrow valley;
the houses look respectable, and are interspersed with a very few
green trees. When approaching the anchorage there was one striking
view: an irregular castle perched on the summit of a lofty hill,
and surrounded by a few scattered fir-trees, boldly projected
against the sky.
The next day I obtained lodgings within a stone's throw of
Napoleon's tomb; it was a capital central situation, whence I could
make excursions in every direction. (21/1. After the volumes of
eloquence which have poured forth on this subject, it is dangerous
even to mention the tomb. A modern traveller, in twelve lines,
burdens the poor little island with the following titles,--it is a
grave, tomb, pyramid, cemetery, sepulchre, catacomb, sarcophagus,
minaret, and mausoleum!) During the four days I stayed here I
wandered over the island from morning to night and examined its
geological history. My lodgings were situated at a height of about
2000 feet; here the weather was cold and boisterous, with constant
showers of rain; and every now and then the whole scene was veiled
in thick clouds.
Near the coast the rough lava is quite bare: in the central and
higher parts feldspathic rocks by their decomposition have produced
a clayey soil, which, where not covered by vegetation, is stained
in broad bands of many bright colours. At this season the land,
moistened by constant showers, produces a singularly bright green
pasture, which lower and lower down gradually fades away and at
last disappears. In latitude 16 degrees, and at the trifling
elevation of 1500 feet, it is surprising to behold a vegetation
possessing a character decidedly British. The hills are crowned
with irregular plantations of Scotch firs; and the sloping banks
are thickly scattered over with thickets of gorse, covered with its
bright yellow flowers. Weeping-willows are common on the banks of
the rivulets, and the hedges are made of the blackberry, producing
its well-known fruit. When we consider that the number of plants
now found on the island is 746, and that out of these fifty-two
alone are indigenous species, the rest having been imported, and
most of them from England, we see the reason of the British
character of the vegetation. Many of these English plants appear to
flourish better than in their native country; some also from the
opposite quarter of Australia succeed remarkably well. The many
imported species must have destroyed some of the native kinds; and
it is only on the highest and steepest ridges that the indigenous
Flora is now predominant.
The English, or rather Welsh character of the scenery, is kept up
by the numerous cottages and small white houses; some buried at the
bottom of the deepest valleys, and others mounted on the crests of
the lofty hills. Some of the views are striking, for instance that
from near Sir W. Doveton's house, where the bold peak called Lot is
seen over a dark wood of firs, the whole being backed by the red
water-worn mountains of the southern coast. On viewing the island
from an eminence, the first circumstance which strikes one is the
number of the roads and forts: the labour bestowed on the public
works, if one forgets its character as a prison, seems out of all
proportion to its extent or value. There is so little level or
useful land that it seems surprising how so many people, about
5000, can subsist here. The lower orders, or the emancipated
slaves, are, I believe, extremely poor: they complain of the want
of work. From the reduction in the number of public servants, owing
to the island having been given up by the East India Company, and
the consequent emigration of many of the richer people, the poverty
probably will increase. The chief food of the working class is rice
with a little salt meat; as neither of these articles are the
products of the island, but must be purchased with money, the low
wages tell heavily on the poor people. Now that the people are
blessed with freedom, a right which I believe they value fully, it
seems probable that their numbers will quickly increase: if so,
what is to become of the little state of St. Helena?
My guide was an elderly man who had been a goatherd when a boy, and
knew every step amongst the rocks. He was of a race many times
crossed, and although with a dusky skin, he had not the
disagreeable expression of a mulatto. He was a very civil, quiet
old man, and such appears the character of the greater number of
the lower classes. It was strange to my ears to hear a man, nearly
white and respectably dressed, talking with indifference of the
times when he was a slave. With my companion, who carried our
dinners and a horn of water, which is quite necessary, as all the
water in the lower valleys is saline, I every day took long walks.
Beneath the upper and central green circle, the wild valleys are
quite desolate and untenanted. Here, to the geologist, there were
scenes of high interest, showing successive changes and complicated
disturbances. According to my views, St. Helena has existed as an
island from a very remote epoch: some obscure proofs, however, of
the elevation of the land are still extant. I believe that the
central and highest peaks form parts of the rim of a great crater,
the southern half of which has been entirely removed by the waves
of the sea: there is, moreover, an external wall of black basaltic
rocks, like the coast-mountains of Mauritius, which are older than
the central volcanic streams. On the higher parts of the island
considerable numbers of a shell, long thought to be a marine
species, occur imbedded in the soil. It proves to be a Cochlogena,
or land-shell of a very peculiar form; with it I found six other
kinds; and in another spot an eighth species. (21/2. It deserves
notice that all the many specimens of this shell found by me in one
spot differ as a marked variety from another set of specimens
procured from a different spot.) It is remarkable that none of them
are now found living. Their extinction has probably been caused by
the entire destruction of the woods, and the consequent loss of
food and shelter, which occurred during the early part of the last
century.
The history of the changes which the elevated plains of Longwood
and Deadwood have undergone, as given in General Beatson's account
of the island, is extremely curious. Both plains, it is said, in
former times were covered with wood, and were therefore called the
Great Wood. So late as the year 1716 there were many trees, but in
1724 the old trees had mostly fallen; and as goats and hogs had
been suffered to range about, all the young trees had been killed.
It appears also from the official records that the trees were
unexpectedly, some years afterwards, succeeded by a wire grass
which spread over the whole surface. (21/3. Beatson's "St. Helena"
Introductory chapter page 4.) General Beatson adds that now this
plain "is covered with fine sward, and is become the finest piece
of pasture on the island." The extent of surface, probably covered
by wood at a former period, is estimated at no less than two
thousand acres; at the present day scarcely a single tree can be
found there. It is also said that in 1709 there were quantities of
dead trees in Sandy Bay; this place is now so utterly desert that
nothing but so well attested an account could have made me believe
that they could ever have grown there. The fact that the goats and
hogs destroyed all the young trees as they sprang up, and that in
the course of time the old ones, which were safe from their
attacks, perished from age, seems clearly made out. Goats were
introduced in the year 1502; eighty-six years afterwards, in the
time of Cavendish, it is known that they were exceedingly numerous.
More than a century afterwards, in 1731, when the evil was complete
and irretrievable, an order was issued that all stray animals
should be destroyed. It is very interesting thus to find that the
arrival of animals at St. Helena in 1501 did not change the whole
aspect of the island, until a period of two hundred and twenty
years had elapsed: for the goats were introduced in 1502, and in
1724 it is said "the old trees had mostly fallen." There can be
little doubt that this great change in the vegetation affected not
only the land-shells, causing eight species to become extinct, but
likewise a multitude of insects.
St. Helena, situated so remote from any continent, in the midst of
a great ocean, and possessing a unique Flora, excites our
curiosity. The eight land-shells, though now extinct, and one
living Succinea, are peculiar species found nowhere else. Mr.
Cuming, however, informs me that an English Helix is common here,
its eggs no doubt having been imported in some of the many
introduced plants. Mr. Cuming collected on the coast sixteen
species of sea-shells, of which seven, as far as he knows, are
confined to this island. Birds and insects, as might have been
expected, are very few in number; indeed I believe all the birds
have been introduced within late years. (21/4. Among these few
insects I was surprised to find a small Aphodius (nov. spec.) and
an Oryctes, both extremely numerous under dung. When the island was
discovered it certainly possessed no quadruped excepting PERHAPS a
mouse: it becomes, therefore, a difficult point to ascertain,
whether these stercovorous insects have since been imported by
accident, or if aborigines, on what food they formerly subsisted.
On the banks of the Plata, where, from the vast number of cattle
and horses, the fine plains of turf are richly manured, it is vain
to seek the many kinds of dung-feeding beetles which occur so
abundantly in Europe. I observed only an Oryctes (the insects of
this genus in Europe generally feed on decayed vegetable matter)
and two species of Phanaeus, common in such situations. On the
opposite side of the Cordillera in Chiloe another species of
Phanaeus is exceedingly abundant, and it buries the dung of the
cattle in large earthen balls beneath the ground. There is reason
to believe that the genus Phanaeus, before the introduction of
cattle, acted as scavengers to man. In Europe beetles which find
support in the matter which has already contributed towards the
life of other and larger animals, are so numerous that there must
be considerably more than one hundred different species.
Considering this, and observing what a quantity of food of this
kind is lost on the plains of La Plata, I imagined I saw an
instance where man had disturbed that chain by which so many
animals are linked together in their native country. In Van
Diemen's Land, however, I found four species of Onthophagus, two of
Aphodius, and one of a third genus, very abundant under the dung of
cows; yet these latter animals had been then introduced only
thirty-three years. Previous to that time the kangaroo and some
other small animals were the only quadrupeds; and their dung is of
a very different quality from that of their successors introduced
by man. In England the greater number of stercovorous beetles are
confined in their appetites; that is, they do not depend
indifferently on any quadruped for the means of subsistence. The
change, therefore, in habits which must have taken place in Van
Diemen's Land is highly remarkable. I am indebted to the Reverend
F.W. Hope, who, I hope, will permit me to call him my master in
Entomology, for giving me the names of the foregoing insects.)
Partridges and pheasants are tolerably abundant; the island is much
too English not to be subject to strict game-laws. I was told of a
more unjust sacrifice to such ordinances than I ever heard of even
in England. The poor people formerly used to burn a plant which
grows on the coast-rocks, and export the soda from its ashes; but a
peremptory order came out prohibiting this practice, and giving as
a reason that the partridges would have nowhere to build!
In my walks I passed more than once over the grassy plain, bounded
by deep valleys, on which Longwood stands. Viewed from a short
distance, it appears like a respectable gentleman's country-seat.
In front there are a few cultivated fields, and beyond them the
smooth hill of coloured rocks called the Flagstaff, and the rugged
square black mass of the Barn. On the whole the view was rather
bleak and uninteresting. The only inconvenience I suffered during
my walks was from the impetuous winds. One day I noticed a curious
circumstance: standing on the edge of a plain, terminated by a
great cliff of about a thousand feet in depth, I saw at the
distance of a few yards right to windward, some tern, struggling
against a very strong breeze, whilst, where I stood, the air was
quite calm. Approaching close to the brink, where the current
seemed to be deflected upwards from the face of the cliff, I
stretched out my arm, and immediately felt the full force of the
wind: an invisible barrier, two yards in width, separated perfectly
calm air from a strong blast.
I so much enjoyed my rambles among the rocks and mountains of St.
Helena that I felt almost sorry on the morning of the 14th to
descend to the town. Before noon I was on board, and the "Beagle"
made sail.
On the 19th of July we reached Ascension. Those who have beheld a
volcanic island situated under an arid climate will at once be able
to picture to themselves the appearance of Ascension. They will
imagine smooth conical hills of a bright red colour, with their
summits generally truncated, rising separately out of a level
surface of black rugged lava. A principal mound in the centre of
the island seems the father of the lesser cones. It is called Green
Hill: its name being taken from the faintest tinge of that colour,
which at this time of the year is barely perceptible from the
anchorage. To complete the desolate scene, the black rocks on the
coast are lashed by a wild and turbulent sea.
The settlement is near the beach; it consists of several houses and
barracks placed irregularly, but well built of white freestone. The
only inhabitants are marines, and some negroes liberated from
slave-ships, who are paid and victualled by government. There is
not a private person on the island. Many of the marines appeared
well contented with their situation; they think it better to serve
their one-and-twenty years on shore, let it be what it may, than in
a ship; in this choice, if I were a marine, I should most heartily
agree.
The next morning I ascended Green Hill, 2840 feet high, and thence
walked across the island to the windward point. A good cart-road
leads from the coast-settlement to the houses, gardens, and fields,
placed near the summit of the central mountain. On the roadside
there are milestones, and likewise cisterns, where each thirsty
passer-by can drink some good water. Similar care is displayed in
each part of the establishment, and especially in the management of
the springs, so that a single drop of water may not be lost: indeed
the whole island may be compared to a huge ship kept in first-rate
order. I could not help, when admiring the active industry which
had created such effects out of such means, at the same time
regretting that it had been wasted on so poor and trifling an end.
M. Lesson has remarked with justice that the English nation would
have thought of making the island of Ascension a productive spot,
any other people would have held it as a mere fortress in the
ocean.
Near this coast nothing grows; farther inland an occasional green
castor-oil plant, and a few grasshoppers, true friends of the
desert, may be met with. Some grass is scattered over the surface
of the central elevated region, and the whole much resembles the
worse parts of the Welsh mountains. But, scanty as the pasture
appears, about six hundred sheep, many goats, a few cows and
horses, all thrive well on it. Of native animals, land-crabs and
rats swarm in numbers. Whether the rat is really indigenous may
well be doubted; there are two varieties as described by Mr.
Waterhouse; one is of a black colour, with fine glossy fur, and
lives on the grassy summit, the other is brown-coloured and less
glossy, with longer hairs, and lives near the settlement on the
coast. Both these varieties are one-third smaller than the common
black rat (M. rattus); and they differ from it both in the colour
and character of their fur, but in no other essential respect. I
can hardly doubt that these rats (like the common mouse, which has
also run wild) have been imported, and, as at the Galapagos, have
varied from the effect of the new conditions to which they have
been exposed: hence the variety on the summit of the island differs
from that on the coast. Of native birds there are none; but the
guinea-fowl, imported from the Cape de Verd Islands, is abundant,
and the common fowl has likewise run wild. Some cats which were
originally turned out to destroy the rats and mice, have increased,
so as to become a great plague. The island is entirely without
trees, in which, and in every other respect, it is very far
inferior to St. Helena.
One of my excursions took me towards the south-west extremity of
the island. The day was clear and hot, and I saw the island, not
smiling with beauty, but staring with naked hideousness. The lava
streams are covered with hummocks, and are rugged to a degree
which, geologically speaking, is not of easy explanation. The
intervening spaces are concealed with layers of pumice, ashes and
volcanic tuff. Whilst passing this end of the island at sea, I
could not imagine what the white patches were with which the whole
plain was mottled; I now found that they were sea-fowl, sleeping in
such full confidence, that even in mid-day a man could walk up and
seize hold of them. These birds were the only living creatures I
saw during the whole day. On the beach a great surf, although the
breeze was light, came tumbling over the broken lava rocks.
(PLATE 103. CELLULAR FORMATION OF VOLCANIC BOMB.)
The geology of this island is in many respects interesting. In
several places I noticed volcanic bombs, that is, masses of lava
which have been shot through the air whilst fluid, and have
consequently assumed a spherical or pear-shape. Not only their
external form, but, in several cases, their internal structure
shows in a very curious manner that they have revolved in their
aerial course. The internal structure of one of these bombs, when
broken, is represented very accurately in Plate 103. The central
part is coarsely cellular, the cells decreasing in size towards the
exterior; where there is a shell-like case about the third of an
inch in thickness, of compact stone, which again is overlaid by the
outside crust of finely cellular lava. I think there can be little
doubt, first, that the external crust cooled rapidly in the state
in which we now see it; secondly, that the still fluid lava within
was packed by the centrifugal force generated by the revolving of
the bomb, against the external cooled crust, and so produced the
solid shell of stone; and lastly, that the centrifugal force, by
relieving the pressure in the more central parts of the bomb,
allowed the heated vapours to expand their cells, thus forming the
coarse cellular mass of the centre.
A hill formed of the older series of volcanic rocks, and which has
been incorrectly considered as the crater of a volcano, is
remarkable from its broad, slightly hollowed, and circular summit
having been filled up with many successive layers of ashes and fine
scoriae. These saucer-shaped layers crop out on the margin, forming
perfect rings of many different colours, giving to the summit a
most fantastic appearance; one of these rings is white and broad,
and resembles a course round which horses have been exercised;
hence the hill has been called the Devil's Riding School. I brought
away specimens of one of the tufaceous layers of a pinkish colour
and it is a most extraordinary fact that Professor Ehrenberg finds
it almost wholly composed of matter which has been organised; he
detects in it some siliceous-shielded, fresh-water infusoria, and
no less than twenty-five different kinds of the siliceous tissue of
plants, chiefly of grasses. (21/5. "Monats. der Konig. Akad. d.
Wiss. zu Berlin" Vom April 1845.) From the absence of all
carbonaceous matter, Professor Ehrenberg believes that these
organic bodies have passed through the volcanic fire, and have been
erupted in the state in which we now see them. The appearance of
the layers induced me to believe that they had been deposited under
water, though from the extreme dryness of the climate I was forced
to imagine that torrents of rain had probably fallen during some
great eruption, and that thus a temporary lake had been formed into
which the ashes fell. But it may now be suspected that the lake was
not a temporary one. Anyhow we may feel sure that at some former
epoch the climate and productions of Ascension were very different
from what they now are. Where on the face of the earth can we find
a spot on which close investigation will not discover signs of that
endless cycle of change, to which this earth has been, is, and will
be subjected?
On leaving Ascension, we sailed for Bahia, on the coast of Brazil,
in order to complete the chronometrical measurement of the world.
We arrived there on August 1st, and stayed four days, during which
I took several long walks. I was glad to find my enjoyment in
tropical scenery had not decreased from the want of novelty, even
in the slightest degree. The elements of the scenery are so simple
that they are worth mentioning, as a proof on what trifling
circumstances exquisite natural beauty depends.
The country may be described as a level plain of about three
hundred feet in elevation, which in all parts has been worn into
flat-bottomed valleys. This structure is remarkable in a granitic
land, but is nearly universal in all those softer formations of
which plains are usually composed. The whole surface is covered by
various kinds of stately trees, interspersed with patches of
cultivated ground, out of which houses, convents, and chapels
arise. It must be remembered that within the tropics the wild
luxuriance of nature is not lost even in the vicinity of large
cities: for the natural vegetation of the hedges and hill-sides
overpowers in picturesque effect the artificial labour of man.
Hence, there are only a few spots where the bright red soil affords
a strong contrast with the universal clothing of green. From the
edges of the plain there are distant views either of the ocean, or
of the great Bay with its low-wooded shores, and on which numerous
boats and canoes show their white sails. Excepting from these
points, the scene is extremely limited; following the level
pathways, on each hand, only glimpses into the wooded valleys below
can be obtained. The houses I may add, and especially the sacred
edifices, are built in a peculiar and rather fantastic style of
architecture. They are all whitewashed; so that when illumined by
the brilliant sun of mid-day, and as seen against the pale blue sky
of the horizon, they stand out more like shadows than real
buildings.
Such are the elements of the scenery, but it is a hopeless attempt
to paint the general effect. Learned naturalists describe these
scenes of the tropics by naming a multitude of objects, and
mentioning some characteristic feature of each. To a learned
traveller this possibly may communicate some definite ideas: but
who else from seeing a plant in an herbarium can imagine its
appearance when growing in its native soil? Who from seeing choice
plants in a hothouse can magnify some into the dimensions of forest
trees, and crowd others into an entangled jungle? Who when
examining in the cabinet of the entomologist the gay exotic
butterflies, and singular cicadas, will associate with these
lifeless objects the ceaseless harsh music of the latter and the
lazy flight of the former,--the sure accompaniments of the still,
glowing noonday of the tropics? It is when the sun has attained its
greatest height that such scenes should be viewed: then the dense
splendid foliage of the mango hides the ground with its darkest
shade, whilst the upper branches are rendered from the profusion of
light of the most brilliant green. In the temperate zones the case
is different--the vegetation there is not so dark or so rich, and
hence the rays of the declining sun, tinged of a red, purple, or
bright yellow colour, add most to the beauties of those climes.
When quietly walking along the shady pathways, and admiring each
successive view, I wished to find language to express my ideas.
Epithet after epithet was found too weak to convey to those who
have not visited the intertropical regions the sensation of delight
which the mind experiences. I have said that the plants in a
hothouse fail to communicate a just idea of the vegetation, yet I
must recur to it. The land is one great wild, untidy, luxuriant
hothouse, made by Nature for herself, but taken possession of by
man, who has studded it with gay houses and formal gardens. How
great would be the desire in every admirer of nature to behold, if
such were possible, the scenery of another planet! yet to every
person in Europe, it may be truly said, that at the distance of
only a few degrees from his native soil the glories of another
world are opened to him. In my last walk I stopped again and again
to gaze on these beauties, and endeavoured to fix in my mind for
ever an impression which at the time I knew sooner or later must
fail. The form of the orange-tree, the cocoa-nut, the palm, the
mango, the tree-fern, the banana, will remain clear and separate;
but the thousand beauties which unite these into one perfect scene
must fade away: yet they will leave, like a tale heard in
childhood, a picture full of indistinct, but most beautiful
figures.
AUGUST 6, 1836.
In the afternoon we stood out to sea, with the intention of making
a direct course to the Cape de Verd Islands. Unfavourable winds,
however, delayed us, and on the 12th we ran into Pernambuco,--a
large city on the coast of Brazil, in latitude 8 degrees south. We
anchored outside the reef; but in a short time a pilot came on
board and took us into the inner harbour, where we lay close to the
town.
Pernambuco is built on some narrow and low sand-banks which are
separated from each other by shoal channels of salt water. The
three parts of the town are connected together by two long bridges
built on wooden piles. The town is in all parts disgusting, the
streets being narrow, ill-paved, and filthy; the houses tall and
gloomy. The season of heavy rains had hardly come to an end, and
hence the surrounding country, which is scarcely raised above the
level of the sea, was flooded with water; and I failed in all my
attempts to take long walks.
The flat swampy land on which Pernambuco stands is surrounded, at
the distance of a few miles, by a semicircle of low hills, or
rather by the edge of a country elevated perhaps two hundred feet
above the sea. The old city of Olinda stands on one extremity of
this range. One day I took a canoe, and proceeded up one of the
channels to visit it; I found the old town from its situation both
sweeter and cleaner than that of Pernambuco. I must here
commemorate what happened for the first time during our nearly five
years' wandering, namely, having met with a want of politeness; I
was refused in a sullen manner at two different houses, and
obtained with difficulty from a third, permission to pass through
their gardens to an uncultivated hill, for the purpose of viewing
the country. I feel glad that this happened in the land of the
Brazilians, for I bear them no good will--a land also of slavery,
and therefore of moral debasement. A Spaniard would have felt
ashamed at the very thought of refusing such a request, or of
behaving to a stranger with rudeness. The channel by which we went
to and returned from Olinda was bordered on each side by mangroves,
which sprang like a miniature forest out of the greasy mud-banks.
The bright green colour of these bushes always reminded me of the
rank grass in a churchyard: both are nourished by putrid
exhalations; the one speaks of death past, and the other too often
of death to come.
(PLATE 104. CICADA HOMOPTERA.)
The most curious object which I saw in this neighbourhood was the
reef that forms the harbour. I doubt whether in the whole world any
other natural structure has so artificial an appearance. (21/6. I
have described this Bar in detail in the "London and Edinburgh
Philosophical Magazine" volume 19 1841 page 257.) It runs for a
length of several miles in an absolutely straight line, parallel to
and not far distant from the shore. It varies in width from thirty
to sixty yards, and its surface is level and smooth; it is composed
of obscurely-stratified hard sandstone. At high water the waves
break over it; at low water its summit is left dry, and it might
then be mistaken for a breakwater erected by Cyclopean workmen. On
this coast the currents of the sea tend to throw up in front of the
land long spits and bars of loose sand, and on one of these part of
the town of Pernambuco stands. In former times a long spit of this
nature seems to have become consolidated by the percolation of
calcareous matter, and afterwards to have been gradually upheaved;
the outer and loose parts during this process having been worn away
by the action of the sea, and the solid nucleus left as we now see
it. Although night and day the waves of the open Atlantic, turbid
with sediment, are driven against the steep outside edges of this
wall of stone, yet the oldest pilots know of no tradition of any
change in its appearance. This durability is much the most curious
fact in its history: it is due to a tough layer, a few inches
thick, of calcareous matter, wholly formed by the successive growth
and death of the small shells of Serpulae, together with some few
barnacles and nulliporae. These nulliporae, which are hard, very
simply-organised sea-plants, play an analogous and important part
in protecting the upper surfaces of coral-reefs, behind and within
the breakers, where the true corals, during the outward growth of
the mass, become killed by exposure to the sun and air. These
insignificant organic beings, especially the Serpulae, have done
good service to the people of Pernambuco; for without their
protective aid the bar of sandstone would inevitably have been long
ago worn away and without the bar, there would have been no
harbour.
On the 19th of August we finally left the shores of Brazil. I thank
God, I shall never again visit a slave-country. To this day, if I
hear a distant scream, it recalls with painful vividness my
feelings, when passing a house near Pernambuco, I heard the most
pitiable moans, and could not but suspect that some poor slave was
being tortured, yet knew that I was as powerless as a child even to
remonstrate. I suspected that these moans were from a tortured
slave, for I was told that this was the case in another instance.
Near Rio de Janeiro I lived opposite to an old lady, who kept
screws to crush the fingers of her female slaves. I have stayed in
a house where a young household mulatto, daily and hourly, was
reviled, beaten, and persecuted enough to break the spirit of the
lowest animal. I have seen a little boy, six or seven years old,
struck thrice with a horse-whip (before I could interfere) on his
naked head, for having handed me a glass of water not quite clean;
I saw his father tremble at a mere glance from his master's eye.
These latter cruelties were witnessed by me in a Spanish colony, in
which it has always been said that slaves are better treated than
by the Portuguese, English, or other European nations. I have seen
at Rio de Janeiro a powerful negro afraid to ward off a blow
directed, as he thought, at his face. I was present when a
kind-hearted man was on the point of separating forever the men,
women, and little children of a large number of families who had
long lived together. I will not even allude to the many
heart-sickening atrocities which I authentically heard of;--nor
would I have mentioned the above revolting details, had I not met
with several people, so blinded by the constitutional gaiety of the
negro as to speak of slavery as a tolerable evil. Such people have
generally visited at the houses of the upper classes, where the
domestic slaves are usually well treated, and they have not, like
myself, lived amongst the lower classes. Such inquirers will ask
slaves about their condition; they forget that the slave must
indeed be dull who does not calculate on the chance of his answer
reaching his master's ears.
It is argued that self-interest will prevent excessive cruelty; as
if self-interest protected our domestic animals, which are far less
likely than degraded slaves to stir up the rage of their savage
masters. It is an argument long since protested against with noble
feeling, and strikingly exemplified, by the ever-illustrious
Humboldt. It is often attempted to palliate slavery by comparing
the state of slaves with our poorer countrymen: if the misery of
our poor be caused not by the laws of nature, but by our
institutions, great is our sin; but how this bears on slavery, I
cannot see; as well might the use of the thumb-screw be defended in
one land, by showing that men in another land suffered from some
dreadful disease. Those who look tenderly at the slave owner, and
with a cold heart at the slave, never seem to put themselves into
the position of the latter;--what a cheerless prospect, with not
even a hope of change! picture to yourself the chance, ever hanging
over you, of your wife and your little children--those objects
which nature urges even the slave to call his own--being torn from
you and sold like beasts to the first bidder! And these deeds are
done and palliated by men who profess to love their neighbours as
themselves, who believe in God, and pray that His Will be done on
earth! It makes one's blood boil, yet heart tremble, to think that
we Englishmen and our American descendants, with their boastful cry
of liberty, have been and are so guilty; but it is a consolation to
reflect, that we at least have made a greater sacrifice than ever
made by any nation, to expiate our sin.
On the last day of August we anchored for the second time at Porto
Praya in the Cape de Verd archipelago; thence we proceeded to the
Azores, where we stayed six days. On the 2nd of October we made the
shores of England; and at Falmouth I left the "Beagle," having
lived on board the good little vessel nearly five years.
(PLATE 105. HOMEWARD BOUND, THE "BEAGLE.")
Our Voyage having come to an end, I will take a short retrospect of
the advantages and disadvantages, the pains and pleasures, of our
circumnavigation of the world. If a person asked my advice, before
undertaking a long voyage, my answer would depend upon his
possessing a decided taste for some branch of knowledge, which
could by this means be advanced. No doubt it is a high satisfaction
to behold various countries and the many races of mankind, but the
pleasures gained at the time do not counterbalance the evils. It is
necessary to look forward to a harvest, however distant that may
be, when some fruit will be reaped, some good effected.
Many of the losses which must be experienced are obvious; such as
that of the society of every old friend, and of the sight of those
places with which every dearest remembrance is so intimately
connected. These losses, however, are at the time partly relieved
by the exhaustless delight of anticipating the long-wished-for day
of return. If, as poets say, life is a dream, I am sure in a voyage
these are the visions which best serve to pass away the long night.
Other losses, although not at first felt, tell heavily after a
period: these are the want of room, of seclusion, of rest; the
jading feeling of constant hurry; the privation of small luxuries,
the loss of domestic society and even of music and the other
pleasures of imagination. When such trifles are mentioned, it is
evident that the real grievances, excepting from accidents, of a
sea-life are at an end. The short space of sixty years has made an
astonishing difference in the facility of distant navigation. Even
in the time of Cook, a man who left his fireside for such
expeditions underwent severe privations. A yacht now, with every
luxury of life, can circumnavigate the globe. Besides the vast
improvements in ships and naval resources, the whole western shores
of America are thrown open, and Australia has become the capital of
a rising continent. How different are the circumstances to a man
shipwrecked at the present day in the Pacific, to what they were in
the time of Cook! Since his voyage a hemisphere has been added to
the civilised world.
If a person suffer much from sea-sickness, let him weigh it heavily
in the balance. I speak from experience: it is no trifling evil,
cured in a week. If, on the other hand, he take pleasure in naval
tactics, he will assuredly have full scope for his taste. But it
must be borne in mind how large a proportion of the time, during a
long voyage, is spent on the water, as compared with the days in
harbour. And what are the boasted glories of the illimitable ocean?
A tedious waste, a desert of water, as the Arabian calls it. No
doubt there are some delightful scenes. A moonlight night, with the
clear heavens and the dark glittering sea, and the white sails
filled by the soft air of a gently-blowing trade-wind, a dead calm,
with the heaving surface polished like a mirror, and all still
except the occasional flapping of the canvas. It is well once to
behold a squall with its rising arch and coming fury, or the heavy
gale of wind and mountainous waves. I confess, however, my
imagination had painted something more grand, more terrific, in the
full-grown storm. It is an incomparably finer spectacle when beheld
on shore, where the waving trees, the wild flight of the birds, the
dark shadows and bright lights, the rushing of the torrents, all
proclaim the strife of the unloosed elements. At sea the albatross
and little petrel fly as if the storm were their proper sphere, the
water rises and sinks as if fulfilling its usual task, the ship
alone and its inhabitants seem the objects of wrath. On a forlorn
and weather-beaten coast the scene is indeed different, but the
feelings partake more of horror than of wild delight.
Let us now look at the brighter side of the past time. The pleasure
derived from beholding the scenery and the general aspect of the
various countries we have visited has decidedly been the most
constant and highest source of enjoyment. It is probable that the
picturesque beauty of many parts of Europe exceeds anything which
we beheld. But there is a growing pleasure in comparing the
character of the scenery in different countries, which to a certain
degree is distinct from merely admiring its beauty. It depends
chiefly on an acquaintance with the individual parts of each view;
I am strongly induced to believe that as in music, the person who
understands every note will, if he also possesses a proper taste,
more thoroughly enjoy the whole, so he who examines each part of a
fine view may also thoroughly comprehend the full and combined
effect. Hence, a traveller should be a botanist, for in all views
plants form the chief embellishment. Group masses of naked rock
even in the wildest forms, and they may for a time afford a sublime
spectacle, but they will soon grow monotonous. Paint them with
bright and varied colours, as in Northern Chile, they will become
fantastic; clothe them with vegetation, they must form a decent, if
not a beautiful picture.
When I say that the scenery of parts of Europe is probably superior
to anything which we beheld, I except, as a class by itself, that
of the intertropical zones. The two classes cannot be compared
together; but I have already often enlarged on the grandeur of
those regions. As the force of impressions generally depends on
preconceived ideas, I may add that mine were taken from the vivid
descriptions in the "Personal Narrative" of Humboldt, which far
exceed in merit anything else which I have read. Yet with these
high-wrought ideas, my feelings were far from partaking of a tinge
of disappointment on my first and final landing on the shores of
Brazil.
Among the scenes which are deeply impressed on my mind, none exceed
in sublimity the primeval forests undefaced by the hand of man;
whether those of Brazil, where the powers of Life are predominant,
or those of Tierra del Fuego, where Death and Decay prevail. Both
are temples filled with the varied productions of the God of
Nature:--no one can stand in these solitudes unmoved, and not feel
that there is more in man than the mere breath of his body. In
calling up images of the past, I find that the plains of Patagonia
frequently cross before my eyes; yet these plains are pronounced by
all wretched and useless. They can be described only by negative
characters; without habitations, without water, without trees,
without mountains, they support merely a few dwarf plants. Why,
then, and the case is not peculiar to myself, have these arid
wastes taken so firm a hold on my memory? Why have not the still
more level, the greener and more fertile Pampas, which are
serviceable to mankind, produced an equal impression? I can
scarcely analyse these feelings: but it must be partly owing to the
free scope given to the imagination. The plains of Patagonia are
boundless, for they are scarcely passable, and hence unknown: they
bear the stamp of having lasted, as they are now, for ages, and
there appears no limit to their duration through future time. If,
as the ancients supposed, the flat earth was surrounded by an
impassable breadth of water, or by deserts heated to an intolerable
excess, who would not look at these last boundaries to man's
knowledge with deep but ill-defined sensations?
Lastly, of natural scenery, the views from lofty mountains, though
certainly in one sense not beautiful, are very memorable. When
looking down from the highest crest of the Cordillera, the mind,
undisturbed by minute details, was filled with the stupendous
dimensions of the surrounding masses.
Of individual objects, perhaps nothing is more certain to create
astonishment than the first sight in his native haunt of a
barbarian,--of man in his lowest and most savage state. One's mind
hurries back over past centuries, and then asks, Could our
progenitors have been men like these?--men, whose very signs and
expressions are less intelligible to us than those of the
domesticated animals; men, who do not possess the instinct of those
animals, nor yet appear to boast of human reason, or at least of
arts consequent on that reason. I do not believe it is possible to
describe or paint the difference between savage and civilised man.
It is the difference between a wild and tame animal: and part of
the interest in beholding a savage is the same which would lead
every one to desire to see the lion in his desert, the tiger
tearing his prey in the jungle, or the rhinoceros wandering over
the wild plains of Africa.
Among the other most remarkable spectacles which we have beheld,
may be ranked the Southern Cross, the cloud of Magellan, and the
other constellations of the southern hemisphere--the
waterspout--the glacier leading its blue stream of ice, overhanging
the sea in a bold precipice--a lagoon-island raised by the
reef-building corals--an active volcano--and the overwhelming
effects of a violent earthquake. These latter phenomena, perhaps,
possess for me a peculiar interest, from their intimate connexion
with the geological structure of the world. The earthquake,
however, must be to every one a most impressive event: the earth,
considered from our earliest childhood as the type of solidity, has
oscillated like a thin crust beneath our feet; and in seeing the
laboured works of man in a moment overthrown, we feel the
insignificance of his boasted power.
It has been said that the love of the chase is an inherent delight
in man--a relic of an instinctive passion. If so, I am sure the
pleasure of living in the open air, with the sky for a roof and the
ground for a table, is part of the same feeling; it is the savage
returning to his wild and native habits. I always look back to our
boat cruises, and my land journeys, when through unfrequented
countries, with an extreme delight, which no scenes of civilisation
could have created. I do not doubt that every traveller must
remember the glowing sense of happiness which he experienced when
he first breathed in a foreign clime where the civilised man had
seldom or never trod.
There are several other sources of enjoyment in a long voyage which
are of a more reasonable nature. The map of the world ceases to be
a blank; it becomes a picture full of the most varied and animated
figures. Each part assumes its proper dimensions: continents are
not looked at in the light of islands, or islands considered as
mere specks, which are, in truth, larger than many kingdoms of
Europe. Africa, or North and South America, are well-sounding
names, and easily pronounced; but it is not until having sailed for
weeks along small portions of their shores, that one is thoroughly
convinced what vast spaces on our immense world these names imply.
From seeing the present state, it is impossible not to look forward
with high expectations to the future progress of nearly an entire
hemisphere. The march of improvement, consequent on the
introduction of Christianity throughout the South Sea, probably
stands by itself in the records of history. It is the more striking
when we remember that only sixty years since, Cook, whose excellent
judgment none will dispute, could foresee no prospect of a change.
Yet these changes have now been effected by the philanthropic
spirit of the British nation.
In the same quarter of the globe Australia is rising, or indeed may
be said to have risen, into a grand centre of civilisation, which,
at some not very remote period, will rule as empress over the
southern hemisphere. It is impossible for an Englishman to behold
these distant colonies without a high pride and satisfaction. To
hoist the British flag seems to draw with it as a certain
consequence, wealth, prosperity, and civilisation.
In conclusion it appears to me that nothing can be more improving
to a young naturalist than a journey in distant countries. It both
sharpens and partly allays that want and craving, which, as Sir J.
Herschel remarks, a man experiences although every corporeal sense
be fully satisfied. The excitement from the novelty of objects, and
the chance of success, stimulate him to increased activity.
Moreover, as a number of isolated facts soon become uninteresting,
the habit of comparison leads to generalisation. On the other hand,
as the traveller stays but a short time in each place, his
descriptions must generally consist of mere sketches, instead of
detailed observations. Hence arises, as I have found to my cost, a
constant tendency to fill up the wide gaps of knowledge by
inaccurate and superficial hypotheses.
But I have too deeply enjoyed the voyage, not to recommend any
naturalist, although he must not expect to be so fortunate in his
companions as I have been, to take all chances, and to start, on
travels by land if possible, if otherwise, on a long voyage. He may
feel assured he will meet with no difficulties or dangers,
excepting in rare cases, nearly so bad as he beforehand
anticipates. In a moral point of view the effect ought to be to
teach him good-humoured patience, freedom from selfishness, the
habit of acting for himself, and of making the best of every
occurrence. In short, he ought to partake of the characteristic
qualities of most sailors. Travelling ought also to teach him
distrust; but at the same time he will discover how many truly
kind-hearted people there are, with whom he never before had, or
ever again will have any further communication, who yet are ready
to offer him the most disinterested assistance.
(PLATE 106. ASCENSION. TERNS AND NODDIES.)
(PLATE 107. MAP OF SOUTH AMERICA.)
(PLATE 108. MAP OF THE WORLD, SHOWING THE TRACK OF H.M.S.
"BEAGLE.")
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