Czytaj książkę: «Notes of a naturalist in South America»
PREFACE
A tour round the South American continent, which was completed in so short a time as five months, may not appear to deserve any special record; yet I am led to hope that this little book may serve to induce others to visit a region so abounding in sources of enjoyment and interest. There is no part of the world where, in the same short space of time, a traveller can view so many varied and impressive aspects of nature; while he whose attention is mainly given to the progress and development of the social condition of mankind will find in the condition of the numerous states of the continent, and the manners and habits of the many different races that inhabit it, abundant material to engage his attention and excite his interest.
Although, as the title implies, the aim of my journey was mainly directed to the new aspects of nature, organic and inorganic, which South America superabundantly presents to the stranger, I have not thought it without interest to give in these pages the impressions as to the social and political condition of the different regions which I visited, suggested to an unprejudiced visitor by the daily incidents of a traveller’s life.
Those who may be tempted to undertake a tour in South America will find that by a judicious choice of route, according to the season selected for travelling, they may visit all the accessible parts of the continent with perfect ease, and with no more risk of injury to health, or of bodily discomfort, than they incur in a summer excursion in Europe. The chief precaution to be observed is to make the visit to Brazil fall in the cool and dry season, extending from mid-May to September. It may also be well to mention that, while the cost of passage and expenses on board, for a journey of about 18,400 miles by sea, somewhat exceeded £170, my expenses during about ten weeks on land, without any attempt at economy, did not exceed £100.
The reader may regard as superfluous the rather frequent references to the meteorology of the various parts of the continent which I was able to visit. But, if he will consider the importance of the two main elements – temperature and moisture – in regulating the development of organic life in past epochs, and the influence which they now exercise on the character of the human population, he will admit that a student of nature could not fail to make them the objects of frequent attention, the more especially as many erroneous impressions as to the climate of various parts of South America are still current, even among men of science.
I make no pretension to add anything of importance to our store of positive knowledge respecting the region described in this volume; I shall be content if it should be found that I have suggested trains of thought that may lead others to valuable results. I venture, indeed, to believe that the argument adduced in the sixth chapter, as to the great extent and importance of the ancient mountains of Brazil, approaches near to demonstration, and that the recognition of its validity will be found to throw fresh light on the history of organic life in that region of the globe.
In the Appendices to this volume two subjects of a somewhat technical character, not likely to interest the general reader, are separately discussed. With regard to both of them, my aim has been to show that the opinions now current amongst men of science do not rest upon adequate evidence, and that we need further knowledge of the phenomena, discoverable by observation, before we can safely arrive at positive conclusions.
In deference to the prejudices of English readers, which are unfortunately shared by many scientific writers, the ordinary British standards of measure and weight have been followed throughout the text, as well as the antiquated custom of denoting temperature by the scale of Fahrenheit’s thermometer. With regard to the metrical system of measures and weights, I am fully aware of its imperfections, and if the question were now raised for the first time I should advocate the adoption of some considerable modifications. But seeing that no other uniform system is in existence, and that the metrical system has been adopted by nearly all civilized nations, I cannot but regret that my countrymen should retain what is practically a barrier to the free interchange of thought with the rest of the world. The defects of the metrical system are mainly those of our decimal system of numeration, which owes its existence to the fact that the human hand possesses five fingers. If in some future stage of development our race should acquire a sixth finger to each hand, it may then also acquire a more convenient system of numeration, to which the scale of measures would naturally be adapted. In the mean time the advantages of a uniform system far outweigh its attendant defects.
The adherence to the Fahrenheit scale for the thermometer is even less defensible. It belongs to a primitive epoch of science, when a knowledge of the facts of physics was in a rudimentary stage, and its survival at the present day is a matter of marvel to the student of progress.
I should not conclude these prefatory words without expressing my obligations to many scientific friends whom I have from time to time consulted with advantage; and I must especially record my obligation to Mr. Robert Scott, F.R.S., who has on many occasions been my guide to the valuable materials available in the library of the Meteorological Office.
CHAPTER I
Voyage across the Atlantic – Barbadoes – Jamaica – Isthmus of Panama – Buenaventura, tropical forest – Guayaquil and the river Guayas – Payta – The rainless zone of Peru – Voyage to Callao.
A voyage across the Atlantic in a large ocean steamer is now as familiar and as little troublesome as the journey from London to Paris. It rarely offers any incident worth recounting, and yet, especially as a first experience, it supplies an abundant variety of sources of curiosity and interest. It is easy for a man to sit down at home and within the walls of his own study to find the requisite materials for investigating the still unsolved problems presented by the physics and meteorology of the ocean, or the evidence favourable or hostile to the important modern doctrine of the permanence of the great ocean valleys; but in point of fact very few men who stay at home do occupy themselves with these questions, and it is no slight privilege to feel drawn towards them by the hourly suggestions received during a sea-voyage. Nor is it possible to make light of the simpler pleasures caused by the satisfaction of mere curiosity, when that is linked by association with the pictures on which the fancy has worked from one’s earliest childhood onward. The starting of a covey of flying-fish, the fringe of cocos palms rising against the horizon, the Southern Cross and the Magellanic clouds, the reversed apparent motion of the sun from right to left – none of them very marvellous as mere observed facts – are so many keys that unlock the closed-up recesses, the blue chambers of the memory, which the youthful imagination had peopled with shapes of beauty and wonder and mystery.
Some thrill of delightful anticipation was, I presume, felt by many of the passengers who went on board the royal mail steamer Don in Southampton Water on the 17th of March, 1882. Amid the usual waving of handkerchiefs from the friends who remained behind on board the tender, we glided seaward, and by four p.m. were going at half speed abreast of the Isle of Wight. The good ship had suffered severely during the preceding winter on her homeward passage from the West Indies, when the heavy seas which swept her upper deck had carried away the covering of her engine-room, stove in the chief officer’s cabin, and severely injured her commander, Captain Woolward. On this occasion our voyage was easy and prosperous, and nothing occurred to test severely the careful seamanship of Captain Gillies, who had taken the temporary command.
ATLANTIC CYCLONES.
On the 19th the barometer, which, in spite of a gentle breeze from south-west, had stood as high as 30·40, fell about a quarter of an inch between sunrise and sunset; and in the night, on the only occasion during the entire voyage, remained for some hours below 30·00. A moderate breeze from the north brought with it a disproportionately heavy sea, and although there was no sensible pitching, the ship rolled so heavily as to send many of the passengers to solitary confinement in their berths. This continued throughout the 20th, afterwards styled Black Monday by the sufferers from sea-sickness, and we escaped into smoother water only on the evening of the following day. The discomfort which I felt from fancying that I had “lost my sea legs” was entirely relieved by fortunately coming across a distinguished naval officer, on his way to take a command on the West Indian station, who like myself was forced to hold on with both hands during the rolling of the ship.
It was clear that we had passed at no great distance from a cyclone in the North Atlantic – one of those disturbances whose visits are so often predicted from the western continent, but which so often fortunately lose their way or get dissipated before they approach our shores. It would seem that little progress has been made in forecasting the direction in which these great aërial eddies traverse the ocean, or the conditions under which they expend their force. It seems allowable to suppose that the most important of the causes influencing their direction depend upon the general movements of the great currents of the atmosphere; and that, as these are constantly modified by the changing position of the earth in her orbit, the element of season is primarily to be considered. It being admitted that the origin of these disturbances is to be sought in the abnormal heating or cooling of some considerable portion of the earth’s surface, it would seem that, in the case of the Atlantic, local causes can have little effect, unless we suppose that the heating of the surface of the Azores in summer, or the annual descent of icebergs from the polar seas, are adequate to influence the march of a travelling cyclone.
On the evening of the 20th the barometer had risen again to its former position, rather over 30·40 inches; the mean of the four following days was 30·55, and that of the entire run from Southampton to Barbadoes was 30·36. This fact of the continuance of high or low pressures at the sea-level at certain seasons in some parts of the world has scarcely been sufficiently noted in connection with the ordinary rules for the measurement of heights by means of the barometer. The tables supplied to travellers are all calculated on the assumption that the pressure at the sea-level is constant – the English tables fixing the amount at 30·00 inches of mercury, those calculated on the continent starting from a pressure of 760 millimetres, or about 29·921 inches. It is admitted that this mode of determining heights, when comparative observations at a known station are not available, is subject to serious unavoidable error. With regard, however, to mountains not remote from the sea-coast, it may be possible to lessen this inconvenience in many parts of the world by substituting for the assumed uniform pressure that higher or lower amount which is known to prevail at given seasons. Such a correction could not, of course, be made available in very variable climates, such as that of the British Islands, but might be applied in many parts of the broad zone lying within 40° of the equator.
ATLANTIC SPRING TEMPERATURE.
Soon after ten p.m. on the 21st we were abreast of the bright light which marks the harbour of St. Michael’s, but, the night being dark, we saw very little of that or any other of the Azores group. The spring temperature of these islands is about the same as that of places in the same latitude in Portugal; but it appears that the cooling effect of the east and north-east winds prevailing at that season must in the mid-Atlantic extend even much farther south. With generally fair settled weather, the thermometer rose very slowly as we advanced towards the tropics. Between the 18th and 24th of March, in passing from 50° to 29° north latitude, the mean daily temperature rose only from about 55° to about 65° Fahr. – the thermometer never rising to 70°, nor falling below 52°. Notwithstanding the relatively low temperature, a few flying-fish were seen on the 24th – rare, it is said, outside the tropics so early in the year, though sometimes seen in summer as far north as the Azores.
On March 25th we, for the first time, became conscious of a decided though moderate change of climate. The thermometer at noon stood at 71°, and was not seen to fall below 70° until, some three weeks later, off the Peruvian coast, we met the cold antarctic current which plays so great a part in the meteorology of that region. We were now in the regular track of the north-east trade-wind, and my mind was somewhat exercised to account for the circumstance, said to be of usual occurrence, that the breeze increases in strength from sunrise during the day, and falls off, though it does not die away, towards nightfall. It is easy to understand the cause of this intermittence in breezes on shore, whether near the sea-coast or in the neighbourhood of mountain ranges, inasmuch as their direction and strength are determined by the unequal heating of the surface; but the trade-winds form a main part of the general system of aërial circulation over the surface of our planet, and, supposing the phenomenon to be of a normal character, the explanation is not quite simple. Regarding the trade-wind as a great current set up in the atmosphere, it is conceivable that the heating and consequent expansion which must occur as the sun acts upon it, tends to increase the rate of flow at the bottom of the aërial stream, while the cooling which ensues as the sun’s heat is withdrawn, has the contrary effect.
On this and the next day or two my attention was called to the frequent recurrence of masses of yellow seaweed, sometimes in irregular patches, but more frequently arranged in regular bands, two or three yards in width, and extending in a straight line as far as the eye could reach. We were here at no great distance from the great sargassum fields of the Northern Atlantic, but I was unable to satisfy myself that the species seen from the steamer was that which mainly forms the sargassum beds; and, whatever it might be, this arrangement in long straight strips seemed deserving of further inquiry. More flying-fish were now seen, and two or three small whales of the species called by seamen “black-fish” were sighted during this part of the voyage.
ENTERING THE TROPICS.
On the afternoon of the 26th we entered the tropics, and this and the following day were thoroughly enjoyable, but did not offer much of novelty. The colour of the sea was here of a much deeper and purer blue (rivalling that of the Mediterranean) than we had hitherto found it, while that of the sky was much paler. The light cumuli with ill-defined edges were such as we are used to in British summer weather; and, excepting that the interval of twilight was sensibly shorter, the sunsets were devoid of special interest. At this season the Southern Cross was above the horizon about nightfall, and was made out by the practised eyes of some of the officers; but, in truth, it remains a somewhat insignificant object when seen from the northern side of the equator, and to enjoy the full splendour of that stellar hemisphere one must reach high southern latitudes.
Although the thermometer never quite reached 80° Fahr. in the shade until we touched land, the weather on the 28th and 29th was hot and close, and few passengers kept up the wholesome practice of a constitutional walk on the long deck of the Don. Of the rain which constantly seemed impending very little fell.
ARRIVAL AT BARBADOES.
At daybreak on the morning of the 30th, in twelve days and seventeen hours, we completed the run of about 3340 nautical miles which separates Southampton from Barbadoes, and found ourselves in the roads of Bridgetown, about a mile from the shore. Being somewhat prepared, I was not altogether surprised to find that this first view of a tropical island forcibly reminded me of the last land I had beheld at home – the northern shores of the Isle of Wight. Long swelling hills, on which well-grown trees intervene between tracts of tillage, present much the same general outline, and at this distance the only marked difference was the intense dark-green colour of the large trees that embower the town and nearly conceal all but a few of the chief buildings. The appearance of things as the morning advanced quite confirmed the reputation of this small island as the most prosperous, and, in proportion to its extent, the most productive of the West Indian Islands. With an area not greater than that of the Isle of Wight, and a population of about sixty thousand whites and rather more than a hundred thousand negroes, the value of the exports and imports surpasses a million sterling under each head; and, besides this, it is the centre of a considerable transit trade with the other islands. Under local representative institutions, which have subsisted since the island was first occupied by the English early in the seventeenth century, the finances are flourishing, and the colonial government is free from debt. The average annual produce of sugar is reckoned at forty-four thousand hogsheads, but varies with the amount of rainfall. This averages from fifty-eight to fifty-nine inches annually, but any considerable deficiency, such as occurred in the year 1873, leads to a proportionate diminution in the sugar crop.
Among other tokens of civilization, the harbour police at Bridgetown appeared to be thoroughly efficient. As, about nine o’clock, we prepared to go ashore, we found on deck two privates – black men in plain uniform – who seemed to have no difficulty in keeping perfect order amid the crowd of boatmen that swarmed round the big ship. We had already learned the event of the hour – the fall of three inches of rain during the day and night preceding our arrival. This is more than usually falls during the entire month of March, and seemed to be welcomed by the entire population. On landing we encountered a good deal of greasy grey mud in the streets, but all was nearly dry when, after a short excursion, we returned in the afternoon. After a short stay in the town, where there was a little shopping to be done, and where some of my companions indulged in a second breakfast of fried flying-fish, I started with a pleasant party of fellow-travellers to see something of the island. It was arranged that, after a drive of six or seven miles, we should go to luncheon at the house of Mr. C – , the owner of a sugar-plantation, whose brother, Colonel C – , was one of our fellow-passengers. We enjoyed the benefit of the recent heavy rain in the comparative coolness of the air – the thermometer scarcely rose above 80° Fahr. in the shade – and in freedom from dust.
A small, low island, nearly every acre of which has been reduced to cultivation, cannot offer very much of picturesque beauty; nevertheless the first peep of the tropics did not fail to present abundant matter of interest. In this part of the world the dry season, now coming to an end, is the winter of vegetation, and, of course, there was not very much to be seen of the herbaceous flora; but the beauty of the trees and the rich hues of their foliage quite surpassed my anticipations. The majority of these are plants introduced either from the larger islands or from more distant tropical countries, that have been planted in the neighbourhood of houses.
One of the first that strikes a new-comer in the tropics is the mango tree, which, though introduced by man from its original home in tropical Asia, is now common throughout the hotter parts of America. Its widespreading branches, bearing dense tufts of large leathery leaves, make it as welcome for the sake of protection from the sun as for its fruit, which is a luxury that some persons never learn to appreciate. The cinnamon tree (Canella alba), common in most of the West Indian Islands, is another of the plants that serve for ornament and shade while ministering products useful to man. Of the smaller shade-trees, the pimento (probably Pimenta acris) was also conspicuous, and very many others which I failed to recognize, might be added to the new impressions of the first day in the tropics. One of the most curious is that known to the English residents as the sand-box tree, the Hura crepitans of botanists. It belongs to the Euphorbiaceæ, or Spurge family, but is strangely unlike any of the Old-World forms of that order. Here the fruit is in form rather like a small melon, of hard woody texture, divided into numerous – ten to twenty – cells. If, when taken from the tree, the top is sawn off and the seeds scooped out, no farther change occurs, and it may be, and often is, as the name implies, used as a sand-box. But if left until the seeds are mature, the whole capsule bursts open with a loud report, scattering the seeds to a distance. Thinking that a small young fruit, if dried very gradually, might escape this result, I carried one away, which, after my return to Europe, I placed in a small wooden box in my herbarium. Some nine months after it had been collected it must have exploded in my absence, for, unlocking the room one day, I found the box broken to pieces, and the valves of the fruit and the seeds scattered in all directions about the room.
POPULATION OF BARBADOES.
Next to the vegetable inhabitants, I was interested in the black population of the island. The first impression on finding one’s self amid fellow-creatures so markedly different in physical characters is one of strangeness, and one is tempted to ask whether, after all, there can be any pith in the arguments once confidently urged to establish a specific difference between the negro and the white man. But this very quickly wears away, and a contrary impression arises. The second thought is that, considering what we know of the conditions under which the native races of Equatorial Africa have been developed during an unrecorded series of ages, and of the subsequent conditions during several generations of slavery, the surprising thing is that the differences should not be far greater than they are.
It would be very rash to draw positive conclusions from what could be seen in a visit of a few hours, but, undoubtedly, the general effect was pleasing, and tended to confirm the assertion that the difficult problem of converting a population of black slaves into useful members of a free community has been better solved in Barbadoes than in any other European colony. So far as the elementary wants are concerned, there was a complete absence of the painful suspicion so commonly felt as regards the poor in Europe and the East, that their food is either insufficient or unwholesome. With very few exceptions they all seemed sleek and well fed, and their clothing showed no symptoms of poverty. In the town their dress was generally neat, and most of the women made a display of bright colour in handkerchiefs and parasols. What struck me most was a general air of good humour and enjoyment. One may be misled in this respect by the facial characteristics of the black race, which, in the absence of disturbing causes, readily turn to a smile or a grin. But, whether in the streets of Bridgetown or botanizing among the fields in the country, and using the few opportunities of speaking to the people, the same impression was retained.
Their manner in speaking to whites seemed to imply neither servility nor yet the independence which characterizes the Arab or the Moor. A latent sense of inferiority seemed to be combined with a complete absence of shyness or apprehension, as in children used to kind treatment, and not too carefully drilled. We happened to halt near a spot where there was a cluster of labourers’ cabins, and a school well filled with small children. There had been a wedding in Bridgetown that morning, and as we halted two carriages passed, carrying the bridal party to some house in the country. All the inhabitants rushed out at once, and contended, young and old, in the most boisterous cheering. Perhaps this meant little more than the mere love of noise, as when boys cheer a passing railway train, but it argued, at least, the absence of any feeling of race animosity.
The houses of the labouring population, whether in town or country, are mere sheds, seemingly of the frailest materials, the walls of thin upright boards, and roofed with small imbricated wooden shingles, such as one sometimes sees in Tyrol; but there must be a very substantial framework, or they would be annually carried away by the August hurricanes. The interiors appeared to be fairly clean, and in a country where cold is unknown good houses are luxuries, not necessaries of life.
CAUSES OF PROSPERITY.
One need not go far to seek the explanation of the superior condition of Barbadoes as compared with the other West Indian Islands. Unlike these, there was here no waste land; every acre was occupied, and the emancipated negro could not follow the very natural but unfortunate instinct which elsewhere led him to squat in idleness, supporting life on a few bananas and other produce that cost but a few days’ labour in the year. Apart from this, it is said that the Barbadoes, unlike the Jamaica, planters showed practical intelligence in at once recognizing the new conditions created by the Act of Emancipation, and, by offering fair wages and giving their personal influence and supervision, helping to convert the slave into an industrious freeman. Whatever poets may have fancied of the delights of lotus-eating, it seems to be true in the tropics, as well as in temperate climates, that there is more contentment and real enjoyment of life among people who are held to regular daily work – not excessive or exhausting – than among those who have little or nothing to do.
The house at which we were hospitably entertained, with no architectural pretensions, struck us as admirably suited to the climate. On the ground floor, several spacious and airy sitting-rooms opened on a broad verandah that ran round the building, and a number of fine trees close at hand, with the dense impervious foliage characteristic of the tropics, offered the alternative of sitting in the open air. One of the natural advantages of Barbadoes is the almost complete absence of noxious and venomous insects and reptiles. The frequency of poisonous snakes in some of the islands, especially Martinique and Sta. Lucia, must seriously interfere with the pleasures of a country life.
The voyage from Barbadoes to Jacmel, which occupied the greater part of three nights and two days, was highly enjoyable, but uneventful. With a temperature of about 80° in the shade, and a pleasant breeze from the north-east, life on deck was much more attractive than any occupation in the cabins, and nothing more laborious than reading an interesting book, such as Tschudi’s “Travels in Peru,” or at the utmost some brushing up of nearly forgotten Spanish, could be undertaken. In the early morning, the rising of the coveys of flying-fish as the steamer disturbed them from their rest on the surface, with their great silvery fins glancing in the level rays of the sun, was always an attractive sight. They certainly often change the direction of their flight as they momentarily touch the surface, but I could not satisfy myself whether this depended on a muscular effort of the animal, or merely on the angle at which it happened to strike the irregular surface of the little dancing waves that surrounded us.
JACMEL IN HAYTI.
About sunrise on the 2nd of April the anchor was let go, and we found ourselves in the harbour of Jacmel, the only port on the south side of the great island of Hayti. The Royal Mail steamers call here periodically to deliver letters and to receive a bag which, after due fumigation and such other incantations as are deemed proper, is delivered at the end of a long pole. The entire island being supposed to be constantly subject to zymotic diseases, especially small-pox which is the great scourge of the negro race, no further communication with the shore is permitted, and within less than two hours we were again under way. The hills surrounding the harbour are apparently covered with forest, the trees being of no great size, but of the most brilliant green; but I could detect no dwellings of a superior class such as Europeans would be sure to construct in picturesque and healthy spots near a seaport. As we ran for more than twenty miles very near the coast, I could at first detect here and there small patches of cleared ground with sheds or huts; but beyond the distance of a few miles these ceased, and no token of the presence of man was discernible.
Making large allowance for exaggeration, and having had the opportunity of correcting some loose reports by the more careful and accurate information afterwards received from a gentleman who resided for some time at Port au Prince as the representative of a European power, it is impossible for me to avoid the conclusion that, in the hands of its black possessors, this noble island has retrograded to a condition of savagery little, if at all, superior to that of the regions of tropical Africa whence they originally came.
There may be but slight foundation for the reports as to the revival of cannibal customs in the interior of the island; but it would seem that the sanguinary encounters so frequently recurring between the people of the rival republics between whom the island is divided, differ little in point of ferocity from those of Ashantee or Dahomey. The political institutions, caricatures of those of the United States, have produced in astonishing luxuriance all the abuses characteristic of different types of misgovernment, and the few men distinguished by superior intelligence and a desire for rational progress have sought in vain for support in efforts for reform. The condition of the two republics, Hayti and San Domingo, seems to be the reductio ad absurdum of the theories which ascribe to free institutions an inherent power of promoting human progress.
