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