Narrative of the surveying voyages of His Majesty's Ships Adventure and Beagle, Vol. 3 [of 3] · Charles Darwin
MAURITIUS TO ENGLAND.
On the 17th we took our final leave of the coast of South America, and on the last day of the month anchored at Porto Praya. We staid there only five days, and on the 5th of September steered for the Azores. On the 19th we anchored off the town of Angra, the capital of Terceira. This island is moderately lofty, and has a rounded outline, with detached conical hills evidently of volcanic origin. The land is well cultivated, and is divided into a multitude of rectangular fields by stone walls, extending from the water’s edge to high up on the central hills. There are few or no trees, and the yellow stubble land at this time of the year gave a burnt-up and unpleasant character to the scenery. Small hamlets and single whitewashed houses are scattered in all parts. In the evening a party went on shore: we found the city a very clean and tidy little place, containing about 10,000 inhabitants, which includes nearly the fourth part of the total number on the island. There are no good shops, and there is little appearance of activity, excepting the intolerable creaking of an occasional bullock-waggon. The churches are very respectable, and there were formerly a good many convents; but Dom Pedro destroyed several. He levelled three nunneries to the ground, and gave permission to the nuns to marry, which, except by some very old ones, was gladly received.
Angra was formerly the capital of the whole Archipelago, but it has now only one division of the islands under its government, and its glory has departed. The city is defended by a strong castle on Mount Brazil, and by a line of batteries encircling the base of this extinct volcano, which overlooks the town. Terceira was the first place that received Dom Pedro, and from this beginning he conquered the other islands, and finally Portugal. A loan was scraped together in this one island of no less than 400,000 dollars, of which sum not one farthing has ever been paid to these first supporters of the present right royal and honourable family. The next day the Consul kindly lent me his horse, and furnished me with guides to proceed to a spot in the centre of the island, which was described as an active crater. Ascending in deep lanes, bordered on each side by high stone walls, for the three first miles we passed many houses and gardens. We then entered on a very irregular country, consisting of more recent streams of hummocky basaltic lava. The rocks are covered in some parts by a thick brushwood about three feet high, and in others by heath, fern, and short pasture: a few broken-down old stone walls completed the resemblance with the mountains of Wales. I saw, moreover, some old English friends amongst the insects; and of birds, the starling, water-wagtail, chaffinch, and blackbird. There are no houses in this elevated and central part, and the ground is only used for the pasture of cattle and goats. On every side besides the ridges of more ancient lavas, there were cones of various dimensions, which still partly retained their crater-formed summits; and where broken down, showed a pile of cinders, such as those from an iron-foundry.
When we reached the so-called crater, I found it consisted of a slight depression, or rather of a short valley abutting against a higher range and without any exit. The bottom was traversed by several large fissures, out of which, in nearly a dozen places, small jets of steam issued as from the cracks in the boiler of a steam engine. The steam close to the irregular orifices was far too hot for the hand to endure it. It had but little smell, yet from every thing made of iron being blackened, and from a peculiar rough sensation communicated to the skin, the vapour cannot be pure; I imagine it contains some muriatic acid. The effect on the surrounding trachytic lava was singular, the solid stone being entirely converted either into pure snow-white porcelain clay, or into a kind of the brightest red, or the two colours were marbled together. The steam has thus been emitted during many years; and it is said that flames once issued from the cracks. During rain, the water from each bank must flow into these cracks; and it is probable that this same water trickling down to the neighbourhood of some heated subterranean lava, causes the above effects. Throughout the island, the powers from below have been unusually active during the last year; several small earthquakes have been felt, and during a few days a jet of steam issued from a bold precipice (part of Mount Brazil) overhanging the sea, not far from the town of Angra.
I enjoyed my day’s ride, though I did not find much worth seeing. It was pleasant to meet the peasantry; I do not recollect ever having beheld a set of handsomer young men, with more good-humoured expressions. The greater number whom we met, were employed in the mountains gathering sticks for firewood. A whole family, from the father to the least boy, might be seen, each carrying his bundle on his head to sell in the town. Their burdens were very heavy; this hard labour and the ragged state of their clothes plainly bespoke poverty; yet I am told it is not that they want food, but there is an absence of all luxuries,--a case parallel to that of Chiloe. Hence, although the whole land is not cultivated, numbers are emigrating to Brazil, where the contract to which they are bound differs but little from slavery. It seems a great pity that so fine a population should be compelled to leave a land of plenty, where every article of food--meat, vegetables, and fruit--is exceedingly cheap and most abundant: but the labourer finds his labour of proportionally little value.
Another day I set out early in the morning to visit the town of Praya situated towards the N.E. extremity of the island. The distance is about fifteen miles; the road ran during the greater part of the way, not far from the coast. The country is all cultivated, and scattered over with houses and small villages. I noticed in several places, that the solid lava, which in part formed the road, was worn into ruts of the depth of twelve inches from the long traffic of the bullock-waggons. This circumstance has been noticed with surprise in the ancient pavement of Pompeii, for it does not occur in any of the present towns of Italy. The waggon-wheels here have a tire surmounted by singularly large knobs of iron; perhaps the old Roman wheels were thus furnished. The country during our morning’s ride was not interesting; excepting always when enlivened by the pleasant sight of the healthy peasantry. The harvest was lately over, and near the houses, the fine yellow heads of the Indian corn were tied in large bundles, to be dried, to the poplar-trees; and these, seen from a distance, appeared weighed down by some beautiful fruit,--the very emblem of fertility. One part of the road crossed a broad stream of lava, which from its rocky and black surface seemed to be of comparatively recent origin: indeed, the crater, whence it had flowed, could be distinguished. The industrious inhabitants have turned this space into vineyards; but for this purpose it was necessary to clear away the loose fragments, and to pile them up into a multitude of walls, which enclose little patches of ground a few yards square, thus covering the country with a network of black lines.
The town of Praya is a quiet, forlorn, little place: many years since a large city was here overwhelmed by an earthquake. It is asserted that the land then subsided, and a wall of a convent now bathed by the sea, is shown as a proof of it: the fact is probable, but the supposed proof not conclusive. I returned home by another road, which first led along the northern shore, and then crossed the central part of the island. This north-eastern extremity is particularly well cultivated, and produces a large quantity of fine wheat. The square open fields, and small villages with whitewashed churches, gave to the view, as seen from the heights, an aspect resembling the less picturesque parts of central England. We soon reached the region of clouds, which during our whole visit hung very low and concealed the tops of the mountains. For a couple of hours we crossed this central and elevated part, which is not inhabited and has a desolate appearance. When we descended from the clouds to the city, I heard the good news that astronomical observations had been obtained, and that we should go to sea the same evening. On the 25th we called at the island of St. Michael’s for letters, and then steered a direct course for England. On October 2d the Beagle anchored at Falmouth, where I left her, having lived on board the little vessel very nearly five years.
For specimens in spirits of wine, I found the following plan answered admirably: Get a set of steel dies from 0 to 9, a small punch, and some sheets of _trebly_-thick tinfoil. The numbers may at any time be stamped in a line, with a hole punched in front of each, and then cut off with a pair of scissors as wanted. These tickets cost little trouble in making, and _do not corrode_. Each specimen in spirits should be loosely folded up in _very open_ gauze, or some such stuff; the string which ties up the corners may likewise secure the number. Use nothing but glass jars; but these are difficult to be obtained of any size out of Europe. Jars of earthenware, and wooden casks, either leak, or allow of evaporation; and when such are used, it is not easy to know whether the specimens are too much crowded (a very common fault), or in what state the spirit is in, which through glass can be judged of by its colour. Bear in mind, that in nine out of ten specimens which are spoiled, it is owing to the spirit being too weak. The jars should be closed with a bung covered by bladder, twice by common tinfoil, and by bladder again; let the bladder soak till half putrid. I found this plan quite worth the trouble it cost.
Few, excepting those who have travelled in ships, know the extreme inconvenience of want of room; and on this much depends: but if it be practicable, keep three or four sets of bottles open at the same time, so that one may serve for crustacea, another for animals for dissection, another for minute specimens, another for fish, always putting the latter into the strongest spirit. Any how it is absolutely necessary to keep a couple of receiving bottles in which every thing can at first be put, and afterwards transferred to the permanent bottles with _fresh spirits_. Without assistance from government, and plenty of room, it is most disheartening work to attempt to bring home many specimens in spirits, although without doubt in such a state they are very far the most valuable. I should recommend any one circumstanced as I was to preserve the skins only of large fish and reptiles. But with room and means at command, let the collector place no limit to the number of his glass jars.
With respect to the catalogues it is inconvenient to have many; but there must at least be two, one for the tin labels or specimens in spirits, and another for the paper numbers, which should be applied indiscriminately to every kind of specimen. If the observer has any particular branch to which he devotes much attention, a third catalogue exclusively for such specimens is desirable: I kept a third for geological specimens and fossils. In a like manner notes should be as simple as possible: I kept one set for geology, and another for zoological and all other observations. It is well to endeavour to write upon separate pages remarks on different specimens; for much copying will thus be saved. My journal was likewise kept distinct from the other subjects. I found an arrangement carried thus far very useful: a traveller by land would, I suppose, be obliged to adopt a still more simple plan.
Use arsenical soap[5] for all skins, but do not neglect to brush the legs and beak with a solution of corrosive sublimate. Likewise slightly brush over all dried plants with the solution. For collecting insects use a plain strong sweeping-net, and pack the specimens of all orders, excepting lepidoptera, between layers of rag in pill-boxes, placing at the bottom a bit of camphor; this costs _scarcely any_ trouble, and the insects, especially thousands of unknown minute ones, arrive in an excellent state. Take a good stock of chip pill-boxes--a simple plain strong microscope, such as that long ago described by Ellis--a good stock of lace-needles, with glass tubes and sealingwax, for the purpose of making dissecting instruments. I need not mention small collecting bottles covered with leather, tin boxes, dissecting scissors, blowpipe case, compasses, mountain barometer, &c. I should recommend a sort of work-box fitted up to hold watch-glasses, glass micrometers, pins, string, printed numbers, &c.; and I found a small cabinet with drawers, some lined with cork, and others with cross partitions, most useful as a temporary storehouse. Pack up for shipment _every_ specimen of _every_ kind in boxes lined with tinned plates, and _soldered_ together: if the case be large the specimens should further be packed into light pasteboard or other boxes, for by long pressure even skins of quadrupeds are injured. On no account whatever put bottles with spirits of wine, though ever so well packed, in the same case with other specimens, for if one should break every thing near it will be spoiled, as I found to my cost in one instance.
When limited either in time, funds, or space, let not the collector crowd too many specimens either into one bottle, or into one case. For he should _constantly_ bear in mind as his second motto, that “It is better to send home a few things well preserved, than a multitude in a bad condition.” As long as due steps are taken that the harvest may not be spoiled, let him not be disheartened, because he may for a long time be labouring by himself; let him work hard from morning to night, for every day and every hour is precious in a foreign clime; and then most assuredly his own satisfaction will one day well repay him. * * * * * Our voyage having come to an end, I will take a short retrospect of the advantages and disadvantages, the pains and pleasures, of our five years’ wandering. If a person should ask 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 such means be improved. 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 it 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 all old friends, 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 serve best 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 comforts of civilization and domestic society, and, lastly, 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 comfortable fireside for such expeditions, underwent severe privations. A yacht now with every luxury of life might 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 metropolis 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 civilized 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 which may be cured in a week. If, on the other hand, he takes 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 sails. 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 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 any thing we have beheld. But there is a growing pleasure in comparing the character of scenery in different countries, which to a certain degree is distinct from merely admiring its beauty. It depends more 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, they will become fantastic; clothe them with vegetation, they must form at least a decent, if not a most beautiful picture.
When I said that the scenery of Europe was probably superior to any thing which we have beheld, I excepted, as a class by itself, that of the intertropical regions. The two classes cannot be compared together; but I have already often enlarged on the grandeur of these climates. As the force of impressions generally depends on preconceived ideas, I may add, that all mine were taken from the vivid descriptions in the Personal Narrative of Humboldt, which far exceed in merit any thing I have read on the subject. Yet with these high-wrought ideas, my feelings were far from partaking of any tinge of disappointment on first 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 the plains of Patagonia frequently cross before my eyes: yet these plains are pronounced by all most wretched and useless. They are characterized only by negative possessions; 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 possession of the 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 analyze 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 practicable, and hence unknown: they bear the stamp of having thus lasted 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 crest of the highest Cordillera, the mind undisturbed by minute details, was filled with the stupendous dimensions of the surrounding masses. Of individual objects, perhaps no one is more certain to create astonishment than the first sight in his native haunt of a real 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 such as 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 civilized 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, the rhinoceros on the wide plain, or the hippopotamus wallowing in the mud of some African river.
Among the other most remarkable spectacles which we have beheld, may be ranked the stars of the southern hemisphere--the water-spout--the glacier leading its blue stream of ice in a bold precipice overhanging the sea--a lagoon island raised by the coral-forming polypi--an active volcano--and the overwhelming effects of a violent earthquake. The three latter phenomena, perhaps, possess for me a peculiar interest, from their intimate connexion with the geological structure of the world. The earthquake must however, 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 most beautiful and 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 a kind of extreme delight, which no scenes of civilization could have created. I do not doubt that every traveller must remember the glowing sense of happiness he experienced, from the simple consciousness of breathing in a foreign clime, where the civilized man has seldom or never trod.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.