Kitabı oku: «Notes of a naturalist in South America», sayfa 7
SUPPOSED ANCIENT BEACHES.
Amongst various items of information received from Mr. Nation, I was especially interested in the facts which he had observed in the neighbourhood of Lima regarding the disintegration of the exposed volcanic rocks. As he was kind enough to give me a written memorandum on the subject, along with specimens of the objects referred to, I think it better to give the substance in his own words.
“In one of the earlier editions of his ‘Principles of Geology,’ Sir Charles Lyell, on the authority of Mr. Cruikshank, speaks of the evidence afforded of a considerable rise of land in the neighbourhood of Lima by the appearance of the surface of hard green sandstone rocks hollowed out into precisely the forms which they assume between high and low water mark on the shores of the Pacific, while immediately below these water-worn lines are ancient beaches strewn with rounded blocks. One of these cliffs appears on the hill behind the Baños del Pingro, about seven hundred feet above the contiguous valley; another occurs at Amancaes, about two hundred feet above the sea;13 and others at intermediate elevations.” Mr. Nation remarks that, having seen these appearances soon after his arrival at Lima, continued observation during more than twenty-five years has satisfied him not only that the hollows spoken of in the surface of the rocks are larger than they were, but that many new ones have been formed during the interval. He is satisfied that the appearances, which, he admits, exactly resemble those caused by the sea on shore rocks, are due to subaërial action. The chief agent, in his opinion, is a cryptogamic plant growing on the surface of the rock. During a great part of the year, when dense fogs prevail at this elevation, the plant is in active vegetation. In the alternations of relative dryness and dampness of the air the cells swell and mechanically remove scales from the surface, which are seen to accumulate rapidly in the course of a single season.
Having submitted a specimen of the cryptogam in question to the eminent lichenologist, Mr. Crombie, I am informed that the plant belongs to the group of lowly organized lichens, now distinguished as the Ephebacei, but formerly referred to the Algæ. In the absence of fructification, Mr. Crombie is unable to decide whether the specimen should be referred to Sirosiphon or Spilonema; but he is sceptical as to the possibility of any direct chemical action upon the rock arising from the growth of the lichen. Some indirect action may, in his opinion, be due to retention of moisture on surfaces covered by the lichen. This opinion is strengthened when it is remembered that the rock is not affected by carbonic acid, which might be derived from the air, or by vegetable acids which might be formed by the decomposition of the lichen. I am disposed to think that vicissitudes of temperature play a great part in the disintegration of rock surfaces, and such action must be increased by alternations of moisture and dryness which must occur where, during a great part of the year, the hills are covered with fog in the morning and exposed to the sun in the afternoon.
DISINTEGRATION OF ROCKS.
In connection with this subject I may remark that, in countries where the rainfall is very slight or altogether deficient, we are apt to be misled by the appearance of the surface, and to much overrate the real amount of disintegration. In the drier parts of the Mediterranean region, especially in Egypt, as well as in Peru and Chili, we constantly see rocky slopes covered with fine débris which represent the accumulated work of many centuries, remaining in situ because there is no agency at work to remove it, while in countries where the slopes are frequently exposed to the action of running water fresh surfaces are subjected to the action of the atmosphere, and the comminuted materials are carried to a distance to form alluvial flats, to fill up lakes, or ultimately to reach the sea-coast. A somewhat similar remark may be made with regard to rock surfaces habitually covered with snow and very rarely exposed to heavy rain. I have often observed in the Alps and Pyrenees that, when the snow disappears during the short summer of the higher regions, we generally find the surface covered with small fragments of the underlying rock, not removed by the slow percolation of water during the melting of the snow. The same phenomenon long ago attracted the attention of Darwin during his short excursion across the passes of the Chilian Andes.
I regretted much that my very short stay at Lima left me no time to visit the places where these curious appearances may be observed; but I trust that they may engage the attention of some future traveller more competent than myself to thoroughly investigate them.
The morning of the 29th of April, my last day in Peru, was fully employed in needful preparations. As is usual in South America, I was troubled by the dilatory habits of the natives. The passport, which was promised in the morning, and without which, as I was told, I should not be allowed to depart, was not forthcoming until late in the afternoon; and at length I went, after bidding farewell to my travelling companions and to some new friends, by the four-o’clock train to Callao, too late to have any time for visiting the surroundings of that curious place. The Ayacucho steamer of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company had already left her moorings, and lay in the outer harbour. Having hurried on board rather after the hour named for departure, I found that my haste was quite superfluous, as we were not under way till long after dark, about nine p.m.
I quitted Lima full of the interest and enjoyment of my brief visit, but full also of the sense of depression necessarily caused by the condition of a country whose future prospects are so dark. The ruinous war, and the occupation of the best part of Peru by a foreign army, are far from being the heaviest of her misfortunes. It may even be that they afford the best chance for her recovery. The immediate prospect is that of a feeble military despotism, tempered by anarchy. It seems possible that amongst the classes hitherto wealthy, and now reduced to comparative want, men of a type superior to the ordinary political adventurer may come forward; some strong man, with resolute will and clear insight, may possibly arise, and re-establish order in the midst of a moral chaos; but of such a deliverance there is as yet no promise. Conversing with men of very different opinions, I was unable to hear of any man whose name inspired confidence. Some such feeling had existed with regard to the President Pardo, but when he was assassinated no serious attempt was made to detect and punish his murderers. The only opinion which appeared to obtain general assent was that the worst of the adventurers who have been the curse of Peru was the late dictator Pierola.
DARK FUTURE OF PERU.
One thing, at least, appears certain: if Peru is to be rescued from anarchy and corruption, it must be through the influence of a single will – by a virtual, if not a formal, autocracy. To believe that in such a condition of society as exists here progress can be accomplished by representative institutions seems to me as gross a superstition as the belief in the divine right of kings.
CHAPTER III
Voyage from Callao to Valparaiso – Arica – Tocopilla – Scenery of the moon – Caldera – Aspect of North Chili – British Pacific squadron – Coquimbo – Arrival at Valparaiso – Climate and vegetation of Central Chili – Railway journey to Santiago – Aspect of the city – Grand position of Santiago – Dr. Philippi – Excursion to Cerro St. Cristobal – Don B. Vicuña Mackenna – Remarkable trees – Excursion to the baths of Cauquenes – The first rains – Captive condors – Return to Santiago – Glorious sunset.
The voyage from Callao to Valparaiso was accomplished under conditions as favourable to the comfort and enjoyment of the passengers as that from Panama to Callao. The Ayacucho is a larger ship than the Islay, but built on a nearly similar plan, and except towards the end of the voyage, when we took on board a detachment of Chilian soldiers returning to Valparaiso, we had no inconvenience from overcrowding. I was very fully occupied in the endeavour to preserve and put away in good condition the rather large collections made during my stay in Peru. Notwithstanding the character of the climate, I found the usual difficulty felt at sea in getting my paper thoroughly dry, and for several days the work was unceasing. It had the effect of preventing my going ashore at two or three places which at the time appeared to me uninteresting, but which I afterwards regretted not to have visited.
RAILWAY TO BOLIVIA.
By daylight on the morning of April 30 we were off Tambo de Mora, a small place near the mouth of the river Canete, which, at some seasons, is said to bring down a large volume of water from the Cordillera. After a very short stay we went on to Pisco, a more considerable place, but unattractive as seen from the sea, surrounded by sandy barren flats. It is, however, of some commercial importance, being connected by railway with Yca, the chief town of this part of Peru; and we remained in the roads about three hours, pursuing our voyage in the evening.
Our course on May 1 lay rather far from land, this being the only day during the voyage on which we did not touch at one or more ports. Under ordinary circumstances all the coast steamers call at Mollendo, the terminus of the railway leading to Arequipa, and thence to the highlands of southern Peru and the frontier of Bolivia. Arequipa being at this time occupied by a Peruvian force, and communication with the interior being therefore irregular and difficult, Mollendo was touched only on alternate voyages of the Pacific steamers.
I was impressed by the case of a Bolivian family on board which seemed to involve great hardship. An elderly father, with the manners and bearing of an educated gentleman, had taken a numerous family, chiefly young girls, with several servants, to Europe, to visit Spanish relations, and was now on his way to return to La Paz. The choice lay for him between the direct land journey from Arica, involving a ride of some two hundred miles through a difficult country, partly almost a desert, and partly through the defiles of the Cordillera, or returning by another steamer to Mollendo, and thence making his way between the hostile Chilian and Peruvian forces to the shores of his native lake of Titicaca. There was, in the latter case, the additional difficulty that Mollendo is about the worst port on the western coast of America. It is, in fact, an open roadstead, and, although there is little wind, the swell from the Pacific often breaks with a heavy surf upon the shore, and serious accidents are not infrequent. As all seamen are agreed, the terminus of the railway should have been fixed at Quilca, about the same distance from Arequipa as Mollendo, and, as usual in Peru, the selection of the latter is attributed to a corrupt bargain.
Early on May 2 we cast anchor opposite Arica. There is nothing deserving to be called a harbour; but a projecting headland on the south side of the little town protects the roadstead from the southerly breeze and the swell, which was here scarcely perceptible. On landing, I hastened along the shore on the north side, where a fringe of low bushes and some patches of rusty green gave promise to the botanist, and broke the monotony of the incessant grey which is the uniform tint of the Pacific coast from Payta to Coquimbo. As at very many other places on the coast, the maps indicate a stream from the Cordillera falling into the sea at Arica, but the traveller searches in vain for running water, or even for a dry channel to show where the stream ought to run. Nevertheless, Arica, unlike the places farther south, does actually possess fresh water in some abundance. The water from the Cordillera filters through the sandy belt of low country near the coast, and there are springs or wells sufficing not only for the local demand, but also for the wants of Iquique, a much more considerable place more than eighty miles distant. The little steamer whose office it is to carry the weekly supply of water to the Iquique people was taking her cargo on board at the moment, and one was at a loss to imagine what would happen if any mischance should befall the steamer or the engine. It is certain that under the intelligent rule of the Incas, many places now parched were made habitable by aqueducts carrying water from the mountains, and there are probably many other places where water might be procured by boring; but the porous character of the superficial soil makes this an uncertain resource, and the general uniformity of all the deposits gives little prospect of Artesian wells.
WATER SUPPLY ON THE COAST.
Near to the town are a few meagre attempts at cultivation in the shape of vegetable gardens, surrounded by ditches, into which it seems that a little water comes by infiltration. A few grasses and other herbaceous plants, mostly common tropical weeds, were to be found here. Elsewhere, the ground was, as usual on the coast, merely sand, with here and there clumps of bushes about six or seven feet in height, chiefly Compositæ of the characteristic South American genera, Baccharis and Tessaria. A bush of Cæsalpinia Gilliesii, with only a few of its beautiful flowers left, the ornament of hot-houses in Europe, struck one as a strange apparition on this arid coast.
The position of Arica, connected as it is by railway with Tacna, the centre of a rich mineral district, possessing the best anchorage on this part of the Pacific coast, and a constant supply of good water, must some day make it a place of importance. The headland which commands it is crowned by a fort, on which the Peruvians had planted a good many guns, and its seizure by the Chilians was one of the first energetic blows struck during the war.
For some reason, not apparent, the great waves which flow inland after each considerable earthquake shock have been more destructive at Arica than at any other spot upon the coast. Three times the place has been utterly swept away, and one memorial survives in the shape of the hull of a large ship, lying fully a mile inland, seen by us a few miles north of the town as we approached in the morning. On each occasion the little town has been rebuilt close to the shore. Experience has not taught the people to build on the rising land, only a few hundred yards distant. Each man believes that the new house will last his time —Après moi le deluge, with a vengeance!
At Arica the coast-line, which from the promontory of Ajulla, about 6° north latitude, has kept a direction between south-east and south-south-east for a distance of about twelve hundred English miles, bends nearly due south, and maintains the same direction for nearly double that distance. It is in the tract lying between Arica and Copiapò that the conditions which produce the so-called rainless zone of the Pacific coast have had the maximum effect. In that space of about six hundred miles (farther than from Liverpool to Oporto) there is no inhabited place – with the possible exception of Pisagua – where drinkable water is to be had. Nowhere in the world is there such an extensive tract of coast so unfitted for the habitation of man. But this same region is rich in products that minister to human wants, and man has overcome the obstacles that seemed to render them inaccessible. Besides mines of copper, silver, and lead, the deposits of alkaline nitrates, whose extent has not yet been fathomed, richly reward the expenditure of labour and capital. One after another industrial establishments have arisen along the coast at places suitable for the embarkation of produce, and some of these have already attained the dimensions of small towns. The Ayacucho called at no less than nine of these places, and there are two or three others that are occasionally visited. At a few of them, as at Iquique, the water-supply is partially or altogether conveyed by sea, but most of them subsist by distillation from sea-water.
PORTS ON THE RAINLESS COAST.
As may well be supposed, there is little in these places to interest a stranger, and a description of one may serve for all. Some more or less extensive works, with one or several tall chimneys, are the most prominent feature. Near to each establishment are three or four clean-looking houses for managers and head agents, of whom the majority appear to be English. Grouped in narrow sandy lanes near at hand are the dwellings – mere sheds built of reeds – of the working people. In some of the more considerable places an iron church, in debased sham-Gothic style, has been procured from the United States, and has been set up in a central position, with the outline of a plaza in front of it, and several drinking-shops clustered near.
The aspect of the coast is not less monotonous than that of the inhabited places. The sea-board is nearly a straight line running from north to south, and, except at Mejillones, I saw no projecting headland to break its uniformity. Nearly everywhere what appears to be a range of flat-topped hills from about eight to fifteen hundred feet in height, of uniform dull grey hue unbroken by a single patch of verdure, forms the background. In truth, these seeming hills are the western margin of the great plateau of the desert of Atacama, which at its edge slopes rather steeply towards the Pacific coast, sometimes leaving a level margin of one or two miles in width, sometimes approaching within a few hundred feet of the shore. I find it difficult to form a conception of the causes which have led to this singular uniformity in the western limit of the volcanic rocks of the plateau. Whether we suppose the mass to have been originally thrown out from craters or fissures in the range of the cordillera by subaërial or submarine eruptions, we should think it inevitable that the western front should show great irregularities corresponding to greater volume of the streams of eruptive matter in some parts.
Admitting – what may be held for a certainty – that, whatever may have been the original conditions, the whole region has since been submerged, and that marine action would have levelled surface inequalities, it is not easy to understand how the uniformity in the western front could have been brought about during the period of subsequent and comparatively recent elevation. If this had occurred along an axis of elevation near to the present coast-line, the effect must have been to produce a coast-range parallel to that of the Andes, with a watershed having an eastern as well as a western slope, and accompanying disturbance of the strata, such as we find on a great scale in western North America. Some indications of such action may be seen in Chili, south of Copiapò, and further to the south, but I am not aware of any fact to justify a similar supposition respecting this part of the coast of South America.
WHITE ROCKS AT PISAGUA.
On the morning of May 3 we were anchored in front of Pisagua, which, being the port of Tarapacà, the chief centre of the nitrate deposits, is at present an active place. The houses are rather more scattered than usual, some of them being built on rising ground, apparently above the reach of earthquake waves. The range of apparent hills, fully fifteen hundred feet in height, rises steeply behind the little town, and the monotonous slope is broken by a long zigzag line marking the railway to Tarapacà. Some steep rocks rising from the sea to the south of the anchorage were in great part brilliantly white, recalling the appearance of quartz veins, or beds of crystalline limestone, dipping at a high angle. Thinking the existence of such rocks on this coast very improbable, I was anxious to inspect them; but when I was told that the time of our stay would merely allow of a short visit to the town, I did not care to land. The same appearances are common along the coast, and I soon afterwards ascertained that they are produced by the droppings of sea-birds – the same which, when accumulated in large masses, form the guano deposits of the detached rocks and islets of the coast.
In the afternoon we reached Iquique, which is, I believe, the largest of the unnatural homes of men on this coast. Some one who had gone ashore here returned, bringing copies of two newspapers, by which the public of Iquique are kept informed as to the affairs of the world. I had already seen with surprise, and had many further opportunities for observing, the extent to which the newspaper press in South America has absorbed whatever literary capacity exists in the country. Of information there is not indeed much to be gathered from these sheets; but of grand sentiments and appeals to the noblest emotions the supply seems inexhaustible. I regret to own that experience in other parts of the world had already made me somewhat distrustful of such appeals; but the result of my study of South American newspapers culminated in a severe fit of moral indigestion, and I do not yet receive in a proper spirit any appeal to the noblest sentiments of my nature.
I am far from supposing, however, that with those who read literature of this kind the debilitating effect attributed to it by some critics necessarily ensues. Some at least of the heroic virtues have survived. For a man to die for his country may not be the highest form of heroism, but in every age it has drawn forth the instinctive admiration of his fellows; and it is not at Iquique that one should think of making light of it. These waters, which, during the late war, witnessed the fight between the Esmeralda and the Huascar,14 would, in another age of the world, have become as famous as those of Salamis.
THE SEA-FIGHT AT IQUIQUE.
On the morning of May 4 we called at Huanillos, a small place of recent growth, not marked on any map that I have seen. It lies within a few miles of the mouth of the Loa, which, as laid down on maps, appears to be a considerable stream, rising in the Cordillera and traversing in a circuitous course the Bolivian part of the Atacama desert. I naturally inquired why the mouth of such a river had not been selected as the site of a port. I was informed that, in spite of the maps, no water flows through the channel of the river, and that what can be obtained by digging is brackish and unfit for drinking. Whether this arises from the fact that the trials have been made too near the shore, within reach of the infiltration of sea-water, or that all the water traversing the region inland becomes impregnated with saltpetre, I am unable to decide; but it seems probable that careful examination of the water, some of which undoubtedly finds its way underground from the Cordillera to the Pacific coast, might add considerably to the resources of the country. The cost of conveying water direct from the mountains to certain points in the interior, and thence to the coast, would possibly be repaid by the saving in fuel now used for the distillation of sea-water, to say nothing of the probability that some portions of the surface would become available for cultivation. The experience of the Isthmus of Suez, where a constantly increasing area near the course of the freshwater canal has become productive, should, I think, encourage the attempt.
SCENERY OF THE MOON.
About midday we reached Tocopilla, another place of recent creation, consisting of a large establishment with several chimneys and the usual group of sheds for the workmen. Steep rocky slopes rise close behind, and it seemed possible to see something of the conditions of life on this part of the coast without going beyond sight and hearing of the steamer. Being told that our stay was to be short, but that the steam-whistle would be sounded a first time exactly a quarter of an hour before our departure, I shouldered my tin vasculum and went ashore. Passing the houses, I at once steered for the rocky slopes behind. Here at last I found what I had often heard of, but in whose existence I had almost ceased to believe – a land absolutely without a trace of vegetable life. Among the dolomite peaks of South Tyrol I had often been told that such a peak was absolutely bare of vegetation, but had always found a fair number of plants in clefts and crevices. I had been told the same thing at Suez of the burnt-up eastward face of Djebel Attakah, where even on the exposed rocks I had been able to collect something; but here I searched utterly in vain. Not only was there no green thing; not even a speck of lichen could I detect, though I looked at the rocks through a lens. Even more than by the absence of life, I was impressed by the appearance of the surface, which showed no token that water had ever flowed over it. Every edge of rock was sharp, as if freshly broken, and on the steep slope no trace of a channel furrowed its face.15 The aspect is absolutely that of the scenery of the moon – of a world without water and without an atmosphere. I saw no insect and no lizard, no living thing, with the strange exception that on the rocks nearest the houses there were several small birds, which appeared to be rather shy, and which I was not able to approach. I was afterwards told that these birds live on the grain which they are able to steal or to pick out from the manure in the stables, where a few horses and mules are kept for the needs of the place. Assuming this to be correct, the arrival of the birds at such a place remains a mystery.
A passenger who had spent some time at this singular place further told me that the horses, constantly fed on dry grain, and receiving but a scanty ration of distilled sea-water, usually become blind, but do not otherwise suffer in health. He added a story to the effect that some palings which had been painted green were found a few days after covered with marks of teeth, and with the paint almost completely removed. The mules, attracted by the colour, had sought the refreshment of green food, and had vainly gnawed away the painted surface.
However singular the aspect of nature in this place might be, it could not long detain a naturalist. A world without life is soon found to be monotonous; and after clambering about for some time, and satisfying myself that there was nothing to be found, I turned to the shore, where broken shells and other remains of marine animals presented at least some variety. Seaweeds appeared to be scarce, but some were to be seen in the little pools left among the rocks by the retreating tide.
Just as I was about to collect some objects which might have been of interest, the steam-whistle of the Ayacucho summoned me to return to the ship. As I was by this time at some distance from the landing-place, I hurried back under a blazing sun, and reached the ship within less than twenty minutes, only to find that haste was quite superfluous, as we did not start until more than an hour later.
ANTOFAGASTA.
The sun had already set when we reached Cobija. This was, I believe, the first place inhabited on this part of the coast. Before the late war, Bolivia held the coast from the mouth of the Loa to the Tropic of Capricorn, a tract of about one hundred and sixty miles, rich in mineral wealth, the whole of which, along with the adjoining provinces of Peru, is now annexed to Chili. Cobija, which was a place of some importance, is now much reduced, and little business seems to be carried on there.
Early on the 5th of May we were before Antofagasta, now the most thriving place on this coast, if a place can be said to thrive which exists under such unnatural conditions. It is, however, slightly better off than its neighbours to the north. A gentleman who resided here for some time assured me that at intervals of five or six years a heavy fall of rain occurs here. At such times not only the coast region, but the Atacama desert lying between the Cordillera and the sea is speedily covered with fresh vegetation, which after a few months is dried up and disappears. At such times the guanacos descend from the mountains, and actually reach the coast.
We must, without my attention being called to the fact while in my cabin, have turned back to the northward after leaving Antofagasta, as in the dusk we were before Mejillones, which lies fully thirty miles north of the former place. It stands on a little bay, well sheltered from the south by a considerable rocky promontory, and, as I had been led to expect, the ground is here broken and irregular, offering more promise of safe retreat for the indigenous vegetation than anywhere else on this coast. I had looked forward with interest to an hour or two on this more promising ground, and it was a disappointment to be unable to profit by a comparatively long stay, for we remained at anchor after nightfall, embarking cargo and some passengers until midnight. For the third time within twenty-four hours we crossed the Tropic of Capricorn, and thenceforward remained in the south temperate zone. But in this region the term is in no way specially appropriate to the coast climate of Chili, for nothing can be more truly temperate than that of the so-called tropical zone which we were now leaving. During the voyage from Callao the thermometer properly shaded had but once (while anchored at Arica) reached 70° Fahr. It usually stood by night at 64° to 65°, and at about 68° by day, except occasionally when exposed to the cool southern breeze, when it fell rapidly on two occasions, marking only 62·2°.
My aneroid barometer by Casella, graduated only to 19 inches, and therefore useless during my visit to the Cordillera, did not appear to have suffered, as these instruments often do, by the reduced pressure. It did not vary during seven days by so much as one-twentieth of an inch from the constant pressure 29·9, and agreed closely with the ship’s mercurial barometer. Perhaps, owing to the fact that my observations were not sufficiently frequent and recorded with sufficient accuracy, I failed to detect on this coast of America the daily oscillations of pressure, which in this latitude probably amount to about one-twentieth of an inch.
