Chapter XIII…

Chapter XIII

Strait of Magellan--Port Famine--Geology--Deep water in channels--Erratic boulders--Climate--Limit of fruit trees--Mean temperature--Luxuriant forests--Rigour of antarctic islands--Contrast with the north--Snow-line, great flexure of--Glaciers--Icebergs transport fragments of rock--Glacier in low latitude--Absence of erratic blocks in intertropical regions--Glaciers and tropical vegetation--Comparison with northern hemisphere--Siberian animals in ice--Embedded in cold mud--Edible fungus--Zoology--Fucus giganteus--Leave Tierra del Fuego.

STRAIT OF MAGELLAN.

In the end of May, 1834, we entered for the second time the eastern mouth of the Strait of Magellan. Having beat our way against wind and wave we anchored at Gregory Bay, and had an interview with the so-called gigantic Patagonians; of whom Captain FitzRoy has given so good an account. The country on both sides of the strait, in this part, consists of level plains, like those of the rest of Patagonia. Cape Negro, a little past the second narrow, may be considered as the point where the land begins to assume the marked features of Tierra del Fuego. On the east coast, south of the Strait, broken park-like scenery in a like manner connects these two countries, which are opposed to each other in almost every point. It is truly surprising to find in a space of twenty miles such a change in the landscape. If we take rather a greater distance, as between Port Famine and Gregory Bay, that is about sixty miles, the difference is still more wonderful. At the former place we have rounded mountains concealed by impervious forests, which are drenched with the rain, brought by an endless succession of gales; while at Cape Gregory there is a clear and bright blue sky over the dry and sterile plains. The atmospheric currents,[1] although rapid, turbulent, and unconfined by any apparent limits, yet seem to follow, like a river in its bed, a regularly determined course.

JUNE 1ST.--We anchored in the fine bay of Port Famine. It was now the beginning of winter, and I never saw a more cheerless prospect; the dusky woods piebald with snow, could be only indistinctly seen through a drizzling hazy atmosphere. We were, however, lucky in getting two fine days. On one of these. Mount Sarmiento, a distant mountain 6800 feet high, presented a very noble spectacle. I was frequently surprised, in the scenery of Tierra del Fuego, at the little apparent elevation of mountains really lofty. I suspect it is owing to a cause, which would not at first be imagined, namely, that the whole mass, from the summit to the water’s edge, is generally in full view. I remember having seen a mountain, first from the Beagle channel, where the whole sweep from the summit to the base was full in view, and then from Ponsonby Sound across several successive ridges; and it was curious to observe in the latter case, as each fresh step afforded means of judging of the distance, how the mountain appeared to rise in height.

The Fuegians twice came and plagued us. As there were many instruments, clothes, and men on shore, it was thought necessary to frighten them away. The first time, a few great guns were fired, when they were far distant. It was most ludicrous to watch through a glass the Indians, as often as the shot struck the water, take up stones, and as a bold defiance, throw them towards the ship, though about a mile and a half distant! A boat was then sent with orders to fire a few musket-shot wide of them. The Fuegians hid themselves behind the trees; and for every discharge of the musket they fired their arrows: all, however, fell short of the boat, and the officer as he pointed at them laughed. This made the Fuegians frantic with passion, and they shook their mantles in vain rage. At last seeing the balls cut and strike the trees, they ran away; and we were left in peace and quietness.

On a former occasion, when the Beagle was here in the month of February, I started one morning at four o’clock to ascend Mount Tarn, which is 2600 feet high, and is the most elevated point in this immediate neighbourhood. We went in a boat to the foot of the mountain (but not to the best part), and then began our ascent. The forest commences at the line of high-water mark, and during the two first hours I gave over all hopes of reaching the summit. So thick was the wood, that it was necessary to have constant recourse to the compass; for every landmark, though in a mountainous country, was completely shut out. In the deep ravines, the death-like scene of desolation exceeded all description; outside it was blowing a gale, but in these hollows, not even a breath of wind stirred the leaves of the tallest trees. So gloomy, cold, and wet was every part, that not even the fungi, mosses, or ferns, could flourish. In the valleys it was scarcely possible to crawl along, they were so completely barricaded by the great mouldering trunks, which had fallen down in every direction. When passing over these natural bridges, one’s course was often arrested by sinking knee deep into the rotten wood; at other times, when attempting to lean against a firm tree, one was startled by finding a mass of decayed matter ready to fall at the slightest touch. We at last found ourselves among the stunted trees, and then soon reached the bare ridge, which conducted us to the summit. Here was a view characteristic of Tierra del Fuego;--irregular chains of hills, mottled with patches of snow, deep yellowish-green valleys, and arms of the sea intersecting the land in many directions. The strong wind was piercingly cold, and the atmosphere rather hazy, so that we did not stay long on the top of the mountain. Our descent was not quite so laborious as our ascent; for the weight of the body forced a passage, and all the slips and falls were in the right direction.

Captain King has given a sketch of the geology of Tierra del Fuego, to which I have little to add. A great formation of clay-slate, rarely containing organic remains, but sometimes presenting casts of a kind of ammonite, is fronted on the east side by plains belonging probably to two tertiary epochs. On the west coast, a prolongation of the grand crevice of the Andes, from which so much heat has escaped from the interior of the globe, has metamorphosed the slate. There is, however, a double line, the structure of which I do not quite comprehend. The interior one consists of granite and mica slate; the exterior one (perhaps more modern), of greenstone, porphyritic and other curious trappean rocks. Almost every one at first thinks that this country owes its grand name of “the Land of Fire,” to the number of its volcanoes. Such, however, is not the case: I did not see even a pebble of any volcanic rock, except in Wollaston Island, where some rounded masses of scoriæ were embedded in a conglomerate of no modern date. In a geological point of view this circumstance allows us to consider the grand linear train of ancient and modern volcanoes, which fall on parallel fissures in the Andes, as extending from lat. 55° 40′ south to 60° north, a distance little less than seven thousand geographical miles.

Perhaps the most curious feature in the geology of this country, is the extent to which the land is intersected by arms of the sea. These channels, as Captain King remarks, are irregular and dotted with islands, where the granitic and trappean rocks occur, but in the clay-slate formation are so straight, that in one instance “a parallel ruler placed on the map upon the projecting points of the south shore, extended across, also touched the headlands of the opposite coast.”

I have heard Captain FitzRoy remark, that on entering any of these channels from the outer coast, it is always necessary to look out directly for anchorage; for further inland the depth soon becomes extremely great. Captain Cook, in entering Christmas Sound, had first 37 fathom, then 40, 60, and, immediately afterwards, no soundings with 170. This structure of the bottom, I presume, must arise from the sediment deposited near the mouths of the channels, by the opposed tides and swell; and likewise from the enormous degradation of the coast-rocks, caused by an ocean harassed by endless gales.

The Strait of Magellan is extremely deep in most parts, even close to the shore. About mid-channel eastward of Cape Froward, Captain King found no bottom with 1536 feet: if, therefore, the water should be drained off, Tierra del Fuego would present a far more lofty range of mountains than it does at present. I will not here enter on any speculations regarding the causes which have produced this remarkable structure, in a district in which the latter movements at least have been those of elevation. I may, however, observe, that pebbles, and great boulders of various and peculiar crystalline rocks, which have undoubtedly travelled from the south-west coast, lie scattered over the whole of the eastern part of Tierra del Fuego. One enormous block of syenite near St. Sebastian Bay was barn-shaped, and had a girth of 47 feet; it projected five feet above the sand, and appeared to be deeply buried. The very nearest point to which we can look for the parent rock, is about ninety miles distant. On the shores of the Strait of Magellan, near Port Famine, numerous semi-rounded fragments of various granites and hornblendic rocks are strewed on the beach, and on the sides of the mountain, to an elevation of thirty or forty feet. Now to this point the high road from the Southern and Western shores passes directly over the great abyss of more than 1500 feet deep. Whatever may have been the means of transport, it has not been one of indiscriminate violence: for the two places, St. Sebastian Bay and Shoal Harbour, where the great fragments are most numerous, certainly existed previously to the last and smallest change of level, as channels connecting the Strait of Magellan, in the one case with the open sea, and in the other with Otway Water.

The climate of the southern part of South America presents many phenomena of the highest interest. It has long been observed that there exists some essential difference between it, and that of the countries in the northern hemisphere. I have already remarked on the surprising contrast between the rank vegetation of the broken west coast, consequent on the humid climate, as compared with the dry and sterile plains of Patagonia. The clouded and boisterous state of the atmosphere is necessarily accompanied by a decrease in extreme temperature; hence we find that fruits which ripen well, and are very abundant, such as the grape and fig, in lat. 41° on the east coast, succeed very poorly in a lower latitude on the opposite side of the continent.[2] The result is more strongly marked, if we take Europe as the standard of comparison. In Chiloe, lat. 42°, corresponding to the northern parts of Spain, peaches require the greatest care, and seldom produce fruit; but strawberries and apples succeed to admiration. At Valdivia, lat. 40°, or that of Madrid, standard peaches bear abundantly; grapes and figs ripen, but are far from common; olives seldom even partially ripen, and oranges not at all; yet in Europe this is the parallel most productive of these fruits. Even at Concepcion, lat. 36°, oranges are not abundant, though the other named fruits succeed perfectly. At the Falklands, in the same latitude as the south of England, wheat very seldom comes to maturity; but we ought to feel little surprise at this, when we hear that in Chiloe (lat. 42°) the inhabitants are frequently compelled to cut their corn before it is ready, and bring it into their houses to dry.

With respect to the climate of Tierra del Fuego during the colder parts of the year, Captain King has published some most interesting tables in the Geographical Journal.[3] The Beagle during this voyage, was employed in the extreme southern parts of the country, from December 18th to February 20th. From the appearance of the vegetation during the first part, and from the weather we experienced at the Falkland Islands, subsequent to the last date, I feel little doubt that these sixty-five days included the best part of the summer. Perhaps if another fortnight had been added, the mean would have been a little higher. The first eighteen of these days were spent partly at sea, near Cape Horn, and we were drifted for a short time by bad weather to nearly ninety miles to the southward. The mean temperature, from observations made every two hours by the officers on board the Beagle, was 45°. During the succeeding thirty-seven days[4] the Beagle was at anchor in different harbours a few leagues north of Cape Horn, and then the mean from observations at 6 A.M., noon, and 6 P.M., was 50°. The mean, therefore, between these two periods, which include the hottest part of the year, is only 47°.5. The latter of the two periods was unusually warm, but the former much the contrary, and the station where the observations were made was a little further to the southward. The whole of these observations apply to the extreme islands: Captain King’s were made in a central position 1° 45′ further northward. If from the above considerations we add two degrees and a half to the mean obtained this voyage, the result (50°) will probably give the temperature of the hottest part of the year in central Tierra del Fuego. Captain King gives as the mean temperature of June 32°.97, of July 33°.03, of the first twelve days in August 33°.25; answering to our December, January, and February, which three months appear to be the coldest, and the mean of these is 33°.08.[5] Dublin is nearly in the same latitude in the northern hemisphere as Port Famine is in the southern, and we will take its temperature as a means of comparison.

| Latitudes.| Summer | Winter |Difference.| Mean of | |Temperature|Temperature| |Summer and | | | | | Winter. Dublin[6] | 53° 21′ N.| 59°.54 | 39°.2 | 20°.34 | 49°.37 Port Famine | 53 38′ S.| 50 | 33 .08 | 16 .92 | 41 .54 ------------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+---------- Difference | 0 17′ | 9 .54 | 6 .12 | 3 .42 | 7 .83

It will be seen by this that the temperature at Port Famine is very considerably lower, both during summer and winter, than at Dublin, and that at the former the difference between the seasons is not so great, or that the climate is there more equable. It seems the general opinion of those who have visited this country, that the frosts are not so severe or so long as in England. The sealers say that throughout the year they wear the same quantity of clothing. Nevertheless Captain King states, that during the winter of 1828 the temperature was once as low as[7] 12°.6. I have drawn up these rough and approximate statements merely for the sake of illustrating some of the following remarks.

The kind of climate here described appears to be common to the southern parts of the whole of the southern hemisphere. Although so inhospitable to our feelings, and to most of the plants from the warmer parts of Europe, yet it is most favourable to the native vegetation. The forests, which cover the entire country between the latitudes of 38° and 45°, rival in luxuriance those of the glowing intertropical regions. Whilst in Chiloe (lat. 42°) I could almost have fancied myself in Brazil. Stately trees of many kinds, with smooth and highly coloured barks, are loaded by parasitical plants of the monocotyledonous structure; large and elegant ferns are numerous; and arborescent grasses intwine the trees into one entangled mass, to the height of thirty or forty feet above the ground. Palm-trees grow in lat. 37°; an arborescent grass very like a bamboo in 40°; and another closely-allied kind, of great length but not erect, even as far south as 45°.

In another part of this same hemisphere, which has so uniform a character owing to its large proportional area of sea, Forster found parasitical orchideous plants living south of lat. 45° in New Zealand. Tree-ferns thrive luxuriantly near Hobart Town, in Van Diemen’s Land. I measured one there which was exactly six feet in circumference; and its height from the ground to the base of the fronds appeared to be very little under twenty. Mr. Brown says[8] “an arborescent species of the same genus (Dicksonia) was found by Forster, in New Zealand, at Dusky Bay, in nearly 46° S., the highest latitude in which tree-ferns have yet been observed. It is remarkable that, although they have so considerable a range in the southern hemisphere, no tree-fern has been found beyond the northern tropic: a distribution in the two hemispheres somewhat similar to this has been already noticed respecting the Orchideæ that are parasitical on trees.”

Even in Tierra del Fuego, Captain King describes the “vegetation thriving most luxuriantly, and large woody stemmed trees of Fuchsia and Veronica, in England considered and treated as tender plants, in full flower, within a very short distance of the base of a mountain covered for two-thirds down with snow, and with the temperature at 36°.” He states, also, that humming-birds were seen sipping the sweets of the flowers, “after two or three days of constant rain, snow, and sleet, during which time the thermometer had been at the freezing point.” I myself have seen parrots feeding on the seeds of the winter’s bark, south of latitude 55°.

Although the limit of an almost tropical vegetation extends thus far southward, yet the dearth of living things, both vegetable and animal, on the islands situated even far without the antarctic circle, is surprising, compared with the corresponding parallels in the northern hemisphere. In South Shetland in lat. 62° to 63° (same as Ferroe, or southern part of Norway) Weddell[9] states, “None of the islands afford any vegetation save a short straggling grass, which is found in very small patches in places where there happens to be a little soil. This, together with a moss similar to that which is found in Iceland, appears in the middle of January, at which time the islands are partially clear of snow.” In Deception Island, one of the same group, Lieutenant Kendall, says,[10] “There was nothing in the shape of vegetation except a small kind of lichen.” The island itself is partly composed of ice and volcanic ashes interstratified. Another curious proof of the rigour of the climate is mentioned: “Having observed a mound on the hill immediately above this cove, I opened it, and found a rude coffin, the rotten state of which bespoke its having been long consigned to the earth; but the body had undergone scarcely any decomposition. The legs were doubled up, and it was dressed in the jacket and cap of a sailor, but neither they nor the countenance were similar to those of an Englishman.”

Sandwich Land, which is nearly three degrees further from the pole, is thus described, by Captain Cook (February 1st, hottest time in the year, and in same latitude as north of Scotland): “Every part was blocked or filled up with ice, and the whole country, from the summits of the mountains down to the very brink of the cliffs which terminate the coast, covered many fathoms thick with everlasting snow. The cliffs alone were all which was to be seen like land.” Again he adds, talking of two islets, “These only were clear of snow, and seemed covered with a green turf.” In Georgia, lat. 54° to 55°, the bays are terminated by ice-cliffs of considerable height, and, according to Cook, the country “in the very height of summer, is in a manner wholly covered many fathoms deep with frozen snow, but more especially on the south-west coast.” The only vegetable is “a strong-bladed grass growing in tufts, wild burnet, and a plant-like moss.” Although 96 miles long and about ten broad, it possesses not a single quadruped, and only one land-bird, namely a small titlark (an Anthus), a specimen of which I procured in the Falklands. This bird, if undescribed, certainly well deserves the name of antarcticus, for although not living within that circle, it inhabits a more inhospitable region than any other terrestrial animal. Anderson, in Cook’s Voyage, says, even in Kerguelen Land (an island 120 miles long by 60 broad, and situated in lat. 50°, corresponding to the extreme southern point of England), “The whole catalogue of plants does not exceed sixteen or seventeen, including some sorts of moss, and a beautiful species of lichen which grows upon the rocks higher up than the rest of the vegetable productions. Nor is there even the least appearance of a shrub in the whole country.” It is doubtful whether there is a single land-bird; and then he adds, “The hills are of a moderate height; yet many of their tops were covered with snow[11] at this time, though answering to our June.” These statements forcibly prove the intemperance of the climate even far without the frozen limits of the antarctic circle.

There are no direct observations, by which to judge of the mean temperature of the year in these southern islands. But after reading the above accounts, it will readily be granted that it must be very low. Even in Georgia, in lat. 54°-55°, it is not improbable that the soil is perpetually frozen at a few feet beneath the surface. At Deception Island in lat. 62°-63° from the preservation of the dead body alluded to, and the interstratification of ice with the volcanic ashes, we may feel almost sure that such must be the case. In the northern hemisphere, it is only on the great continents that so low a mean temperature is found in corresponding latitudes. In North America, according to Richardson,[12] north of lat. 56°, the thaw does not penetrate to a greater depth than three feet. In the Steppes of Siberia, Humboldt[13] states that to the northward of 62°, the ground between twelve and fifteen feet below the surface is always frozen. In the space, however, between these two great northern continents, the line of perpetual congelation rises considerably towards the north.

It is a remarkable meteorological fact, that in the northern and southern hemispheres, a low mean temperature, in latitudes without the frigid zone, is the result of a directly opposite condition of things. In the northern hemisphere the atmosphere is rendered extremely cold, from the radiation of a large extent of country during a long winter; nor is it moderated by the warmer currents of any neighbouring sea: hence the extreme cold of the winter more than counterbalances the heat of summer. In the southern hemisphere, on the other hand, although the winter is moderate, the summer is cold; for a sky constantly clouded rarely permits the rays of the sun to warm the surface (itself a bad absorbent) of the great ocean: hence, the mean temperature of the year falls below the freezing point. It will at once be evident, that a kind of vegetation which requires an equable temperature, will approach much nearer the line of perpetual congelation in a climate such as this of the southern hemisphere, than in the opposite one subject to extremes.

The height of the plane of perpetual snow in any country, seems chiefly to be determined by the extreme heat of summer, rather than by the mean of the year. As the summer in Tierra del Fuego is so very wretched, we ought not to feel surprised at the fact stated by Capt. King,--that in the Strait of Magellan, the line descends to about 3500 or 4000 feet. In the northern hemisphere, we must travel about fourteen degrees nearer the pole to meet with so low a limit, namely, between lat. 67° and 70° on the mountains of Norway.

In the Cordillera of South America, between latitudes 41° and 43° 30′, the culminant peaks have altitudes pretty nearly equal. Several were measured by the officers of the Beagle with considerable care, by angles of elevation, the positions of the mountains being accurately known. Osorno is 7550 feet; mountain south of Osorno 5609; Minchinmadiva 7046; northern end of same range 6862; Corcovado 7510; Yntales 6725. Not only these points, but a great part of the range[14] was thickly clothed with snow, in the beginning of February (answering to our August), which descended some way down the mountains, and presented to a distant beholder a perfectly horizontal line. We were assured that the snow, which it appeared must inevitably be the case, remained throughout the year. On January 26th, after a week of uncommonly fine weather, Mr. King measured with a pocket sextant, the angle of this line with the summit of the Corcovado; and subtracting the result from the total height, the snow-line was found to descend to 4480 feet. It is possible that there may have existed some unknown cause of error; but as the average height of the few highest peaks in the snow-clad range is under 7000 feet, it is evident that the height of the snow-line cannot at most much exceed 6000 feet.

As this is a point of interest, I shall mention a few other circumstances, by which I think we may come to a nearly definite conclusion. On February 2d (1835) I obtained the last view of the Cordillera; on that day the lower line of the snow descended some way (so as to form a considerable angle with the summit, when viewed from a distance of 61 miles) on the mountain south of Osorno (lat. 41° 20′), which stands by itself, and has a height of 5607 feet. Since arriving in England I have received a letter from Mr. Douglas in Chiloe, who, describing some volcanic phenomena, accidentally mentions the snow-line. He says, on February 20th (same year), on the volcano of Minchinmadiva (lat. 42° 48′), which has an elevation of 7046 feet, lava was ejected from a crater “just above the verge of the snow.” Again, on February 27th, he alludes to the summit of the Corcovado (7510 feet) being covered with snow, as was Yntales[15] (6725 feet) in lat. 43° 30′. Again Mr. Douglas, speaking of the Corcovado, says, “On the 16th of March the snow appeared to cover one-fifth of its (visible) perpendicular height.” By this date the snow-line must have attained its greatest height (if, indeed, fresh snow had not fallen); and, as the Corcovado rises in an unbroken slope close to the sea, the proportion covered by snow might be judged of, with some degree of accuracy. The height of the Corcovado (7510 feet) was obtained by three angular measurements, made by the officers on the survey, and the mean nearly agreed with the three separate results. Reflecting on all these circumstances, we may conclude with perfect safety, that the limit of perpetual snow, between the latitudes 41° and 43°, cannot much, if at all, exceed 6000 feet.

Proceeding northward along the Cordillera we find a very different condition of things. In the pass of the Portillo (to the southward of 33°) Dr. Gillies determined barometrically the height of the double range; and he found the two ridges to be respectively 13,210 and 14,365 feet. On March 21st and 22d (1835), shortly before fresh snow fell, I crossed these mountains,[16] and although there were large masses of snow, there were much greater spaces at some height on each side uncovered. Dr. Gillies[17] says, “the summit (of the volcano of Peuquenes) is generally[18] covered with snow, and its elevation cannot be less than 15,000 above the level of the sea.” From these statements, compared with my observations, the snow-line when I crossed certainly was considerably above 14,365,--we may assume 15,000 as about the limit. From the results obtained by Humboldt, Pentland, Gillies, and King, we are enabled to draw up the following table of the extraordinary range of the snow-line on the Cordillera of South America:

+----------------------+----------------+-------------------------+ | Latitude. | Height in feet | Observer. | | | of Snow-line. | | +----------------------+----------------+-------------------------+ | Equatorial region: } | 15,748 | Humboldt. | | Mean result. } | | | | | | | | Bolivia, } | 17,000 | Pentland.[19] | | Lat. 16°-18° S. } | | | | | | | | Central Chile, } | { 14,500 | Gillies. | | Lat. 33° S. } | { to | | | | { 15,000 | | | | | | | Chiloe, } | 6,000 | Officers of the Beagle. | | Lat. 41°-43° S. } | | | | | | | | Tierra del Fuego, } | { 3,500 | King.[20] | | 54° S. } | { to | | | | { 4,000 | | +----------------------+----------------+-------------------------+

In considering this table, and beginning from the south, we observe, that through the first twelve degrees, the height of the snow-line rises only a little more than 2000 feet. In this space the climate and productions of the country are in many respects very uniform. In the succeeding nine degrees the rise is no less than nine thousand feet. Before any one pronounces this to be impossible, let him reflect well that the height of the snow-line very much depends on the heat of summer. In Chiloe no fruit, excepting apples and strawberries, comes to perfection; it is even oftentimes necessary to carry the barley and corn into the houses to be ripened:[21] on the other hand, in central Chile, even the sugar-cane[22] has been cultivated out of doors, and during a long summer of seven months the sky is seldom clouded, and rain never falls. The island of Chiloe, as well as the neighbouring mainland, is concealed by one dense forest, dripping with moisture, and abounding with ferns and other plants that love a humid atmosphere: while the soil of central Chile, where not irrigated, is arid and nearly desert. These two countries, so remarkably opposed to each other in every character, blend together rather suddenly near Concepcion, in lat. 37°. I do not doubt, the plain of perpetual snow undergoes an extraordinary flexure in the district where the forest ceases; for trees indicate a rainy climate, and hence a clouded state of atmosphere.[23]

From central Chile to Bolivia, a space of 16°, the rise of the snow-line is only 2000 feet. If Bolivia possessed an atmosphere as clear as that of Chile, the limit in all probability would be even higher than the present 17,000. The cause why the limit in the equatorial regions should be lower than in a latitude seventeen degrees to the southward, I leave to those to explain, who have more means of information respecting the dryness and clouded state of the atmosphere in the respective regions.

The presence of glaciers depends on the accumulation of a large mass of snow, subject to some variations of temperature, sufficient partially to thaw, and then reconsolidate the mass in its downward course. They have been aptly compared to gigantic icicles. The lower limit of glaciers, must depend on that of the parent snow, greatly affected by the form of the land: in Tierra del Fuego the snow-line descends very low, and the mountain sides are abrupt; therefore we might expect to find glaciers extending far down their flanks.[24] Nevertheless, when on first beholding, in the middle of summer, many of the creeks on the northern side of the Beagle channel terminated by bold precipices of ice overhanging the salt water, I felt greatly astonished. For the mountains from which they descended, were far from being very lofty. Captain FitzRoy from angular measurements considers the general range to have an elevation rather under 4000 feet, with one point called Chain Mountain rising to 4300. Further inland, there is indeed a more lofty mountain of 7000 feet, but it is not directly connected with the glaciers to which I now allude. This range, which exceeds by so little the height of some mountains in Britain, which yet sends down in the middle of summer its frozen streams to the sea-coast, is situated in the latitude of the Cumberland hills.

I was much interested by observing the great difference between the matter brought down by torrents and by glaciers. In the former case a spit of gravel is formed, but in the latter a pile of boulders. On one occasion, the boats being hauled on shore, within the distance of half a mile from a glacier, we were admiring the perpendicular cliff of blue ice, and wishing that some more fragments would fall off, like those we saw floating on the water, at a distance of more than a mile from their source. At last, down came a mass with a roaring noise, and immediately we saw the smooth outline of a wave travelling towards us. The men ran down as quickly as they could to the boats; for the chance of their being dashed to pieces was evident. One of the seamen just caught hold of the bows, as the curling breaker reached it: he was knocked over and over but not hurt; and the boats, though thrice lifted on high and let fall again, received no damage. This was most fortunate for us, for we were a hundred miles distant from the ship, and we should have been left without provisions or fire-arms.

I had previously observed that some large fragments of rock on the beach had been lately displaced: but until seeing this wave I did not understand the cause. The structure of the creek in which this happened was very curious. One side was formed by a spur of mica slate (of which rock the surrounding mountains were composed); the head by a cliff of ice about forty feet high; and the other side by a promontory which was built up of huge rounded fragments of granite and mica slate, and was more than fifty feet in height. To account for the present position of these blocks, where they must have long remained, for old trees were growing on the upper parts; we must suppose, either that the glacier formerly advanced half a mile further outward, or that the land stood at a rather different level. Whether we are able fully to account, or not, for the height and size of this promontory of boulders, certainly it must have been the work of the glacier. One semi-rounded fragment of granite lying just above high-water mark, was of enormous dimensions. It projected six feet above the sand, and was buried to an unknown depth: its shape was oval with a circumference of thirty yards, so that the longer axis probably measured about ten or eleven. This fragment must have come from the higher parts of the range; for the base of the mountain was entirely composed of mica slate.

The waves caused by the fall of the ice must be a most powerful agent in rounding and heaping together these huge fragments, and likewise in wearing away projecting points of the solid rock. In Georgia, situated in the very same latitude, Cook, speaking of the great ice-cliffs at the head of every harbour, says, “pieces were continually breaking off, and floating out to sea, and a great fall happened while we were in the bay, which made a noise like cannon.” He adds, “It can hardly be doubted, that a great deal of ice is formed here in winter, which in the spring is broken off, and dispersed over the sea.” Mr. Sorrell, the boatswain of the Beagle, who has long been accustomed to these seas, informs me, that at this season he has seen small icebergs, with mud and gravel on them, floating from the shores. I have heard from another quarter of the same circumstance. Captain Hunter[25] says, he met numerous ice-islands in this neighbourhood, and that “many were half black apparently with earth from the land, to which they had adhered, or else with mud from the bottom on which they had been formed.” By the latter method large fragments might easily be transported, and unless the iceberg should be upset, they would never be discovered. Nevertheless, the islands of ice floating in the southern ocean, and especially those occurring far south, appear generally to be quite free from all impurities excepting the dung of seafowl. Captain Biscoe, who extended his enterprising researches so far towards the antarctic pole, informs me in a letter that he never observed in a single instance[26] any mud or fragments of stone on the numerous icebergs which he encountered during his voyage.

Glaciers occur at the head of the sounds along the whole western coast of the southern part of South America. Looking at the chart I find sixteen places mentioned: besides these I know of several others, such as those in the Beagle channel and at the foot of Mount Sarmiento. The sounds, moreover, were not all traced to the head, and it is in this part that the glaciers most frequently occur. Of the sixteen referred to, many include several frozen arms coming down from one vast body of ice. In the Canal of the Mountains, for instance, no less than nine descend from a mountain, the whole side of which, according to the chart, is covered by a glacier of the extraordinary length of twenty-one miles, and with an average breadth of a mile and a half. It must not be supposed that the glacier merely ascends some valley for the twenty-one miles, but it extends apparently at the same height for that length, parallel to the sound; and here and there sends down an arm to the sea-coast.[27] There are other glaciers having a similar structure and position, with a length of ten and fifteen miles.

I will now specify a few of the more remarkable cases, taken from Captain King’s paper, to which I have so often referred. The canal of St. Andrew is said by Lieutenant Skyring to be “suddenly and boldly closed by tremendous and astonishing glaciers.” The highest mountain in this part (Mount Stokes) was ascertained during our ascent of the river of St. Cruz to be 6200 feet, and this certainly exceeds considerably the height of the general range. About ninety miles to the northward, Sir G. Eyre’s Sound, in the latitude of Paris, has its several arms terminated by glaciers. Mr. Bynoe, the surgeon of the Beagle, who accompanied the boat when this part was surveyed, informs me that about mid-channel, and more than twenty miles from the head of the sound, there were great numbers of floating masses of ice. Standing in the boat he supposes he saw about fifty: he, together with four of the boat’s crew, landed on one, which although only two or three feet above the surface of the water, felt quite steady, and easily supported their weight. On the surface, in the central part, a mass of granite, of an angular form, was partly embedded; and the ice had thawed all round it, so as to form a shallow pool of water. It was a cube of nearly two feet; and Mr. Bynoe with a maul knocked off, and brought away, a piece as large as a man’s head. The iceberg was still floating, and drifting outwards: even if it had been stranded in the immediate neighbourhood, the block of granite would have rested on the clay-slate of the surrounding mountains. For the parent rock we must look to the higher parts of the range, near the head of the sound.

Again, a few miles to the northward I see in the chart an Iceberg Sound, which no doubt was so called from the number of floating masses of ice. It may be recollected that in this latitude, on the opposite side of the Cordillera, the plains of St. Cruz, at the distance of fifty and sixty miles from the mountains, were strewed with great fragments of rock. Of these, one was sixty feet in circumference, and another, which was angular, measured five yards square;--both being partly buried in the gravel, so that their thickness was unknown. As it is probable that the plains were covered by the sea within a period geologically recent, and as we absolutely know, that icebergs at the present day, both in the same latitude and even further northward, are transporting angular blocks from the opposite side of the Cordillera, the explanation of the St. Cruz case through the same means of transport, is rendered so evidently probable, that we are not justified in doubting to receive it: more especially as the unbroken surface of those plains, and the terrace-formed valley, opposes a very great difficulty to the admission of any violent debacle. The latitudes which we have now been talking of, correspond to the southern extremity of Cornwall, and the northern provinces of France.

I will add only one other case; namely, the occurrence of glaciers at the level of the sea, in the gulf of Penas, latitude 46° 40′. A glacier is represented in the charts as in one part abutting on a flat swamp often inundated, and in another reaching to the head of Kelly Harbour. The accompanying woodcut is copied from the published charts. Captain King says its length is fifteen miles, and from the chart one part is seven broad; it is also described as being lofty; so that we here have an enormous mountain, covering a wide area, composed of ice. If we compare its situation with countries in the northern hemisphere, the corresponding parallel crosses the Alps of Switzerland. Or we may state the case stronger, by saying that glaciers here descend to the sea within less than nine degrees of latitude, from where palms grow, less than two and a half from arborescent grasses, and (looking to the westward in the same hemisphere) less than two from orchideous parasites, and within a single degree of tree-ferns! In Norway, Von Buch found glaciers descending to the sea at Kunnen in latitude 67°; that is twenty degrees nearer the pole, than in this hemisphere;--a difference of latitude rather greater than that between the snow-lines of equal altitude in the same two countries.

The survey of the inner coast terminated at the gulf of Penas, so that I am far from knowing whether glaciers are not found much further northward: and considering the immense size of the one just described, it is extremely improbable that it should be the last. On the island of Chiloe, which fronts the Cordillera as the Jura does the Alps, many angular fragments of granite, of an enormous size, which appear to have crossed the inland arm of sea, lie scattered at different heights over the country. Although situated between the parallels of 41° and 43°, I know of no sound objection to the supposition that these might formerly have been floated across, on icebergs produced by the fall of glaciers. We are not bound to suppose that the latitude 46° 40′ has always been the northern limit of such phenomena, even if it should be so at present. We have endeavoured to show that the snow-line in the parallel of Chiloe has an elevation of about 6000 feet; and since on Mont Blanc the glaciers descend 5160 feet beneath the line of perpetual snow, we might at present expect to find them in front of Chiloe at a very small altitude above the level of the sea.

With respect to the position of the glaciers, they seem to occur only within the deep sounds which penetrate the central Cordillera. This may be attributed chiefly to the subordinate elevation of the outer lines. When we consider the vast dimensions and number of these glaciers, the effect produced on the land must be very great. Every one has heard of the mass of rubbish propelled by the glaciers of Switzerland, as they slowly creep onwards. In the same manner in Tierra del Fuego, on a still night the cracking and groaning of the great moving mass may be distinctly heard. The same force, which is known to uproot whole forests of lofty trees, must, when grating over the surface, tear from the flanks of the mountain many huge fragments of rock. Beneath each glacier, also, a roaring torrent drains the upper part of the ice. To these effects, which are common to all cases, there must be added, in this country, the wear and tear of the waves produced by each successive fall. Nor can this agency be inconsiderable, when we remember that it goes on night and day, century after century. We must look at every portion of the mountain as having, during the gradual rising of the land, been successively exposed to the action of these combined forces.

It is, perhaps, useless to speculate on the effects of earthquakes without some positive data. But as we find in the immediate neighbourhood of that great glacier, which stands in the latitude of the Alps, Byron[28] mentioning with surprise the quantities of sea-shells lying on all the hill-tops (a fact which may be taken as a proof of recent continental elevations); and Bulkeley,[29] in his narrative, saying, “This day we felt four great earthquakes, three of which were very terrible;” we may feel well assured, that the same power, which in Chile causes such vast masses of rock and soil to fall from the sea-cliffs, has oftentimes precipitated fragments far more immense, of a mass traversed by great fissures, already in motion, and resting on an inclined plane. I cannot imagine any scene of more terrific violence, than the waves produced by such a fall: we know that they are very bad from the mere oscillation, consequent on the movements of the ground; but in this case I can readily believe that the water would be fairly beaten back out of the deepest inlet, and then returning with an overwhelming force, would whirl about rocks of vast size like so much chaff.

In after ages, with a climate modified by the process of such physical changes as are now going on throughout the greater part of this continent, the effects which had been produced by these glaciers would appear inexplicable, to a person who doubted the possibility of their occurrence in such latitudes. He would see in the most retired and protected valleys (the present channels) beaches composed of great rounded boulders, such as those heaped up on the shore of the most turbulent ocean. Then perhaps he would speculate, either that the outer chain of mountains had been elevated subsequently to the interior ones, so as to protect a coast hitherto exposed, or that overwhelming deluges had swept down the valleys, and in some manner produced, in one day, the effects of attrition which on ordinary occasions require the prolonged action of centuries.

If we could at the present day submerge the greater part of Tierra del Fuego, or leave unelevated that which we know has recently been gained, an island with a few small outliers would be formed, similar to Georgia, and situated in exactly the same latitude. Have we in such case the slightest right to deny the probability that the snow-line would descend nearly to the water’s edge, and that every valley would be “terminated by a wall of ice,” and that “in winter masses would be broken off and dispersed over the sea?”--all of which circumstances are now happening in Georgia. The currents, which always set from the westward towards the east, would drift these floating masses through the channels towards the eastern side. And as we know that icebergs at the present day, in both hemispheres, occasionally transport fragments of rock, so we cannot deny that those of Tierra del Fuego might formerly have done so. When the land was elevated, the fragments of rock would be found deposited on the eastern side of the continent, in bands representing the ancient channels. Whether or not the hypothesis of their transport be true, such is the position of the erratic blocks in Tierra del Fuego.

With respect to the general theory of the transport by great fragments of ice, especially of such as are angular, I may add a few remarks. Humboldt having observed that none occurred over the vast intertropical plains of the eastern side of South America, believed that they were entirely absent from the whole continent. As far as I am able to discover from the works of travellers, and from what I have myself seen, the remark holds good in the countries on both sides of the Cordillera as far south as central Chile. Azara has particularly stated such to be the case in Chaco. With respect to the tributaries of the Amazons, nothing can more strongly prove it than La Condamine’s[30] story. He says, “Below Borja even for four or five hundred leagues, a stone, even a single flint, is as great a rarity as a diamond would be. The savages of those countries don’t know what a stone is, and have not even a notion of it. It is diversion enough to see some of them when they come to Borja, and first meet with stones, express their admiration at them with signs, and be eager to pick them up, loading themselves therewith as with a valuable merchandise.” It is therefore a remarkable circumstance that as soon as we reach the colder latitudes in the southern hemisphere (from 41° to Cape Horn), the same phenomenon occurs, almost on as grand a scale and with similar limits, as in the northern parts both of the Old and New World. Neither in the southern nor in the northern hemisphere do the fragments, coming from the polar regions, or from other mountain groups, arrive within a considerable distance of the lines of the tropics.

We must couple the absence of erratic blocks along that part of the Andes which is situated under a warmer climate, with the similar non-occurrence, as I am informed by Professor Royle, in Northern India round the flanks of the Himmalaya;--those loftiest pinnacles on the face of the globe. With regard to Southern Africa, from lat. 35° to the tropic, Dr. Andrew Smith, who has visited as a naturalist so large a portion of the interior, assures me he has never seen any thing of the kind. Nor do I recollect meeting with any mention of them, in the works of the numerous travellers in the equatorial regions of the same continent. The same remark certainly holds good with Australia in the parallel of Sydney, but perhaps is more doubtful with respect to Van Diemen’s Land.[31] To my mind these negative facts[32] have very great weight in support of the mass of positive evidence which Mr. Lyell[33] has brought to bear upon the question.

The circumstance of a luxuriant vegetation with a tropical character so largely encroaching on the temperate zones, under the same kind of climate that allows of a limit of perpetual snow of little altitude, and consequent descent of the glaciers into the sea, is very important; because it has been argued, with great apparent truth, that as there is the strongest presumptive evidence of a gradual cooling down of the climate (or rather of a less favourable state for tropical productions) in Europe, it is most unphilosophical to imagine that formerly glaciers could have acted where they do not now occur. It may be asked; what are the circumstances in the southern hemisphere that produce such results? Must we not attribute them to the large proportional area of water; and do not plain geological inferences compel us to allow, that during the epoch anterior to the present, the northern hemisphere more closely approached to that condition, than it now does?

We are all so much better acquainted with the position of places in our own, than in any other quarter of the globe, that I will recapitulate what is actually taking place in the southern hemisphere,[34] only transporting in imagination each part to a corresponding latitude in the north. On this supposition, in the southern provinces of France, magnificent forests, intwined by arborescent grasses, and the trees loaded with parasitical plants, would cover the face of the country. In the latitude of Mont Blanc, but on an island as far eastward as central Siberia, tree-ferns and parasitical orchideæ would thrive amidst the thick woods. Even as far north as central Denmark, humming-birds might be seen fluttering about delicate flowers, and parrots feeding amidst the evergreen woods, with which the mountains would be clothed down to the water’s edge. Nevertheless, the southern part of Scotland (only removed twice as far to the westward) would present an island “almost wholly covered with everlasting snow,” and having each bay terminated by ice-cliffs, from which great masses yearly detached, would sometimes bear with them fragments of rock. This island would only boast of one land-bird, a little grass and moss; yet in the same latitude the sea might swarm with living creatures. A chain of mountains, which we will call the Cordillera, running north and south through the Alps (but having an altitude much inferior to the latter), would connect them with the central part of Denmark. Along this whole line nearly every deep sound would end in “bold and astonishing glaciers.” In the Alps themselves (with their altitude reduced by about half) we should find proofs of recent elevations, and occasionally terrible earthquakes would cause such masses of ice to be precipitated into the sea, that waves tearing all before them, would heap together enormous fragments, and pile them up in the corners of the valleys. At other times, icebergs, “charged with no inconsiderable blocks of granite,”[35] would be floated from the flanks of Mont Blanc, and then stranded on the outlying islands of the Jura. Who then will deny the possibility of these things having actually taken place in Europe during a former period, and under circumstances known to be different from the present, when on merely looking to the other hemisphere, we see they are among the daily order of events?

To the northward of our new Cape Horn, we should only have certain knowledge of a few island groups, situated in the latitude of the south part of Norway, and others in that of Ferroe. These, in the middle of summer, would be buried under snow, and surrounded by walls of ice; so that scarcely a living thing of any kind would be supported on the land. If some bold navigator attempted to penetrate beyond these islands towards the pole, he would run a thousand dangers, and only meet an ocean strewed with mountain-masses of ice.

At the Ferroe islands (or we may say a little to the southward of the Wiljui, where Pallas found (in lat. 64° N.) the frozen rhinoceros), a body buried under the surface of the soil would undergo so little decomposition, that years afterwards (as in the instance mentioned at South Shetland, 62°-63° S.), every feature might be recognised perfect and unchanged. I particularly allude to this circumstance, because the case of the Siberian animals preserved with their flesh in the ice, offers the same apparent difficulty with the glaciers; namely, the union in the same hemisphere of a climate in some senses severe, with one allowing of the life of those forms which at present, although abounding without the tropics, do not approach the frozen zones.

The perfect preservation of the Siberian animals, perhaps presented, till within a few years, one of the most difficult problems which geology ever attempted to solve. On the one hand it was granted, that the carcasses had not been drifted from any great distance by any tumultuous deluge, and on the other it was assumed as certain, that when the animals lived, the climate must have been so totally different, that the presence of ice in the vicinity was as incredible, as would be the freezing of the Ganges. Mr. Lyell in his “Principles of Geology”[36] has thrown the greatest light on this subject, by indicating the northerly course of the existing rivers with the probability that they formerly carried carcasses in the same direction; by showing (from Humboldt) how far the inhabitants of the hottest countries sometimes wander; by insisting on the caution necessary in judging of habits between animals of the same genius, when the species are not identical; and especially by bringing forward in the clearest manner the probable change from an insular to an extreme climate, as the consequence of the elevation of the land, of which proofs have lately been brought to light.[37]

In a former part of this volume, I have endeavoured to prove, that as far as regards the quantity of food, there is no difficulty in supposing that these large quadrupeds inhabited sterile regions, producing but a scanty vegetation. With respect to temperature, the woolly covering both of the elephant and the rhinoceros seems at once to render it at least probable (although it has been argued that some animals living in the hottest regions are thickly clothed) that they were fitted for a cold climate. I suppose no reason can be assigned why, during a former epoch, when the pachydermata abounded over the greater part of the world, some species should not have been fitted for the northern regions, precisely as now happens with deer and several other animals.[38] If, then, we believe that the climate of Siberia, anteriorly to the physical changes above alluded to, had some resemblance with that of the southern hemisphere at the present day--a circumstance which harmonizes well with other facts,[39] as I think has been shown by the imaginary case, when we transported existing phenomena from one to the other hemisphere,--the following conclusions may be deduced as probable: First, that the degree of cold formerly was not excessive; secondly, that snow did not for a long time together cover the ground (such not being the case at the extreme parts 55°-56° of S. America); thirdly, that the vegetation partook of a more tropical character than it now does in the same latitudes; and lastly, that at but a short distance to the northward of the country thus circumstanced (even not so far as where Pallas found the entire rhinoceros), the soil might be perpetually congealed: so that if the carcass of any animal should once be buried a few feet beneath the surface, it would be preserved for centuries.

Both Humboldt[40] and Lyell have remarked, that at the present day, the bodies of any animals, wandering beyond the line of perpetual congelation which extends as far south as 62°, if once embedded by any accident a few feet beneath the surface, would be preserved for an indefinite length of time: the same would happen with carcasses drifted by the rivers; and by such means the extinct mammalia may have been entombed. There is only one small step wanting, as it appears to me, and the whole problem would be solved with a degree of simplicity very striking, compared with the several theories first invented. From the account given by Mr. Lyell of the Siberian plains, with their innumerable fossil bones, the relics of many successive generations, there can be little doubt that the beds were accumulated either in a shallow sea, or in an estuary. From the description given in Beechey’s voyage of Eschscholtz Bay, the same remark is applicable to the north-west coast of America: the formation there appears identical with the common littoral deposits[41] recently elevated, which I have seen on the shores of the southern part of the same continent. It seems also well established, that the Siberian remains are only exposed where the rivers intersect the plain. With this fact, and the proofs of recent elevation, the whole case appears to be precisely similar to that of the Pampas: namely, that the carcasses were formerly floated into the sea, and the remains covered up in the deposits which were then accumulating. These beds have since been elevated; and as the rivers excavate their channels the entombed skeletons are exposed.

Here then, is the difficulty: how were the carcasses preserved at the bottom of the sea? I do not think it has been sufficiently noticed; that the preservation of the animal with its flesh was an occasional event, and not directly consequent on its position far northward. Cuvier[42] refers to the voyage of Billing as showing that the bones of the elephant, buffalo, and rhinoceros, are nowhere so abundant as on the islands between the mouths of the Lena and Indigirska. It is even said that excepting some hills of rock, the whole is composed of sand, ice, and bones. These islands lie to the northward of the place where Adams found the mammoth with its flesh preserved, and even ten degrees north of the Wiljui, where the rhinoceros was discovered in a like condition. In the case of the bones we may suppose that the carcasses were drifted into a deeper sea, and there remaining at the bottom, the flesh decomposed.[43] But in the second and more extraordinary case, where putrefaction seems to have been arrested, the body probably was soon covered up by deposits which were then accumulating. It may be asked, whether the mud a few feet deep, at the bottom of a shallow sea which is annually frozen, has a temperature higher than 32°? It must be remembered how intense a degree of cold is required to freeze salt water; and that the mud at some depth below the surface, would have a low mean temperature, precisely in the same manner as the subsoil on the land is frozen in countries which enjoy a short but hot summer. If this be possible,[44] the entombment of these extinct quadrupeds is rendered very simple; and with regard to the conditions of their former existence, the principal difficulties have, I think, already been removed.

* * * * *

Having concluded this long discussion on the analogies which may be drawn from the existing climate of the southern parts of America, together with its productions, we will return to the description of Tierra del Fuego.

There is one vegetable production in this country which is worthy of mention, as it affords a staple article of food to the aborigines. It is a globular fungus of a bright yellow colour, and of about the size of a small apple, which adheres in vast numbers to the bark of the beech-trees. It probably forms a new genus, allied to the morell. In the young state it is elastic and turgid, from being charged with moisture. The external skin is smooth, yet slightly marked with small circular pits, like those from the smallpox. When cut in two, the inside is seen to consist of a white fleshy substance, which viewed under a high power resembles, from the numerous thread-like cylinders, vermicelli. Close beneath the surface, cup-shaped balls, about one-twelfth of an inch in diameter, are arranged at regular intervals. These cups are filled with a slightly adhesive, yet elastic, colourless, quite transparent matter; and from the latter character they at first appeared empty. These little gelatinous balls could be easily detached from the surrounding mass, except at the upper extremity, where the edge divided itself into threads, which mingled with the rest of the vermicelli-like mass. The external skin directly above each of the balls is pitted, and as the fungus grows old, it is ruptured, and the gelatinous mass, which no doubt contains the sporules, is disseminated. After this process of fructification has taken place, the whole surface becomes honeycombed, with empty cells (as represented in the accompanying woodcut), and the fungus shrinks, and grows tougher. In this state it is eaten by the Fuegians, in large quantities, uncooked, and when well chewed has a mucilaginous and slightly sweet taste, together with a faint odour like that of a mushroom. Excepting a few berries of a dwarf arbutus, which need hardly be taken into the account, these poor savages never eat any other vegetable food besides this fungus.[45]

I have already mentioned the sombre and dull character of the forests,[46] in which two or three species of trees grow, to the exclusion of all others. Above the forest land, there are many dwarf alpine plants, which all spring from the mass of peat, and help to compose it. The central part of Tierra del Fuego, where the clay-slate formation occurs, is most favourable to the growth of trees; on the outer coast the poorer granitic soil, and a situation more exposed to the violent winds, do not allow of their attaining any great size. Near Port Famine I have seen more large trees than any where else: I measured a winter’s bark which was four feet six inches in girth, and several of the beech were thirteen feet. Captain King also mentions one of the latter which was seven feet in diameter, seventeen feet above the roots.

The zoology of Tierra del Fuego, as might have been expected from the nature of its climate and vegetation, is very poor. Of mammalia, besides Cetacea and Phocæ, there is one bat, a mouse with grooved front teeth (Reithrodon of Waterhouse), and two other species, the tucutuco (the greater number of these rodents are confined to the eastern and dry part), a fox, sea-otter, guanaco, and one deer. The latter animal is rare, and is not, I believe, to be found south of the Strait of Magellan, as happens with the others.

Observing the general correspondence of the cliffs of soft sandstone, mud, and shingle, on the opposite sides of the Strait, together with those on some intervening islands, one is strongly tempted to believe that the land was once joined, and thus allowed animals so delicate and helpless as the tucutuco, and Reithrodon, to pass over. The correspondence of the cliffs is far from proving any junction; because such cliffs generally are formed by the intersection of sloping deposits, which, before the elevation of the land, had been accumulated near the then existing shores. It is, however, a remarkable coincidence, that in the two large islands cut off by the Beagle channel from the rest of Tierra del Fuego, one has cliffs composed of matter that may be called stratified alluvium, which front similar ones on the opposite side of the channel,--while the other is exclusively bordered by the older rocks: in the former, called Navarin Island, both foxes and guanacoes occur; but in the latter, Hoste Island, although similar in every respect, and only separated by a channel a little more than half a mile wide, I have the word of Jemmy Button for saying that neither of these animals are found. I must confess to an exception to the rule, in the presence of a small mouse, of a species occurring likewise in Patagonia.

The gloomy woods are inhabited by few birds: occasionally the plaintive note of a white-tufted tyrant-flycatcher may be heard, concealed near the summit of the most lofty trees; and more rarely the loud strange cry of a black woodpecker, with a fine scarlet crest on its head. A little, dusky-coloured wren (Scytalopus fuscus) hops in a skulking manner among the entangled mass of the fallen and decaying trunks. But the creeper (Synallaxis Tupinieri) is the commonest bird in the country. Throughout the beech forests, high up and low down, in the most gloomy, wet, and impenetrable ravines, it may be met with. This little bird no doubt appears more numerous than it really is, from its habit of following, with seeming curiosity, any person who enters these silent woods: continually uttering a harsh twitter, it flutters from tree to tree, within a few feet of the intruder’s face. It is far from wishing for the modest concealment of the true creeper (Certhia familiaris), nor does it, like that bird, run up and down the trunks of trees; but industriously, after the manner of a willow wren, hops about, and searches for insects on every twig and branch. In the more open parts three or four species of finches, a thrush, a starling (or Icterus), two furnarii, and several hawks and owls occur.

The absence of any species whatever in the whole class of Reptiles is a marked feature in the zoology of this country, as well as in that of the Falkland Islands. I do not ground this statement merely on my own observation, but I heard it from the Spanish inhabitants of the latter place, and from Jemmy Button with regard to Tierra del Fuego. On the banks of the St. Cruz in 50° south, I saw a frog; and it is not improbable that these animals, as well as lizards, may be found as far south as the Strait of Magellan, where the country retains the character of Patagonia; but within the damp and cold limit not one occurs. That the climate would not have suited some of the orders, such as lizards, might have been foreseen; but with respect to frogs, this was not so obvious.

Coleopterous insects occur in very small numbers. Until I had endeavoured by every means to find them, I could not believe, that a country as large as Scotland, covered with vegetable productions, and with a variety of stations, would ever have been so unproductive. The greater part of my small collection consists of alpine insects (Harpalidæ and Heteromera) found beneath stones, above the limit of the forest. Lower down, with the exception of some few Curculiones scarcely any could be found. The Chrysomelidæ, which are so pre-eminently characteristic of the Tropics, are here almost entirely absent.[47] This must depend on the climate; for the quantity of vegetable matter is superfluously great. In the hottest part of the summer the mean of the maxima for thirty-seven successive days was 55°, and the thermometer on some of the days rose to 60°; yet there were no orthoptera, very few diptera, lepidoptera, or hymenoptera. In the pools of water I found but few aquatic beetles, and not any fresh-water shells. Succinea at first appears an exception; but here it must be called a terrestrial species, for it lives on the damp herbage far from water. Land-shells could only be procured in the same situations with the alpine beetles. I have already contrasted the climate, as well as the general appearance of Tierra del Fuego with that of Patagonia; and the difference is strongly exemplified in the entomology. I do not believe they have a species in common; certainly the general character of the insects is widely different.

If we turn from the land to the sea, we shall find the latter as abundantly stocked with living creatures as the former is poorly so. In all parts of the world a rocky and partially protected shore perhaps supports, in a given space, a greater number of individual animals than any other kind of station. Here, under every stone, numerous crawling creatures swarmed, and especially crustacea of the family of Cymothoades. The number of Sphæroma was truly wonderful: as these animals, when coiled up, have some resemblance to Trilobites, they were an interesting sight to a geologist. On the tidal rocks patelliform shells of large size were very abundant. Even at the depth of forty or fifty fathoms, the bottom of the sea was far from sterile, as was shown by the abundance of small strong corallines.

There is one marine production, which from its importance is worthy of a particular history. It is the kelp or Fucus giganteus of Solander. This plant grows on every rock from low-water mark to a great depth, both on the outer coast and within the channels. I believe, during the voyages of the Adventure and Beagle, not one rock near the surface was discovered, which was not buoyed by this floating weed. The good service it thus affords to vessels navigating near this stormy land is evident; and it certainly has saved many a one from being wrecked. I know few things more surprising than to see this plant growing and flourishing amidst those great breakers of the western ocean, which no mass of rock, let it be ever so hard, can long resist. The stem is round, slimy, and smooth, and seldom has a diameter of so much as an inch. A few taken together are sufficiently strong to support the weight of the large loose stones to which in the inland channels they grow attached; and some of these stones are so heavy, that when drawn to the surface they can scarcely be lifted into a boat by one person.

Captain Cook, in his second voyage, says, that at Kerguelen Land “some of this weed is of a most enormous length, though the stem is not much thicker than a man’s thumb. I have mentioned, that on some of the shoals upon which it grows, we did not strike ground with a line of twenty-four fathoms. The depth of water, therefore, must have been greater. And as this weed does not grow in a perpendicular direction, but makes a very acute angle with the bottom, and much of it afterwards spreads many fathoms on the surface of the sea, I am well warranted to say that some of it grows to the length of sixty fathoms and upwards.” Certainly at the Falkland Islands, and about Tierra del Fuego, extensive beds frequently spring up from ten and fifteen fathom water. I do not suppose the stem of any other plant attains so great a length as 360 feet, as stated by Captain Cook. Its geographical range is very considerable; it is found from the extreme southern islets near Cape Horn, as far north, on the eastern coast (according to information given me by Mr. Stokes), as lat. 43°,--and on the western it was tolerably abundant, but far from luxuriant, at Chiloe, in lat. 42°. It may possibly extend a little further northward, but is soon succeeded by a different species. We thus have a range of fifteen degrees in latitude; and as Cook, who must have been well acquainted with the species, found it at Kerguelen Land, no less than 140° in longitude.

The number of living creatures of all orders, whose existence intimately depends on the kelp, is wonderful. A great volume might be written, describing the inhabitants of one of these beds of sea-weed. Almost every leaf, excepting those that float on the surface, is so thickly incrusted with corallines, as to be of a white colour. We find exquisitely-delicate structures, some inhabited by simple hydra-like polypi, others by more organized kinds, and beautiful compound Ascidiæ.[48] On the flat surfaces of the leaves various patelliform shells, Trochi, uncovered molluscs, and some bivalves are attached. Innumerable crustacea frequent every part of the plant. On shaking the great entangled roots, a pile of small fish, shells, cuttle-fish, crabs of all orders, sea-eggs, starfish, beautiful Holuthuriæ (some taking the external form of the nudibranch molluscs), Planariæ, and crawling nereidous animals of a multitude of forms, all fall out together. Often as I recurred to a branch of the kelp, I never failed to discover animals of new and curious structures. In Chiloe, where, as I have said, the kelp did not thrive very well, the numerous shells, corallines, and Crustacea were absent; but there yet remained a few of the flustraceæ, and some compound Ascidiæ; the latter, however, were of different species from those in Tierra del Fuego. We here see the fucus possessing a wider range than the animals which use it as an abode.

I can only compare these great aquatic forests of the southern hemisphere with the terrestrial ones in the intertropical regions. Yet if the latter should be destroyed in any country, I do not believe nearly so many species of animals would perish, as, under similar circumstances, would happen with the kelp. Amidst the leaves of this plant numerous species of fish live, which nowhere else would find food or shelter; with their destruction the many cormorants, divers, and other fishing birds, the otters, seals, and porpoises, would soon perish also; and lastly, the Fuegian savage, the miserable lord of this miserable land, would redouble his cannibal feast, decrease in numbers, and perhaps cease to exist.

JUNE 8TH.--We weighed anchor early in the morning, and left Port Famine. Captain FitzRoy determined to leave the Strait of Magellan by the Magdalen channel, which had not long been discovered. Our course lay due south, down that gloomy passage which I have before alluded to, as appearing to lead to another and worse world. The wind was fair, but the atmosphere was very thick; so that we missed much curious scenery. The dark ragged clouds were rapidly driven over the mountains, from their summits nearly to their bases. The glimpses which we caught through the dusky mass were highly interesting: jagged points, cones of snow, blue glaciers, strong outlines marked on a lurid sky, were seen at different distances and heights. In the midst of such scenery we anchored at Cape Turn, close to Mount Sarmiento, which was then hidden in the clouds. At the base of the lofty and almost perpendicular sides of our little cove, there was one deserted wigwam, and it alone reminded us that man sometimes wandered in these desolate regions. But it would be difficult to imagine a scene where he seemed to have less claims, or less authority. The inanimate works of nature--rock, ice, snow, wind, and water--all warring with each other, yet combined against man--here reigned in absolute sovereignty.

JUNE 9TH.--In the morning we were delighted by seeing the veil of mist gradually rise from Sarmiento, and display it to our view. This mountain, which is one of the highest in Tierra del Fuego, has an elevation of 6800 feet. Its base, for about an eighth of its total height, is clothed by dusky woods, and above this a field of snow extends to the summit. These vast piles of snow, which never melt, and seem destined to last as long as the world holds together, present a noble and even sublime spectacle. The outline of the mountain was admirably clear and defined. Owing to the abundance of light reflected from the white and glittering surface, no shadows are cast on any part; and those lines which intersect the sky can alone be distinguished: hence the mass stood out in the boldest relief. Several glaciers descended in a winding course, from the snow to the sea-coast: they may be likened to great frozen Niagaras; and perhaps these cataracts of blue ice are to the full as beautiful as the moving ones of water. By night we reached the western part of the channel; but the water was so deep that no anchorage could be found. We were in consequence obliged to stand off and on, in this narrow arm of the sea, during a pitch-dark night of fourteen hours long.

JUNE 10TH.--In the morning we made the best of our way into the open Pacific. The Western coast generally consists of low, rounded, quite barren, hills of granite and greenstone. Sir John Narborough called one part South Desolation, because it is “so desolate a land to behold;” and well indeed might he say so. Outside the main islands there are numberless scattered rocks, on which the long swell of the open ocean incessantly rages. We passed out between the East and West Furies, and a little further northward there are so many breakers that the sea is called the Milky Way. One sight of such a coast is enough to make a landsman dream for a week about shipwreck, peril, and death; and with this sight, we bade farewell for ever to Tierra del Fuego.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The south-westerly breezes are generally very dry. January 29th, being at anchor under Cape Gregory; a very hard gale from W. by S., clear sky with few cumili; temperature 57°, due point 36°, difference 21°. On January 15th, at Port St. Julian: in the morning light winds with much rain, followed by a very heavy squall with rain,--settled into heavy gale with large cumili,--cleared up, blowing very strong from SSW. Temperature 60°, due point 42°,--difference 18°.

[2] As there are no settlements on the Patagonian coast, there are few means of comparison. Cherry-trees left by the Spaniards at Port Desire, lat. 48°, still bear fruit, whereas, in Chiloe, on the west coast, 360 miles further north, I believe they do not succeed.

[3] Journal of the Royal Geographical Society for the years 1830, 1831.

[4] The mean of the maxima of these thirty-seven days was only 55°.5, and of the minima 45°.3,--the mean range thus being 10°.2. For the whole sixty-five days, the mean of the maxima was only 51°.7, which certainly is a very wretched summer, and shows how little bright sunshine there can be.

[5] This mean must be a little too low, because the whole of August is not included. I see Von Buch says, “we can hardly assign to Saltenfiord, Norway (in lat. 67°, or 13° 22′ nearer the pole than Port Famine) a higher mean temperature than 34°, nor a higher temperature for the warm month of July than 57°.8.” (Travels through Norway, p. 123.) Captain King gives as the mean for February, which probably is the hottest month at Port Famine, only at 51°.1. Some observations made at the Falkland Islands (2° 13′ north of Port Famine) which are often quoted, give as the mean for the whole year 47°.3, and for the summer 53°.1. These results are very much higher than what I should have anticipated, from the climate of the neighbouring mainland.

[6] This line is taken from Barton’s Lectures on the Geography of Plants.

[7] In this wretched climate, subject to such extreme cold, is it not most wonderful, that human beings should be able to exist unclothed and without shelter?

[8] Appendix to Flinder’s Voyage, pp. 575 and 584.

[9] Weddell’s Voyage, p. 133.

[10] Geographical Journal, 1830, pp. 65 and 66.

[11] I have reason to believe, that icebergs are formed on the coast during a part of the year.

[12] Appendix to Back’s Expedition.

[13] Fragmens Asiatiques, vol. ii., p. 386.

[14] Mr. Sulivan, who surveyed this part of Chiloe, informs me, that between Osorno and Yntales, there are probably many mountains which rise to a height of nearly 6000 feet. He says he does not recollect any one summit, which (during January) was not covered with snow.

[15] On January 15th, Yntales, seen from the Northern Chonos Islands, was entirely covered by snow.

[16] I crossed the Uspallata Pass on April 5th. The height, as given by Mr. Pentland (Geographical Journal), is 12,454. In the ravines there were some inconsiderable patches of snow, but the general surface was quite bare.

[17] The Edinburgh Journal of Natural and Geographical Science, August, 1830, p. 316.

[18] I have reason to suspect that the snow-line in Chile is subject to extreme variation. I was told, that during one remarkably dry and long summer, all the snow disappeared from Aconcagua. Not being at the time aware of the extraordinary elevation of this mountain (23,000), I did not closely cross-question my informers. It must be remembered that even in ordinary summers the sky is generally cloudless for six or seven months, that no fresh snow falls, and that the atmosphere is excessively dry. It may be asked whether vast quantities of snow would not, under this condition of circumstances, be evaporated? so that it might be possible that all the snow should disappear from a mountain without the temperature having risen above the freezing point. Mr. Miers (vol. i., p. 384) says he passed the Cordillera by the Cumbre Pass on May 30th, 1819, “when not the smallest vestige of snow was observable in any part of the Andes.” Yet Aconcagua is in full view in the approach to this pass. Mr. Miers, in another part (p. 383), makes a general assertion to the same effect.

[19] See Mr. Pentland’s most interesting paper in the Geograph. Journal, read March 1835.

[20] Journal of Geograph. Soc., vol. i., p. 165.

[21] For this fact I may quote, as additional authority, Aguerros Descripcion Historial de la Provincia de Chiloé, 1791, p. 94.

[22] Miers’s Chile, vol. i., p. 415. It is said that the sugar-cane grew at Ingenio, lat. 32°-33°, but not in sufficient quantity to make the manufacture profitable. In the valley of Quillota, south of Ingenio, I saw some large date palm-trees.

[23] The average degree of atmospheric transparency seems to be a most important element in determining the climate of any place. Dr. Richardson (Report to Brit. Assoc. for 1836, p. 131) has remarked that Professor Leslie, from experimenting on the effects of radiation only in an insular climate, deduced theoretical inferences respecting the mean temperature of the year, extremely different from the results obtained under the clear atmosphere of the polar regions. I apprehend central Chile will bear comparison with any part of the world for the clearness of its sky, and Chiloe, for one of an opposite condition: therefore we should not feel surprised, if the effects of two such opposite climates at first appear and malous. The remarkable difference in the height of the snow-line, on the opposite sides of the Himmalaya, has been explained by Humboldt and Jacquemont, on the same principle: and in a like manner, the difference between the heights on the Pyrenees and on Caucasus, the latter mountains being characterized by a climate more excessive, than that of the former.

[24] In the Alps, Saussure gives 8793 feet as the mean of the lower limit of the snow-line. At Mont Blanc the glacier of Montanvert is said (Encyclo. Metropol.) to descend 12,000 feet below the summit of the mountain, and this will make its base 5160 feet lower than the line of snow. In Norway (See Von Buch) where a glacier first comes down to the water’s edge (lat. 67°), it is 3800 below the same line: in Tierra del Fuego the difference must be very nearly the same as in the last case.

[25] Hunter’s Voyage to Port Jackson, p. 102.

[26] Mr. Sorrell says, that he once saw an iceberg to the eastward of South Shetland, with a considerable block of rock lying on it.

[27] I may remark that in the chart, the greater number of the creeks which receive the glaciers, have crosses drawn in front, which signify projecting masses of rock. After what we have seen in the Beagle channel, I suspect that they are detached masses brought down by the overwhelming force of the glaciers.

[28] Byron’s Narrative of the Shipwreck of the Wager.

[29] Bulkeley’s and Cummin’s Faithful Narrative of the loss of the Wager. The earthquake happened August 25, 1741.

[30] La Condamine’s Voyage (English translation), p. 24.

[31] I will here put together all the (apparent?) exceptions which I have met with to the supposed law that erratic blocks are absent in the intertropical regions of the world. First, in the Bulletin de la Société Géologique, 1837, p. 234, there is an account of some erratic blocks near Macao (lat. 22° N.); but as it is distinctly stated they are all of granite, and the greater number of even the same coloured variety, as the granitic rock, on which they rest, the case need not be considered. Secondly, in a late number of the Madras Journal, Dr. Benza has described some erratic blocks lying on a plain between the Neilgherries (lat. 12° N.) and Madras. He states that the foundation-rock of the country is gneiss, “while the granite clusters are more elevated, and affect either a prismatic form, or are piled up one on the other, like logging stones.” Dr. Benza had the kindness to inform me that these masses are very large, and that several are piled one upon the other. Again, Brongniart says (Tableau de Terrains, p. 83), “On cite aussi dans l’Inde, au pays d’Hyderabad (lat. 17° N.), des blocs énormes de granite, amoncelés les uns sur les autres” (Deluc neveu). Every one must draw his own conclusions from these accounts, regarding the probability of erratic blocks being heaped up, one upon the other, like logging stones. The same doubt likewise partly applies to the Macao case. With respect to the boulders of Hyderabad, Dr. T. Christie has distinctly stated (Edin. New Phil. Jour., Oct. 1828, p. 102), that they are in situ, and has explained their origin. For my own part, I cannot forget that whole granitic hills at the Cape of Good Hope, which, from weathering, have assumed a boulder-like form, were once described as transported masses. The two next cases do not properly come under consideration, for they refer to masses lying in the valleys of lofty mountains. We must not overlook such accidents as bursting of lakes, earthquakes, and the action of former coast-lines. Helms, in his Travels (English translation, p. 45), states he was astonished to find the highest snow-capped mountains near Potosi (20° N.) covered with a stratum of rounded granitic stones. He supposes they must have come from Tucuman, which is several hundred miles distant; yet at p. 55 he says, at Iocalla (a few leagues only from Potosi), “a mass of granite many miles in length, rises in huge weather-beaten rocks:” the whole account is to me quite unintelligible. Lastly, M. Gay (Annales des Sciences, 1833) describes granitic boulders within the valley of Cauquenes (lat. 33°-34° S.), in the Cordillera. I visited this place: the boulders and pebbles are not large, and those beyond the mouth of the valley are small. The case did not appear to me nearly so extraordinary as it seems to have struck M. Gay. I cannot agree with his assertion that this rock is not found in that part of the Cordillera: but this is a subject which I shall discuss in a future work.

[32] The absence of great embedded fragments in the formations of the secondary epoch, when we know that the climate was of a more tropical character, is a fact of the same kind.

[33] Anniversary Address to the Geological Society, Feb. 19, 1836, p. 30; and Principles of Geology, vol. i., p. 269, and vol. iv., p. 47, fifth edition.

[34] It is in the southern hemisphere that we find elephants, rhinoceroses, hippopotomuses, and lions, as far south as lat. 34° 35′. In South America the jaguar occurs in 42°, and the puma in 53°.

[35] Geographical Journal. Capt. King uses these words when alluding to the case in Sir G. Eyre’s Sound, which I have more fully described from the information of Mr. Bynoe.

[36] In the fourth and subsequent editions.

[37] Wrangel’s Voyage in the Icy Sea in the years 1821, 1822, and 1823. Edited by Professor Parrot, of Dorpat, Berlin, 1826.

[38] Dr. Fleming first brought this notion forward in two papers published in the Edinburgh Philosoph. Journ. (April, 1829, and Jan. 1830). He adduces the case of allied species of the bear, fox, hare, and ox, living under widely different climates.

[39] Since writing the above, I have been much interested by reading an account by Professor Esmark, which proves that formerly, glaciers in Norway descended to a lower altitude than at present; and therefore, that they came down to the level of the sea in a lower latitude. This, according to generally-received ideas, would indicate a colder climate, and so it was considered to do by Professor Esmark; for he argues from it in favour of Whiston’s hypothesis, that the “earth in its aphelion was covered with ice and snow.” Professor Esmark describes a glacier-dike, in lat. 58° 57′, as “lying close to the level of the sea, in a district, where you find only a few heaps of perpetual snow in the hollows of the mountains.” He says, “Not only the dike itself, but the whole horizontal surface, exhibits proofs that there has been a glacier here, for the plain exactly resembles those which I found adjoining the glaciers presently existing between Londfiord and Lomb.” (See Ed. New Phil. Journal, p. 117, October 1826.) These facts afford a very strong and admirable confirmation of the view, that the climate of Europe has been gradually changing, from a character resembling that of the southern hemisphere, to its present condition. For on this hypothesis, we might have anticipated, that proofs would have been discovered, that glaciers formerly descended to a lower altitude than they now do; and yet, that the organic remains of that epoch, instead of a former period of refrigeration, would have indicated a climate of a more tropical character;--a conclusion, which may be deduced from plain geological evidence.

[40] See Humboldt, Fragmens Asiatiques, vol. ii., pp. 385-395.

[41] See some remarks by Dr. Buckland on the similarity of this formation with the deposits so commonly found over a great part of Europe. Appendix to Beechey’s Voyage, p. 609.

[42] Ossemens Fossiles, vol. i., p. 151.

[43] Under these circumstances of slow decomposition, the surrounding deposits would probably be impregnated with much animal matter; and thus the peculiar odour perceived in the neighbourhood of the strata containing fossil bones at Eschscholtz Bay, may be accounted for. See Appendix to Beechey’s Voyage.

[44] With respect to the possibility of even ice accumulating at the bottom of the sea, I shall only refer to the following passage taken from the English translation of the Expedition to the East Coast of Greenland, by Captain W. Graah, Danish Royal Navy. “Nor is this the only danger to be apprehended: the ice off this blink, even to a considerable distance from it, being said to shoot up from the bottom of the sea in such a manner, and in such masses, as in many years to make it utterly impassable. How to account for the phenomenon to which I have just adverted I know not, unless by supposing that the bottom of the sea itself is hereabouts like the dry land covered with a thick crust of ice. But whether this crust is formed upon the spot, or is the remains of icebergs and the heavy drift-ice frozen to the bottom during severe winters, or a portion of the land-ice, which loaded with stones and fragments of the crumbling hill has protruded itself into the sea, is a problem impossible, perhaps to solve.” Again he says: “We passed it without any accident, and without having observed any thing of that upheaving of the ice off it, to which allusion has been made, though the fact of its occurrence cannot be doubted, the very name of the place, Puisortok, being thence derived.” It seems fully established on excellent testimony (see Journ. of Geograph. Soc., vol. v., p. 12, and vol. vi., p. 416; also a collection of notices in Edinburgh Journal of Nat. and Geograph. Soc., vol. ii., p. 55), that fresh-water rivers in Russia and Siberia, and even in England, often freeze at the bottom, and that the flakes of ice when they rise to the surface, often “bring with them large stones.” All that seems to be required in producing ground-ice, is, that there should be sufficient movement in the fluid, so that the whole is cooled down to the freezing point, and then the water crystallizes, wherever there is a point of attachment.

[45] In New Zealand, before the introduction of the potato, the root of the fern was consumed in large quantities. At the present day I should think Tierra del Fuego was the only country in the world, where a cryptogamic plant afforded a staple article of food.

[46] Captain FitzRoy informs me that in April (our October) the leaves of those trees which grow near the base of the mountains change colour, but not those in the more elevated parts. I remember having read some observations showing, that in England the leaves fall earlier in a warm and fine autumn, than in a late and cold one. This change in the colour being retarded in the more elevated and therefore colder situations, must be owing to the same general law of vegetation. The trees of Tierra del Fuego during no part of the year entirely shed their leaves.

[47] I believe I must except one alpine Haltica, and a single specimen of a Melasoma. Mr. Waterhouse, who was good enough to look at my collection from this place, tells me, that of the Harpalidæ there are eight or nine species,--the forms of the greater number being very peculiar; of Heteromera, four or five species; of Rhyncophora six or seven; and of the following families one species in each: Staphylinidæ, Elateridæ, Cebrionidæ, Melolonthidæ. The species in the other orders, were even fewer. In all the orders, the scarcity of the individuals was even more remarkable than that of the species.

[48] I have reason to believe that many of these animals are exclusively confined to this station.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Chapter XIV

Valparaiso--Excursion to base of Andes--Structure of land--Ascend Bell of Quillota--Shattered masses of greenstone--Immense valleys --Mines--State of miners--Santiago--Hot baths of Cauquenes--Gold mines--Grinding mills--Perforated stones--Habits of puma--El turco and tapacolo--Humming-birds.

CENTRAL CHILE.

JULY 23D.--The Beagle anchored late at night in the bay of Valparaiso, the chief seaport of Chile. When morning came, every thing appeared delightful. After Tierra del Fuego, the climate felt quite delicious--the atmosphere so dry, and the heavens so clear and blue, with the sun shining brightly, that all nature seemed sparkling with life. The view from the anchorage is very pretty. The town is built at the very foot of a range of hills, about 1600 feet high, and rather steep. From its position, it consists of one long, straggling street, which runs parallel to the beach, and wherever a ravine comes down, the houses are piled up on each side of it. The rounded hills, being only partially protected by a very scanty vegetation, are worn into numberless little gullies, which expose a singularly bright red soil. From this cause, and from the low whitewashed houses with tile roofs, the view reminded me of St. Cruz in Teneriffe. In a north-easterly direction there are some fine glimpses of the Andes: but these mountains appear much grander when viewed from the neighbouring hills; the great distance at which they are situated can then more readily be perceived. The volcano of Aconcagua is particularly magnificent. This huge and irregularly conical mass has an elevation greater than that of Chimborazo; for, from measurements made by the officers in the Beagle, its height is no less than 23,000 feet. The Cordillera, however, viewed from this point, owe the greater part of their beauty to the atmosphere through which they are seen. When the sun was setting in the Pacific, it was admirable to watch how clearly their rugged outlines could be distinguished, yet how varied and how delicate were the shades of their colour.

I had the good fortune to find living here Mr. Richard Corfield, an old schoolfellow and friend, to whose hospitality and kindness I was greatly indebted, in having afforded me a most pleasant residence during the Beagle’s stay in Chile. The immediate neighbourhood of Valparaiso is not very productive to the naturalist. The surrounding hills consist of a granitic formation, which sometimes assumes the character of gneiss, and sometimes of granite. Their summits are flat-topped, and their flanks rounded. I have before stated, that forests cover that side of the Cordillera which fronts the prevailing winds. Here, during the summer, which forms the longer portion of the year, the winds blow steadily from the southward, and a little off shore, so that rain never falls: during the three winter months it is however sufficiently abundant. The vegetation in consequence is very scanty. Except in some deep valleys, trees nowhere occur, and only a little grass and a few low bushes are scattered over the less steep parts of the hills. When we reflect that, at the distance of 350 miles to the southward, this side of the Andes is completely hidden by one impenetrable forest, the contrast is very remarkable.

I took several long walks while collecting objects of natural history. The country is pleasant for exercise. There are many very beautiful flowers, and as in most other dry climates, the plants and shrubs possess strong and peculiar odours; even one’s clothes by brushing through them became scented. I did not yet cease from wonder, at finding each succeeding day as fine as the foregoing. What a difference does climate make in the enjoyment of life! How opposite are the sensations when viewing black mountains half-enveloped in clouds, and seeing another range through the light blue haze of a fine day! The one for a time may be very sublime; the other is all gaiety and happy life.

AUGUST 14TH.--I set out on a riding excursion, for the purpose of geologizing the basal parts of the Andes, which alone at this time of the year were not shut up by the winter snow. Our first day’s ride was northward along the sea-coast. After dark we reached the Hacienda of Quintero, the estate which formerly belonged to Lord Cochrane. My object in coming here was to see the great beds of shells, which are elevated some yards above the level of the sea. They nearly all consist of one species of Erycina; and these shells at the present day live together in great numbers, on the sandy flats. So wonderfully numerous are those forming the beds, that for years they have been quarried, and burnt for the lime, with which the large town of Valparaiso is supplied. As any change of level, even in this neighbourhood, has often been disputed, I may add, that I saw dead barnacles adhering to points of solid rock which were now so much elevated, that even during gales of wind they would scarcely be wetted by the spray.

15TH.--We returned towards the valley of Quillota. The country was exceedingly pleasant; just such as poets would call pastoral: green open lawns, separated by small valleys with rivulets, and the cottages, we will suppose of the shepherds, scattered on the hill-sides. We were obliged to cross the ridge of the Chilecauquen. At its base there were many fine evergreen forest-trees, but these only flourished in the ravines, where there was running water. Any person who had seen only the country near Valparaiso, would never have imagined that there had been such picturesque spots in Chile. As soon as we reached the brow of the Sierra, the valley of Quillota was immediately under our feet. The prospect was one of remarkable artificial luxuriance. The valley is very broad and quite flat, and is thus easily irrigated in all parts. The little square gardens are crowded with orange and olive trees, and every sort of vegetable. On each side huge bare mountains rise, and this from the contrast renders the patchwork valley the more pleasing. Whoever called “Valparaiso” the “Valley of Paradise,” must have been thinking of Quillota. We crossed over to the Hacienda de San Isidoro, situated at the very foot of the Bell mountain.

Chile, as may be seen in the maps, is a narrow strip of land between the Cordillera and the Pacific; and this strip is itself traversed by several mountain-lines, which in this part run parallel to the great range. Between these outer lines, and the main Cordillera, a succession of level basins, generally opening into each other by narrow passages, extend far to the southward. In these the principal towns are situated, as San Felipe, Santiago, S. Fernando. These basins or plains, together with the transverse flat valleys (like that of Quillota) which connect them with the coast, I have little doubt, are the bottoms of ancient inlets and deep bays, such as at the present day intersect every part of Tierra del Fuego, and the west coast of Patagonia. Chile must formerly have resembled the latter country, in the configuration of its land and water. This resemblance was occasionally seen with great force, when a level fog-bank covered, as with a mantle, all the lower parts of the country: the white vapour curling into the ravines, beautifully represented little coves and bays; and here and there a solitary hillock peeping up, showed that it had formerly stood there as an islet. The contrast of these flat valleys and basins with the irregular mountains, gave the scenery a character which to me was novel and very interesting.

From the natural slope to seaward of these plains, they are very easily irrigated, and in consequence singularly fertile. Without this process the land would produce scarcely any thing; for during the whole summer the sky is cloudless. The mountains and hills are dotted over with bushes and low trees, and excepting these, the vegetation is very scanty. Each landowner in the valley possesses a certain portion of hill-country, where his half-wild cattle, in considerable numbers, manage to find sufficient pasture. Once every year there is a grand “rodeo,” when all the cattle are driven down, counted, and marked, and a certain number separated to be fattened in the irrigated fields. Wheat is extensively cultivated, and also a good deal of Indian corn: a kind of bean is, however, the staple article of food for the common labourers. The orchards produce an overflowing abundance of peaches, figs, and grapes. With all these advantages, the inhabitants of the country ought to be much more prosperous than they are.

AUGUST 16TH.--The mayor-domo of the Hacienda was good enough to give me a guide and fresh horses; and in the morning we set out to ascend the Campana, or Bell mountain, which is 6400 feet high. The paths were very bad, but both the geology and scenery amply repaid the trouble. We reached, by the evening, a spring called the Agua del Guanaco, which is situated at a great height. This must be an old name, for it is very many years since a guanaco has drunk its waters. During the ascent I noticed that nothing grew on the northern slope but bushes, whilst on the southern there was a sort of bamboo, about fifteen feet high. In a few places there were palms, and I was surprised to see one at an elevation of at least 4500 feet. These palms are, for their family, ugly trees. Their stem is very large, and of a curious form, being thicker in the middle than at the base or top. They are excessively numerous in some parts of Chile, and valuable on account of a sort of treacle made from the sap. On one estate near Petorca, they tried to count them, but failed, after having numbered several hundred thousand. Every year in August (early spring time) very many are cut down, and when the trunk is lying on the ground, the crown of leaves is lopped off. The sap then immediately begins to flow from the upper end, and continues so doing for some months: it is, however, necessary that a thin slice should be shaved off from that end every morning, so as to expose a fresh surface. A good tree will give ninety gallons, and all this must have been contained in the vessels of the apparently dry trunk. It is said that the sap flows much more quickly on those days when the sun is powerful; and likewise, that it is absolutely necessary to take care, in cutting down the tree, that it should fall with its head upwards on the side of the hill; for if it falls down the slope, scarcely any sap will flow; although in that case, one would have thought that the action would have been aided, instead of checked, by the force of gravity. The sap is concentrated by boiling, and is then called treacle, which it very much resembles in taste.

We unsaddled our horses near the spring, and prepared to pass the night. The evening was fine, and the atmosphere so clear, that the masts of the vessels at anchor in the bay of Valparaiso, although no less than twenty-six geographical miles distant, could be distinguished clearly, as little black streaks. A ship doubling the point under sail appeared as a bright white speck. Anson expresses much surprise, in his voyage, at the distance his vessels were discovered from the coast; but he did not sufficiently allow for the height of the land, and the great transparency of the air.

The setting of the sun was glorious; the valleys being black, whilst the snowy peaks of the Andes yet retained a ruby tint. When it was dark, we made a fire beneath a little arbour of bamboos, fried our charqui (or dried strips of beef), took our maté, and were quite comfortable. There is an inexpressible charm in thus living in the open air. The evening was calm and still;--the shrill noise of the mountain bizcacha, and the faint cry of the goatsucker, were only occasionally to be heard. Besides these, few birds, or even insects, frequent these dry, parched mountains.

AUGUST 17TH.--In the morning we climbed up the rough mass of greenstone which crowns the summit. This rock, as frequently happens, was much shattered and broken into huge angular fragments. I observed, however, one remarkable circumstance, namely, that many of the surfaces presented every degree of freshness--some appearing as if broken the day before, whilst on others lichens had either just become, or had long grown, attached. I so fully believed that this was owing to the frequent earthquakes, that I felt inclined to hurry from beneath every pile of the loose masses. As this is an observation in which one would be very apt to be deceived, I doubted its accuracy, until ascending Mount Wellington, near Hobart Town. The summit of that mountain is similarly composed, and similarly shattered; but all the blocks appeared as if they had been hurled into their present position thousands of years ago.

We spent the day on the summit, and I never enjoyed one more thoroughly. Chile, bounded by the Andes and the Pacific, was seen as in a map. The pleasure from the scenery, in itself beautiful, was heightened by the many reflections which arose from the mere view of the grand range, with its lesser parallel ones, and of the broad valley of Quillota directly intersecting the latter. Who can avoid admiring the wonderful force which has upheaved these mountains, and even more so the countless ages which it must have required, to have broken through, removed, and levelled whole masses of them? It is well in this case to call to mind the vast shingle and sedimentary beds of Patagonia, which, if heaped on the Cordillera, would increase by so many thousand feet its height. When in that country, I wondered how any mountain chain could have supplied such masses, and not have been utterly obliterated. We must not now reverse the wonder, and doubt whether all-powerful time can grind down mountains--even the gigantic Cordillera--into gravel and mud.

The appearance of the Andes was different from that which I had expected. The lower line of the snow was of course horizontal, and to this line the even summits of the range seemed quite parallel. Only at long intervals a mass of points, or a single cone, showed where a volcano had existed, or does now exist. Hence the range resembled a great solid wall, surmounted here and there by a tower, and thus made a most complete barrier to the country.

Almost every part of the hill has been drilled by attempts to open gold-mines. I was surprised to see, on the actual summit, which could only be reached by climbing, a small pit, where some yellowish crystals of hypersthene had induced somebody to throw away his labour. The rage for mining has left scarcely a spot in Chile unexamined. I spent the evening as before, talking round the fire with my two companions. The Guasos of Chile, which correspond to the Gauchos of the Pampas, are, however, a very different set of beings. Chile is the more civilized of the two countries, and the inhabitants, in consequence, have lost much individual character. Gradations in rank are much more strongly marked: the Guaso does not by any means consider every man his equal; and I was quite surprised to find that my companions did not like to eat at the same time with myself. This feeling of inequality is a necessary consequence of the existence of an aristocracy of wealth. It is said that some few of the greater landowners possess from five to ten thousand pounds sterling per annum: an inequality of riches which I believe is not met with in any of the cattle-breeding countries to the eastward of the Andes. A traveller does not here meet that unbounded hospitality which refuses all payment, but yet is so kindly offered that no scruples can be raised in accepting it. Almost every house in Chile will receive you for the night, but a trifle is expected to be given in the morning; even a rich man will accept two or three shillings. The Gaucho, although he may be a cut-throat, is a gentleman; the Guaso is in few respects better, but at the same time a vulgar, ordinary fellow. The two men, although employed much in the same manner, are different in their habits and attire; and the peculiarities of each are universal in their respective countries. The Gaucho seems part of his horse, and scorns to exert himself excepting when on its back; the Guaso may be hired to work as a labourer in the fields. The former lives entirely on animal food; the latter almost wholly on vegetable. We do not here see the white boots, the broad drawers, and scarlet chilipa; the picturesque costume of the Pampas. Here, common trousers are protected by black and green worsted leggings. The poncho, however, is common to both. The chief pride in the Guaso lies in his spurs; which are absurdly large. I measured one which was six inches in the diameter of the rowel, and the rowel itself contained upwards of thirty points. The stirrups are on the same scale, each consisting of a square, carved block of wood, hollowed out, yet weighing three or four pounds. The Guaso is perhaps more expert with the lazo than the Gaucho; but, from the nature of the country, he does not know the use of the bolas.

AUGUST 18TH.--We descended the mountain, and passed some beautiful little spots, with rivulets and fine trees. Having slept at the same hacienda as before, we rode during the two succeeding days up the valley, and passed through Quillota, which is more like a collection of nursery-gardens than a town. The orchards were beautiful, presenting one mass of peach-blossoms. I saw also in one or two places the date-palm. It is a most stately tree; and I should think a group of them in their native Asiatic and African deserts must be superb. We passed likewise San Felipe, a pretty straggling town like Quillota. The valley in this part expands into one of those great bays or plains, reaching to the foot of the Cordillera, which have been mentioned as forming so curious a part of the scenery of Chile.

In the evening we reached the mines of Jajuel, situated in a ravine at the flank of the great chain. I staid here five days. My host, the superintendent of the mine, was a shrewd but rather ignorant Cornish miner. He had married a Spanish woman, and did not mean to return home; but his admiration for the mines of Cornwall remained unbounded. Amongst many other questions, he asked me, “Now that George Rex is dead, how many more of the family of Rexes are yet alive?” This Rex certainly must be a relation of the great author Finis, who wrote all books!

These mines are of copper, and the ore is all shipped to Swansea, to be smelted. Hence the mines have an aspect singularly quiet, as compared to those in England: here no smoke, furnaces, or great steam-engines, disturb the solitude of the surrounding mountains.

The Chilian government, or rather the old Spanish law, encourages by every method the searching for mines. The discoverer may work a mine on any ground, by paying five shillings; and before paying this he may try, even in the garden of another man, for twenty days.

It is now well known that the Chilian method of mining is the cheapest. My host says the two principal improvements introduced by foreigners have been, first, reducing by previous roasting the copper pyrites--which, being the common ore in Cornwall, the English miners were astounded on their arrival to find thrown away as useless: secondly, stamping and washing the scoriæ from the furnaces--by which process particles of metal are recovered in abundance. I have actually seen mules carrying to the coast, for transportation to England, a cargo of such cinders. But the first case is much the most curious. The Chilian miners were so convinced that copper pyrites contained not a particle of copper, that they laughed at the Englishmen for their ignorance, who laughed in turn, and bought their richest veins for a few dollars. It is very odd that, in a country where mining had been extensively carried on for many years, so simple a process as gently roasting the ore, to expel the sulphur previous to smelting it, had never been discovered. A few improvements have likewise been introduced in some of the simple machinery; but even to the present day, water is removed from some mines by men carrying it up the shaft in leathern bags!

The labouring men work very hard. They have little time allowed for their meals, and during summer and winter they begin when it is light, and leave off at dark. They are paid one pound sterling a month, and their food is given them: this for breakfast consists of sixteen figs and two small loaves of bread; for dinner boiled beans; for supper broken roasted wheatgrain. They scarcely ever taste meat; as, with the twelve pounds per annum, they have to clothe themselves, and support their families. The miners who work in the mine itself, have twenty-five shillings per month, and are allowed a little charqui. But these men come down from their bleak habitations only once in every fortnight or three weeks.

During my stay here I thoroughly enjoyed scrambling about these huge mountains. The geology, as might have been expected, was very interesting. The shattered and baked rocks, traversed by innumerable dykes of greenstone, showed what commotions had formerly taken place there. The scenery was much the same as that near the Bell of Quillota,--dry barren mountains, dotted at intervals by bushes with a scanty foliage. The cactuses, or rather opuntias, were here very numerous. I measured one of as pherical figure, which, including the spines, was six feet and four inches in circumference. The height of the common cylindrical, branching kind is from twelve to fifteen feet, and the girth (with spines) of the branches between three and four.

A heavy fall of snow on the mountains prevented me, during the last two days, from making some interesting excursions. I attempted to reach a lake, which the inhabitants, from some unaccountable reason, believe to be an arm of the sea. During a very dry season, it was proposed to attempt cutting a channel from it, for the sake of the water; but the padre, after a consultation, declared it was too dangerous, as all Chile would be inundated, if, as generally supposed, the lake was connected with the Pacific. We ascended to a great height, but becoming involved in the snow-drifts, failed in reaching this wonderful lake, and had some difficulty in returning. I thought we should have lost our horses; for there was no means of guessing how deep the drifts were, and the animals, when led, could only move by jumping. The black sky showed that a fresh snow-storm was gathering, and we therefore were not a little glad when we escaped. By the time we reached the base, the storm commenced, and it was lucky for us that this did not happen three hours earlier in the day.

AUGUST 26TH.--We left Jajuel and again crossed the basin of S. Felipe. The day was truly Chilian: glaringly bright, and the atmosphere quite clear. The thick and uniform covering of newly-fallen snow rendered the view of the volcano of Aconcagua and the main chain quite glorious. We were now on the road to Santiago, the capital of Chile. We crossed the Cerro del Talguen, and slept at a little rancho. The host, talking about the state of Chile as compared to other countries, was very humble: “Some see with two eyes, and some with one, but for my part I do not think that Chile sees with any.”

AUGUST 27TH.--After crossing many low hills, we descended into the small land-locked plain of Guitron. In the basins, such as this one, which are elevated from 1000 to 2000 feet above the sea, two species of acacia, which are stunted in their forms, and stand wide apart from each other, grow in large numbers. These trees are never found near the sea-coast; and this gives another characteristic feature to the scenery of these basins.

We crossed a low ridge which separates Guitron from the great plain on which Santiago stands. The view was here pre-eminently striking: the dead level surface, covered in parts by woods of acacia, and with the city in the distance, abutting horizontally against the base of the Andes, whose snowy peaks were bright with the evening sun. At the first glance of this view it was quite evident that the plain represented the extent of a former inland sea. As soon as we gained the level road we pushed our horses into a gallop, and reached the city before it was dark.

I staid a week in Santiago, and enjoyed myself very much. In the morning I rode to various places on the plain, and in the evening dined with several of the English merchants, whose hospitality at this place is well known. A never-failing source of pleasure, was to ascend the little pap of rock (fort St. Lucia) which projects in the middle of the city. The scenery certainly is most striking, and as I have said, very peculiar. I am informed that this same character is common to the cities on the great Mexican platform. Of the town I have nothing to say in detail: it is not so fine or so large as Buenos Ayres, but is built after the same model. I arrived here by a circuit to the north; so I resolved to return to Valparaiso, by a rather longer excursion, to the southward of the direct road.

SEPTEMBER 5TH.--By the middle of the day we arrived at one of the suspension bridges, made of hide, which crosses the Maypo, a large turbulent river, a few leagues south of Santiago. These bridges are very poor affairs. The road, following the curvature of the suspending ropes, is made of bundles of sticks placed close together. It was full of holes, and oscillated rather fearfully, even from the weight of a man leading his horse. In the evening we reached a comfortable farm-house, where there were several very pretty signoritas. They were much horrified at my having entered one of their churches out of mere curiosity. They asked me, “Why do you not become a Christian--for our religion is certain?” I assured them I was a sort of Christian; but they would not hear of it--appealing to my own words, “Do not your padres, your very bishops, marry?” The absurdity of a bishop having a wife, particularly struck them: they scarcely knew whether to be most amused or horror-struck at such an enormity.

6TH.--We proceeded due south, and slept at Rancagua. The road passed over the level but narrow plain, bounded on one side by lofty hills, and on the other by the Cordillera. The next day we turned up the valley of the Rio Cachapual, in which the hot baths of Cauquenes, long celebrated for their medicinal properties, are situated. The suspension bridges, in the less frequented parts, are generally taken down during the winter, when the rivers are low. Such was the case in this valley, and we were therefore obliged to cross the stream on horseback. This is rather disagreeable, for the foaming water, though not deep, rushes so quickly over the bed of large rounded stones, that one’s head becomes quite confused, and it is difficult even to perceive whether the horse is moving onward, or standing still. In summer, when the snow melts, the torrents are quite impassable: their strength and fury is then extremely great; as might be plainly seen, by the marks which they had left. We reached the baths in the evening, and staid there five days, being confined the two last by heavy rain. The buildings consist of a square of miserable little hovels, each with a single table and bench. They are situated in a narrow deep valley, just without the central Cordillera. It is a quiet, solitary spot, with a good deal of wild beauty.

The mineral springs of Cauquenes burst forth on a line of dislocation, crossing a mass of stratified rock, the whole of which betrays the action of heat. A considerable quantity of gas is continually escaping from the same orifices with the water. Though the springs are only a few yards apart, they have very different temperatures; and this appears to be the result of an unequal mixture of cold water: for those with the lowest temperature have scarcely any mineral taste. After the great earthquake of 1822, the springs ceased, and the water did not return for nearly a year. It is said that they have not since regained their former volume or temperature.[1] These springs were also much affected by the earthquake of 1835; the temperature being suddenly changed from 118° to 92°.[2] It seems probable that mineral waters rising deep from the bowels of the earth, would always be more deranged by subterranean disturbances, than those nearer the surface. The man who had charge of the baths assured me, that in summer the water is hotter and more plentiful than in winter. The former circumstance I should have expected, from the less mixture, during the dry season, of cold water; but the latter statement appears very strange and contradictory. The periodical increase during the summer when rain never falls, can, I think, only be accounted for by the melting of the snow: yet the mountains which are covered by snow during that season are three or four leagues distant from the springs. I have no reason to doubt the accuracy of my informer, who having lived on the spot for several years, ought to be well acquainted with the circumstance,--which, if true, certainly is very curious: for, we must suppose that the water, being conducted through porous strata to the regions of heat, is again thrown up to the surface by the line of dislocated and injected rock at Cauquenes; and the regularity of the phenomenon would seem to indicate that in this district heated rock occurred at a depth not excessively great.

One day I rode up the valley to the furthest inhabited spot. Shortly above that point, the Cachapual divides into two deep tremendous ravines, which penetrate directly into the great range. I scrambled up a peaked mountain, probably more than six thousand feet high. Here, as indeed every where else, scenes of the highest interest presented themselves. It was by one of these ravines that Pincheira entered Chile, and ravaged the neighbouring country. This is the same man whose attack on an estancia at the Rio Negro I have described. He was a renegade half-cast Spaniard, who collected a great body of Indians together, and established himself by a stream in the Pampas, which place none of the forces sent after him could ever discover. From this point he used to sally forth, and crossing the Cordillera by passes hitherto unattempted, he ravaged the farm-houses, and drove the cattle to his secret rendezvous. Pincheira was a capital horseman, and he made all around him equally good, for he invariably shot any one who hesitated to follow him. It was against this man, and other wandering Indian tribes, that Rosas waged the war of extermination.

SEPTEMBER 13TH.--We left the baths of Cauquenes, and rejoining the main road, slept at the Rio Claro. From this place we rode to the town of S. Fernando. Before arriving there, the last basin had expanded into a great plain, which extended so far to the south, that the snowy summits of the more distant Andes were seen, as if above the horizon of the sea. S. Fernando is forty leagues from Santiago; and it was my furthest point southward; for we here turned at right angles towards the coast. We slept at the gold-mines of Yaquil, which are worked by Mr. Nixon, an American gentleman, to whose kindness I was much indebted during the four days I staid at his house.

SEPTEMBER 14TH.--This morning we rode to the mines, which are situated at the distance of some leagues, near the summit of a lofty hill. On the way we had a glimpse of the lake Tagua-tagua, celebrated for its floating islands, which have been described by M. Gay.[3] They are composed of the stalks of various dead plants intertwined together, and on the surface of which other living ones take root. Their form is generally circular, and their thickness from four to six feet, of which the greater part is immersed in the water. As the wind blows they pass from one side of the lake to the other, and often carry cattle and horses as passengers.

When we arrived at the mine, I was struck by the pale appearance of many of the men, and inquired from Mr. Nixon respecting their condition. The mine is 450 feet deep, and each man brings up about 200 pounds[4] weight of stone. With this load they have to climb up the alternate notches cut in the trunks of trees, placed in a zigzag line up the shaft. Even beardless young men, eighteen and twenty years old, with little muscular development of their bodies (they are quite naked excepting drawers) ascend with this great load from nearly the same depth. A strong man, who is not accustomed to this labour, perspires most profusely, with merely carrying up his own body. With this very severe labour, they live entirely on boiled beans and bread. They would prefer having the latter alone; but their masters, finding they cannot work so hard upon this, treat them like horses, and make them eat the beans. Their pay is here rather more than at the mines of Jajuel, being from 24 to 28 shillings per month. They leave the mine only once in three weeks; when they stay with their families for two days.[5] One of the rules in this mine sounds very harsh, but answers pretty well for the master. The only method of stealing gold, is to secrete pieces of the ore, and take them out as occasion may offer. Whenever the major-domo finds a lump thus hidden, its full value is stopped out of the wages of all the men; who thus, without they all combine, are obliged to keep watch over each other.

When the ore is brought to the mill, it is ground into an impalpable powder; the process of washing removes all the lighter particles, and amalgamation finally secures the gold dust. The washing, when described, sounds a very simple process; but it is beautiful to see how the exact adaption of the current of water to the specific gravity of the gold, so easily separates the powdered matrix from the metal. The mud which passes from the mills is collected into pools, where it subsides, and every now and then is cleared out, and thrown into a common heap. A great deal of chemical action then commences, salts of various kinds effloresce on the surface, and the mass becomes hard. In the heap which I examined, an angulo-concretionary structure was also superinduced, and what was very remarkable, these pseudo-fragments possessed an even and well-defined slaty structure; but the laminæ were not inclined at any uniform angle. The mud, after having been left for a year or two, and then rewashed, yields gold; and this process may be repeated even six or seven times; but the gold each time becomes less in quantity, and the intervals required (as the inhabitants say to generate the metal) are longer. There can be no doubt that the chemical action, already mentioned, each time liberates fresh gold from some combination. The discovery of a method to effect this before the first grinding, would without doubt raise the value of gold ores many fold.

It is curious to find how the minute particles of gold, after being scattered about, and from not corroding, at last accumulate in some quantity. A short time since a few miners, being out of work, obtained permission to scrape the ground round the house and mill: they washed the earth thus got together, and so procured thirty dollars’ worth of gold. This is an exact counterpart of what takes place in nature. Mountains suffer degradation and wear away, and with them the metallic veins which they contain. The hardest rock is worn into impalpable mud, the ordinary metals oxidate, and both are removed; but gold, platina, and a few others, are nearly indestructible, and from their weight, sinking to the bottom, are left behind. After whole mountains have passed through this grinding mill, and have been washed by the hand of nature, the residue becomes metalliferous, and man finds it worth his while to complete the task of separation.

There are some old Indian ruins in this neighbourhood, and I was shown one of the perforated stones which Molina[6] mentions, as being found in many places in considerable numbers. They are of a circular flattened form, from five to six inches in diameter, and with a hole passing quite through the centre. It has generally been supposed, that they were used as heads to clubs, although their form does not appear at all well adapted for that purpose. Burchell[7] states that some of the tribes in Southern Africa dig up roots, by the aid of a pointed stick, the force and weight of which is increased by a round stone with a hole, into which the stick is firmly wedged. It appears probable that the Indians of Chile formerly used some such rude agricultural instrument.

One day, a German collector in natural history, of the name of Renous, called, and nearly at the same time an old Spanish lawyer. I was amused by afterwards hearing the conversation which took place between them. Renous speaks Spanish so well, that the old lawyer mistook him for a fellow-countryman. Renous, alluding to myself, asked him what he thought of the King of England sending out a collector to their country, to pick up lizards and beetles, and to break stones? The old gentleman thought seriously for some time, and then said, “It is not well,--hay un gato encerrado aqui (there is a cat shut up here). No man is so rich as to send out people to pick up such rubbish. I do not like it: if one of us were to go and do such things in England, do not you think the King of England would very soon send us out of his country?” And this old gentleman, from his profession, belongs to the better informed and more intelligent classes! Renous himself, two or three years before, left in a house at S. Fernando some caterpillars, under charge of a girl to feed, that they might turn into butterflies. This was rumoured through the town, and at last the Padres and Governor consulted together, and agreed it must be some heresy. Accordingly, when Renous returned, he was arrested.

SEPTEMBER 19TH.--We left Yaquil, and followed the flat valley, formed like that of Quillota, in which the Rio Tinderidica flows. Even at these few miles south of Santiago the climate is much damper; in consequence there were fine tracks of pasturage, which were not irrigated. (20th.) We followed this valley till it expanded into a great plain, which reaches from the sea to the mountains west of Rancagua. We shortly lost all trees and even bushes; so that the inhabitants are nearly as badly off for firewood as those in the Pampas. Never having heard of these plains, I was much surprised at meeting with such scenery in Chile. The plains belong to more than one series of different elevations, and they are traversed by broad flat-bottomed valleys; both of which circumstances, as in Patagonia, bespeak the gentle retreat of the ocean. In the steep cliffs bordering these valleys, there are some large caves, which no doubt were formed by the waters of the ancient bays and channels. One of these which I visited is celebrated under the name of Cueva del Obispo; having formerly been consecrated. During the day I felt very unwell, and from that time till the end of October did not recover.

SEPTEMBER 22D.--We continued to pass over green plains without a tree. The next day we arrived at a house near Navedad, on the sea-coast, where a rich Haciendero gave us lodgings. I stayed here the two ensuing days, and although very unwell, managed to collect from the tertiary formation some marine shells, many of which turn out to be quite new forms. 24th. Our course was now directed towards Valparaiso, which with great difficulty I reached on the 27th, and was there confined to my bed till the end of October. During this time I was an inmate in Mr. Corfield’s house, whose kindness to me I do not know how to express.

I will here add a few observations on some of the animals and birds of Chile. The Puma, or South American Lion, is not uncommon. This animal has a wide geographical range; being found from the equatorial forests, throughout the deserts of Patagonia, as far south as the damp and cold latitudes (53° to 54°) of Tierra del Fuego. I have also seen its footsteps in the Cordillera of central Chile, at an elevation of at least 10,000 feet. In La Plata the puma chiefly preys on deer, ostriches, bizcacha, and other small quadrupeds; it there seldom attacks cattle or horses, and except in most rare cases, as a female having young, is never dangerous to man. In Chile, however, it destroys many young horses and cattle, owing probably to the scarcity of other quadrupeds: I heard, likewise, of two men and a woman who had been killed by them. It is asserted that the puma always kills its prey by springing on the shoulders, and then drawing back the head with one of its paws, until the vertebræ break: I have seen in Patagonia, the skeletons of guanacoes, with their necks thus dislocated.

The puma, after eating its fill, covers the carcass with many large bushes, and lies down to watch it. This habit is often the cause of its being discovered; for the condors wheeling in the air, every now and then descend to partake of the feast, and being angrily driven away, rise all together on the wing. The Chileno Guaso then knows there is a lion watching his prey--the word is given--and men and dogs hurry to the chase. Sir F. Head says that a Gaucho in the Pampas, upon merely seeing some condors wheeling in the air, cried “A lion!” I could never myself meet with any one who pretended to such powers of discrimination. It is asserted, that if a puma has once been betrayed by thus watching the carcass, and has then been hunted, it never resumes this habit; but that having gorged itself, it wanders far away.

The puma is easily killed. In an open country, it is first entangled with the bolas, then lazoed, and dragged along the ground till rendered insensible. At Tandeel (south of the Plata), I was told, that within three months one hundred were destroyed. In Chile they are generally driven up bushes or trees, and are then either shot, or baited to death by dogs. The dogs employed in this chase belong to a particular breed, called Leoneros. They are weak, slight animals, like long-legged terriers, but are born with a particular instinct for this sport. The puma is described as being very crafty: when pursued it often returns on its former track, and then suddenly making a spring on one side, waits there till the dogs have passed by. It is a very silent animal, uttering no cry even when wounded, and only rarely during the breeding season.

Of birds, two species of the genus Pteroptochos (megapodius and albicollis of Kittlitz) are perhaps the most conspicuous. The former, called by the Chilenos “el Turco,” is as large as a fieldfare, to which bird it has some alliance; but its legs are much longer, tail shorter, and beak stronger: its colour is a reddish brown. The turco is not uncommon. It lives on the ground, sheltered among the thickets which are scattered over the dry and sterile hills. With its tail erect, and stilt-like legs, it may be seen every now and then, popping from one bush to another, with uncommon celerity. It really requires little imagination to believe the bird is ashamed of itself, and is aware of its most ridiculous figure. On first seeing it, one is tempted to exclaim, “A vilely stuffed specimen has escaped from some museum, and has come to life again!” It cannot be made to take flight without the greatest trouble, nor does it run, but only hops. The various loud cries which it utters when concealed amongst the bushes, are as strange as its whole appearance. It is said to build its nest in a deep hole beneath the ground. I dissected several specimens: the gizzard, which was very muscular, contained beetles, vegetable fibres, and pebbles. From this character, from the length of legs, scratching feet, membranous covering to the nostrils, short and arched wings, this bird seems to a certain degree to connect the thrushes with the gallinaceous order.

The second species (or Pt. albicollis) is allied to the first in its general form. It is called Tapacolo, or “cover your posterior;” and well does the shameless little bird deserve its name; for it carries its tail more than erect, that is, inclined backwards towards its head. It is very common, and frequents the bottoms of hedge-rows, and the bushes scattered over the barren hills, where scarcely another bird can exist. Hence the tapacolo is conspicuous in the ornithology of Chile. In its general manner of feeding, of quickly hopping out of the thickets and back again, in its desire of concealment, unwillingness to take flight, and nidification, it bears a close resemblance to the turco; but its appearance is not quite so ridiculous. The tapacolo is very crafty: when frightened by any person, it will remain motionless at the bottom of a bush, and will then, after a little while, try with much address to crawl away on the opposite side. It is also an active bird, and continually making a noise: these noises are various and strangely odd; some are like the cooing of doves, others like the bubbling of water, and many defy all similes. The country people say it changes its cry five times in the year--according to some change of season I suppose. I believe these two species of Pteroptochos are only found in central Chile. To the southward, within the damp forest region, two other species supply the place of these lovers of a more sterile land; and a fifth species is common to both districts. On the Patagonian coast a bird allied to them, both in structure and habits, represents this Chilian genus.[8]

Two species of humming-birds are common, and I have seen a third kind within the Cordillera, at an elevation of about 10,000 feet. Mellisuga Kingii is found over a space of 2500 miles on the west coast, from the hot dry country of Lima, to the forests of Tierra del Fuego--where it has been described as flitting about in a snow-storm. In the wooded island of Chiloe, which has an extremely humid climate, this little bird, skipping from side to side amidst the dripping foliage, is perhaps more abundant than almost any other kind. It there very commonly frequents open marshy ground, where a kind of bromelia grows: hovering near the edge of the thick beds, it every now and then dashed in close to the ground; but I could not see whether it ever actually alighted. At the time of year I refer to, there were very few flowers, and none whatever near the beds of bromelia. Hence I was quite sure they did not live on honey; and on opening the stomach and upper intestine, by the aid of a lens I could plainly distinguish, in a yellow fluid, morsels of the wings of diptera--probably tipulidæ. It is evident that these birds search for minute insects in their winter-quarters under the thick foliage. I opened the stomachs of several specimens, which were shot in different parts of the continent; and in all, remains of insects were so numerous, as often to present a black comminuted mass, as in the stomach of a creeper. In central Chile these birds are migratory: they make their appearance there in autumn, and in the latter end of the month corresponding to our October, they were very common. In the spring they began to disappear, and on the 12th of what would correspond to our March, in the course of a long walk, I saw only one individual. As this species migrates to the southward, it is replaced by the arrival of a larger kind, which will be presently described. I do not believe the small kind breeds in Chile; for, during the summer, their nests were common to the south of that country. The migration of the humming-birds on both the east[9] and west coast of North America exactly corresponds to what takes place in this southern continent. In both cases they move towards the tropic during the colder parts of the year, and retreat northward before the returning heat. Some, however, remain during the whole year in Tierra del Fuego; and in Northern California,--which in the northern hemisphere has the same relative position which Tierra del Fuego has in the southern,--some, according to Beechey, likewise remain.

The second species (Trochilus gigas) is a very large bird, for the delicate family to which it belongs. In the neighbourhood of Valparaiso, during this year, it had arrived in numbers, a little before the vernal equinox. It comes from the parched deserts of the north, probably for the purpose of breeding in Chile. When on the wing, the appearance of this bird is singular. Like others of the genus, it moves from place to place with a rapidity which may be compared to that of Syrphus amongst diptera, and Sphinx among moths; but whilst hovering over a flower, it flaps its wings with a very slow and powerful movement, totally different from that vibratory one common to most of the species, which produces the humming noise. I never saw any other bird, where the force of its wings appeared (as in a butterfly) so powerful in proportion to the weight of its body. When hovering by a flower, its tail is constantly expanded and shut like a fan, the body being kept in a nearly vertical position. This action appears to steady and support the bird, between the slow movements of its wings. Although flying from flower to flower in search of food, its stomach generally contained abundant remains of insects, which I suspect are much more the object of its search than honey is. The note of this species, like that of nearly the whole family, is extremely shrill.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] When I doubted the change of temperature, in this case as well as in the one mentioned a few lines lower down, the inhabitants maintained that they knew it well. Their thermometer, however, was an odd one: it is the common custom in this country to scald a fowl before plucking it, in the same manner as we treat a pig, and then the feathers come off very easily: they judged from the comparative facility with which this operation could be performed during the two periods.

[2] Caldcleugh’s Philosoph. Transact. for 1836.

[3] Annales des Sciences Naturelles, March, 1833. M. Gay, a zealous and able naturalist, is now occupied in studying every branch of natural history throughout the kingdom of Chile.

[4] In another mine, as will hereafter be mentioned, I picked out a load by hazard, and weighed it: it was 197 pounds.

[5] Bad as all the above treatment appears, it is gladly accepted of by the miners; for the condition of the labouring agriculturists is much worse. The wages of the latter are lower, and they live almost exclusively on beans. This poverty must be chiefly owing to the feudal-like system on which the land is tilled. The landowner gives a small plot of ground to the labourer, for building and cultivating, and in return has his services (or that of a proxy) for every day of his life, without any wages. Until a father has a grown up son who can by his labour pay the rent, there is no one, except on chance days, to take care of the patch of ground. Hence extreme poverty is very common among the labouring classes in this country.

[6] Molina, Compendio de la Historia, &c. del Reyno de Chile, vol. i., p. 81.

[7] Burchell’s Travels, vol. ii., p. 45.

[8] It is a remarkable fact, that Molina, though describing in detail all the birds and animals of Chile, never once mentions this genus, the species of which are so common, and so remarkable in their habits. Was he at a loss how to classify them, and did he consequently think that silence was the more prudent course? It is one more instance of the frequency of omission by authors, on those very subjects where it would be least expected.

[9] Humboldt’s Pers. Narr., vol. v., part i., p. 352; Cook’s Third Voyage, vol. ii.; and Beechey’s Voyage.

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Chapter XV

Chiloe--General aspect--Boat excursion--Native Indians--Castro --Large leaves of Gunnera scabra--Tame fox--Ascend San Pedro--Chonos Archipelago--Peninsula of Tres Montes--Granitic range--Lowe’s Harbour--Wild potato--Forest--Formation of peat--Myopotamus, otter and mice--Cheucau and barking-bird--Furnarius--Singular character of ornithology--Petrels.

CHILOE AND CHONOS ISLANDS.

NOVEMBER 10TH.--The Beagle sailed from Valparaiso to the southward, for the purpose of surveying the southern part of Chile, the island of Chiloe, and the broken land called the Chonos Archipelago, as far south as the Peninsula of Tres Montes. On the 21st we anchored in the bay of S. Carlos, the capital of Chiloe.

This island is about ninety miles long, with a breadth of rather less than thirty. The land is hilly, but not mountainous, and is every where covered by one great forest, excepting a few scattered green patches, which have been cleared round the thatched cottages. From a distance the view somewhat resembles Tierra del Fuego; but the woods, when seen nearer, are incomparably more beautiful. Many kinds of fine evergreen trees, and plants with a tropical character, here take the place of the gloomy beech of the southern shores. In winter the climate is detestable, and in summer it is only a little better. I should think there are few parts of the world, within the temperate regions, where so much rain falls. The winds are very boisterous, and the sky almost always clouded: to have a week of fine weather is something wonderful. It is even difficult to get a single glimpse of the Cordillera: during our first visit only one opportunity occurred, and that was before sunrise, when the Volcano of Osorno stood out in bold relief; and it was curious to watch, as the sun rose, the outline gradually fading away in the glare of the eastern sky.

The inhabitants, from their complexion and low stature, appear to have three-fourths of Indian blood in their veins. They are an humble, quiet, industrious set of men. Although the fertile soil, resulting from the decomposition of volcanic rocks, supports a rank vegetation, yet the climate is not favourable to any production which requires much sunshine to ripen it. There is very little pasture for the larger quadrupeds; and in consequence, the staple articles of food are pigs, potatoes, and fish. The people all dress in strong woollen garments, which each family makes for itself, and dyes with indigo of a dark blue colour. The arts, however, are in the rudest state;--as may be seen in their strange fashion of ploughing, their method of spinning, grinding corn, and in the construction of their boats.

The forests are so impenetrable, that the land is nowhere cultivated except near the coast, and on the adjoining islets. Even where roads exist, they are scarcely passable from the soft and swampy state of the soil. The inhabitants, like those of Tierra del Fuego, chiefly move about on the beach, or in boats: in some cases the latter afford the only means of getting from one house to another. Although with plenty to eat, the people are very poor: there is no demand for labour, and consequently the lower orders cannot scrape together money sufficient to purchase even the smallest luxuries. There is also a great deficiency of a circulating medium. I have seen a man bringing on his back a bag of charcoal, with which to buy some trifle, and another a plank to exchange for a bottle of wine. Hence every tradesman must also be a merchant, and again sell the goods which he takes in exchange.

NOVEMBER 24TH.--The yawl and whale-boat were sent under the command of Mr. Sulivan, to survey the eastern or inland coast of Chiloe; and with orders to meet the Beagle at the southern extremity of the island; to which point she would proceed by the outside, so as thus to circumnavigate the island. I accompanied this expedition, but instead of going in the boats the first day, I hired horses to take me to Chacao, at the northern extremity of the island. The road followed the coast; every now and then crossing promontories covered by fine forests. In these shaded paths it is absolutely necessary that the whole road should be made of logs of wood, which are squared and placed by the side of each other. From the rays of the sun never penetrating the evergreen foliage, the ground is so damp and soft, that except by such means, neither man nor horse would be able to pass along. I arrived at the village of Chacao, shortly after the tents belonging to the boats had been pitched for the night.

The land in this neighbourhood had been extensively cleared, and there were many quiet and most picturesque nooks in the forest. Chacao was formerly the principal port; but many vessels having been lost, owing to the dangerous currents and rocks in the straits, the Spanish government burnt the church, and thus arbitrarily compelled the greater number of inhabitants to migrate to S. Carlos. In a short time the barefooted son of the governor came down to reconnoitre us. Seeing the English flag hoisted at the yawl’s mast-head, he asked, with the utmost indifference, whether it was always to fly at Chacao. In several places, the inhabitants were much astonished at the appearance of men-of-war’s boats, and hoped and believed it was the forerunner of a Spanish fleet, coming to recover the island from the patriot government of Chile. All the men in power had, however, been informed of our intended visit, and were exceedingly civil. While we were eating our supper, the governor paid us a visit. He had been a lieutenant-colonel in the Spanish service, but now was miserably poor. He gave us two sheep, and accepted in return two cotton handkerchiefs, some brass trinkets, and a little tobacco.

25TH.--Torrents of rain: we managed, however, to run down the coast as far as Huapi-lenou. The whole of this eastern side of Chiloe has one aspect: it is a plain, broken by valleys, and divided into little islands, and the whole thickly covered with one impervious blackish-green forest. On the margins there are some cleared spaces, surrounding the high-roofed cottages.

26TH.--The day rose splendidly clear. The volcano of Osorno was spouting out volumes of smoke. This most beautiful mountain, formed like a perfect cone, and white with snow, stands out in front of the Cordillera. Another great volcano, with a saddle-shaped summit, also emitted from its immense crater little jets of steam. Subsequently we saw the lofty-peaked Corcovado--well deserving the name of “el famoso Corcovado.” Thus we beheld, from one point of view, three great active volcanoes, each of which had an elevation of about seven thousand feet. In addition to this, far to the south, there were other very lofty cones covered with snow, which although not known to be active, must have been in their origin volcanic. The line of the Andes is not, in this neighbourhood, nearly so elevated as in Chile; neither does it appear to form so perfect a barrier between the regions of the earth. This great range, although running in a direct north and south line, owing to an optical deception, always appeared more or less semicircular; for the extreme peaks being seen standing above the same horizon together with the nearer ones, their much greater distance was not so easily recognised.

When landing on a point to take observations, we saw a family of pure Indian extraction. The father was singularly like York Minster; and some of the younger boys, with their ruddy complexions, might have been mistaken for Pampas Indians. Every thing I have seen convinces me of the close connexion of the different tribes, who nevertheless speak quite distinct languages. This party could muster but little Spanish, and talked to each other in their own tongue. It is a pleasant thing to see the aborigines advanced to the same degree of civilization, however low that may be, which their white conquerors have attained. More to the south we saw many pure Indians: indeed, some of the islands, such as Chauques, &c., have no other inhabitants than such as retain the Indian surname. In the census of 1832, there were in Chiloe and its dependencies, forty-two thousand souls. The greater number of these appear to be little copper-coloured men, of mixed blood. Eleven thousand actually retain their Indian surname; but it is probable that not nearly all of them are of pure blood. Their manner of life is the same with that of the other poor inhabitants, and they are all Christians: but it is said that they yet retain some strange superstitious ceremonies, and that they pretend to hold communication with the devil in certain caves. Formerly, every one convicted of this offence was sent to the Inquisition at Lima. Many of those people who are not included in the eleven thousand, cannot be distinguished by their appearance from Indians. Gomez, the governor of Lemuy, is descended from noblemen of Spain on both sides, but by constant intermarriages with natives, the present man is an Indian. On the other hand, the governor of Quinchao boasts much of his pure Spanish blood.

We reached at night a beautiful little cove, north of the island of Caucahue. The people here complained of want of land. This is partly owing to their own negligence in not clearing the woods, and partly to restrictions of the government, which makes it necessary before buying ever so small a piece, to pay two shillings to the surveyor, for measuring each quadra (150 yards square), together with whatever price he fixes for the value of the land. After his valuation, the land must be put up three times to auction, and if no one bids more, the purchaser can have it at that rate. All these exactions must be a serious check to clearing the ground, where the inhabitants are so extremely poor. In most countries, forests are removed without much difficulty, by the aid of fire; but in Chiloe, from the damp nature of the climate, and the sort of trees, it is necessary first to cut them down. This is a heavy drawback to the prosperity of Chiloe. In the time of the Spaniards the Indians could not hold land; and a family, after having cleared a piece of ground, might be driven away, and the property seized by the government. The Chilian authorities are now performing an act of justice, by making retribution to these poor Indians; giving to each man, according to his grade of life, a certain portion of land. The value of uncleared ground is very little. The government gave Mr. Douglas (the present surveyor, who informed me of these circumstances) eight and a half square miles of forest near S. Carlos, in lieu of a debt; and this he sold for 350 dollars, or about seventy pounds sterling.

The two succeeding days were fine, and at night we reached the island of Quinchao. This neighbourhood is the most cultivated part of the Archipelago; for a broad strip of land on the coast of the main island, as well as on many of the smaller adjoining ones, is almost completely cleared. Some of the farm-houses seemed very comfortable. I was curious to ascertain how rich any of these people might be, but Mr. Douglas says that no one can be considered as possessing a regular income. One of the richest landowners might possibly accumulate, in a long industrious life, as much as a thousand pounds sterling; but should this happen, it would all be stowed away in some secret corner; for it is the custom of almost every family to have a jar or treasure-chest buried in the ground.

NOVEMBER 30TH.--Early on Sunday morning we reached Castro,--the ancient capital of Chiloe, but now a most forlorn and deserted place. The usual quadrangular arrangement of Spanish towns could be traced, but the streets and plaza were coated with fine green turf, on which sheep were browsing. The church, which stands in the middle, is entirely built of plank, and has a picturesque and venerable appearance. The poverty of the place may be conceived from the fact, that although containing some hundreds of inhabitants, one of our party was unable any where to purchase either a pound of sugar, or an ordinary knife. No individual possessed either a watch or a clock; and an old man, who was supposed to have a good idea of time, was employed to strike the church bell by guess.

The arrival of our boats was a rare event in this quiet, retired corner of the world; and nearly all the inhabitants came down to the beach to see us pitch our tents. They were very civil, and offered us a house; and one man even sent us a cask of cider as a present. In the afternoon we paid our respects to the governor;--a quiet old man, who, in his appearance and manner of life, was scarcely superior to an English cottager. At night heavy rain set in, which was hardly sufficient to drive away from the tents the large circle of lookers on. An Indian family, who had come to trade in a canoe from Caylen, bivouacked near us. They had no shelter during the rain. In the morning, I asked a young Indian, who was wet to the skin, how he had passed the night. He seemed perfectly content, and answered, “Muy bien, señor.”

DECEMBER 1ST.--We steered for the island of Lemuy. I was anxious to examine a reported coal-mine, which turned out to be lignite of little value, in the sandstone (probably of an ancient tertiary epoch) of which these islands are composed. When we reached Lemuy we had much difficulty in finding any place to pitch our tents, for it was spring tide, and the land was wooded down to the water’s edge. In a short time we were surrounded by a large group of the nearly pure Indian inhabitants. They were much surprised at our arrival, and said one to the other, “This is the reason we have seen so many parrots lately; the cheucau (an odd red-breasted little bird, which inhabits the thick forest, and utters very peculiar noises) has not cried ‘beware’ for nothing.” They were soon anxious for barter. Money was scarcely worth any thing, but their eagerness for tobacco was something quite extraordinary. After tobacco indigo came next in value; then capsicum, old clothes, and gunpowder. The latter article was required for a very innocent purpose: each parish has a public musket, and the gunpowder was wanted for making a noise on their saint or feast-days.

The people here live chiefly on shell-fish and potatoes. At certain seasons they catch also, in “corrales” or hedges under water, many fish which are left on the mud-banks as the tide falls. They occasionally possess fowls, sheep, goats, pigs, horses, and cattle; the order in which they are here mentioned expressing their respective frequency. I never saw any thing more obliging and humble than the manners of these people. They generally began with stating, that they were poor natives of the place, and not Spaniards, and that they were in sad want of tobacco and other comforts. At Caylen, the most southern island, we bought with a stick of tobacco of the value of three-halfpence, two fowls--one of which, the Indian stated, had skin between its toes, and turned out to be a fine duck; and with some cotton handkerchiefs, worth three shillings, we procured three sheep, and a large bunch of onions. The yawl at this place was anchored some way from the shore, and we had fears for her safety during the night. Our pilot, Mr. Douglas, accordingly told the constable of the district, that we always placed sentinels with loaded arms, and not understanding Spanish, if we saw any person in the dark, we should assuredly shoot him. The constable, with much humility, agreed to the perfect propriety of this arrangement, and promised us that no one should stir out of his house during that night.

During the four succeeding days we continued sailing southward. The general features of the country remained the same, but it was much less thickly inhabited. On the large island of Tanqui there was scarcely one cleared spot; the trees on every side extending their branches over the sea-beach. I one day noticed some very fine plants of the panke (Gunnera scabra), which somewhat resembles the rhubarb on a gigantic scale, growing on the sandstone cliffs. The inhabitants eat the stalks, which are subacid, and tan leather with the roots, and prepare a black die from them. The leaf is nearly circular, but deeply indented on its margin: I measured one which had a diameter of nearly eight feet, and therefore a circumference of no less than twenty-four! The stalk is rather more than a yard high, and each plant sends out four or five of these enormous leaves--presenting together a very noble appearance.

DECEMBER 6TH.--We reached Caylen, called “el fin del Cristiandad.” In the morning we stopped for a few minutes at a house on the northern end of Laylec, which was the extreme point of South American Christendom, and a miserable hovel it was. The latitude is 43° 10′, which is two degrees further south than the Rio Negro on the Atlantic coast. These extreme Christians were very poor, and, under the plea of their situation, begged some tobacco. As a proof of the poverty of these Indians, I may mention that, shortly before this, we had met a man who had travelled three days and a half on foot, and had as many to return, for the sake of recovering the value of a small axe, and a few fish. How very difficult it must be to buy the smallest article, when such trouble is taken to recover so small a debt!

In the evening we reached the island of S. Pedro, where we found the Beagle at anchor. In doubling the point, two of the officers landed to take a round of angles with the theodolite. A fox, of a kind said to be peculiar to the island, and very rare in it, and which is an undescribed species, was sitting on the rocks. He was so intently absorbed in watching their manœuvres, that I was able, by quietly walking up behind, to knock him on the head with my geological hammer. This fox, more curious or more scientific, but less wise, than the generality of his brethren, is now mounted in the museum of the Zoological Society.

We staid three days in this harbour; on one of which Captain FitzRoy, with a party, attempted to ascend to the summit of San Pedro. The woods here had rather a different aspect from those on the northern parts of the island. The rock also being micaceous slate, there was no beach, but the steep sides dipped directly beneath the water. The general aspect in consequence was more like that of Tierra del Fuego than of Chiloe. In vain we tried to gain the summit: the forest was so impenetrable that no one, who has not beheld it, can imagine so entangled a mass of dying and dead trunks. I am sure that often, for more than ten minutes together, our feet never touched the ground, and we were frequently ten or fifteen feet above; it so that the seamen as a joke called out the soundings. At other times we crept one after another on our hands and knees, under the rotten trunks. In the lower part of the mountain, noble trees of the winter’s bark, and a laurel like the sassafras with fragrant leaves, and others, the names of which I do not know, were matted together by a trailing bamboo or cane. Here we were more like fishes struggling in a net than any other animal. On the higher parts, brushwood takes the place of larger trees, with here and there a red cedar or an alerce pine. I was also pleased to see, at an elevation of a little less than 1000 feet, our old friend the southern beech. They were, however, poor stunted trees; and I should think this must be nearly their northern limit. We ultimately gave up the attempt in despair.

DECEMBER 10TH.--The yawl and whale-boat, with Mr. Sulivan, proceeded on their survey, but I remained on board the Beagle, which the next day left S. Pedro for the southward. On the 13th we ran into an opening in the southern part of Guayatecas, or the Chonos Archipelago; and it was fortunate we did so, for on the following day a storm, worthy of Tierra del Fuego, raged with its wonted fury. White massive clouds were piled up against a dark blue sky, and across them black ragged sheets of vapour were rapidly driven. The successive mountain ranges appeared like dim shadows; and the setting sun cast on the woodland a yellow gleam, much like that produced by the flame of spirits of wine on a man’s countenance. The water was white with the flying spray; and the wind lulled and roared again through the rigging. It was a most ominous, sublime scene. During a few minutes there was a bright rainbow, and it was curious to observe the effect of the spray, which, being carried along the surface of the water, changed the ordinary semicircle into a ring. A band of prismatic colours was continued from both feet of the common arch, across the bay, close to the vessel’s side; thus forming a distorted, but very nearly entire circle.

We staid here three days. The weather continued bad; but this did not much signify, for the surface of the land in all these islands is all but impassable. The coast is so very rugged, that to attempt to walk in that direction requires continued scrambling up and down, over the sharp rocks of mica slate; and as for the woods--our faces, hands, and shinbones all bore witness to the maltreatment we received in merely attempting to penetrate their forbidden recesses.

DECEMBER 18TH.--We stood out to sea. On the 20th we bade farewell to the south, and with a fair wind turned the ship’s head northward. From Cape Tres Montes we sailed pleasantly along the lofty weather-beaten coast; which is remarkable for the bold outline of its hills, and the thick covering of forest--even on the almost precipitous flanks. The next day a harbour was discovered, which on this dangerous coast might be of great utility to a distressed vessel. It can easily be recognised by a hill 1600 feet high, which is even more perfectly conical than the famous sugar-loaf at Rio de Janeiro. The next day, after anchoring, I succeeded in reaching the summit of this hill. It was a laborious undertaking, for the sides were so steep, that in some parts it was necessary to use the trees as ladders: there were also several extensive brakes of the Fuchsia covered with its beautiful drooping flowers, but very difficult to crawl through. In these wild countries it gives much delight, to gain the summit of any mountain. There is an indefinite expectation of meeting something very strange, which, however often it may be balked, never failed with me to recur on each successive attempt. Every one must know the feeling of triumph and pride which a grand view from a height communicates to the mind. In these little frequented countries there is also joined to it some vanity, that you perhaps are the first man who ever stood on this pinnacle or admired this view.

A strong desire is always felt to ascertain, whether any body has previously visited the place. A bit of wood with a nail in it is picked up and studied, as if it were covered with hieroglyphics. Possessed with this feeling, I was much interested by finding, on a wild part of the coast, a bed made of grass beneath a ledge of rock. Close by it there had been a fire, and the man had used an axe. The fire, bed, and situation, showed the dexterity of an Indian; but he could scarcely have been an Indian; for the race is in this part extinct, owing to the Catholic desire of making at one blow Christians and Slaves. I had at the time some misgivings (though they afterwards were proved to have been groundless) that the solitary man, who had made his bed on this wild spot, must have been some poor shipwrecked sailor, who, in trying to travel up the coast, had here lain himself down for his dreary night.

DECEMBER 28TH.--The weather continued very bad, but it at last permitted us to proceed with the survey. The time hung heavy on our hands, as it always did when we were delayed from day to day by successive gales of wind. In the evening another harbour was discovered, where we anchored. Directly afterwards a man was seen waving his shirt; and a boat was sent which brought back two seamen. A party of six had run away from an American whaling vessel, and had landed a little to the southward in a boat, which was shortly afterwards knocked to pieces by the surf. They had now been wandering up and down the coast for fifteen months, without knowing which way to go, or where they were. What a singular piece of good fortune it was that this harbour was now discovered! Had it not been for this one chance, they might have wandered till they had grown old men, and at last have perished on this wild coast. Their sufferings had been very great, and one of their party had lost his life, by falling from the cliffs. They were sometimes obliged to separate in search of food, and this explained the bed of the solitary man. Considering what they had undergone, I think they had kept a very good reckoning of time; though they had lost four days, by making this the 24th instead of the 28th.

DECEMBER 30TH.--We anchored in a snug little cove at the foot of some high hills, near the northern extremity of Tres Montes. After breakfast the next morning, a party ascended one of these mountains, which had an altitude of 2400 feet. The scenery was remarkable. The chief part of the range was composed of grand, solid, abrupt masses of granite, which appeared as if they had been coeval with the beginning of the world. The granite is capped with slaty gneiss, and this in the lapse of ages has been worn into strange finger-shaped points. These two formations, thus differing in their outlines, agree in being almost destitute of vegetation. This barrenness had to our eyes a still stranger appearance, from our having been so long accustomed to the sight of an almost universal forest of dark green trees. I took much delight in examining the structure of these mountains. The complicated and lofty ranges bore a noble aspect of durability,--equally profitless, however, to man and to all other animals. Granite to the geologist is classic ground: from its wide-spread limits, and its beautiful and compact texture, few rocks have been more early recognised. Granite has given rise, perhaps, to more discussion concerning its origin than any other formation. We generally see it constituting the fundamental rock, and, however formed, we know it is the deepest layer in the crust of this globe, to which man has been able to penetrate. The limit of man’s knowledge in any subject possesses a high interest, which is perhaps increased by its close neighbourhood to the realms of imagination.

JANUARY 1ST, 1835.--The new year is ushered in, with the ceremonies proper to it in these regions. She lays out no false hopes; a heavy N. W. gale, with steady rain, bespeaks the rising year. Thank God, we are not destined here to see the end of it, but hope then to be in the Pacific, where a blue sky tells one there is a heaven--a something beyond the clouds above our heads.

The N. W. winds prevailing for the next four days, we only managed to cross a great bay, and then anchored in another secure harbour. I accompanied the captain in a boat to the head of a deep creek. On the way the number of seals which we saw was quite astonishing; every bit of flat rock, and parts of the beach, were covered with them. They appeared to be of a loving disposition, and lay huddled together, fast asleep, like so many pigs; but even pigs would be ashamed of their dirt, and of the foul smell which came from them. Each herd was watched by the patient but inauspicious eyes of the turkey-buzzard. This disgusting bird, with its bald scarlet head, formed to wallow in putridity, is very common on the west coast, and their attendance on the seals shows that they are dependant on their mortality. We found the water (probably only that of the surface) nearly fresh; this was caused by the number of torrents, which, in the form of cascades, came tumbling over the bold granite mountains into the sea. The fresh water attracts the fish, and these bring many terns, gulls, and two kinds of cormorant. We saw also a pair of the beautiful black-necked swans, and several small sea-otters, the fur of which is held in such high estimation. In returning we were again amused by the impetuous manner in which the heap of seals, old and young, tumbled into the water as the boat passed. They did not remain long under, but rising, followed us with outstretched necks, expressing great wonder and curiosity.

7TH.--Having run up the coast, we anchored near the northern end of the Chonos Archipelago, in Lowe’s Harbour, where we remained a week. The islands were here, as in Chiloe, composed of a stratified littoral deposit of soft sandstone with shingle; and the vegetation in consequence was beautifully luxuriant. The woods came down to the sea-beach, just in the same manner as an evergreen shrubbery over a gravel walk. We also enjoyed from the anchorage a splendid view of four great snowy cones of the Cordillera, beginning with the saddle-topped volcano, next “el famoso Corcovado,” and then two others to the southward. The range itself had in this latitude so little elevation, that few parts of it appeared above the line of the neighbouring islets. We found here a party of five men from Caylen, “el fin del Cristiandad,” who had most adventurously crossed the open space of sea which separates Chonos from Chiloe, in their miserable boat-canoe, for the purpose of fishing. These islands will, in all probability, in a short time become peopled, like those adjoining the coast of Chiloe.

Humboldt,[1] in his Essay on the Kingdom of New Spain, has given a most interesting discussion on the history of the common potato. He believes that the plant described by Molina,[2] under the name of maglia, is the original stock of this useful vegetable, and that it grows in Chile in its native soil. He supposes that thence it was transported by the Indian population to Peru, Quito, New Granada, and the whole Cordillera, from 40° south to 5° north. He observes that it is a remarkable circumstance, and in accordance with all records respecting the course of the stream of American population, that previously to the Spanish conquest, it was unknown in Mexico. Among the Chonos Islands, a wild potato grows in abundance, which in general habit is even more closely similar to the cultivated kind than is the maglia of Molina.

These potatoes grow near the sea-beach, in thick beds, on a sandy, shelly soil, wherever the trees are not too close together. In the middle of January they were in flower, but the tubers were small, and few in number; especially in those plants which grew in the shade, and had the most luxuriant foliage. Nevertheless, I found one which was of an oval form, with one diameter two inches in length. The raw bulbs had precisely the smell of the common potato of England, but when cooked they shrunk, and became watery and insipid. They had not a bitter taste, as, according to Molina, is the case with the Chilian kind; and they could be eaten with safety. Some plants measured from the ground to the tip of the upper leaf, not less than four feet.

So very close is the general resemblance with the cultivated species, that it is necessary to show that they have not been imported. The simple fact of their growth on the islands, and even small rocks, throughout the Chonos Archipelago, which has never been inhabited, and very seldom visited, is an argument of some weight. But the circumstance of the wildest Indian tribes being well acquainted with the plant, is stronger. Mr. Lowe, a very intelligent and active sealer, informs me, that on showing some potatoes to the naked savages in the Gulf of Trinidad (lat. 50°), they immediately recognised them, and calling them “Aquina,” wanted to take them away. The savages also pointed to a place where they grew; which fact was subsequently verified. The Indians of Chiloe, belonging to another tribe, also give them a name in their own language. The simple fact of their being known and named by distinct races, over a space of four or five hundred miles on a most unfrequented and scarcely known coast, almost proves their native existence. Professor Henslow, who has examined the dried specimens which I brought home, says that they are the same with those described by Mr. Sabine[3] from Valparaiso, but that they form a variety which by some botanists has been considered as specifically distinct. It is remarkable that the same plant should be found on the sterile mountains of central Chile, where a drop of rain does not fall for more than six months, and within the damp forests of the southern islands. From what we know of the habits of the potato, this latter situation would appear more congenial than the former, as its birthplace.

In the central parts of the Chonos Archipelago, in lat. 45° 30′, the forest has assumed very much the same character which is found along the whole west coast for 600 miles to Cape Horn. The arborescent grass of Chiloe has here ceased to exist; while the beech of Tierra del Fuego both grows to a good size, and forms a considerable proportion of the wood; not, however, in the same exclusive manner as it does further to the southward. Cryptogamic plants here find a most congenial climate. In the neighbourhood of the Strait of Magellan, I have before remarked that the country appears too cold and wet to allow of their arriving at perfection; but in these islands, within the forest, the number of species, and great abundance of mosses, lichens, and small ferns, is quite extraordinary.[4] In Tierra del Fuego trees grow only on the hill-sides; every level piece of land being invariably covered by a thick bed of peat; but in Chiloe the same kind of situation supports the most luxuriant forest. Here, within the Chonos Archipelago, the nature of the climate more closely approaches that of the southern, than that of the northern, of these two countries. Nearly every patch of level ground is covered by two species of plants (Astelia pumila of Brown,[5] and Donatia magellanica), which by their joint decay compose a thick bed of elastic peat.

In Tierra del Fuego, above the region of woodland, the former of these eminently sociable plants is the chief agent in the production of peat. Fresh leaves are always succeeding one to the other, round the central tap root; the lower ones soon decay; and in tracing a root downward in the peat, the leaves (yet holding their position) can be observed passing through every stage of decomposition, till the whole becomes blended in one confused mass. The Astelia is assisted by few other plants; here and there a small creeping one (Myrtus nummularia), with a woody stem like our cranberry, but with a sweet berry; another (Empetrum rubrum) like our heath, and a third (Juncus grandiflorus) a rush; are nearly the only ones that grow on the swampy surface. These plants, though possessing a very close general resemblance to the English kinds, are botanically different. In the more level parts of the country, the surface of the peat is broken up into little pools of water, which stand at different heights, and appear as if artificially excavated. Small streams of water, flowing under ground, complete the disorganization of the vegetable matter, and consolidate the whole.

The climate of the southern part of America appears particularly favourable to the production of peat. In the Falkland Islands, almost every kind of plant, even the coarse grass which covers the whole surface of the island, becomes converted into this substance. I was at first at a loss to imagine how so much peat had been formed; but the conversion of the grass at once explains it. I observed that even some bones of cattle, strewed on the surface, were nearly covered up by the decaying matter at the foot of the blades of withered grass. Scarcely any situation checks its growth; it overhangs the banks of running streams, and encroaches on the piles of loose angular fragments of quartz rock. Some of the beds are of considerable thickness, even as much as twelve feet: the peat in the lower part is earthy, and completely altered, and when dry, becomes so solid that it ignites with difficulty. No doubt, although every plant lends its aid in the process, yet the Astelia is the most efficient. It is rather a singular circumstance, as being so very different from what occurs in Europe, that no kind of moss forms by its decay any portion of the peat in South America.

With respect to the northern limit at which the climate allows of that peculiar kind of slow decomposition which is necessary for the production of peat, I believe that in Chiloe (lat. 41° to 42°), although there is much swampy ground, no well-characterized substance of this nature occurs. But in the Chonos Islands, three degrees further southward, we have seen that it is abundant. On the eastern coast in La Plata (lat. 35°), I was told by a Spanish resident (who had visited Ireland), that he had often sought for this substance, but had never been able to find any. He showed me, as the nearest approach to it which he had discovered, a black peaty soil, so penetrated with roots as to allow of an extremely slow and imperfect combustion.

The zoology of these broken islets of the Chonos Archipelago, is, as might have been expected, very poor. Of quadrupeds, two aquatic kinds are common. The Myopotamus Coipus (like a beaver, but with a round tail) is well known from its fine fur, which is an object of trade, throughout the tributaries of La Plata. It here, however, exclusively frequents salt water; which same circumstance has been mentioned, as sometimes occurring with the great rodent, the Capybara. A small sea-otter is very numerous. This animal does not feed exclusively on fish, but, like the seals, draws a large supply from a small red crab, which swims in shoals near the surface of the water. Mr. Bynoe saw one in Tierra del Fuego eating a cuttle-fish; and at Lowe’s Harbour another was killed, in the act of carrying to its hole a large volute; and this was the only specimen of that shell which was procured. At one place I caught in a trap a singular little mouse; it appeared common on several of the islets, but the Chilotans at Lowe’s Harbour said that it was not found in all. What a succession of chances,[6] or what changes of level, must have been brought into play, thus to spread these small animals throughout this broken archipelago!

In all parts of Chiloe and Chonos, two very strange birds occur, which have many points of affinity with the Turco and Tapacolo. One is called by the inhabitants “Cheucau” (Pteroptochos rubecula). It frequents the most gloomy and retired spots within the damp forests. Sometimes, although its cry may be heard close at hand, let a person watch ever so attentively, he will not see the cheucau; at other times, let him stand motionless, and the red-breasted little bird will approach within a few feet, in the most familiar manner. It then busily hops about the entangled mass of rotting canes and branches, with its little tail cocked upwards. I opened the gizzard of some specimens: it was very muscular, and contained hard seeds, buds of plants, and vegetable fibres, mixed with small stones. The cheucau is held in superstitious fear by the Chilotans, on account of its strange and varied cries. There are three very distinct kinds,--one is called “chiduco,” and is an omen of good; another, “huitreu,” which is extremely unfavourable; and a third, which I have forgotten. These words are given in imitation of its cries, and the natives are in some things absolutely governed by them. The Chilotans assuredly have chosen a most comical little creature for their prophet.

An allied species, but rather larger, is called by the natives “Guid-guid” (Hylactes Tarnii of King, and Pteroptochos of Kittlitz), and by the English the barking-bird. This latter name is well given; for I defy any one at first to feel certain that a small dog is not yelping somewhere in the forest. Just as with the cheucau, a person will sometimes hear the bark close by, but in vain may endeavour, by watching, and with still less chance by beating the bushes, to see its author; yet at other times the guid-guid fearlessly comes near. Its manner of feeding and its general habits are very similar to those of the cheucau. Both species are said to build their nests close to the ground, amongst the rotten branches. The ground being so extremely wet, is a good reason why they do not burrow holes, like the northern species. Besides the cheucau and guid-guid, there is another species, but it is not very common. Moreover, the bird which has been mentioned in Tierra del Fuego, under the title of a black wren (Scytalopus fuscus of Gould), appears, in its skulking habits, odd cries, and place of resort, and likewise in some points of structure, to be closely related to this singular genus.

On the coast,[7] a small dusky-coloured bird (a Furnarius allied to fuliginosus) is very common. It is remarkable from its quiet and very tame habits. It lives entirely on the sea-beach, and there (as well as sometimes on the floating kelp), picks up small sea-shells and crabs; thus supplying the place of a sandpiper. Besides these birds, only a few others inhabit this broken land. In my rough notes I describe the strange noises, which although frequently heard within these gloomy forests, yet scarcely disturb the general silence. The yelping of the guid-guid, and the sudden whew-whew of the cheucau, sometimes come from afar, and sometimes from close at hand;--the little wren occasionally adds its cry;--the creeper follows the intruder, screaming and twittering;--the humming-bird may be seen every now and then darting from side to side, and emitting, like an insect, its shrill chirp;--lastly, from the top of some lofty tree, the indistinct but plaintive note of the white-tufted tyrant-flycatcher may be noticed.

From the great preponderance in most countries of certain kinds of birds, such as the finches, one feels at first surprised at meeting with such peculiar forms, above enumerated, as the commonest birds in any district. In central Chile two of them, namely the Synallaxis and Scytalopus, occur, although most rarely. When finding, as in this case, any animal which seems to play so insignificant a part in the great scheme of nature, one is apt to wonder why a distinct species should have been created. But it should always be recollected, that in some other country perhaps it is an essential member of society, or at some former period may have been so. If America south of 37° should be sunk beneath the waters of the ocean, the Synallaxis and Scytalopus might continue to exist in central Chile for a long period, but it is very improbable that their numbers would increase. We should then see a case, which must inevitably have happened with very many animals.

These southern seas are frequented by several species of Petrels. The largest kind, Procellaria gigantea, or nelly, (quebrantahuesos, or break-bones, of the Spaniards) is a common bird, both in the inland channels and on the open sea. In its habits and manner of flight there is a very close resemblance with the albatross, and as with the latter bird, a person may watch it for hours together without seeing on what it feeds, so is it with this petrel. The “break-bones” is, however, a rapacious bird,[8] for it was observed by some of the officers at Port St. Antonio chasing a diver. The bird tried to escape both by diving and flying, but was continually struck down, and at last killed by a blow on its head. At Port St. Julian, also, these great petrels were seen killing and devouring young gulls.

A second species (Puffinus cinereus[9]), which is common to Europe, Cape Horn, and the coast of Peru, is of a much smaller size than the gigantea, but, like it, of a dirty black colour. It generally frequents the inland sounds in very large flocks: I do not think I ever saw so many birds of any other sort together, as I once saw of these behind the island of Chiloe. Hundreds of thousands flew in an irregular line, for several hours in one direction. When part of the flock settled on the water, the surface was blackened, and a noise proceeded from them, as of human beings talking in the distance. At this time the water was in parts coloured by clouds of small crustacea. At Port Famine, every morning and evening, a long band of these birds continued to fly, with extreme rapidity, up and down the central parts of the channel. I opened the stomach of one (which I shot with some difficulty, for they were rather wary), and it contained a small fish, and seven good-sized, prawn-like crabs.

There are several other species of petrels, but I will only mention one other kind, the Puffinuria Berardii, which offers one more example of those extraordinary cases, of a bird evidently belonging to one well-marked family, yet both in its habits and structure allied to a very distinct tribe. This bird never leaves the quiet inland sounds. When disturbed it dives to a distance, and on coming to the surface, with the same movement takes wing. After flying for a space in a direct course, by the rapid movement of its short wings, it drops, as if struck dead, and dives again. The form of the beak and nostrils, length of foot, and even colouring of the plumage, show that this bird is a petrel: at the same time, its short wings and consequent little power of flight, its form of body and shape of tail, its habits of diving, and the absence of a hind toe to its foot, and its choice of situation, make it doubtful whether its relationship is not equally close with the auks as with the petrels. It would undoubtedly be mistaken for one of the former, when seen either on the wing, or when diving and quietly swimming about the retired channels of Tierra del Fuego.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Humboldt’s New Spain, book iv., chap. ix.

[2] Molina’s Chile, Spanish edition, vol. i., p. 136.

[3] Horticultural Transact., vol. v., p. 249. Mr. Caldcleugh sent home two tubers, which being well manured, even the first season produced numerous potatoes and an abundance of leaves.

[4] By sweeping with my insect-net, I procured from these situations a considerable number of minute insects of the family of Staphylinidæ, and others allied to Pselaphus, and minute Hymenoptera. But the most characteristic family in number of both individuals and species, throughout the more open parts of Chiloe and Chonos, is that of the Telephoridæ.

[5] Anthericum trifarium of Solander.

[6] Many rapacious animals bring their prey alive to feed their young. Are there any instances on record of such a habit among owls or hawks? If so, in the course of centuries, every now and then, one might escape from the young birds. Some such agency is wanted, to account for the distribution of the smaller gnawing animals on islands near to each other.

[7] I may mention as a proof of how great a difference there is between the seasons of the wooded and the open parts of the coast, that on September 20th, in lat. 34°, these birds had young ones in the nest, while among the Chonos Islands, three months later in the summer, they were only laying; the difference in latitude between these two places being about 700 miles.

[8] The Spaniards who named it were probably aware of this, for “quebrantahuesos” means properly an osprey.

[9] I am indebted to Mr. Gould for naming these birds, and for kindly furnishing me with much information respecting them.

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