Personal Narrative of Travels to the Equinoctial Regions of America, During the Year 1799-1804 — Volume 1
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Title: Personal Narrative of Travels to the Equinoctial Regions of America, During the Year 1799-1804 — Volume 1
Author: Alexander von Humboldt
Aimé Bonpland
Translator: Thomasina Ross
Release date: August 1, 2004 [eBook #6322]
Most recently updated: June 4, 2012
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6322
Credits: Produced by Sue Asscher and Robert Prince
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF TRAVELS TO THE EQUINOCTIAL REGIONS OF AMERICA, DURING THE YEAR 1799-1804 — VOLUME 1 ***
Produced by Sue Asscher and Robert Prince
Equinoctial Regions of America
Alexander von Humboldt
BOHN'S SCIENTIFIC LIBRARY.
HUMBOLDT'S PERSONAL NARRATIVE
VOLUME 1.
PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF TRAVELS TO THE EQUINOCTIAL REGIONS OF AMERICA
DURING THE YEARS 1799-1804
BY
ALEXANDER VON HUMBOLDT AND AIME BONPLAND.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF
ALEXANDER VON HUMBOLDT
AND EDITED BY
THOMASINA ROSS.
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOLUME 1.
LONDON.
GEORGE BELL & SONS.
1907.
LONDON: PORTUGAL ST., LINCOLN'S INN.
CAMBRIDGE: DEIGHTON, BELL AND CO.
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO.
BOMBAY: A.H. WHEELER AND CO.
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
The increasing interest attached to all that part of the American
Continent situated within and near the tropics, has suggested the
publication of the present edition of Humboldt's celebrated work,
as a portion of the SCIENTIFIC LIBRARY.
Prior to the travels of Humboldt and Bonpland, the countries
described in the following narrative were but imperfectly known to
Europeans. For our partial acquaintance with them we were chiefly
indebted to the early navigators, and to some of the followers of
the Spanish Conquistadores. The intrepid men whose courage and
enterprise prompted them to explore unknown seas for the discovery
of a New World, have left behind them narratives of their
adventures, and descriptions of the strange lands and people they
visited, which must ever be perused with curiosity and interest;
and some of the followers of Pizarro and Cortez, as well as many
learned Spaniards who proceeded to South America soon after the
conquest, were the authors of historical and other works of high
value. But these writings of a past age, however curious and
interesting, are deficient in that spirit of scientific
investigation which enhances the importance and utility of accounts
of travels in distant regions. In more recent times, the researches
of La Condamine tended in a most important degree to promote
geographical knowledge; and he, as well as other eminent botanists
who visited the coasts of South America, and even ascended the
Andes, contributed by their discoveries and collections to augment
the vegetable riches of the Old World. But, in their time, geology
as a science had little or no existence. Of the structure of the
giant mountains of our globe scarcely anything was understood;
whilst nothing was known beneath the earth in the New World, except
what related to her mines of gold and silver.
It remained for Humboldt to supply all that was wanting, by the
publication of his Personal Narrative. In this, more than in any
other of his works, he shows his power of contemplating nature in
all her grandeur and variety.
The researches and discoveries of Humboldt's able coadjutor and
companion, M. Bonpland, afford not only a complete picture of the
botany of the equinoctial regions of America, but of that of other
places visited by the travellers on their voyage thither. The
description of the Island of Teneriffe and the geography of its
vegetation, show how much was discovered by Humboldt and Bonpland
which had escaped the observation of discerning travellers who had
pursued the same route before them. Indeed, the whole account of
the Canary Islands presents a picture which cannot be contemplated
without the deepest interest, even by persons comparatively
indifferent to the study of nature.
It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to remind the reader that since
the time when this work was first published in Paris, the
separation of the Spanish Colonies from the mother-country,
together with subsequent political events, have wrought great
changes in the governments of the South American States, as well as
in the social condition of their inhabitants. One consequence of
these changes has been to render obsolete some facts and
observations relating to subjects, political, commercial, and
statistical, interspersed through this work. However useful such
matter might have been on its original publication, it is wholly
irrelevant to the existing state of things, and consequently it has
been deemed advisable to omit it. By this curtailment, together
with that of some meteorological tables and discussions of very
limited interest, the work has been divested of its somewhat
lengthy and discursive character, and condensed within dimensions
better adapted to the taste and requirements of the present time.
An English translation of this work by Helen Maria Williams, was
published many years ago, and is now out of print. Though faultless
as respects correctness of interpretation, it abounds in foreign
turns of expression, and is somewhat deficient in that fluency of
style without which a translated work is unsatisfactory to the
English reader. In the edition now presented to the public it is
hoped that these objections are in some degree removed.
A careful English version is given of all the Spanish and
Portuguese terms, phrases, and quotations which occur in this work.
Though the author has only in some few instances given a French
translation of these passages, yet it is presumed that the
interpretation of the whole in English will not be deemed
superfluous; this new edition of the "Personal Narrative" having
been undertaken with the view of presenting the work in the form
best suited for the instruction and entertainment of the general
reader.
T.R.
London, December 1851.
***
MEASURES:
In this narrative, as well as in the Political Essay on New Spain,
all the prices are reckoned in piastres, and silver reals (reales
de plata). Eight of these reals are equivalent to a piastre, or one
hundred and five sous, French money (4 shillings 4 1/2 pence
English). Nouv. Esp. volume 2 pages 519, 616 and 866.
The magnetic dip is always measured in this work, according to the
centesimal division, if the contrary be not expressly mentioned.
One flasco contains 70 or 80 cubic inches, Paris measure.
112 English pounds = 105 French pounds; and 160 Spanish pounds = 93
French pounds.
An arpent des eaux et forets, or legal acre of France, of which 1.
95 = 1 hectare. It is about 1 1/4 acre English.
A tablon, equal to 1849 square toises, contains nearly an acre and
one-fifth: a legal acre has 1344 square toises, and 1.95 legal acre
is equal one hectare.
For the sake of accuracy, the French Measures, as given by the
Author, and the indications of the Centigrade Thermometer, are
retained in the translation. The following tables may, therefore,
be found useful.
TABLE OF LINEAR MEASURE.
1 toise = 6 feet 4.73 inches.
1 foot = 12.78 inches.
1 metre = 3 feet 3.37 inches.
(Transcriber's Note: The 'toise' was introduced by Charlemagne
in 790; it originally represented the distance between the
fingertips of a man with outstretched arms, and is thus the same
as the British 'fathom'. During the founding of the Metric System,
less than 20 years before the date of this work, the 'toise' was
assigned a value of 1.949 meters, or a little over two yards. The
'foot'; actually the 'French foot', or 'pied', is defined as
1/6 of a 'toise', and is a little over an English foot.)
CENTIGRADE THERMOMETER REDUCED TO FAHRENHEIT'S SCALE.
Cent. Fahr. Cent. Fahr. Cent. Fahr. Cent. Fahr.
100 212 65 149 30 86 -5 23
99 210.2 64 147.2 29 84.2 -6 21.2
98 208.4 63 145.4 28 82.4 -7 19.4
97 206.6 62 143.6 27 80.6 -8 17.6
96 204.8 61 141.8 26 78.8 -9 15.8
95 203 60 140 25 77 -10 14
94 201.2 59 138.2 24 75.2 -11 12.2
93 199.4 58 136.4 23 73.4 -12 10.4
92 197.6 57 134.6 22 71.6 -13 8.6
91 195.8 56 132.8 21 69.8 -14 6.8
90 194 55 131 20 68 -15 5
89 192.2 54 129.2 19 66.2 -16 3.2
88 190.4 53 127.4 18 64.4 -17 1.4
87 188.6 52 125.6 17 62.6 -18 -0.4
86 186.8 51 123.8 16 60.8 -19 -2.2
85 185 50 122 15 59 -20 -4
84 183.2 49 120.2 14 57.2 -21 -5.8
83 181.4 48 118.4 13 55.4 -22 -7.6
82 179.6 47 116.6 12 53.6 -23 -9.4
81 177.8 46 114.8 11 51.8 -24 -11.2
80 176 45 113 10 50 -25 -13
79 174.2 44 111.2 9 48.2 -26 -14.8
78 172.4 43 109.4 8 46.4 -27 -16.6
77 170.6 42 107.6 7 44.6 -28 -18.4
76 168.8 41 105.8 6 42.8 -29 -20.2
75 167 40 104 5 41 -30 -22
74 165.2 39 102.2 4 39.2 -31 -23.8
73 163.4 38 100.4 3 37.4 -32 -25.6
72 161.6 37 98.6 2 35.6 -33 -27.4
71 159.8 36 96.8 1 33.8 -34 -29.2
70 158 35 95 0 32 -35 -31
69 156.2 34 93.2 -1 30.2 -36 -32.8
68 154.4 33 91.4 -2 28.4 -37 -34.6
67 152.6 32 89.6 -3 26.6 -38 -36.4
66 150.8 31 87.8 -4 24.8 -39 -38.2
***
VOLUME 1.
CONTENTS.
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
INTRODUCTION BY THE AUTHOR.
CHAPTER 1.1.
PREPARATIONS.--INSTRUMENTS.--DEPARTURE FROM SPAIN.--
LANDING AT THE CANARY ISLANDS.
CHAPTER 1.2.
STAY AT TENERIFE.--JOURNEY FROM SANTA CRUZ TO OROTAVA.--EXCURSION
TO THE SUMMIT OF THE PEAK OF TEYDE.
CHAPTER 1.3.
PASSAGE FROM TENERIFE TO SOUTH AMERICA.--
THE ISLAND OF TOBAGO.--ARRIVAL AT CUMANA.
CHAPTER 1.4.
FIRST ABODE AT CUMANA.--BANKS OF THE MANZANARES.
CHAPTER 1.5.
PENINSULA OF ARAYA.--SALT-MARSHES.--
RUINS OF THE CASTLE OF SANTIAGO.
CHAPTER 1.6.
MOUNTAINS OF NEW ANDALUCIA.--VALLEY OF THE CUMANACOA.--
SUMMIT OF THE COCOLLAR.--MISSIONS OF THE CHAYMA INDIANS.
CHAPTER 1.7.
CONVENT OF CARIPE.--CAVERN OF THE GUACHARO.--NOCTURNAL BIRDS.
CHAPTER 1.8.
DEPARTURE FROM CARIPE.--MOUNTAIN AND FOREST OF SANTA MARIA.--
MISSION OF CATUARO.--PORT OF CARIACO.
CHAPTER 1.9.
PHYSICAL CONSTITUTION AND MANNERS OF THE CHAYMAS.--THEIR LANGUAGE.--
FILIATION OF THE NATIONS WHICH INHABIT NEW ANDALUCIA.--
PARIAGOTOS SEEN BY COLUMBUS.
CHAPTER 1.10.
SECOND ABODE AT CUMANA.--EARTHQUAKES.--EXTRAORDINARY METEORS.
CHAPTER 1.11.
PASSAGE FROM CUMANA TO LA GUAYRA.--MORRO OF NUEVA BARCELONA.--
CAPE CODERA.--ROAD FROM LA GUAYRA TO CARACAS.
CHAPTER 1.12.
GENERAL VIEW OF THE PROVINCES OF VENEZUELA.--
DIVERSITY OF THEIR INTERESTS.--CITY AND VALLEY OF CARACAS.--
CLIMATE.
CHAPTER 1.13.
ABODE AT CARACAS.--MOUNTAINS IN THE VICINITY OF THE TOWN.--
EXCURSION TO THE SUMMIT OF THE SILLA.--INDICATIONS OF MINES.
CHAPTER 1.14.
EARTHQUAKES AT CARACAS.--CONNECTION OF THOSE PHENOMENA WITH THE
VOLCANIC ERUPTIONS OF THE WEST INDIA ISLANDS.
CHAPTER 1.15.
DEPARTURE FROM CARACAS.--MOUNTAINS OF SAN PEDRO AND OF LOS TEQUES.--
LA VICTORIA.--VALLEYS OF ARAGUA.
***
INTRODUCTION BY THE AUTHOR.
Many years have elapsed since I quitted Europe, to explore the
interior of the New Continent. Devoted from my earliest youth to
the study of nature, feeling with enthusiasm the wild beauties of a
country guarded by mountains and shaded by ancient forests, I
experienced in my travels, enjoyments which have amply compensated
for the privations inseparable from a laborious and often agitated
life. These enjoyments, which I endeavoured to impart to my readers
in my 'Remarks upon the Steppes,' and in the 'Essay on the
Physiognomy of Plants,' were not the only fruits I reaped from an
undertaking formed with the design of contributing to the progress
of natural philosophy. I had long prepared myself for the
observations which were the principal object of my journey to the
torrid zone. I was provided with instruments of easy and convenient
use, constructed by the ablest makers, and I enjoyed the special
protection of a government which, far from presenting obstacles to
my investigations, constantly honoured me with every mark of regard
and confidence. I was aided by a courageous and enlightened friend,
and it was singularly propitious to the success of our participated
labour, that the zeal and equanimity of that friend never failed,
amidst the fatigues and dangers to which we were sometimes exposed.
Under these favourable circumstances, traversing regions which for
ages have remained almost unknown to most of the nations of Europe,
I might add even to Spain, M. Bonpland and myself collected a
considerable number of materials, the publication of which may
throw some light on the history of nations, and advance the study
of nature.
I had in view a two-fold purpose in the travels of which I now
publish the historical narrative. I wished to make known the
countries I had visited; and to collect such facts as are fitted to
elucidate a science of which we as yet possess scarcely the
outline, and which has been vaguely denominated Natural History of
the World, Theory of the Earth, or Physical Geography. The last of
these two objects seemed to me the most important. I was
passionately devoted to botany and certain parts of zoology, and I
flattered myself that our investigations might add some new species
to those already known, both in the animal and vegetable kingdoms;
but preferring the connection of facts which have been long
observed, to the knowledge of insulated facts, although new, the
discovery of an unknown genus seemed to me far less interesting
than an observation on the geographical relations of the vegetable
world, on the migrations of the social plants, and the limit of the
height which their different tribes attain on the flanks of the
Cordilleras.
The natural sciences are connected by the same ties which link
together all the phenomena of nature. The classification of the
species, which must be considered as the fundamental part of
botany, and the study of which is rendered attractive and easy by
the introduction of natural methods, is to the geography of plants
what descriptive mineralogy is to the indication of the rocks
constituting the exterior crust of the globe. To comprehend the
laws observed in the position of these rocks, to determine the age
of their successive formations, and their identity in the most
distant regions, the geologist should be previously acquainted with
the simple fossils which compose the mass of mountains, and of
which the names and character are the object of oryctognostical
knowledge. It is the same with that part of the natural history of
the globe which treats of the relations plants have to each other,
to the soil whence they spring, or to the air which they inhale and
modify. The progress of the geography of plants depends in a great
measure on that of descriptive botany; and it would be injurious to
the advancement of science, to attempt rising to general ideas,
whilst neglecting the knowledge of particular facts.
I have been guided by these considerations in the course of my
inquiries; they were always present to my mind during the period of
my preparatory studies. When I began to read the numerous
narratives of travels, which compose so interesting a part of
modern literature, I regretted that travellers, the most
enlightened in the insulated branches of natural history, were
seldom possessed of sufficient variety of knowledge to avail
themselves of every advantage arising from their position. It
appeared to me, that the importance of the results hitherto
obtained did not keep pace with the immense progress which, at the
end of the eighteenth century, had been made in several departments
of science, particularly geology, the history of the modifications
of the atmosphere, and the physiology of animals and plants. I saw
with regret, (and all scientific men have shared this feeling) that
whilst the number of accurate instruments was daily increasing, we
were still ignorant of the height of many mountains and elevated
plains; of the periodical oscillations of the aerial ocean; of the
limit of perpetual snow within the polar circle and on the borders
of the torrid zone; of the variable intensity of the magnetic
forces, and of many other phenomena equally important.
Maritime expeditions and circumnavigatory voyages have conferred
just celebrity on the names of the naturalists and astronomers who
have been appointed by various governments to share the dangers of
those undertakings; but though these eminent men have given us
precise notions of the external configuration of countries, of the
natural history of the ocean, and of the productions of islands and
coasts, it must be admitted that maritime expeditions are less
fitted to advance the progress of geology and other parts of
physical science, than travels into the interior of a continent.
The advancement of the natural sciences has been subordinate to
that of geography and nautical astronomy. During a voyage of
several years, the land but seldom presents itself to the
observation of the mariner, and when, after lengthened expectation,
it is descried, he often finds it stripped of its most beautiful
productions. Sometimes, beyond a barren coast, he perceives a ridge
of mountains covered with verdure, but its distance forbids
examination, and the view serves only to excite regret.
Journeys by land are attended with considerable difficulties in the
conveyance of instruments and collections, but these difficulties
are compensated by advantages which it is unnecessary to enumerate.
It is not by sailing along a coast that we can discover the
direction of chains of mountains, and their geological
constitution, the climate of each zone, and its influence on the
forms and habits of organized beings. In proportion to the extent
of continents, the greater on the surface of the soil are the
riches of animal and vegetable productions; the more distant the
central chain of mountains from the sea-shore, the greater is the
variety in the bosom of the earth, of those stony strata, the
regular succession of which unfolds the history of our planet. As
every being considered apart is impressed with a particular type,
so, in like manner, we find the same distinctive impression in the
arrangement of brute matter organized in rocks, and also in the
distribution and mutual relations of plants and animals. The great
problem of the physical description of the globe, is the
determination of the form of these types, the laws of their
relations with each other, and the eternal ties which link the
phenomena of life, and those of inanimate nature.
Having stated the general object I had in view in my expeditions, I
will now hasten to give a slight sketch of the whole of the
collections and observations which we have accumulated, and the
union of which is the aim and end of every scientific journey. The
maritime war, during our abode in America, having rendered
communication with Europe very uncertain, we found ourselves
compelled, in order to diminish the chance of losses, to form three
different collections. Of these, the first was embarked for Spain
and France, the second for the United States and England, and the
third, which was the most considerable, remained almost constantly
under our own eyes. Towards the close of our expedition, this last
collection formed forty-two boxes, containing an herbal of six
thousand equinoctial plants, seeds, shells, insects, and (what had
hitherto never been brought to Europe) geological specimens, from
the Chimborazo, New Grenada, and the banks of the river Amazon.
After our journey to the Orinoco, we left a part of these
collections at the island of Cuba, intending to take them on our
return from Peru to Mexico. The rest followed us during the space
of five years, on the chain of the Andes, across New Spain, from
the shores of the Pacific to the coasts of the Caribbean Sea. The
conveyance of these objects, and the minute care they required,
occasioned embarrassments scarcely conceiveable even by those who
have traversed the most uncultivated parts of Europe. Our progress
was often retarded by the necessity of dragging after us, during
expeditions of five or six months, twelve, fifteen, and sometimes
more than twenty loaded mules, exchanging these animals every eight
or ten days, and superintending the Indians who were employed in
driving the numerous caravan. Often, in order to add to our
collections of new mineral substances, we found ourselves obliged
to throw away others, which we had collected a considerable time
before. These sacrifices were not less vexatious than the losses we
accidentally sustained. Sad experience taught us but too late, that
from the sultry humidity of the climate, and the frequent falls of
the beasts of burden, we could preserve neither the skins of
animals hastily prepared, nor the fishes and reptiles placed in
phials filled with alcohol. I enter into these details, because,
though little interesting in themselves, they serve to show that we
had no means of bringing back, in their natural state, many objects
of zoology and comparative anatomy, of which we have published
descriptions and drawings. Notwithstanding some obstacles, and the
expense occasioned by the carriage of these articles, I had reason
to applaud the resolution I had taken before my departure, of
sending to Europe the duplicates only of the productions we
collected. I cannot too often repeat, that when the seas are
infested with privateers, a traveller can be sure only of the
objects in his own possession. A very few of the duplicates, which
we shipped for Europe during our abode in America, were saved; the
greater part fell into the hands of persons who feel no interest
for science. When a ship is condemned in a foreign port, boxes
containing only dried plants or stones, instead of being sent to
the scientific men to whom they are addressed, are put aside and
forgotten. Some of our geological collections taken in the Pacific
were, however, more fortunate. We were indebted for their
preservation to the generous activity of Sir Joseph Banks,
President of the Royal Society of London, who, amidst the political
agitations of Europe, unceasingly laboured to strengthen the bonds
of union between scientific men of all nations.
In our investigations we have considered each phenomenon under
different aspects, and classed our remarks according to the
relations they bear to each other. To afford an idea of the method
we have followed, I will here add a succinct enumeration of the
materials with which we were furnished for describing the volcanoes
of Antisana and Pichincha, as well as that of Jorullo: the latter,
during the night of the 20th of September, 1759, rose from the
earth one thousand five hundred and seventy-eight French feet above
the surrounding plains of Mexico. The position of these singular
mountains in longitude and latitude was ascertained by astronomical
observations. We took the heights of the different parts by the aid
of the barometer, and determined the dip of the needle and the
intensity of the magnetic forces. Our collections contain the
plants which are spread over the flanks of these volcanoes, and
specimens of different rocks which, superposed one upon another,
constitute their external coat. We are enabled to indicate, by
measures sufficiently exact, the height above the level of the
ocean, at which we found each group of plants, and each volcanic
rock. Our journals furnish us with a series of observations on the
humidity, the temperature, the electricity, and the degree of
transparency of the air on the brinks of the craters of Pichincha
and Jorullo; they also contain topographical plans and geological
profiles of these mountains, founded in part on the measure of
vertical bases, and on angles of altitude. Each observation has
been calculated according to the tables and the methods which are
considered most exact in the present state of our knowledge; and in
order to judge of the degree of confidence which the results may
claim, we have preserved the whole detail of our partial
operations.
It would have been possible to blend these different materials in a
work devoted wholly to the description of the volcanoes of Peru and
New Spain. Had I given the physical description of a single
province, I could have treated separately everything relating to
its geography, mineralogy, and botany; but how could I interrupt
the narrative of a journey, a disquisition on the manners of a
people, or the great phenomena of nature, by an enumeration of the
productions of the country, the description of new species of
animals and plants, or the detail of astronomical observations. Had
I adopted a mode of composition which would have included in one
and the same chapter all that has been observed on one particular
point of the globe, I should have prepared a work of cumbrous
length, and devoid of that clearness which arises in a great
measure from the methodical distribution of matter. Notwithstanding
the efforts I have made to avoid, in this narrative, the errors I
had to dread, I feel conscious that I have not always succeeded in
separating the observations of detail from those general results
which interest every enlightened mind. These results comprise in
one view the climate and its influence on organized beings, the
aspect of the country, varied according to the nature of the soil
and its vegetable covering, the direction of the mountains and
rivers which separate races of men as well as tribes of plants; and
finally, the modifications observable in the condition of people
living in different latitudes, and in circumstances more or less
favourable to the development of their faculties. I do not fear
having too much enlarged on objects so worthy of attention: one of
the noblest characteristics which distinguish modern civilization
from that of remoter times is, that it has enlarged the mass of our
conceptions, rendered us more capable of perceiving the connection
between the physical and intellectual world, and thrown a more
general interest over objects which heretofore occupied only a few
scientific men, because those objects were contemplated separately,
and from a narrower point of view.
As it is probable that these volumes will obtain the attention of a
greater number of readers than the detail of my observations merely
scientific, or my researches on the population, the commerce, and
the mines of New Spain, I may be permitted here to enumerate all
the works which I have hitherto published conjointly with M.
Bonpland. When several works are interwoven in some sort with each
other, it may perhaps be interesting to the reader to know the
sources whence he may obtain more circumstantial information.
1.I.1. ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATIONS, TRIGONOMETRICAL OPERATIONS, AND
BAROMETRICAL MEASUREMENTS MADE DURING THE COURSE OF A JOURNEY TO
THE EQUINOCTIAL REGIONS OF THE NEW CONTINENT, FROM 1799 TO 1804.
This work, to which are added historical researches on the position
of several points important to navigators, contains, first, the
original observations which I made from the twelfth degree of
southern to the forty-first degree of northern latitude; the
transits of the sun and stars over the meridian; distances of the
moon from the sun and the stars; occultations of the satellites;
eclipses of the sun and moon; transits of Mercury over the disc of
the sun; azimuths; circum-meridian altitudes of the moon, to
determine the longitude by the differences of declination;
researches on the relative intensity of the light of the austral
stars; geodesical measures, etc. Secondly, a treatise on the
astronomical refractions in the torrid zone, considered as the
effect of the decrement of caloric in the strata of the air;
thirdly, the barometric measurement of the Cordillera of the Andes,
of Mexico, of the province of Venezuela, of the kingdom of Quito,
and of New Grenada; followed by geological observations, and
containing the indication of four hundred and fifty-three heights,
calculated according to the method of M. Laplace, and the new
co-efficient of M. Ramond; fourthly, a table of near seven hundred
geographical positions on the New Continent; two hundred and
thirty-five of which have been determined by my own observations,
according to the three co-ordinates of longitude, latitude, and
height.
1.I.2. EQUINOCTIAL PLANTS COLLECTED IN MEXICO, IN THE ISLAND OF
CUBA, IN THE PROVINCES OF CARACAS, CUMANA, AND BARCELONA, ON THE
ANDES OF NEW GRENADA, QUITO, AND PERU, AND ON THE BANKS OF THE RIO
NEGRO, THE ORINOCO, AND THE RIVER AMAZON.
M. Bonpland has in this work given figures of more than forty new
genera of plants of the torrid zone, classed according to their
natural families. The methodical descriptions of the species are
both in French and Latin, and are accompanied by observations on
the medicinal properties of the plants, their use in the arts, and
the climate of the countries in which they are found.
1.I.3. MONOGRAPHY OF THE MELASTOMA, RHEXIA, AND OTHER GENERA OF
THIS ORDER OF PLANTS.
Comprising upwards of a hundred and fifty species of melastomaceae,
which we collected during the course of our expeditions, and which
form one of the most beautiful ornaments of tropical vegetation. M.
Bonpland has added the plants of the same family, which, among many
other rich stores of natural history, M. Richard collected in his
interesting expedition to the Antilles and French Guiana, and the
descriptions of which he has communicated to us.
1.I.4. ESSAY ON THE GEOGRAPHY OF PLANTS, ACCOMPANIED BY A PHYSICAL
TABLE OF THE EQUINOCTIAL REGIONS, FOUNDED ON MEASURES TAKEN FROM
THE TENTH DEGREE OF NORTHERN TO THE TENTH DEGREE OF SOUTHERN
LATITUDE.
I have endeavoured to collect in one point of view the whole of the
physical phenomena of that part of the New Continent comprised
within the limits of the torrid zone from the level of the Pacific
to the highest summit of the Andes; namely, the vegetation, the
animals, the geological relations, the cultivation of the soil, the
temperature of the air, the limit of perpetual snow, the chemical
constitution of the atmosphere, its electrical intensity, its
barometrical pressure, the decrement of gravitation, the intensity
of the azure colour of the sky, the diminution of light during its
passage through the successive strata of the air, the horizontal
refractions, and the heat of boiling water at different heights.
Fourteen scales, disposed side by side with a profile of the Andes,
indicate the modifications to which these phenomena are subject
from the influence of the elevation of the soil above the level of
the sea. Each group of plants is placed at the height which nature
has assigned to it, and we may follow the prodigious variety of
their forms from the region of the palms and arborescent ferns to
those of the johannesia (chuquiraga, Juss.), the gramineous plants,
and lichens. These regions form the natural divisions of the
vegetable empire; and as perpetual snow is found in each climate at
a determinate height, so, in like manner, the febrifuge species of
the quinquina (cinchona) have their fixed limits, which I have
marked in the botanical chart belonging to this essay.
1.I.5. OBSERVATIONS ON ZOOLOGY AND COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.
I have comprised in this work the history of the condor;
experiments on the electrical action of the gymnotus; a treatise on
the larynx of the crocodiles, the quadrumani, and birds of the
tropics; the description of several new species of reptiles,
fishes, birds, monkeys, and other mammalia but little known. M.
Cuvier has enriched this work with a very comprehensive treatise on
the axolotl of the lake of Mexico, and on the genera of the Protei.
That naturalist has also recognized two new species of mastodons
and an elephant among the fossil bones of quadrupeds which we
brought from North and South America. For the description of the
insects collected by M. Bonpland we are indebted to M. Latreille,
whose labours have so much contributed to the progress of
entomology in our times. The second volume of this work contains
figures of the Mexican, Peruvian, and Aturian skulls, which we have
deposited in the Museum of Natural History at Paris, and respecting
which Blumenbach has published observations in the 'Decas quinta
Craniorum diversarum gentium.'
1.I.6. POLITICAL ESSAY ON THE KINGDOM OF NEW SPAIN, WITH A PHYSICAL
AND GEOGRAPHICAL ATLAS, FOUNDED ON ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATIONS AND
TRIGONOMETRICAL AND BAROMETRICAL MEASUREMENTS.
This work, based on numerous official memoirs, presents, in six
divisions, considerations on the extent and natural appearance of
Mexico, on the population, on the manners of the inhabitants, their
ancient civilization, and the political division of their
territory. It embraces also the agriculture, the mineral riches,
the manufactures, the commerce, the finances, and the military
defence of that vast country. In treating these different subjects
I have endeavoured to consider them under a general point of view;
I have drawn a parallel not only between New Spain, the other
Spanish colonies, and the United States of North America, but also
between New Spain and the possessions of the English in Asia; I
have compared the agriculture of the countries situated in the
torrid zone with that of the temperate climates; and I have
examined the quantity of colonial produce necessary to Europe in
the present state of civilization. In tracing the geological
description of the richest mining districts in Mexico, I have, in
short, given a statement of the mineral produce, the population,
the imports and exports of the whole of Spanish America. I have
examined several questions which, for want of precise data, had not
hitherto been treated with the attention they demand, such as the
influx and reflux of metals, their progressive accumulation in
Europe and Asia, and the quantity of gold and silver which, since
the discovery of America down to our own times, the Old World has
received from the New. The geographical introduction at the
beginning of this work contains the analysis of the materials which
have been employed in the construction of the Mexican Atlas.
1.I.7. VIEWS OF THE CORDILLERAS, AND MONUMENTS OF THE INDIGENOUS
NATIONS OF THE NEW CONTINENT.* (*Atlas Pittoresque, ou Vues des
Cordilleres, 1 volume folio, with 69 plates, part of which are
coloured, accompanied by explanatory treatises. This work may be
considered as the Atlas to the historical narrative of the travels.)
This work is intended to represent a few of the grand scenes which
nature presents in the lofty chain of the Andes, and at the same
time to throw some light on the ancient civilization of the
Americans, through the study of their monuments of architecture,
their hieroglyphics, their religious rites, and their astrological
reveries. I have given in this work a description of the teocalli,
or Mexican pyramids, and have compared their structure with that of
the temple of Belus. I have described the arabesques which cover
the ruins of Mitla, the idols in basalt ornamented with the
calantica of the heads of Isis; and also a considerable number of
symbolical paintings, representing the serpent-woman (the Mexican
Eve), the deluge of Coxcox, and the first migrations of the natives
of the Aztec race. I have endeavoured to prove the striking
analogies existing between the calendar of the Toltecs and the
catasterisms of their zodiac, and the division of time of the
people of Tartary and Thibet, as well as the Mexican traditions on
the four regenerations of the globe, the pralayas of the Hindoos,
and the four ages of Hesiod. In this work I have also included (in
addition to the hieroglyphical paintings I brought to Europe),
fragments of all the Aztec manuscripts, collected in Rome, Veletri,
Vienna, and Dresden, and one of which reminds us, by its lineary
symbols, of the kouas of the Chinese. Together with the rude
monuments of the aborigines of America, this volume contains
picturesque views of the mountainous countries which those people
inhabited; for example, the cataract of Tequendama, Chimborazo, the
volcano of Jorullo and Cayambe, the pyramidal summit of which,
covered with eternal ice, is situated directly under the
equinoctial line. In every zone the configuration of the ground,
the physiognomy of the plants, and the aspect of lovely or wild
scenery, have great influence on the progress of the arts, and on
the style which distinguishes their productions. This influence is
so much the more perceptible in proportion as man is farther
removed from civilization.
I could have added to this work researches on the character of
languages, which are the most durable monuments of nations. I have
collected a number of materials on the languages of America, of
which MM. Frederic Schlegel and Vater have made use; the former in
his Considerations on the Hindoos, the latter in his Continuation
of the Mithridates of Adelung, in the Ethnographical Magazine, and
in his Inquiries into the Population of the New Continent. These
materials are now in the hands of my brother, William von Humboldt,
who, during his travels in Spain, and a long abode at Rome, formed
the richest collection of American vocabularies in existence. His
extensive knowledge of the ancient and modern languages has enabled
him to trace some curious analogies in relation to this subject, so
important to the philosophical study of the history of man. A part
of his labours will find a place in this narrative.
Of the different works which I have here enumerated, the second and
third were composed by M. Bonpland, from the observations which he
made in a botanical journal. This journal contains more than four
thousand methodical descriptions of equinoctial plants, a ninth
part only of which have been made by me. They appear in a separate
publication, under the title of Nova Genera et Species Plantariem.
In this work will be found, not only the new species we collected,
which, after a careful examination by one of the first botanists of
the age, Professor Willdenouw, are computed to amount to fourteen
or fifteen hundred, but also the interesting observations made by
M. Bonpland on plants hitherto imperfectly described. The plates of
this work are all engraved according to the method followed by M.
Labillardiere, in the Specimen Planterum Novae Hollandiae, a work
remarkable for profound research and clearness of arrangement.
After having distributed into separate works all that belongs to
astronomy, botany, zoology, the political description of New Spain,
and the history of the ancient civilization of certain nations of
the New Continent, there still remained many general results and
local descriptions, which I might have collected into separate
treatises. I had, during my journey, prepared papers on the races
of men in South America; on the Missions of the Orinoco; on the
obstacles to the progress of society in the torrid zone arising
from the climate and the strength of vegetation; on the character
of the landscape in the Cordilleras of the Andes compared with that
of the Alps in Switzerland; on the analogies between the rocks of
the two hemispheres; on the physical constitution of the air in the
equinoctial regions, etc. I had left Europe with the firm intention
of not writing what is usually called the historical narrative of a
journey, but to publish the fruit of my inquiries in works merely
descriptive; and I had arranged the facts, not in the order in
which they successively presented themselves, but according to the
relation they bore to each other. Amidst the overwhelming majesty
of Nature, and the stupendous objects she presents at every step,
the traveller is little disposed to record in his journal matters
which relate only to himself, and the ordinary details of life.
I composed a very brief itinerary during the course of my
excursions on the rivers of South America, and in my long journeys
by land. I regularly described (and almost always on the spot) the
visits I made to the summits of volcanoes, or mountains remarkable
for their height; but the entries in my journal were interrupted
whenever I resided in a town, or when other occupations prevented
me from continuing a work which I considered as having only a
secondary interest. Whenever I wrote in my journal, I had no other
motive than the preservation of some of those fugitive ideas which
present themselves to a naturalist, whose life is almost wholly
passed in the open air. I wished to make a temporary collection of
such facts as I had not then leisure to class, and note down the
first impressions, whether agreeable or painful, which I received
from nature or from man. Far from thinking at the time that those
pages thus hurriedly written would form the basis of an extensive
work to be offered to the public, it appeared to me, that my
journal, though it might furnish certain data useful to science,
would present very few of those incidents, the recital of which
constitutes the principal charm of an itinerary.
The difficulties I have experienced since my return, in the
composition of a considerable number of treatises, for the purpose
of making known certain classes of phenomena, insensibly overcame
my repugnance to write the narrative of my journey. In undertaking
this task, I have been guided by the advice of many estimable
persons, who honour me with their friendship. I also perceived that
such a preference is given to this sort of composition, that
scientific men, after having presented in an isolated form the
account of their researches on the productions, the manners, and
the political state of the countries through which they have
passed, imagine that they have not fulfilled their engagements with
the public, till they have written their itinerary.
An historical narrative embraces two very distinct objects; the
greater or the less important events connected with the purpose of
the traveller, and the observations he has made during his journey.
The unity of composition also, which distinguishes good works from
those on an ill-constructed plan, can be strictly observed only
when the traveller describes what has passed under his own eye; and
when his principal attention has been fixed less on scientific
observations than on the manners of different people and the great
phenomena of nature. Now, the most faithful picture of manners is
that which best displays the relations of men towards each other.
The character of savage or civilized life is portrayed either in
the obstacles a traveller meets with, or in the sensations he
feels. It is the traveller himself whom we continually desire to
see in contact with the objects which surround him; and his
narration interests us the more, when a local tint is diffused over
the description of a country and its inhabitants. Such is the
source of the interest excited by the history of those early
navigators, who, impelled by intrepidity rather than by science,
struggled against the elements in their search for the discovery of
a new world. Such is the irresistible charm attached to the fate of
that enterprising traveller (Mungo Park.), who, full of enthusiasm
and energy, penetrated alone into the centre of Africa, to discover
amidst barbarous nations the traces of ancient civilization.
In proportion as travels have been undertaken by persons whose
views have been directed to researches into descriptive natural
history, geography, or political economy, itineraries have partly
lost that unity of composition, and that simplicity which
characterized those of former ages. It is now become scarcely
possible to connect so many different materials with the detail of
other events; and that part of a traveller's narrative which we may
call dramatic gives way to dissertations merely descriptive. The
numerous class of readers who prefer agreeable amusement to solid
instruction, have not gained by the exchange; and I am afraid that
the temptation will not be great to follow the course of travellers
who are incumbered with scientific instruments and collections.
To give greater variety to my work, I have often interrupted the
historical narrative by descriptions. I first represent phenomena
in the order in which they appeared; and I afterwards consider them
in the whole of their individual relations. This mode has been
successfully followed in the journey of M. de Saussure, whose most
valuable work has contributed more than any other to the
advancement of science. Often, amidst dry discussions on
meteorology, it contains many charming descriptions; such as those
of the modes of life of the inhabitants of the mountains, the
dangers of hunting the chamois, and the sensations felt on the
summit of the higher Alps.
There are details of ordinary life which it may be useful to note
in an itinerary, because they serve for the guidance of those who
afterwards journey through the same countries. I have preserved a
few, but have suppressed the greater part of those personal
incidents which present no particular interest, and which can be
rendered amusing only by the perfection of style.
With respect to the country which has been the object of my
investigations, I am fully sensible of the great advantages enjoyed
by persons who travel in Greece, Egypt, the banks of the Euphrates,
and the islands of the Pacific, in comparison with those who
traverse the continent of America. In the Old World, nations and
the distinctions of their civilization form the principal points in
the picture; in the New World, man and his productions almost
disappear amidst the stupendous display of wild and gigantic
nature. The human race in the New World presents only a few
remnants of indigenous hordes, slightly advanced in civilization;
or it exhibits merely the uniformity of manners and institutions
transplanted by European colonists to foreign shores. Information
which relates to the history of our species, to the various forms
of government, to monuments of art, to places full of great
remembrances, affect us far more than descriptions of those vast
solitudes which seem destined only for the development of vegetable
life, and to be the domain of wild animals. The savages of America,
who have been the objects of so many systematic reveries, and on
whom M. Volney has lately published some accurate and intelligent
observations, inspire less interest since celebrated navigators
have made known to us the inhabitants of the South Sea islands, in
whose character we find a striking mixture of perversity and
meekness. The state of half-civilization existing among those
islanders gives a peculiar charm to the description of their
manners. A king, followed by a numerous suite, presents the fruits
of his orchard; or a funeral is performed amidst the shade of the
lofty forest. Such pictures, no doubt, have more attraction than
those which pourtray the solemn gravity of the inhabitant of the
banks of the Missouri or the Maranon.
America offers an ample field for the labours of the naturalist. On
no other part of the globe is he called upon more powerfully by
nature to raise himself to general ideas on the cause of phenomena
and their mutual connection. To say nothing of that luxuriance of
vegetation, that eternal spring of organic life, those climates
varying by stages as we climb the flanks of the Cordilleras, and
those majestic rivers which a celebrated writer (M. Chateaubriand.)
has described with such graceful accuracy, the resources which the
New World affords for the study of geology and natural philosophy
in general have been long since acknowledged. Happy the traveller
who may cherish the hope that he has availed himself of the
advantages of his position, and that he has added some new facts to
the mass of those previously acquired!
Since I left America, one of those great revolutions, which at
certain periods agitate the human race, has broken out in the
Spanish colonies, and seems to prepare new destinies for a
population of fourteen millions of inhabitants, spreading from the
southern to the northern hemisphere, from the shores of the Rio de
la Plata and Chile to the remotest part of Mexico. Deep
resentments, excited by colonial legislation, and fostered by
mistrustful policy, have stained with blood regions which had
enjoyed, for the space of nearly three centuries, what I will not
call happiness but uninterrupted peace. At Quito several of the
most virtuous and enlightened citizens have perished, victims of
devotion to their country. While I am giving the description of
regions, the remembrance of which is so dear to me, I continually
light on places which recall to my mind the loss of a friend.
When we reflect on the great political agitations of the New World,
we observe that the Spanish Americans are by no means in so
favourable a position as the inhabitants of the United States; the
latter having been prepared for independence by the long enjoyment
of constitutional liberty. Internal dissensions are chiefly to be
dreaded in regions where civilization is but slightly rooted, and
where, from the influence of climate, forests may soon regain their
empire over cleared lands if their culture be abandoned. It may
also be feared that, during a long series of years, no foreign
traveller will be enabled to traverse all the countries which I
have visited. This circumstance may perhaps add to the interest of
a work which pourtrays the state of the greater part of the Spanish
colonies at the beginning of the 19th century. I even venture to
indulge the hope that this work will be thought worthy of attention
when passions shall be hushed into peace, and when, under the
influence of a new social order, those countries shall have made
rapid progress in public welfare. If then some pages of my book are
snatched from oblivion, the inhabitant of the banks of the Orinoco
and the Atabapo will behold with delight populous cities enriched
by commerce, and fertile fields cultivated by the hands of free
men, on those very spots where, at the time of my travels, I found
only impenetrable forests and inundated lands.
***
PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY TO THE EQUINOCTIAL REGIONS
OF THE NEW CONTINENT.
VOLUME 1.
CHAPTER 1.1.
PREPARATIONS.
INSTRUMENTS.
DEPARTURE FROM SPAIN.
LANDING AT THE CANARY ISLANDS.
From my earliest youth I felt an ardent desire to travel into
distant regions, seldom visited by Europeans. This desire is
characteristic of a period of our existence when appears an
unlimited horizon, and when we find an irresistible attraction in
the impetuous agitations of the mind, and the image of positive
danger. Though educated in a country which has no direct
communication with either the East or the West Indies, living
amidst mountains remote from coasts, and celebrated for their
numerous mines, I felt an increasing passion for the sea and
distant expeditions. Objects with which we are acquainted only by
the animated narratives of travellers have a peculiar charm;
imagination wanders with delight over that which is vague and
undefined; and the pleasures we are deprived of seem to possess a
fascinating power, compared with which all we daily feel in the
narrow circle of sedentary life appears insipid. The taste for
herborisation, the study of geology, rapid excursions to Holland,
England, and France, with the celebrated Mr. George Forster, who
had the happiness to accompany captain Cook in his second
expedition round the globe, contributed to give a determined
direction to the plan of travels which I had formed at eighteen
years of age. No longer deluded by the agitation of a wandering
life, I was anxious to contemplate nature in all her variety of
wild and stupendous scenery; and the hope of collecting some facts
useful to the advancement of science, incessantly impelled my
wishes towards the luxuriant regions of the torrid zone. As
personal circumstances then prevented me from executing the
projects by which I was so powerfully influenced, I had leisure to
prepare myself during six years for the observations I proposed to
make on the New Continent, as well as to visit different parts of
Europe, and to explore the lofty chain of the Alps, the structure
of which I might afterwards compare with that of the Andes of Quito
and of Peru.
I had traversed a part of Italy in 1795, but had not been able to
visit the volcanic regions of Naples and Sicily; and I regretted
leaving Europe without having seen Vesuvius, Stromboli, and Etna. I
felt, that in order to form a proper judgment of many geological
phenomena, especially of the nature of the rocks of trap-formation,
it was necessary to examine the phenomena presented by burning
volcanoes. I determined therefore to return to Italy in the month
of November, 1797. I made a long stay at Vienna, where the fine
collections of exotic plants, and the friendship of Messrs. de
Jacquin, and Joseph van der Schott, were highly useful to my
preparatory studies. I travelled with M. Leopold von Buch, through
several cantons of Salzburg and Styria, countries alike interesting
to the landscape-painter and the geologist; but just when I was
about to cross the Tyrolese Alps, the war then raging in Italy
obliged me to abandon the project of going to Naples.
A short time before, a gentleman passionately fond of the fine
arts, and who had visited the coasts of Greece and Illyria to
inspect their monuments, made me a proposal to accompany him in an
expedition to Upper Egypt. This expedition was to occupy only eight
months. Provided with astronomical instruments and able
draughtsmen, we were to ascend the Nile as far as Assouan, after
minutely examining the positions of the Said, between Tentyris and
the cataracts. Though my views had not hitherto been fixed on any
region but the tropics, I could not resist the temptation of
visiting countries so celebrated in the annals of human
civilization. I therefore accepted this proposition, but with the
express condition, that on our return to Alexandria I should be at
liberty to continue my journey through Syria and Palestine. The
studies which I entered upon with a view to this new project, I
afterwards found useful, when I examined the relations between the
barbarous monuments of Mexico, and those belonging to the nations
of the old world. I thought myself on the point of embarking for
Egypt, when political events forced me to abandon a plan which
promised me so much satisfaction.
An expedition of discovery in the South Sea, under the direction of
captain Baudin, was then preparing in France. The plan was great,
bold, and worthy of being executed by a more enlightened commander.
The purpose of this expedition was to visit the Spanish possessions
of South America, from the mouth of the river Plata to the kingdom
of Quito and the isthmus of Panama. After visiting the archipelago
of the Pacific, and exploring the coasts of New Holland, from Van
Diemen's Land to that of Nuyts, both vessels were to stop at
Madagascar, and return by the Cape of Good Hope. I was in Paris
when the preparations for this voyage were begun. I had but little
confidence in the personal character of captain Baudin, who had
given cause of discontent to the court of Vienna, when he was
commissioned to conduct to Brazil one of my friends, the young
botanist, Van der Schott; but as I could not hope, with my own
resources, to make a voyage of such extent, and view so fine a
portion of the globe, I determined to take the chances of this
expedition. I obtained permission to embark, with the instruments I
had collected, in one of the vessels destined for the South Sea,
and I reserved to myself the liberty of leaving captain Baudin
whenever I thought proper. M. Michaux, who had already visited
Persia and a part of North America, and M. Bonpland, with whom I
then formed the friendship that still unites us, were appointed to
accompany this expedition as naturalists.
I had flattered myself during several months with the idea of
sharing the labours directed to so great and honourable an object
when the war which broke out in Germany and Italy, determined the
French government to withdraw the funds granted for their voyage of
discovery, and adjourn it to an indefinite period. Deeply mortified
at finding the plans I had formed during many years of my life
overthrown in a single day, I sought at any risk the speediest
means of quitting Europe, and engaging in some enterprise which
might console me for my disappointment.
I became acquainted with a Swedish consul, named Skioldebrand, who
having been appointed by his court to carry presents to the dey of
Algiers, was passing through Paris, to embark at Marseilles. This
estimable man had resided a long time on the coast of Africa; and
being highly respected by the government of Algiers, he could
easily procure me permission to visit that part of the chain of the
Atlas which had not been the object of the important researches of
M. Desfontaines. He despatched every year a vessel for Tunis, where
the pilgrims embarked for Mecca, and he promised to convey me by
the same medium to Egypt. I eagerly seized so favourable an
opportunity, and thought myself on the point of executing a plan
which I had formed previously to my arrival in France. No
mineralogist had yet examined that lofty chain of mountains which,
in the empire of Morocco, rises to the limits of the perpetual
snow. I flattered myself, that, after executing some operations in
the alpine regions of Barbary, I should receive in Egypt from those
illustrious men who had for some months formed the Institute of
Cairo, the same kind attentions with which I had been honoured
during my abode in Paris. I hastily completed my collection of
instruments, and purchased works relating to the countries I was
going to visit. I parted from a brother who, by his advice and
example, had hitherto exercised a great influence on the direction
of my thoughts. He approved the motives which determined me to quit
Europe; a secret voice assured us that we should meet again; and
that hope, which did not prove delusive, assuaged the pain of a
long separation. I left Paris with the intention of embarking for
Algiers and Egypt; but by one of those vicissitudes which sway the
affairs of this life, I returned to my brother from the river
Amazon and Peru, without having touched the continent of Africa.
The Swedish frigate which was to convey M. Skioldebrand to Algiers,
was expected at Marseilles toward the end of October. M. Bonpland
and myself repaired thither with great celerity, for during our
journey we were tormented with the fear of being too late, and
missing our passage.
M. Skioldebrand was no less impatient than ourselves to reach his
place of destination. Several times a day we climbed the mountain
of Notre Dame de la Garde, which commands an extensive view of the
Mediterranean. Every sail we descried in the horizon excited in us
the most eager emotion; but after two months of anxiety and vain
expectation, we learned by the public papers, that the Swedish
frigate which was to convey us, had suffered greatly in a storm on
the coast of Portugal, and had been forced to enter the port of
Cadiz, to refit. This news was confirmed by private letters,
assuring us that the Jaramas, which was the name of the frigate,
would not reach Marseilles before the spring.
We felt no inclination to prolong our stay in Provence till that
period. The country, and especially the climate, were delightful,
but the aspect of the sea reminded us of the failure of our
projects. In an excursion we made to Hyeres and Toulon, we found in
the latter port the frigate la Boudeuse, which had been commanded
by M. de Bougainville, in his voyage round the world. She was then
fitting out for Corsica. M. de Bougainville had honoured me with
particular kindness during my stay in Paris, when I was preparing
to accompany the expedition of captain Baudin. I cannot describe
the impression made upon my mind by the sight of the vessel which
had carried Commerson to the islands of the South Sea. In some
conditions of the mind, a painful emotion blends itself with all
our feelings.
We still persisted in the intention of visiting the African coast,
and were nearly becoming the victims of our perseverance. A small
vessel of Ragusa, on the point of setting sail for Tunis, was at
that time in the port of Marseilles; we thought the opportunity
favourable for reaching Egypt and Syria, and we agreed with the
captain for our passage. The vessel was to sail the following day;
but a circumstance trivial in itself happily prevented our
departure. The live-stock intended to serve us for food during our
passage, was kept in the great cabin. We desired that some changes
should be made, which were indispensable for the safety of our
instruments; and during this interval we learnt at Marseilles, that
the government of Tunis persecuted the French residing in Barbary,
and that every person coming from a French port was thrown into a
dungeon. Having escaped this imminent danger, we were compelled to
suspend the execution of our projects. We resolved to pass the
winter in Spain, in hopes of embarking the next spring, either at
Carthagena, or at Cadiz, if the political situation of the East
permitted.
We crossed Catalonia and the kingdom of Valencia, on our way to
Madrid. We visited the ruins of Tarragona and those of ancient
Saguntum; and from Barcelona we made an excursion to Montserrat,
the lofty peaks of which are inhabited by hermits, and where the
contrast between luxuriant vegetation and masses of naked and arid
rocks, forms a landscape of a peculiar character. I employed myself
in ascertaining by astronomical observations the position of
several points important for the geography of Spain, and determined
by means of the barometer the height of the central plain. I
likewise made several observations on the inclination of the
needle, and on the intensity of the magnetic forces.
On my arrival at Madrid I had reason to congratulate myself on the
resolution I had formed of visiting the Peninsula. Baron de Forell,
minister from the court of Saxony, treated me with a degree of
kindness, of which I soon felt the value. He was well versed in
mineralogy, and was full of zeal for every undertaking that
promoted the progress of knowledge. He observed to me, that under
the administration of an enlightened minister, Don Mariano Luis de
Urquijo, I might hope to obtain permission to visit, at my own
expense, the interior of Spanish America. After the disappointments
I had suffered, I did not hesitate a moment to adopt this idea.
I was presented at the court of Aranjuez in March 1799 and the king
received me graciously. I explained to him the motives which led me
to undertake a voyage to the new world and the Philippine Islands,
and I presented a memoir on the subject to the secretary of state.
Senor de Urquijo supported my demand, and overcame every obstacle.
I obtained two passports, one from the first secretary of state,
the other from the council of the Indies. Never had so extensive a
permission been granted to any traveller, and never had any
foreigner been honoured with more confidence on the part of the
Spanish government.
Many considerations might have induced us to prolong our abode in
Spain. The abbe Cavanilles, no less remarkable for the variety of
his attainments than his acute intelligence; M. Nee, who, together
with M. Haenke, had, as botanist, made part of the expedition of
Malaspina, and who had formed one of the greatest herbals ever seen
in Europe; Don Casimir Ortega, the abbe Pourret, and the learned
authors of the Flora of Peru, Messrs. Ruiz and Pavon, all opened to
us without reserve their rich collections. We examined part of the
plants of Mexico, discovered by Messrs. Sesse, Mocino, and
Cervantes, whose drawings had been sent to the Museum of Natural
History of Madrid. This great establishment, the direction of which
was confided to Senor Clavijo, author of an elegant translation of
the works of Buffon, offered us, it is true, no geological
representation of the Cordilleras, but M. Proust, so well known by
the great accuracy of his chemical labours, and a distinguished
mineralogist, M. Hergen, gave us curious details on several mineral
substances of America. It would have been useful to us to have
employed a longer time in studying the productions of the countries
which were to be the objects of our research, but our impatience to
take advantage of the permission given us by the court was too
great to suffer us to delay our departure. For a year past, I had
experienced so many disappointments, that I could scarcely persuade
myself that my most ardent wishes would be at length fulfilled.
We left Madrid about the middle of May, crossed a part of Old
Castile, the kingdoms of Leon and Galicia, and reached Corunna,
whence we were to embark for Cuba. The winter having been
protracted and severe, we enjoyed during the journey that mild
temperature of the spring, which in so southern a latitude usually
occurs during March and April. The snow still covered the lofty
granitic tops of the Guadarama; but in the deep valleys of Galicia,
which resemble the most picturesque spots of Switzerland and the
Tyrol, cistuses loaded with flowers; and arborescent heaths clothed
every rock. We quitted without regret the elevated plain of the two
Castiles, which is everywhere devoid of vegetation, and where the
severity of the winter's cold is followed by the overwhelming heat
of summer. From the few observations I personally made, the
interior of Spain forms a vast plain, elevated three hundred toises
(five hundred and eighty-four metres) above the level of the ocean,
is covered with secondary formations, grit-stone, gypsum, sal-gem,
and the calcareous stone of Jura. The climate of the Castiles is
much colder than that of Toulon and Genoa; its mean temperature
scarcely rises to 15 degrees of the centigrade thermometer.
We are astonished to find that, in the latitude of Calabria,
Thessaly, and Asia Minor, orange-trees do not flourish in the open
air. The central elevated plain is encircled by a low and narrow
zone, where the chamaerops, the date-tree, the sugar-cane, the
banana, and a number of plants common to Spain and the north of
Africa, vegetate on several spots, without suffering from the
rigours of winter. From the 36th to 40th degrees of latitude, the
medium temperature of this zone is from 17 to 20 degrees; and by a
concurrence of circumstances, which it would be too long to
explain, this favoured region has become the principal seat of
industry and intellectual improvement.
When, in the kingdom of Valencia, we ascend from the shore of the
Mediterranean towards the lofty plains of La Mancha and the
Castiles, we seem to discern, far inland, from the lengthened
declivities, the ancient coast of the Peninsula. This curious
phenomenon recalls the traditions of the Samothracians, and other
historical testimonies, according to which it is supposed that the
irruption of the waters through the Dardanelles, augmenting the
basin of the Mediterranean, rent and overflowed the southern part
of Europe. If we admit that these traditions owe their origin, not
to mere geological reveries, but to the remembrance of some ancient
catastrophe, we may conceive the central elevated plain of Spain
resisting the efforts of these great inundations, till the draining
of the waters, by the straits formed between the pillars of
Hercules, brought the Mediterranean progressively to its present
level, lower Egypt emerging above its surface on the one side, and
the fertile plains of Tarragona, Valencia, and Murcia, on the
other. Everything that relates to the formation of that sea,* (*
Some of the ancient geographers believed that the Mediterranean,
swelled by the waters of the Euxine, the Palus Maeotis, the Caspian
Sea, and the Sea of Aral, had broken the pillars of Hercules;
others admitted that the irruption was made by the waters of the
ocean. In the first of these hypotheses, the height of the land
between the Black Sea and the Baltic, and between the ports of
Cette and Bordeaux, determine the limit which the accumulation of
the waters may have reached before the junction of the Black Sea,
the Mediterranean, and the Atlantic, as well to the north of the
Dardanelles, as to the east of this strip of land which formerly
joined Europe to Mauritania, and of which, in the time of Strabo,
certain vestiges remained in the Islands of Juno and the Moon.)
which has had so powerful an influence on the first civilization of
mankind, is highly interesting. We might suppose, that Spain,
forming a promontory amidst the waves, was indebted for its
preservation to the height of its land; but in order to give weight
to these theoretic ideas, we must clear up the doubts that have
arisen respecting the rupture of so many transverse dikes;--we must
discuss the probability of the Mediterranean having been formerly
divided into several separate basins, of which Sicily and the
island of Candia appear to mark the ancient limits. We will not
here risk the solution of these problems, but will satisfy
ourselves in fixing attention on the striking contrast in the
configuration of the land in the eastern and western extremities of
Europe. Between the Baltic and the Black Sea, the ground is at
present scarcely fifty toises above the level of the ocean, while
the plain of La Mancha, if placed between the sources of the Niemen
and the Borysthenes, would figure as a group of mountains of
considerable height. If the causes, which may have changed the
surface of our planet, be an interesting speculation,
investigations of the phenomena, such as they offer themselves to
the measures and observations of the naturalist, lead to far
greater certainty.
From Astorga to Corunna, especially from Lugo, the mountains rise
gradually. The secondary formations gently disappear, and are
succeeded by the transition rocks, which indicate the proximity of
primitive strata. We found considerable mountains composed of that
ancient grey stone which the mineralogists of the school of
Freyberg name grauwakke, and grauwakkenschiefer. I do not know
whether this formation, which is not frequent in the south of
Europe, has hitherto been discovered in other parts of Spain.
Angular fragments of Lydian stone, scattered along the valleys,
seemed to indicate that the transition schist is the basis of the
strata of greywacke. Near Corunna even granitic ridges stretch as
far as Cape Ortegal. These granites, which seem formerly to have
been contiguous to those of Britanny and Cornwall, are perhaps the
wrecks of a chain of mountains destroyed and sunk in the waves.
Large and beautiful crystals of feldspar characterise this rock.
Common tin ore is sometimes discovered there, but working the mines
is a laborious and unprofitable operation for the inhabitants of
Galicia.
The first secretary of state had recommended us very particularly
to brigadier Don Raphael Clavijo, who was employed in forming new
dock-yards at Corunna. He advised us to embark on board the sloop
Pizarro,* (* According to the Spanish nomenclature, the Pizarro was
a light frigate (fragata lijera).) which was to sail in company
with the Alcudia, the packet-boat of the month of May, which, on
account of the blockade, had been detained three weeks in the port.
Senor Clavijo ordered the necessary arrangements to be made on
board the sloop for placing our instruments, and the captain of the
Pizarro received orders to stop at Teneriffe, as long as we should
judge necessary to enable us to visit the port of Orotava, and
ascend the peak.
We had yet ten days to wait before we embarked. During this
interval, we employed ourselves in preparing the plants we had
collected in the beautiful valleys of Galicia, which no naturalist
had yet visited: we examined the fuci and the mollusca which the
north-west winds had cast with great profusion at the foot of the
steep rock, on which the lighthouse of the Tower of Hercules is
built. This edifice, called also the Iron Tower, was repaired in
1788. It is ninety-two feet high, its walls are four feet and a
half thick, and its construction clearly proves that it was built
by the Romans. An inscription discovered near its foundation, a
copy of which M. Laborde obligingly gave me, informs us, that this
pharos was constructed by Caius Sevius Lupus, architect of the city
of Aqua Flavia (Chaves), and that it was dedicated to Mars. Why is
the Iron Tower called in the country by the name of Hercules? Was
it built by the Romans on the ruins of a Greek or Phoenician
edifice? Strabo, indeed, affirms that Galicia, the country of the
Callaeci, had been peopled by Greek colonies. According to an
extract from the geography of Spain, by Asclepiades the Myrlaean,
an ancient tradition stated that the companions of Hercules had
settled in these countries.
The ports of Ferrol and Corunna both communicate with one bay, so
that a vessel driven by bad weather towards the coast may anchor in
either, according to the wind. This advantage is invaluable where
the sea is almost always tempestuous, as between capes Ortegal and
Finisterre, which are the promontories Trileucum and Artabrum of
ancient geography. A narrow passage, flanked by perpendicular rocks
of granite, leads to the extensive basin of Ferrol. No port in
Europe has so extraordinary an anchorage, from its very inland
position. The narrow and tortuous passage by which vessels enter
this port, has been opened, either by the irruption of the waves,
or by the reiterated shocks of very violent earthquakes. In the New
World, on the coasts of New Andalusia, the Laguna del Obispo
(Bishop's lake) is formed exactly like the port of Ferrol. The most
curious geological phenomena are often repeated at immense
distances on the surface of continents; and naturalists who have
examined different parts of the globe, are struck with the extreme
resemblance observed in the rents on coasts, in the sinuosities of
the valleys, in the aspect of the mountains, and in their
distribution by groups. The accidental concurrence of the same
causes must have everywhere produced the same effects; and amidst
the variety of nature, an analogy of structure and form is observed
in the arrangement of inanimate matter, as well as in the internal
organization of plants and of animals.
Crossing from Corunna to Ferrol, over a shallow, near the White
Signal, in the bay, which according to D'Anville is the Portus
Magnus of the ancients, we made several experiments by means of a
valved thermometrical sounding lead, on the temperature of the
ocean, and on the decrement of caloric in the successive strata of
water. The thermometer on the bank, and near the surface, was from
12.5 to 13.3 degrees centigrades, while in deep water it constantly
marked 15 or 15.3 degrees, the air being at 12.8 degrees. The
celebrated Franklin and Mr. Jonathan Williams* (* Author of a work
entitled "Thermometrical Navigation," published at Philadelphia.)
were the first to invite the attention of naturalists to the
phenomena of the temperature of the Atlantic over shoals, and in
that zone of tepid and flowing waters which runs from the gulf of
Mexico to the banks of Newfoundland and the northern coasts of
Europe. The observation, that the proximity of a sand-bank is
indicated by a rapid descent of the temperature of the sea at its
surface, is not only interesting to the naturalist, but may become
also very important for the safety of navigators. The use of the
thermometer ought certainly not to lead us to neglect the use of
the lead; but experiments sufficiently prove, that variations of
temperature, sensible to the most imperfect instruments, indicate
danger long before the vessel reaches the shoals. In such cases,
the frigidity of the water may induce the pilot to heave the lead
in places where he thought himself in the most perfect safety. The
waters which cover the shoals owe in a great measure the diminution
of their temperature to their mixture with the lower strata of
water, which rise towards the surface on the edge of the banks.
The moment of leaving Europe for the first time is attended with a
solemn feeling. We in vain summon to our minds the frequency of the
communication between the two worlds; we in vain reflect on the
great facility with which, from the improved state of navigation,
we traverse the Atlantic, which compared to the Pacific is but a
larger arm of the sea; the sentiment we feel when we first
undertake so distant a voyage is not the less accompanied by a deep
emotion, unlike any other impression we have hitherto felt.
Separated from the objects of our dearest affections, entering in
some sort on a new state of existence, we are forced to fall back
on our own thoughts, and we feel within ourselves a dreariness we
have never known before. Among the letters which, at the time of
our embarking, I wrote to friends in France and Germany, one had a
considerable influence on the direction of our travels, and on our
succeeding operations. When I left Paris with the intention of
visiting the coast of Africa, the expedition for discoveries in the
Pacific seemed to be adjourned for several years. I had agreed with
captain Baudin, that if, contrary to his expectation, his voyage
took place at an earlier period, and intelligence of it should
reach me in time, I would endeavour to return from Algiers to a
port in France or Spain, to join the expedition. I renewed this
promise on leaving Europe, and wrote to M. Baudin, that if the
government persisted in sending him by Cape Horn, I would endeavour
to meet him either at Monte Video, Chile, or Lima, or wherever he
should touch in the Spanish colonies. In consequence of this
engagement, I changed the plan of my journey, on reading in the
American papers, in 1801, that the French expedition had sailed
from Havre, to circumnavigate the globe from east to west. I hired
a small vessel from Batabano, in the island of Cuba, to Portobello,
and thence crossed the isthmus to the coast of the Pacific; this
mistake of a journalist led M. Bonpland and myself to travel eight
hundred leagues through a country we had no intention to visit. It
was only at Quito, that a letter from M. Delambre, perpetual
secretary of the first class of the Institute, informed us, that
captain Baudin went by the Cape of Good Hope, without touching on
the eastern or western coasts of America.
We spent two days at Corunna, after our instruments were embarked.
A thick fog, which covered the horizon, at length indicated the
change of weather we so anxiously desired. On the 4th of June, in
the evening, the wind turned to north-east, a point which, on the
coast of Galicia, is considered very constant during the summer.
The Pizarro prepared to sail on the 5th, though we had intelligence
that only a few hours previously an English squadron had been seen
from the watch-tower of Sisarga, appearing to stand towards the
mouth of the Tagus. Those who saw our ship weigh anchor asserted
that we should be captured in three days, and that, forced to
follow the fate of the vessel, we should be carried to Lisbon. This
prognostic gave us the more uneasiness, as we had known some
Mexicans at Madrid, who, in order to return to Vera Cruz, had
embarked three times at Cadiz, and having been each time taken at
the entrance of the port, were at length obliged to return to Spain
through Portugal.
The Pizarro set sail at two in the afternoon. As the long and
narrow passage by which a ship sails from the port of Corunna opens
towards the north, and the wind was contrary, we made eight short
tacks, three of which were useless. A fresh tack was made, but very
slowly, and we were for some moments in danger at the foot of fort
St. Amarro, the current having driven us very near the rock, on
which the sea breaks with considerable violence. We remained with
our eyes fixed on the castle of St. Antonio, where the unfortunate
Malaspina was then a captive in a state prison. On the point of
leaving Europe to visit the countries which this illustrious
traveller had visited with so much advantage, I could have wished
to have fixed my thoughts on some object less affecting.
At half-past six we passed the Tower of Hercules, which is the
lighthouse of Corunna, as already mentioned, and where, from a very
remote time, a coal-fire has been kept up for the direction of
vessels. The light of this fire is in no way proportionate to the
noble construction of so vast an edifice, being so feeble that
ships cannot perceive it till they are in danger of striking on the
shore. Towards the close of day the wind increased and the sea ran
high. We directed our course to north-west, in order to avoid the
English frigates, which we supposed were cruising off these coasts.
About nine we spied the light of a fishing-hut at Sisarga, which
was the last object we beheld in the west of Europe.
On the 7th we were in the latitude of Cape Finisterre. The group of
granitic rocks, which forms part of this promontory, like that of
Torianes and Monte de Corcubion, bears the name of the Sierra de
Torinona. Cape Finisterre is lower than the neighbouring lands, but
the Torinona is visible at seventeen leagues' distance, which
proves that the elevation of its highest summit is not less than
300 toises (582 metres). Spanish navigators affirm that on these
coasts the magnetic variation differs extremely from that observed
at sea. M. Bory, it is true, in the voyage of the sloop Amaranth,
found in 1751, that the variation of the needle determined at the
Cape was four degrees less than could have been conjectured from
the observations made at the same period along the coasts. In the
same manner as the granite of Galicia contains tin disseminated in
its mass, that of Cape Finisterre probably contains micaceous iron.
In the mountains of the Upper Palatinate there are granitic rocks
in which crystals of micaceous iron take the place of common mica.
On the 8th, at sunset, we descried from the mast-head an English
convoy sailing along the coast, and steering towards south-east. In
order to avoid it we altered our course during the night. From this
moment no light was permitted in the great cabin, to prevent our
being seen at a distance. This precaution, which was at the time
prescribed in the regulations of the packet-ships of the Spanish
navy, was extremely irksome to us during the voyages we made in the
course of the five following years. We were constantly obliged to
make use of dark-lanterns to examine the temperature of the water,
or to read the divisions on the limb of the astronomical
instruments. In the torrid zone, where twilight lasts but a few
minutes, our operations ceased almost at six in the evening. This
state of things was so much the more vexatious to me as from the
nature of my constitution I never was subject to sea-sickness, and
feel an extreme ardour for study during the whole time I am at sea.
On the 9th of June, in latitude 39 degrees 50 minutes, and
longitude 16 degrees 10 minutes west of the meridian of the
observatory of Paris, we began to feel the effects of the great
current which from the Azores flows towards the straits of
Gibraltar and the Canary Islands. This current is commonly
attributed to that tendency towards the east, which the straits of
Gibraltar give to the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. M. de Fleurieu
observes that the Mediterranean, losing by evaporation more water
than the rivers can supply, causes a movement in the neighbouring
ocean, and that the influence of the straits is felt at the
distance of six hundred leagues. Without derogating from the
respect I entertain for the opinion of that celebrated navigator, I
may be permitted to consider this important object in a far more
general point of view.
When we cast our eyes over the Atlantic, or that deep valley which
divides the western coasts of Europe and Africa from the eastern
coasts of the new world, we distinguish a contrary direction in the
motion of the waters. Within the tropics, especially from the coast
of Senegal to the Caribbean Sea, the general current, that which
was earliest known to mariners, flows constantly from east to west.
This is called the equinoctial current. Its mean rapidity,
corresponding to different latitudes, is nearly the same in the
Atlantic and in the Pacific, and may be estimated at nine or ten
miles in twenty-four hours, consequently from 0.59 to 0.65 of a
foot every second! In those latitudes the waters run towards the
west with a velocity equal to a fourth of the rapidity of the
greater part of the larger rivers of Europe. The movement of the
ocean in a direction contrary to that of the rotation of the globe,
is probably connected with this last phenomenon only as far as the
rotation converts into trade winds* (* The limits of the trade
winds were, for the first time, determined by Dampier in 1666.) the
polar winds, which, in the low regions of the atmosphere bring back
the cold air of the high latitudes toward the equator. To the
general impulsion which these trade-winds give the surface of the
sea, we must attribute the equinoctial current, the force and
rapidity of which are not sensibly modified by the local variations
of the atmosphere.
In the channel which the Atlantic has dug between Guiana and
Guinea, on the meridian of 20 or 23 degrees, and from the 8th or
9th to the 2nd or 3rd degrees of northern latitude, where the
trade-winds are often interrupted by winds blowing from the south
and south-south-west, the equinoctial current is more inconstant in
its direction. Towards the coasts of Africa, vessels are drawn in
the direction of south-east; whilst towards the Bay of All Saints
and Cape St. Augustin, the coasts of which are dreaded by
navigators sailing towards the mouth of the Plata, the general
motion of the waters is masked by a particular current (the effects
of which extend from Cape St. Roche to the Isle of Trinidad)
running north-west with a mean velocity of a foot and a half every
second.
The equinoctial current is felt, though feebly, even beyond the
tropic of Cancer, in the 26th and 28th degrees of latitude. In the
vast basin of the Atlantic, at six or seven hundred leagues from
the coasts of Africa, vessels from Europe bound to the West Indies,
find their sailing accelerated before they reach the torrid zone.
More to the north, in 28 and 35 degrees, between the parallels of
Teneriffe and Ceuta, in 46 and 48 degrees of longitude, no constant
motion is observed: there, a zone of 140 leagues in breadth
separates the equinoctial current (the tendency of which is towards
the west) from that great mass of water which runs eastward, and is
distinguished for its extraordinary high temperature. To this mass
of waters, known by the name of the Gulf-stream,* (* Sir Francis
Drake observed this extraordinary movement of the waters, but he
was unacquainted with their high temperature.) the attention of
naturalists was directed in 1776 by the curious observations of
Franklin and Sir Charles Blagden.
The equinoctial current drives the waters of the Atlantic towards
the coasts inhabited by the Mosquito Indians, and towards the
shores of Honduras. The New Continent, stretching from south to
north, forms a sort of dyke to this current. The waters are carried
at first north-west, and passing into the Gulf of Mexico through
the strait formed by Cape Catoche and Cape St. Antonio, follow the
bendings of the Mexican coast, from Vera Cruz to the mouth of the
Rio del Norte, and thence to the mouths of the Mississippi, and the
shoals west of the southern extremity of Florida. Having made this
vast circuit west, north, east, and south, the current takes a new
direction northward, and throws itself with impetuosity into the
Gulf of Florida. At the end of the Gulf of Florida, in the parallel
of Cape Cannaveral, the Gulf-stream, or current of Florida, runs
north-east. Its rapidity resembles that of a torrent, and is
sometimes five miles an hour. The pilot may judge, with some
certainty, of the proximity of his approach to New York,
Philadelphia, or Charlestown when he reaches the edge of the
stream; for the elevated temperature of the waters, their saltness,
indigo-blue colour, and the shoals of seaweed which cover their
surface, as well as the heat of the surrounding atmosphere, all
indicate the Gulf-stream. Its rapidity diminishes towards the
north, at the same time that its breadth increases and the waters
become cool. Between Cayo Biscaino and the bank of Bahama the
breadth is only 15 leagues, whilst in the latitude of 28 1/2
degrees, it is 17, and in the parallel of Charlestown, opposite
Cape Henlopen, from 40 to 50 leagues. The rapidity of the current
is from three to five miles an hour where the stream is narrowest,
and is only one mile as it advances towards the north. The waters
of the Mexican Gulf; forcibly drawn to north-east, preserve their
warm temperature to such a point, that in 40 and 41 degrees of
latitude I found them at 22.5 degrees (18 degrees R.) when, out of
the current, the heat of the ocean at its surface was scarcely 17.5
degrees (14 degrees R.). In the parallel of New York and Oporto,
the temperature of the Gulf-stream is consequently equal to that of
the seas of the tropics in the 18th degree of latitude, as, for
instance, in the parallel of Porto Rico and the islands of Cape
Verd.
To the east of the port of Boston, and on the meridian of Halifax,
in latitude 41 degrees 25 minutes, and longitude 67 degrees, the
current is near 80 leagues broad. From this point it turns suddenly
to the east, so that its western edge, as it bends, becomes the
western limit of the running waters, skirting the extremity of the
great bank of Newfoundland, which M. Volney ingeniously calls the
bar of the mouth of this enormous sea-river. The cold waters of
this bank, which according to my experiments are at a temperature
of 8.7 or 10 degrees (7 or 8 degrees R.) present a striking
contrast with the waters of the torrid zone, driven northward by
the Gulf-stream, the temperature of which is from 21 to 22.5
degrees (17 to 18 degrees R.). in these latitudes, the caloric is
distributed in a singular manner throughout the ocean; the waters
of the bank are 9.4 degrees colder than the neighbouring sea; and
this sea is 3 degrees colder than the current. These zones can have
no equilibrium of temperature, having a source of heat, or a cause
of refrigeration, which is peculiar to each, and the influence of
which is permanent.
From the bank of Newfoundland, or from the 52nd degree of longitude
to the Azores, the Gulf-stream continues its course to east and
east-south-east. The waters are still acted upon by the impulsion
they received near a thousand leagues distance, in the straits of
Florida, between the island of Cuba and the shoals of Tortoise
Island. This distance is double the length of the course of the
river Amazon, from Jaen or the straits of Manseriche to Grand Para.
On the meridian of the islands of Corvo and Flores, the most
western of the group of the Azores, the breadth of the current is
160 leagues. When vessels, on their return from South America to
Europe, endeavour to make these two islands to rectify their
longitude, they are always sensible of the motion of the waters to
south-east. At the 33rd degree of latitude the equinoctial current
of the tropics is in the near vicinity of the Gulf-stream. In this
part of the ocean, we may in a single day pass from waters that
flow towards the west, into those which run to the south-east or
east-south-east.
From the Azores, the current of Florida turns towards the straits
of Gibraltar, the isle of Madeira, and the group of the Canary
Islands. The opening of the Pillars of Hercules has no doubt
accelerated the motion of the waters towards the east. We may in
this point of view assert, that the strait, by which the
Mediterranean communicates with the Atlantic, produces its effects
at a great distance; but it is probable also, that, without the
existence of this strait, vessels sailing to Teneriffe would be
driven south-east by a cause which we must seek on the coasts of
the New World. Every motion is the cause of another motion in the
vast basin of the seas as well as in the aerial ocean. Tracing the
currents to their most distant sources, and reflecting on their
variable celerity, sometimes decreasing as between the gulf of
Florida and the bank of Newfoundland; at other times augmenting, as
in the neighbourhood of the straits of Gibraltar, and near the
Canary Islands, we cannot doubt but the same cause which impels the
waters to make the circuitous sweep of the gulf of Mexico, agitates
them also near the island of Madeira.
On the south of that island, we may follow the current, in its
direction south-east and south-south-east towards the coast of
Africa, between Cape Cantin and Cape Bojador. In those latitudes a
vessel becalmed is running on the coast, while, according to the
uncorrected reckoning, it was supposed to be a good distance out at
sea. Were the motion of the waters caused by the opening at the
straits of Gibraltar, why, on the south of those straits, should it
not follow an opposite direction? On the contrary, in the 25th and
26th degrees of latitude, the current flows at first direct south,
and then south-west. Cape Blanc, which, after Cape Verd, is the
most salient promontory, seems to have an influence on this
direction, and in this parallel the waters, of which we have
followed the course from the coasts of Honduras to those of Africa,
mingle with the great current of the tropics to resume their tour
from east to west. Several hundred leagues westward of the Canary
Islands, the motion peculiar to the equinoctial waters is felt in
the temperate zone from the 28th and 29th degrees of north
latitude; but on the meridian of the island of Ferro, vessels sail
southward as far as the tropic of Cancer, before they find
themselves, by their reckoning, eastward of their right course.* (*
See Humboldt's Cosmos volume 1 page 312 Bohn's edition.)
We have just seen that between the parallels of 11 and 43 degrees,
the waters of the Atlantic are driven by the currents in a
continual whirlpool. Supposing that a molecule of water returns to
the same place from which it departed, we can estimate, from our
present knowledge of the swiftness of currents, that this circuit
of 3800 leagues is not terminated in less than two years and ten
months. A boat, which may be supposed to receive no impulsion from
the winds, would require thirteen months to go from the Canary
Islands to the coast of Caracas, ten months to make the tour of the
gulf of Mexico and reach Tortoise Shoals opposite the port of the
Havannah, while forty or fifty days might be sufficient to carry it
from the straits of Florida to the bank of Newfoundland. It would
be difficult to fix the rapidity of the retrograde current from
this bank to the shores of Africa; estimating the mean velocity of
the waters at seven or eight miles in twenty-four hours, we may
allow ten or eleven months for this last distance. Such are the
effects of the slow but regular motion which agitates the waters of
the Atlantic. Those of the river Amazon take nearly forty-five days
to flow from Tomependa to Grand Para.
A short time before my arrival at Teneriffe, the sea had left in
the road of Santa Cruz the trunk of a cedrela odorata covered with
the bark. This American tree vegetates within the tropics, or in
the neighbouring regions. It had no doubt been torn up on the coast
of the continent, or of that of Honduras. The nature of the wood,
and the lichens which covered its bark, bore evidence that this
trunk had not belonged to these submarine forests which ancient
revolutions of the globe have deposited in the polar regions. If
the cedrela, instead of having been cast on the strand of
Teneriffe, had been carried farther south, It would probably have
made the whole tour of the Atlantic, and returned to its native
soil with the general current of the tropics. This conjecture is
supported by a fact of more ancient date, recorded in the history
of the Canaries by the abbe Viera. In 1770, a small vessel laden
with corn, and bound from the island of Lancerota, to Santa Cruz,
in Teneriffe, was driven out to sea, while none of the crew were on
board. The motion of the waters from east to west, carried it to
America, where it went on shore at La Guayra, near Caracas.
Whilst the art of navigation was yet in its infancy, the
Gulf-stream suggested to the mind of Christopher Columbus certain
indications of the existence of western regions. Two corpses, the
features of which indicated a race of unknown men, were cast ashore
on the Azores, towards the end of the 15th century. Nearly at the
same period, the brother-in-law of Columbus, Peter Correa, governor
of Porto Santo, found on the strand of that island pieces of bamboo
of extraordinary size, brought thither by the western currents. The
dead bodies and the bamboos attracted the attention of the Genoese
navigator, who conjectured that both came from a continent situate
towards the west. We now know that in the torrid zone the
trade-winds and the current of the tropics are in opposition to
every motion of the waves in the direction of the earth's rotation.
The productions of the new world cannot reach the old but by the
very high latitudes, and in following the direction of the current
of Florida. The fruits of several trees of the Antilles are often
washed ashore on the coasts of the islands of Ferro and Gomera.
Before the discovery of America, the Canarians considered these
fruits as coming from the enchanted isle of St. Borondon, which
according to the reveries of pilots, and certain legends, was
situated towards the west in an unknown part of the ocean, buried,
as was supposed, in eternal mists.
My chief view in tracing a sketch of the currents of the Atlantic
is to prove that the motion of the waters towards the south-east,
from Cape St. Vincent to the Canary Islands, is the effect of the
general motion to which the surface of the ocean is subjected at
its western extremity. We shall give but a very succinct account of
the arm of the Gulf-stream, which in the 45th and 50th degrees of
latitude, near the bank called the Bonnet Flamand, runs from
south-west to north-east towards the coasts of Europe. This partial
current becomes very strong at those times when the west winds are
of long continuance: and, like that which flows along the isles of
Ferro and Gomera, it deposits every year on the western coasts of
Ireland and Norway the fruit of trees which belong to the torrid
zone of America. On the shores of the Hebrides, we collect seeds of
Mimosa scandens, of Dolichos urens, of Guilandina bonduc, and
several other plants of Jamaica, the isle of Cuba, and of the
neighbouring continent. The current carries thither also barrels of
French wine, well preserved, the remains of the cargoes of vessels
wrecked in the West Indian seas. To these examples of the distant
migration of the vegetable world, others no less striking may be
added. The wreck of an English vessel, the Tilbury, burnt near
Jamaica, was found on the coast of Scotland. On these same coasts
are sometimes found various kinds of tortoises, that inhabit the
waters of the Antilles. When the western winds are of long
duration, a current is formed in the high latitudes, which runs
directly towards east-south-east, from the coasts of Greenland and
Labrador, as far as the north of Scotland. Wallace relates, that
twice (in 1682 and 1684), American savages of the race of the
Esquimaux, driven out to sea in their leathern canoes, during a
storm, and left to the guidance of the currents, reached the
Orkneys. This last example is the more worthy of attention, as it
proves at the same time how, at a period when the art of navigation
was yet in its infancy, the motion of the waters of the ocean may
have contributed to disseminate the different races of men over the
face of the globe.
In reflecting on the causes of the Atlantic currents, we find that
they are much more numerous than is generally believed; for the
waters of the sea may be put in motion by an external impulse, by
difference of heat and saltness, by the periodical melting of the
polar ice, or by the inequality of evaporation, in different
latitudes. Sometimes several of these causes concur to one and the
same effect, and sometimes they produce several contrary effects.
Winds that are light, but which, like the trade-winds, are
continually acting on the whole of a zone, cause a real movement of
transition, which we do not observe in the heaviest tempests,
because these last are circumscribed within a small space. When, in
a great mass of water, the particles at the surface acquire a
different specific gravity, a superficial current is formed, which
takes its direction towards the point where the water is coldest,
or where it is most saturated with muriate of soda, sulphate of
lime, and muriate or sulphate of magnesia. In the seas of the
tropics we find, that at great depths the thermometer marks 7 or 8
centesimal degrees. Such is the result of the numerous experiments
of commodore Ellis and of M. Peron. The temperature of the air in
those latitudes being never below 19 or 20 degrees, it is not at
the surface that the waters can have acquired a degree of cold so
near the point of congelation, and of the maximum of the density of
water. The existence of this cold stratum in the low latitudes is
an evident proof of the existence of an under-current, which runs
from the poles towards the equator: it also proves that the saline
substances which alter the specific gravity of the water, are
distributed in the ocean, so as not to annihilate the effect
produced by the differences of temperature.
Considering the velocity of the molecules, which, on account of the
rotatory motion of the globe, vary with the parallels, we may be
tempted to admit that every current, in the direction from south to
north, tends at the same time eastward, while the waters which run
from the pole towards the equator, have a tendency to deviate
westward. We may also be led to think that these tendencies
diminish to a certain point the speed of the tropical current, in
the same manner as they change the direction of the polar current,
which in July and August, is regularly perceived during the melting
of the ice, on the parallel of the bank of Newfoundland, and
farther north. Very old nautical observations, which I have had
occasion to confirm by comparing the longitude given by the
chronometer with that which the pilots obtained by their reckoning,
are, however, contrary to these theoretical ideas. In both
hemispheres, the polar currents, when they are perceived, decline a
little to the east; and it would seem that the cause of this
phenomenon should be sought in the constancy of the westerly winds
which prevail in the high latitudes. Besides, the particles of
water do not move with the same rapidity as the particles of air;
and the currents of the ocean, which we consider as most rapid,
have only a swiftness of eight or nine feet a second; it is
consequently very probable, that the water, in passing through
different parallels, gradually acquires a velocity correspondent to
those parallels, and that the rotation of the earth does not change
the direction of the currents.
The variable pressure on the surface of the sea, caused by the
changes in the weight of the air, is another cause of motion which
deserves particular attention. It is well known, that the
barometric variations do not in general take place at the same
moment in two distant points, which are on the same level. If in
one of these points the barometer stands a few lines lower than in
the other, the water will rise where it finds the least pressure of
air, and this local intumescence will continue, till, from the
effect of the wind, the equilibrium of the air is restored. M.
Vaucher thinks that the tides in the lake of Geneva, known by the
name of the seiches, arise from the same cause. We know not whether
it be the same, when the movement of progression, which must not be
confounded with the oscillation of the waves, is the effect of an
external impulse. M. de Fleurieu, in his narrative of the voyage of
the Isis, cites several facts, which render it probable that the
sea is not so still at the bottom as naturalists generally suppose.
Without entering here into a discussion of this question, we shall
only observe that, if the external impulse is constant in its
action, like that of the trade-winds, the friction of the particles
of water on each other must necessarily propagate the motion of the
surface of the ocean even to the lower strata; and in fact this
propagation in the Gulf-stream has long been admitted by
navigators, who think they discover the effects in the great depth
of the sea wherever it is traversed by the current of Florida, even
amidst the sand-banks which surround the northern coasts of the
United States. This immense river of hot waters, after a course of
fifty days, from the 24th to the 45th degree of latitude, or 450
leagues, does not lose, amidst the rigours of winter in the
temperate zone, more than 3 or 4 degrees of the temperature it had
under the tropics. The greatness of the mass, and the small
conductibility of water for heat, prevent a more speedy
refrigeration. If, therefore, the Gulf-stream has dug a channel at
the bottom of the Atlantic ocean, and if its waters are in motion
to considerable depths, they must also in their inferior strata
keep up a lower temperature than that observed in the same
parallel, in a part of the sea which has neither currents nor deep
shoals. These questions can be cleared up only by direct
experiments, made by thermometrical soundings.
Sir Erasmus Gower remarks, that, in the passage from England to the
Canary islands, the current, which carries vessels towards the
south-east, begins at the 39th degree of latitude. During our
voyage from Corunna to the coast of South America, the effect of
this motion of the waters was perceived farther north. From the
37th to the 30th degree, the deviation was very unequal; the daily
average effect was 12 miles, that is, our sloop drove towards the
east 75 miles in six days. In crossing the parallel of the straits
of Gibraltar, at a distance of 140 leagues, we had occasion to
observe, that in those latitudes the maximum of the rapidity does
not correspond with the mouth of the straits, but with a more
northerly point, which lies on the prolongation of a line passing
through the strait and Cape St. Vincent. This line is parallel to
the direction which the waters follow from the Azores to Cape
Cantin. We should moreover observe (and this fact is not
uninteresting to those who examine the nature of fluids), that in
this part of the retrograde current, on a breadth of 120 or 140
leagues, the whole mass of water has not the same rapidity, nor
does it follow precisely the same direction. When the sea is
perfectly calm, there appears at the surface narrow stripes, like
small rivulets, in which the waters run with a murmur very sensible
to the ear of an experienced pilot. On the 13th of June, in 34
degrees 36 minutes north latitude, we found ourselves in the midst
of a great number of these beds of currents. We took their
direction with the compass, and some ran north-east, others
east-north-east, though the general movement of the ocean,
indicated by comparing the reckoning with the chronometrical
longitude, continued to be south-east. It is very common to see a
mass of motionless waters crossed by threads of water, which run in
different directions, and we may daily observe this phenomenon on
the surface of lakes; but it is much less frequent to find partial
movements, impressed by local causes on small portions of waters in
the midst of an oceanic river, which occupies an immense space, and
which moves, though slowly, in a constant direction. In the
conflict of currents, as in the oscillation of the waves, our
imagination is struck by those movements which seem to penetrate
each other, and by which the ocean is continually agitated.
We passed Cape St. Vincent, which is of basaltic formation, at the
distance of more than eighty leagues. It is not distinctly seen at
a greater distance than 15 leagues, but the granitic mountain
called the Foya de Monchique, situated near the Cape, is
perceptible, as pilots allege, at the distance of 26 leagues. If
this assertion be exact, the Foya is 700 toises (1363 metres), and
consequently 116 toises (225 metres) higher than Vesuvius.
From Corunna to the 36th degree of latitude we had scarcely seen
any organic being, excepting sea-swallows and a few dolphins. We
looked in vain for sea-weeds (fuci) and mollusca, when on the 11th
of June we were struck with a curious sight which afterwards was
frequently renewed in the southern ocean. We entered on a zone
where the whole sea was covered with a prodigious quantity of
medusas. The vessel was almost becalmed, but the mollusca were
borne towards the south-east, with a rapidity four times greater
than the current. Their passage lasted near three quarters of an
hour. We then perceived but a few scattered individuals, following
the crowd at a distance as if tired with their journey. Do these
animals come from the bottom of the sea, which is perhaps in these
latitudes some thousand fathoms deep? or do they make distant
voyages in shoals? We know that the mollusca haunt banks; and if
the eight rocks, near the surface, which captain Vobonne mentions
having seen in 1732, to the north of Porto Santo, really exist, we
may suppose that this innumerable quantity of medusas had been
thence detached; for we were but 28 leagues from the reef. We
found, beside the Medusa aurita of Baster, and the Medusa pelagica
of Bosc with eight tentacula (Pelagia denticulata, Peron), a third
species which resembles the Medusa hysocella, and which Vandelli
found at the mouth of the Tagus. It is known by its brownish-yellow
colour, and by its tentacula, which are longer than the body.
Several of these sea-nettles were four inches in diameter: their
reflection was almost metallic: their changeable colours of violet
and purple formed an agreeable contrast with the azure tint of the
ocean.
In the midst of these medusas M. Bonpland observed bundles of
Dagysa notata, a mollusc of a singular construction, which Sir
Joseph Banks first discovered. These are small gelatinous bags,
transparent, cylindrical, sometimes polygonal, thirteen lines long
and two or three in diameter. These bags are open at both ends. In
one of these openings, we observed a hyaline bladder, marked with a
yellow spot. The cylinders lie longitudinally, one against another,
like the cells of a bee-hive, and form chaplets from six to eight
inches in length. I tried the galvanic electricity on these
mollusca, but it produced no contraction. It appears that the genus
dagysa, formed at the time of Cook's first voyage, belongs to the
salpas (biphores of Bruguiere), to which M. Cuvier joins the Thalia
of Brown, and the Tethys vagina of Tilesius. The salpas journey
also by groups, joining in chaplets, as we have observed of the
dagysa.
On the morning of the 13th of June, in 34 degrees 33 minutes
latitude, we saw large masses of this last mollusc in its passage,
the sea being perfectly calm. We observed during the night, that,
of three species of medusas which we collected, none yielded any
light but at the moment of a very slight shock. This property does
not belong exclusively to the Medusa noctiluca, which Forskael has
described in his Fauna Aegyptiaca, and which Gmelin has applied to
the Medusa pelagica of Loefling, notwithstanding its red tentacula,
and the brownish tuberosities of its body. If we place a very
irritable medusa on a pewter plate, and strike against the plate
with any sort of metal, the slight vibrations of the plate are
sufficient to make this animal emit light. Sometimes, in
galvanising the medusa, the phosphorescence appears at the moment
that the chain closes, though the exciters are not in immediate
contact with the organs of the animal. The fingers with which we
touch it remain luminous for two or three minutes, as is observed
in breaking the shell of the pholades. If we rub wood with the body
of a medusa, and the part rubbed ceases shining, the
phosphorescence returns if we pass a dry hand over the wood. When
the light is extinguished a second time, it can no longer be
reproduced, though the place rubbed be still humid and viscous. In
what manner ought we to consider the effect of the friction, or
that of the shock? This is a question of difficult solution. Is it
a slight augmentation of temperature which favours the
phosphorescence? or does the light return, because the surface is
renewed, by putting the animal parts proper to disengage the
phosphoric hydrogen in contact with the oxygen of the atmospheric
air? I have proved by experiments published in 1797, that the
shining of wood is extinguished in hydrogen gas, and in pure azotic
gas, and that its light reappears whenever we mix with it the
smallest bubble of oxygen gas. These facts, to which several others
may be added, tend to explain the causes of the phosphorescence of
the sea, and of that peculiar influence which the shock of the
waves exercises on the production of light.
When we were between the island of Madeira and the coast of Africa,
we had slight breezes and dead calms, very favourable for the
magnetic observations, which occupied me during this passage. We
were never weary of admiring the beauty of the nights; nothing can
be compared to the transparency and serenity of an African sky. We
were struck with the innumerable quantity of falling stars, which
appeared at every instant. The farther progress we made towards the
south, the more frequent was this phenomenon, especially near the
Canaries. I have observed during my travels, that these igneous
meteors are in general more common and luminous in some regions of
the globe than in others; but I have never beheld them so
multiplied as in the vicinity of the volcanoes of the province of
Quito, and in that part of the Pacific ocean which bathes the
volcanic coasts of Guatimala. The influence which place, climate,
and season appear to exercise on the falling stars, distinguishes
this class of meteors from those to which we trace stones that drop
from the sky (aerolites), and which probably exist beyond the
boundaries of our atmosphere. According to the observations of
Messrs. Benzenberg and Brandes, many of the falling stars seen in
Europe have been only thirty thousand toises high. One was even
measured which did not exceed fourteen thousand toises, or five
nautical leagues. These measures, which can give no result but by
approximation, deserve well to be repeated. In warm climates,
especially within the tropics, falling stars leave a tail behind
them, which remains luminous 12 or 15 seconds: at other times they
seem to burst into sparks, and they are generally lower than those
in the north of Europe. We perceive them only in a serene and azure
sky; they have perhaps never been below a cloud. Falling stars
often follow the same direction for several hours, which direction
is that of the wind. In the bay of Naples, M. Gay-Lussac and myself
observed luminous phenomena very analogous to those which fixed my
attention during a long abode at Mexico and Quito. These meteors
are perhaps modified by the nature of the soil and the air, like
certain effects of the looming or mirage, and of the terrestrial
refraction peculiar to the coasts of Calabria and Sicily.
When we were forty leagues east of the island of Madeira, a
swallow* (* Hirundo rustica, Linn.) perched on the topsail-yard. It
was so fatigued, that it suffered itself to be easily taken. It was
remarkable that a bird, in that season, and in calm weather, should
fly so far. In the expedition of d'Entrecasteaux, a common swallow
was seen 60 leagues distant from Cape Blanco; but this was towards
the end of October, and M. Labillardiere thought it had newly
arrived from Europe. We crossed these latitudes in June, at a
period when the seas had not for a long time been agitated by
tempests. I mention this last circumstance, because small birds and
even butterflies, are sometimes forced out to sea by the
impetuosity of the winds, as we observed in the Pacific ocean, when
we were on the western coast of Mexico.
The Pizarro had orders to touch at the isle of Lancerota, one of
the seven great Canary Islands; and at five in the afternoon of the
16th of June, that island appeared so distinctly in view that I was
able to take the angle of altitude of a conic mountain, which
towered majestically over the other summits, and which we thought
was the great volcano which had occasioned such devastation on the
night of the 1st of September, 1730.
The current drew us toward the coast more rapidly than we wished.
As we advanced, we discovered at first the island of Forteventura,
famous for its numerous camels;* (* These camels, which serve for
labour, and sometimes for food, did not exist till the Bethencourts
made the conquest of the Canaries. In the sixteenth century, asses
were so abundant in the island of Forteventura, that they became
wild and were hunted. Several thousands were killed to save the
harvest. The horses of Forteventura are of singular beauty, and of
the Barbary race.--"Noticias de la Historia General de las Islas
Canarias" por Don Jose de Viera, tome 2 page 436.) and a short time
after we saw the small island of Lobos in the channel which
separates Forteventura from Lancerota. We spent part of the night
on deck. The moon illumined the volcanic summits of Lancerota, the
flanks of which, covered with ashes, reflected a silver light.
Antares threw out its resplendent rays near the lunar disk, which
was but a few degrees above the horizon. The night was beautifully
serene and cool. Though we were but a little distance from the
African coast, and on the limit of the torrid zone, the centigrade
thermometer rose no higher than 18 degrees. The phosphorescence of
the ocean seemed to augment the mass of light diffused through the
air. After midnight, great black clouds rising behind the volcano
shrouded at intervals the moon and the beautiful constellation of
the Scorpion. We beheld lights carried to and fro on shore, which
were probably those of fishermen preparing for their labours. We
had been occasionally employed, during our passage, in reading the
old voyages of the Spaniards, and these moving lights recalled to
our fancy those which Pedro Gutierrez, page of Queen Isabella, saw
in the isle of Guanahani, on the memorable night of the discovery
of the New World.
On the 17th, in the morning, the horizon was foggy, and the sky
slightly covered with vapour. The outlines of the mountains of
Lancerota appeared stronger: the humidity, increasing the
transparency of the air, seemed at the same time to have brought
the objects nearer our view. This phenomenon is well known to all
who have made hygrometrical observations in places whence the chain
of the Higher Alps or of the Andes is seen. We passed through the
channel which divides the isle of Alegranza from Montana Clara,
taking soundings the whole way; and we examined the archipelago of
small islands situated northward of Lancerota. In the midst of this
archipelago, which is seldom visited by vessels bound for
Teneriffe, we were singularly struck with the configuration of the
coasts. We thought ourselves transported to the Euganean mountains
in the Vicentin, or the banks of the Rhine near Bonn. The form of
organized beings varies according to the climate, and it is that
extreme variety which renders the study of the geography of plants
and animals so attractive; but rocks, more ancient perhaps than the
causes which have produced the difference of the climate on the
globe, are the same in both hemispheres. The porphyries containing
vitreous feldspar and hornblende, the phonolite, the greenstone,
the amygdaloids, and the basalt, have forms almost as invariable as
simple crystallized substances. In the Canary Islands, and in the
mountains of Auvergne, in the Mittelgebirge in Bohemia, in Mexico,
and on the banks of the Ganges, the formation of trap is indicated
by a symmetrical disposition of the mountains, by truncated cones,
sometimes insulated, sometimes grouped, and by elevated plains,
both extremities of which are crowned by a conical rising.
The whole western part of Lancerota, of which we had a near view,
bears the appearance of a country recently convulsed by volcanic
eruptions. Everything is black, parched, and stripped of vegetable
mould. We distinguished, with our glasses, stratified basalt in
thin and steeply-sloping strata. Several hills resembled the Monte
Novo, near Naples, or those hillocks of scoria and ashes which the
opening earth threw up in a single night at the foot of the volcano
of Jorullo, in Mexico. In fact, the abbe Viera relates, that in
1730, more than half the island changed its appearance. The great
volcano, which we have just mentioned, and which the inhabitants
call the volcano of Temanfaya, spread desolation over a most
fertile and highly cultivated region: nine villages were entirely
destroyed by the lavas. This catastrophe had been preceded by a
tremendous earthquake, and for several years shocks equally violent
were felt. This last phenomenon is so much the more singular, as it
seldom happens after an eruption, when the elastic vapours have
found vent by the crater, after the ejection of the melted matter.
The summit of the great volcano is a rounded hill, but not entirely
conic. From the angles of altitude which I took at different
distances, its absolute elevation did not appear to exceed three
hundred toises. The neighbouring hills, and those of Alegranza and
Isla Clara, were scarcely above one hundred or one hundred and
twenty toises. We may be surprised at the small elevation of these
summits, which, viewed from the sea, wear so majestic a form; but
nothing is more uncertain than our judgment on the greatness of
angles, which are subtended by objects close to the horizon. From
illusions of this sort it arose, that before the measures of
Messrs. de Churruca and Galleano, at Cape Pilar, navigators
considered the mountains of the straits of Magellan, and those of
Terra del Fuego, to be extremely elevated.
The island of Lancerota bore formerly the name of Titeroigotra. On
the arrival of the Spaniards, its inhabitants were distinguished
from the other Canarians by marks of greater civilization. Their
houses were built with freestone, while the Guanches of Teneriffe
dwelt in caverns. At Lancerota, a very singular custom prevailed at
that time, of which we find no example except among the people of
Thibet. A woman had several husbands, who alternately enjoyed the
prerogatives due to the head of a family. A husband was considered
as such only during a lunar revolution, and whilst his rights were
exercised by others, he remained classed among the household
domestics. In the fifteenth century the island of Lancerota
contained two small distinct states, divided by a wall; a kind of
monument which outlives national enmities, and which we find in
Scotland, in China, and Peru.
We were forced by the winds to pass between the islands of
Alegranza and Montana Clara, and as none on board the sloop had
sailed through this passage, we were obliged to be continually
sounding. We found from twenty-five to thirty-two fathoms. The lead
brought up an organic substance of so singular a structure that we
were for a long time doubtful whether it was a zoophyte or a kind
of seaweed. The stem, of a brownish colour and three inches long,
has circular leaves with lobes, and indented at the edges. The
colour of these leaves is a pale green, and they are membranous and
streaked like those of the adiantums and Gingko biloba. Their
surface is covered with stiff whitish hairs; before their opening
they are concave, and enveloped one in the other. We observed no
mark of spontaneous motion, no sign of irritability, not even on
the application of galvanic electricity. The stem is not woody, but
almost of a horny substance, like the stem of the Gorgons. Azote
and phosphorus having been abundantly found in several cryptogamous
plants, an appeal to chemistry would be useless to determine
whether this organized substance belonged to the animal or
vegetable kingdom. Its great analogy to several sea-plants, with
adiantum leaves, especially the genus caulerpa of M. Lamoureux, of
which the Fucus proliter of Forskael is one of the numerous
species, engaged us to rank it provisionally among the sea-wracks,
and give it the name of Fucus vitifolius. The bristles which cover
this plant are found in several other fuci.* (* Fucus
lycopodioides, and F. hirsutus.) The leaf, examined with a
microscope at the instant we drew it up from the water, did not
present, it is true, those conglobate glands, or those opaque
points, which the parts of fructification in the genera of ulva and
fucus contain; but how often do we find seaweeds in such a state
that we cannot yet distinguish any trace of seeds in their
transparent parenchyma.
The vine-leaved fucus presents a physiological phenomenon of the
greatest interest. Fixed to a piece of madrepore, this seaweed
vegetates at the bottom of the ocean, at the depth of 192 feet,
notwithstanding which we found its leaves as green as those of our
grasses. According to the experiments of Bouguer, light is weakened
after a passage of 180 feet in the ratio of 1 to 1477.8. The
seaweed of Alegranza consequently presents a new example of plants
which vegetate in great obscurity without becoming white. Several
germs, enveloped in the bulbs of the lily tribes, the embryo of the
malvaceae, of the rhamnoides, of the pistacea, the viscum, and the
citrus, the branches of some subterraneous plants; in short,
vegetables transported into mines, where the ambient air contains
hydrogen or a great quantity of azote, become green without light.
From these facts we are inclined to admit that it is not
exclusively by the influence of the solar rays that this carburet
of hydrogen is formed in the organs of plants, the presence of
which makes the parenchyma appear of a lighter or darker green,
according as the carbon predominates in the mixture.
Mr. Turner, who has so well made known the family of the seaweeds,
as well as many other celebrated botanists, are of opinion that
most of the fuci which we gather on the surface of the ocean, and
which, from the 23rd to the 35th degree of latitude and 32nd of
longitude, appear to the mariner like a vast inundated meadow, grow
primitively at the bottom of the ocean, and float only in their
ripened state, when torn up by the motion of the waves. If this
opinion be well founded, we must agree that the family of seaweeds
offers formidable difficulties to naturalists, who persist in
thinking that absence of light always produces whiteness; for how
can we admit that so many species of ulvaceae and dictyoteae, with
stems and green leaves, which float on the ocean, have vegetated on
rocks near the surface of the water?
From some notions which the captain of the Pizarro had collected in
an old Portuguese itinerary, he thought himself opposite to a small
fort, situated north of Teguisa, the capital of the island of
Lancerota. Mistaking a rock of basalt for a castle, he saluted it
by hoisting the Spanish flag, and sent a boat with an officer to
inquire of the commandant whether any English vessels were cruising
in the roads. We were not a little surprised to learn that the land
which we had considered as a prolongation of the coast of
Lancerota, was the small island of Graciosa, and that for several
leagues there was not an inhabited place. We took advantage of the
boat to survey the land, which enclosed a large bay.
The small part of the island of Graciosa which we traversed,
resembles those promontories of lava seen near Naples, between
Portici and Torre del Greco. The rocks are naked, with no marks of
vegetation, and scarcely any of vegetable soil. A few crustaceous
lichen-like variolariae, leprariae, and urceorariae, were scattered
about upon the basalts. The lavas which are not covered with
volcanic ashes remain for ages without any appearance of
vegetation. On the African soil excessive heat and lengthened
drought retard the growth of cryptogamous plants.
The basalts of Graciosa are not in columns, but are divided into
strata ten or fifteen inches thick. These strata are inclined at an
angle of 80 degrees to the north-west. The compact basalt
alternates with the strata of porous basalt and marl. The rock does
not contain hornblende, but great crystals of foliated olivine,
which have a triple cleavage.* (* Blaettriger olivin.) This
substance is decomposed with great difficulty. M. Hauy considers it
a variety of the pyroxene. The porous basalt, which passes into
mandelstein, has oblong cavities from two to eight lines in
diameter, lined with chalcedony, enclosing fragments of compact
basalt. I did not remark that these cavities had the same
direction, or that the porous rock lay on compact strata, as
happens in the currents of lava of Etna and Vesuvius. The marl,* (*
Mergel.) which alternates more than a hundred times with the
basalts, is yellowish, friable by decomposition, very coherent in
the inside, and often divided into irregular prisms, analogous to
the basaltic prisms. The sun discolours their surface, as it
whitens several schists, by reviving a hydro-carburetted principle,
which appears to be combined with the earth. The marl of Graciosa
contains a great quantity of chalk, and strongly effervesces with
nitric acid, even on points where it is found in contact with the
basalt. This fact is the more remarkable, as this substance does
not fill the fissures of the rock, but its strata are parallel to
those of the basalt; whence we may conclude that both fossils are
of the same formation, and have a common origin. The phenomenon of
a basaltic rock containing masses of indurated marl split into
small columns, is also found in the Mittelgebirge, in Bohemia.
Visiting those countries in 1792, in company with Mr. Freiesleben,
we even recognized in the marl of the Stiefelberg the imprint of a
plant nearly resembling the Cerastium, or the Alsine. Are these
strata, contained in the trappean mountains, owing to muddy
irruptions, or must we consider them as sediments of water, which
alternate with volcanic deposits? This last hypothesis seems so
much the less admissible, since, from the researches of Sir James
Hall on the influence of pressure in fusions, the existence of
carbonic acid in substances contained in basalt presents nothing
surprising. Several lavas of Vesuvius present similar phenomena. In
Lombardy, between Vicenza and Albano, where the calcareous stone of
the Jura contains great masses of basalt, I have seen the latter
enter into effervescence with the acids wherever it touches the
calcareous rock.
We had not time to reach the summit of a hill very remarkable for
having its base formed of banks of clay under strata of basalt,
like a mountain in Saxony, called the Scheibenbergen Hugel, which
is become celebrated on account of the disputes of volcanean and
neptunean geologists. These basalts were covered with a mammiform
substance, which I vainly sought on the Peak of Teneriffe, and
which is known by the names of volcanic glass, glass of Muller, or
hyalite: it is the transition from the opal to the chalcedony. We
struck off with difficulty some fine specimens, leaving masses that
were eight or ten inches square untouched. I never saw in Europe
such fine hyalites as I found in the island of Graciosa, and on the
rock of porphyry called el Penol de los Banos, on the bank of the
lake of Mexico.
Two kinds of sand cover the shore; one is black and basaltic, the
other white and quartzose. In a place exposed to the rays of the
sun, the first raised the thermometer to 51.2 degrees (41 degrees
R.) and the second to 40 degrees (32 degrees R.) The temperature of
the air in the shade was 27.7 or 7.5 degrees higher than that of
the air over the sea. The quartzose sand contains fragments of
feldspar. It is thrown back by the water, and forms, in some sort,
on the surface of the rocks, small islets on which seaweed
vegetates. Fragments of granite have been observed at Teneriffe;
the island of Gomora, from the details furnished me by M.
Broussonnet, contains a nucleus of micaceous schist:--the quartz
disseminated in the sand, which we found on the shore of Graciosa,
is a different substance from the lavas and the trappean porphyries
so intimately connected with volcanic productions. From these facts
it seems to be evident that in the Canary Islands, as well as on
the Andes of Quito, in Auvergne, in Greece, and throughout the
greater part of the globe, subterraneous fires have pierced through
the rocks of primitive formation. In treating hereafter of the
great number of warm springs which we have seen issuing from
granite, gneiss, and micaceous schist, we shall have occasion to
return to this subject, which is one of the most important of the
physical history of the globe.
We re-embarked at sunset, and hoisted sail, but the breeze was too
feeble to permit us to continue our course to Teneriffe. The sea
was calm; a reddish vapour covered the horizon, and seemed to
magnify every object. In this solitude, amidst so many uninhabited
islets, we enjoyed for a long time the view of rugged and wild
scenery. The black mountains of Graciosa appeared like
perpendicular walls five or six hundred feet high. Their shadows,
thrown over the surface of the ocean, gave a gloomy aspect to the
scenery. Rocks of basalt, emerging from the bosom of the waters,
wore the resemblance of the ruins of some vast edifice, and carried
our thoughts back to the remote period when submarine volcanoes
gave birth to new islands, or rent continents asunder. Every thing
which surrounded us seemed to indicate destruction and sterility;
but the back-ground of the picture, the coasts of Lancerota
presented a more smiling aspect. In a narrow pass between two
hills, crowned with scattered tufts of trees, marks of cultivation
were visible. The last rays of the sun gilded the corn ready for
the sickle. Even the desert is animated wherever we can discover a
trace of the industry of man.
We endeavoured to get out of this bay by the pass which separates
Alegranza from Montana Clara, and through which we had easily
entered to land at the northern point of Graciosa. The wind having
fallen, the currents drove us very near a rock, on which the sea
broke with violence, and which is noted in the old charts under the
name of Hell, or Infierno. As we examined this rock at the distance
of two cables' length, we found that it was a mass of lava three or
four toises high, full of cavities, and covered with scoriae
resembling coke. We may presume that this rock,* (* I must here
observe, that this rock is noted on the celebrated Venetian chart
of Andrea Bianco, but that the name of Infierno is given, as in the
more ancient chart of Picigano, made in 1367, to Teneriffe, without
doubt because the Guanches considered the peak as the entrance into
hell. In the same latitudes an island made its appearance in 1811.)
which modern charts call the West Rock (Roca del Oeste), was raised
by volcanic fire; and it might heretofore have been much higher;
for the new island of the Azores, which rose from the sea at
successive periods, in 1638 and 1719, had reached 354 feet when it
totally disappeared in 1723, to the depth of 480 feet. This opinion
on the origin of the basaltic mass of the Infierno is confirmed by
a phenomenon, which was observed about the middle of the last
century in these same latitudes. At the time of the eruption of the
volcano of Temanfaya, two pyramidal hills of lithoid lava rose from
the bottom of the ocean, and gradually united themselves with the
island of Lancerota.
As we were prevented by the fall of the wind, and by the currents,
from repassing the channel of Alegranza, we resolved on tacking
during the night between the island of Clara and the West Rock.
This resolution had nearly proved fatal. A calm is very dangerous
near this rock, towards which the current drives with considerable
force. We began to feel the effects of this current at midnight.
The proximity of the stony masses, which rise perpendicularly above
the water, deprived us of the little wind which blew: the sloop no
longer obeyed the helm, and we dreaded striking every instant. It
is difficult to conceive how a mass of basalt, insulated in the
vast expanse of the ocean, can cause so considerable a motion of
the waters. These phenomena, worthy the attention of naturalists,
are well known to mariners; they are extremely to be dreaded in the
Pacific ocean, particularly in the small archipelago of the islands
of Galapagos. The difference of temperature which exists between
the fluid and the mass of rocks does not explain the direction
which these currents take; and how can we admit that the water is
engulfed at the base of these rocks, (which often are not of
volcanic origin) and that this continual engulfing determines the
particles of water to fill up the vacuum that takes place.
The wind having freshened a little towards the morning on the 18th,
we succeeded in passing the channel. We drew very near the Infierno
the second time, and remarked the large crevices, through which the
gaseous fluids probably issued, when this basaltic mass was raised.
We lost sight of the small islands of Alegranza, Montana Clara, and
Graciosa, which appear never to have been inhabited by the
Guanches. They are now visited only for the purpose of gathering
archil, which production is, however, less sought after, since so
many other lichens of the north of Europe have been found to yield
materials proper for dyeing. Montana Clara is noted for its
beautiful canary-birds. The note of these birds varies with their
flocks, like that of our chaffinches, which often differs in two
neighbouring districts. Montana Clara yields pasture for goats, a
fact which proves that the interior of this islet is less arid than
its coasts. The name of Alegranza is synonymous with the Joyous,
(La Joyeuse,) which denomination it received from the first
conquerors of the Canary Islands, the two Norman barons, Jean de
Bethencourt and Gadifer de Salle. This was the first point on which
they landed. After remaining several days at Graciosa, a small part
of which we examined, they conceived the project of taking
possession of the neighbouring island of Lancerota, where they were
welcomed by Guadarfia, sovereign of the Guanches, with the same
hospitality that Cortez found in the palace of Montezuma. The
shepherd king, who had no other riches than his goats, became the
victim of base treachery, like the sultan of Mexico.
We sailed along the coasts of Lancerota, of the island of Lobos,
and of Forteventura. The second of these islands seems to have
anciently formed part of the two others. This geological hypothesis
was started in the seventeenth century by the Franciscan, Juan
Galindo. That writer supposed that king Juba had named six Canary
Islands only, because, in his time, three among them were
contiguous. Without admitting the probability of this hypothesis,
some learned geographers have imagined they recognized, in the two
islands Nivaria and Ombrios, the Canaria and Capraria of the
ancients.
The haziness of the horizon prevented us, during the whole of our
passage from Lancerota to Teneriffe, from discovering the summit of
the peak of Teyde. If the height of this volcano is 1905 toises, as
the last trigonometrical measure of Borda indicates, its summit
ought to be visible at a distance of 43 leagues, supposing the eye
on a level with the ocean, and a refraction equal to 0.079 of
distance. It has been doubted whether the peak has ever been seen
from the channel which separates Lancerota from Forteventura, and
which is distant from the volcano, according to the chart of
Varela, 2 degrees 29 minutes, or nearly 50 leagues. This phenomenon
appears nevertheless to have been verified by several officers of
the Spanish navy. I had in my hand, on board the Pizarro, a
journal, in which it was noted, that the peak of Teneriffe had been
seen at 135 miles distance, near the southern cape of Lancerota,
called Pichiguera. Its summit was discovered under an angle
considerable enough to lead the observer, Don Manual Baruti, to
conclude that the volcano might have been visible at nine miles
farther. It was in September, towards evening, and in very damp
weather. Reckoning fifteen feet for the elevation of the eye, I
find, that to render an account of this phenomenon, we must suppose
a refraction equal to 0.158 of the arch, which is not very
extraordinary for the temperate zone. According to the observations
of General Roy, the refractions vary in England from one-twentieth
to one-third; and if it be true that they reach these extreme
limits on the coast of Africa, (which I much doubt,) the peak, in
certain circumstances, may be seen on the deck of a vessel as far
off as 61 leagues.
Navigators who have much frequented these latitudes, and who can
reflect on the physical causes of the phenomena, are surprised that
the peaks of Teyde and of the Azores* (* The height of this peak of
the Azores, according to Fleurieu, is 1100 toises; to Ferrer, 1238
toises; and to Tofino, 1260 toises: but these measures are only
approximative estimates. The captain of the Pizarro, Don Manuel
Cagigal, proved to me, by his journal, that he observed the peak of
the Azores at the distance of 37 leagues, when he was sure of his
latitude within two minutes. The volcano was seen at 4 degrees
south-east, so that the error in longitude must have an almost
imperceptible influence in the estimation of the distance.
Nevertheless, the angle which the peak of the Azores subtended was
so great, that the captain of the Pizarro was of opinion this
volcano must be visible at more than 40 or 42 leagues. The distance
of 37 leagues supposes an elevation of 1431 toises.) are sometimes
visible at a very great distance, though at other times they are
not seen when the distance is much less, and the sky appears serene
and the horizon free from fogs. These circumstances are the more
worthy of attention because vessels returning to Europe, sometimes
wait impatiently for a sight of these mountains, to rectify their
longitude; and think themselves much farther off than they really
are, when in fine weather these peaks are not perceptible at
distances where the angles subtended must be very considerable. The
constitution of the atmosphere has a great influence on the
visibility of distant objects. It may be admitted, that in general
the peak of Teneriffe is seldom seen at a great distance, in the
warm and dry months of July and August; and that, on the contrary,
it is seen at very extraordinary distances in the months of January
and February, when the sky is slightly clouded, and immediately
after a heavy rain, or a few hours before it falls. It appears that
the transparency of the air is prodigiously increased, as we have
already observed, when a certain quantity of water is uniformly
diffused through the atmosphere. Independent of these observations,
it is not astonishing, that the peak of Teyde should be seldomer
visible at a very remote distance, than the summits of the Andes,
to which, during so long a time, my observations were directed.
This peak, inferior in height to those parts of the chain of Mount
Atlas at the foot of which is the city of Morocco, is not, like
those points, covered with perpetual snows. The Piton, or
Sugar-loaf, which terminates the peak, no doubt reflects a great
quantity of light, owing to the whitish colour of the pumice-stone
thrown up by the crater; but the height of that little truncated
cone does not form a twenty-second part of the total elevation. The
flanks of the volcano are covered either with blocks of black and
scorified lava, or with a luxuriant vegetation, the masses of which
reflect the less light, as the leaves of the trees are separated
from each other by shadows of more considerable extent than that of
the part enlightened.
Hence it results that, setting aside the Piton, the peak of Teyde
belongs to that class of mountains, which, according to the
expression of Bouger, are seen at considerable distances only in a
NEGATIVE MANNER, because they intercept the light which is
transmitted to us from the extreme limits of the atmosphere; and we
perceive their existence only on account of the difference of
intensity subsisting between the aerial light which surrounds them,
and that which is reflected by the particles of air placed between
the mountains and the eye of the observer. As we withdraw from the
isle of Teneriffe, the Piton or Sugar-loaf is seen for a
considerable space of time in a POSITIVE MANNER, because it
reflects a whitish light, and clearly detaches itself from the sky.
But as this cone is only 80 toises high, by 40 in breadth at its
summit, it has recently been a question whether, from the
diminutiveness of its mass, it can be visible at distances which
exceed 40 leagues; and whether it be not probable, that navigators
distinguish the peaks as a small cloud above the horizon, only when
the base of the Piton begins to be visible on it. If we admit, that
the mean breadth of the Sugar-loaf is 100 toises, we find that the
little cone, at 40 leagues distance, still subtends, in the
horizontal direction, an angle of more than three minutes. This
angle is considerable enough to render an object visible; and if
the height of the Piton greatly exceeded its base, the angle in the
horizontal direction might be still smaller, and the object still
continue to make an impression on our visual organs; for
micrometrical observations have proved that the limit of vision is
but a minute only, when the dimensions of the objects are the same
in every direction. We distinguish at a distance, by the eye only,
trunks of trees insulated in a vast plain, though the subtended
angle be under twenty-five seconds.
As the visibility of an object detaching itself in a brown colour,
depends on the quantities of light which the eye meets on two
lines, one of which ends at the mountain, and the other extends to
the surface of the aerial ocean, it follows that the farther we
remove from the object, the smaller the difference becomes between
the light of the surrounding atmosphere, and that of the strata of
air before the mountain. For this reason, when less elevated
summits begin to appear above the horizon, they present themselves
at first under a darker hue than those we discern at very great
distances. In the same manner, the visibility of mountains seen
only in a negative manner, does not depend solely on the state of
the lower regions of the air, to which our meteorological
observations are limited, but also on the transparency and physical
constitution of the air in the most elevated parts; for the image
detaches itself better in proportion as the aerial light, which
comes from the limits of the atmosphere, has been originally more
intense, or has undergone less loss in its passage. This
consideration explains to a certain point, why, under a perfectly
serene sky, the state of the thermometer and the hygrometer being
precisely the same in the air nearest the earth, the peak is
sometimes visible, and at other times invisible, to navigators at
equal distances. It is even probable, that the chance of perceiving
this volcano would not be greater, if the ashy cone, at the summit
of which is the mouth of the crater, were equal, as in Vesuvius, to
a quarter of the total height. These ashes, being pumice-stone
crumbled into dust, do not reflect as much light as the snow of the
Andes; and they cause the mountain, seen from afar, to detach
itself not in a bright, but in a dark hue. The ashes also
contribute, if we may use the expression, to equalize the portions
of aerial light, the variable difference of which renders the
object more or less distinctly visible. Calcareous mountains,
devoid of vegetable earth, summits covered with granitic sand, the
high savannahs of the Cordilleras,* (* Los Pajonales, from paja,
straw. This is the name given to the region of the gramina, which
encircles the zone of the perpetual snows.) which are of a golden
yellow, are undoubtedly distinguished at small distances better
than objects which are seen in a negative manner; but the theory
indicates a certain limit, beyond which these last detach
themselves more distinctly from the azure vault of the sky.
The colossal summits of Quito and Peru, towering above the limit of
the perpetual snows, concentre all the peculiarities which must
render them visible at very small angles. The circular summit of
the peak of Teneriffe is only a hundred toises in diameter.
According to the measures I made at Riobamba, in 1803, the dome of
the Chimborazo, 153 toises below its summit, consequently in a
point which is 1300 toises higher than the peak, is still 673
toises (1312 metres) in breadth. The zone of perpetual snows also
forms a fourth of the height of the mountain; and the base of this
zone, seen on the coast of the Pacific, fills an extent of 3437
toises (6700 metres). But though Chimborazo is two-thirds higher
than the peak, we do not see it, on account of the curve of the
globe, at more than 38 miles and a third farther distant. The
radiant brilliancy of its snows, when, at the port of Guayaquil, at
the close of the rainy season, Chimborazo is discerned on the
horizon, may lead us to suppose, that it must be seen at a very
great distance in the South Sea. Pilots highly worthy of credit
have assured me, that they have seen it from the rock of Muerto, to
the south west of the isle of Puna, at a distance of 47 leagues.
Whenever it has been seen at a greater distance, the observers,
uncertain of their longitude, have not been in a situation to
furnish precise data.
Aerial light, projected on mountains, increases the visibility of
those which are seen positively; its power diminishes, on the
contrary, the visibility of objects which, like the peak of
Teneriffe and that of the Azores, detach themselves in a brown
tint. Bouguer, relying on theoretical considerations, was of
opinion that, according to the constitution of our atmosphere,
mountains seen negatively cannot be perceived at distances
exceeding 35 leagues. It is important here to observe, that these
calculations are contrary to experience. The peak of Teneriffe has
been often seen at the distance of 36, 38, and even at 40 leagues.
Moreover, in the vicinity of the Sandwich Islands, the summit of
Mowna-Roa, at a season when it was without snows, has been seen on
the skirt of the horizon, at the distance of 53 leagues. This is
the most striking example we have hitherto known of the visibility
of a mountain; and it is the more remarkable, that an object seen
negatively furnishes this example.
The volcanoes of Teneriffe, and of the Azores, the Sierra Nevada of
Santa Martha, the peak of Orizaba, the Silla of Caracas, Mowna-Roa,
and Mount St. Elias, insulated in the vast extent of the seas, or
placed on the coasts of continents, serve as sea-marks to direct
the pilot, when he has no means of determining the position of the
vessel by the observation of the stars; everything which has a
relation to the visibility of these natural seamarks, is
interesting to the safety of navigation.
CHAPTER 1.2.
STAY AT TENERIFE.
JOURNEY FROM SANTA CRUZ TO OROTAVA.
EXCURSION TO THE SUMMIT OF THE PEAK OF TEYDE.
From the time of our departure from Graciosa, the horizon continued
so hazy, that, notwithstanding the considerable height of the
mountains of Canary,* (* Isla de la Gran Canaria.) we did not
discover that island till the evening of the 18th of June. It is
the granary of the archipelago of the Fortunate Islands; and, what
is very remarkable in a region situated beyond the limits of the
tropics, we were assured, that in some districts, there are two
wheat harvests in the year; one in February, and the other in June.
Canary has never been visited by a learned mineralogist; yet this
island is so much the more worthy of observation, as the
physiognomy of its mountains, disposed in parallel chains, appeared
to me to differ entirely from that of the summits of Lancerota and
Teneriffe. Nothing is more interesting to the geologist, than to
observe the relations, on the same point of the globe, between
volcanic countries, and those which are primitive or secondary.
When the Canary Islands shall have been examined, in all the parts
which compose the system of these mountains, we shall find that we
have been too precipitate in considering the whole group as raised
by the action of submarine fires.
On the morning of the 19th, we discovered the point of Naga, but
the peak of Teneriffe was still invisible: the land, obscured by a
thick mist, presented forms that were vague and confused. As we
approached the road of Santa Cruz we observed that the mist, driven
by the winds, drew nearer to us. The sea was strongly agitated, as
it most commonly is in those latitudes. We anchored after several
soundings, for the mist was so thick, that we could scarcely
distinguish objects at a few cables' distance; but at the moment we
began to salute the place, the fog was instantly dispelled. The
peak of Teyde appeared in a break above the clouds, and the first
rays of the sun, which had not yet risen on us, illumined the
summit of the volcano.
We hastened to the prow of the vessel to behold the magnificent
spectacle, and at the same instant we saw four English vessels
lying to, and very near our stern. We had passed without being
perceived, and the same mist which had concealed the peak from our
view, had saved us from the risk of being carried back to Europe.
The Pizarro stood in as close as possible to the fort, to be under
its protection. It was on this shore, that, in the landing
attempted by the English two years before our arrival, in July
1797, admiral Nelson had his arm carried off by a cannon-ball.
The situation of the town of Santa Cruz is very similar to that of
La Guayra, the most frequented port of the province of Caraccas.
The heat is excessive in both places, and from the same causes; but
the aspect of Santa Cruz is more gloomy. On a narrow and sandy
beach, houses of dazzling whiteness, with flat roofs, and windows
without glass, are built close against a wall of black
perpendicular rock, devoid of vegetation. A fine mole, built of
freestone, and the public walk planted with poplars, are the only
objects which break the sameness of the landscape. The view of the
peak, as it presents itself above Santa Cruz, is much less
picturesque than that we enjoy from the port of Orotava. There, a
highly cultured and smiling plain presents a pleasing contrast to
the wild aspect of the volcano. From the groups of palm trees and
bananas which line the coast, to the region of the arbutus, the
laurel, and the pine, the volcanic rock is crowned with luxuriant
vegetation. We easily conceive how the inhabitants, even of the
beautiful climates of Greece and Italy, might fancy they recognised
one of the Fortunate Isles in the western part of Teneriffe. The
eastern side, that of Santa Cruz, on the contrary, is every where
stamped with sterility. The summit of the peak is not more arid
than the promontory of basaltic lava, which stretches towards the
point of Naga, and on which succulent plants, springing up in the
clefts of the rocks, scarcely indicate a preparation of soil. At
the port of Orotava, the top of the Piton subtends an angle in
height of more than eleven degrees and a half; while at the mole of
Santa Cruz* (* The oblique distances from the top of the volcano to
Orotava and to Santa Cruz are nearly 8600 toises and 22,500 toises.)
the angle scarcely exceeds 4 degrees 36 minutes.
Notwithstanding this difference, and though in the latter place the
volcano rises above the horizon scarcely as much as Vesuvius seen
from the mole of Naples, the aspect of the peak is still very
majestic, when those who anchor in the road discern it for the
first time. The Piton alone was visible to us; its cone projected
itself on a sky of the purest blue, whilst dark thick clouds
enveloped the rest of the mountain to the height of 1800 toises.
The pumice-stone, illumined by the first rays of the sun, reflected
a reddish light, like that which tinges the summits of the higher
Alps. This light by degrees becomes dazzlingly white; and, deceived
like most travellers, we thought that the peak was still covered
with snow, and that we should with difficulty reach the edge of the
crater.
We have remarked, in the Cordillera of the Andes, that the conical
mountains, such as Cotopaxi and Tungurahua, are oftener seen free
from clouds, than those of which the tops are broken into bristly
points, like Antisana and Pichincha; but the peak of Teneriffe,
notwithstanding its pyramidical form, is a great part of the year
enveloped in vapours, and is sometimes, during several weeks,
invisible from the road of Santa Cruz. Its position to the west of
an immense continent, and its insulated situation in the midst of
the sea, are no doubt the causes of this phenomenon. Navigators are
well aware that even the smallest islets, and those which are
without mountains, collect and harbour the clouds. The decrement of
heat is also different above the plains of Africa, and above the
surface of the Atlantic; and the strata of air, brought by the
trade winds, cool in proportion as they advance towards the west.
If the air has been extremely dry above the burning sands of the
desert, it is very quickly saturated when it enters into contact
with the surface of the sea, or with the air that lies on that
surface. It is easy to conceive, therefore, why vapours become
visible in the atmospherical strata, which, at a distance from the
continent, have no longer the same temperature as when they began
to be saturated with water. The considerable mass of a mountain,
rising in the midst of the Atlantic, is also an obstacle to the
clouds, which are driven out to sea by the winds.
On entering the streets of Santa Cruz, we felt a suffocating heat,
though the thermometer was not above twenty-five degrees. Those who
have for a long time inhaled the air of the sea suffer every time
they land; not because this air contains more oxygen than the air
on shore, as has been erroneously supposed, but because it is less
charged with those gaseous combinations, which the animal and
vegetable substances, and the mud resulting from their
decomposition, pour into the atmosphere. Miasms that escape
chemical analysis have a powerful effect on our organs, especially
when they have not for a long while been exposed to the same kind
of irritation.
Santa Cruz, the Anaza of the Guanches, is a neat town, with a
population of 8000 souls. I was not struck with the vast number of
monks and secular ecclesiastics, which travellers have thought
themselves bound to find in every country under the Spanish
government; nor shall I stop to enter into the description of the
churches; the library of the Dominicans, which contains scarcely a
few hundred volumes; the mole, where the inhabitants assemble to
inhale the freshness of the evening breeze; or the famed monument
of Carrara marble, thirty feet high, dedicated to Our Lady of
Candelaria, in memory of the miraculous appearance of the Virgin,
in 1392, at Chimisay, near Guimar. The port of Santa Cruz may be
considered as a great caravanserai, on the road to America and the
Indies. Every traveller who writes the narrative of his adventures,
begins by a description of Madeira and Teneriffe; and if in the
natural history of these islands there yet remains an immense field
untrodden, we must admit that the topography of the little towns of
Funchal, Santa Cruz, Laguna, and Orotava, leaves scarcely anything
untold.
The recommendation of the court of Madrid procured for us, in the
Canaries, as in all the other Spanish possessions, the most
satisfactory reception. The captain-general gave us immediate
permission to examine the island. Colonel Armiaga, who commanded a
regiment of infantry, received us into his house with kind
hospitality. We could not cease admiring the banana, the papaw
tree, the Poinciana pulcherrima, and other plants, which we had
hitherto seen only in hot-houses, cultivated in his garden in the
open air. The climate of the Canaries however is not warm enough to
ripen the real Platano Arton, with triangular fruit from seven to
eight inches long, and which, requiring a temperature of 24
centesimal degrees, does not flourish even in the valley of
Caracas. The bananas of Teneriffe are those named by the Spanish
planters Camburis or Guineos, and Dominicos. The Camburi, which
suffers least from cold, is cultivated with success even at Malaga,
where the temperature is only 18 degrees; but the fruit we see
occasionally at Cadiz comes from the Canary Islands by vessels
which make the passage in three or four days. In general, the musa,
known by every people under the torrid zone, though hitherto never
found in a wild state, has as great a variety of fruit as our apple
and pear trees. These varieties, which are confounded by the
greater part of botanists, though they require very different
climates, have become permanent by long cultivation.
We went to herborize in the evening in the direction of the fort of
Passo Alto, along the basaltic rocks that close the promontory of
Naga. We were very little satisfied with our harvest, for the
drought and dust had almost destroyed vegetation. The Cacalia
Kleinia, the Euphorbia canariensis, and several other succulent
plants, which draw their nourishment from the air rather than the
soil on which they grow, reminded us by their appearance, that this
group of islands belongs to Africa, and even to the most arid part
of that continent.
Though the captain of the Pizarro had orders to stop long enough at
Teneriffe to give us time to scale the summit of the peak, if the
snows did not prevent our ascent, we received notice, on account of
the blockade of the English ships, not to expect a longer delay
than four or five days. We consequently hastened our departure for
the port of Orotava, which is situated on the western declivity of
the volcano, where we were sure of finding guides. I could find no
one at Santa Cruz who had mounted the peak, and I was not surprised
at this. The most curious objects become less interesting, in
proportion as they are near to us; and I have known inhabitants of
Schaffhausen, in Switzerland, who had never seen the fall of the
Rhine but at a distance.
On the 20th of June, before sunrise, we began our excursion by
ascending to the Villa de Laguna, estimated to be at the elevation
of 350 toises above the port of Santa Cruz. We could not verify
this estimate of the height, the surf not having permitted us to
return on board during the night, to take our barometers and
dipping-needle. As we foresaw that our expedition to the peak would
be very precipitate, we consoled ourselves with the reflection that
it was well not to expose instruments which were to serve us in
countries less known by Europeans. The road by which we ascended to
Laguna is on the right of a torrent, or baranco, which in the rainy
season forms fine cascades; it is narrow and tortuous. Near the
town we met some white camels, which seemed to be very slightly
laden. The chief employment of these animals is to transport
merchandise from the custom-house to the warehouses of the
merchants. They are generally laden with two chests of Havannah
sugar, which together weigh 900 pounds; but this load may be
augmented to thirteen hundred-weight, or 52 arrobas of Castile.
Camels are not numerous at Teneriffe, whilst they exist by
thousands in the two islands of Lancerota and Forteventura; the
climate and vegetation of these islands, which are situated nearer
Africa, are more analogous to those of that continent. It is very
extraordinary, that this useful animal, which breeds in South
America, should be seldom propagated at Teneriffe. In the fertile
district of Adexe only, where the plantations of the sugar-cane are
most considerable, camels have sometimes been known to breed. These
beasts of burden, as well as horses, were brought into the Canary
Islands in the fifteenth century by the Norman conquerors. The
Guanches were previously unacquainted with them; and this fact
seems to be very well accounted for by the difficulty of
transporting an animal of such bulk in frail canoes, without the
necessity of considering the Guanches as a remnant of the people of
Atlantis, or a different race from that of the western Africans.
The hill, on which the town of San Christobal de la Laguna is
built, belongs to the system of basaltic mountains, which,
independent of the system of less ancient volcanic rocks, form a
broad girdle around the peak of Teneriffe. The basalt on which we
walked was darkish brown, compact, half-decomposed, and when
breathed on, emitted a clayey smell. We discovered amphibole,
olivine,* (* Peridot granuliforme. Hauy.) and translucid pyroxenes,
* (* Augite.--Werner.) with a perfectly lamellar fracture, of a
pale olive green, and often crystallized in prisms of six planes.
The first of these substances is extremely rare at Teneriffe; and I
never found it in the lavas of Vesuvius; but those of Etna contain
it in abundance. Notwithstanding the great number of blocks, which
we stopped to break, to the great regret of our guides, we could
discover neither nepheline, leucite,* (* Amphigene.--Hauy.) nor
feldspar. This last, which is so common in the basaltic lavas of
the island of Ischia, does not begin to appear at Teneriffe, till
we approach the volcano. The rock of Laguna is not columnar, but is
divided into ledges, of small thickness, and inclined to the east
at an angle of 30 or 40 degrees. It has nowhere the appearance of a
current of lava flowing from the sides of the peak. If the present
volcano has given birth to these basalts, we must suppose, that,
like the substances which compose the Somma, at the back of
Vesuvius, they are the effect of a submarine effusion, in which the
liquid mass has formed strata. A few arborescent Euphorbias, the
Cacalia Kleinia, and Indian figs (Cactus), which have become wild
in the Canary Islands, as well as in the south of Europe and the
whole continent of Africa, are the only plants we see on these arid
rocks. The feet of our mules were slipping every moment on beds of
stone, which were very steep. We nevertheless recognized the
remains of an ancient pavement. In these colonies we discover at
every step some traces of that activity which characterized the
Spanish nation in the 16th century.
As we approached Laguna, we felt the temperature of the atmosphere
gradually become lower. This sensation was so much the more
agreeable, as we found the air of Santa Cruz very oppressive. As
our organs are more affected by disagreeable impressions, the
change of temperature becomes still more sensible when we return
from Laguna to the port: we seem then to be drawing near the mouth
of a furnace. The same impression is felt, when, on the coast of
Caracas, we descend from the mountain of Avila to the port of La
Guayra. According to the law of the decrement of heat, three
hundred and fifty toises in height produce in this latitude only
three or four degrees difference in temperature. The heat which
overpowers the traveller on his entrance into Santa Cruz, or La
Guayra, must consequently be attributed to the reverberation from
the rocks, against which these towns are built.
The perpetual coolness which prevails at Laguna causes it to be
considered in the Canaries a delightful abode. Situated in a small
plain, surrounded by gardens, protected by a hill which is crowned
by a wood of laurels, myrtle, and arbutus, the capital of Teneriffe
is very beautifully placed. We should be mistaken if, relying on
the account of some travellers, we believed it seated on the border
of a lake. The rain sometimes forms a sheet of water of
considerable extent; and the geologist, who beholds in everything
the past rather than the present state of nature, can have no doubt
but that the whole plain is a great basin dried up. Laguna has
fallen from its opulence, since the lateral eruptions of the
volcano have destroyed the port of Garachico, and since Santa Cruz
has become the central point of the commerce of the island. It
contains only 9000 inhabitants, of whom nearly 400 are monks,
distributed in six convents. The town is surrounded with a great
number of windmills, which indicate the cultivation of wheat in
these high countries. I shall observe on this occasion, that
different kinds of grain were known to the Guanches. They called
wheat at Teneriffe tano, at Lancerota triffa; barley, in the grand
Canary, bore the name of aramotanoque, and at Lancerota it was
called tamosen. The flour of roasted barley (gofio) and goat's-milk
constituted the principal food of the people, on the origin of
which so many systematic fables have been current. These aliments
sufficiently prove that the race of the Guanches belonged to the
nations of the old continent, perhaps to those of Caucasus, and not
like the rest of the Atlantides,* to the inhabitants of the New
World (* Without entering here into any discussion respecting the
existence of the Atlantis, I may cite the opinion of Diodorus
Siculus, according to whom the Atlantides were ignorant of the use
of corn, because they were separated from the rest of mankind
before these gramina were cultivated.); these, before the arrival
of the Europeans, were unacquainted with corn, milk, and cheese.
A great number of chapels, which the Spaniards call ermitas,
encircle the town of Laguna. Shaded by trees of perpetual verdure,
and erected on small eminences, these chapels add to the
picturesque effect of the landscape. The interior of the town is
not equal to its external appearance. The houses are solidly built,
but very antique, and the streets seem deserted. A botanist ought
not to complain of the antiquity of the edifices. The roofs and
walls are covered with Canary house-leek and those elegant
trichomanes, mentioned by every traveller. These plants are
nourished by the abundant mists.
Mr. Anderson, the naturalist in the third voyage of captain Cook,
advises physicians to send their patients to Teneriffe, on account
of the mildness of the temperature and the equal climate of the
Canaries. The ground on these islands rises in an amphitheatre, and
presents simultaneously, as in Peru and Mexico, the temperature of
every climate, from the heat of Africa to the cold of the higher
Alps. Santa Cruz, the port of Orotava, the town of the same name,
and that of Laguna, are four places, the mean temperatures of which
form a descending series. In the south of Europe the change of the
seasons is too sensibly felt to present the same advantages.
Teneriffe, on the contrary, situated as it were on the threshold of
the tropics, though but a few days' sail from Spain, shares in the
charms which nature has lavished on the equinoctial regions.
Vegetation here displays some of her fairest and most majestic
forms in the banana and the palm-tree. He who is alive to the
charms of nature finds in this delicious island remedies still more
potent than the climate. No abode appeared to me more fitted to
dissipate melancholy, and restore peace to the perturbed mind, than
that of Teneriffe or Madeira. These advantages are the effect not
of the beauty of the site and the purity of the air alone: the
moral feeling is no longer harrowed up by the sight of slavery, the
presence of which is so revolting in the West Indies, and in every
other place to which European colonists have conveyed what they
call their civilization and their industry.
In winter the climate of Laguna is extremely foggy, and the
inhabitants often complain of the cold. A fall of snow, however,
has never been seen; a fact which may seem to indicate that the
mean temperature of this town must be above 18.7 degrees (15
degrees R.), that is to say, higher than that of Naples. I do not
lay this down as an unexceptional conclusion, for in winter the
refrigeration of the clouds does not depend so much on the mean
temperature of the whole year, as on the instantaneous diminution
of heat to which a district is exposed by its local situation. The
mean temperature of the capital of Mexico, for instance, is only
16.8 degrees (13.5 degrees R.), nevertheless, in the space of a
hundred years snow has fallen only once, while in the south of
Europe and in Africa it snows in places where the mean temperature
is above 19 degrees.
The vicinity of the sea renders the climate of Laguna more mild in
winter than might be expected, arising from its elevation above the
level of the ocean. I was astonished to learn that M. Broussonnet
had planted in the midst of this town, in the garden of the Marquis
de Nava, the bread-fruit tree (Artocarpus incisa), and
cinnamon-tree (Laurus Cinnamomum). These valuable productions of
the South Sea and the East Indies are naturalized there as well as
at Orotava. Does not this fact prove that the bread-fruit might
flourish in Calabria, Sicily, and Granada? The culture of the
coffee-tree has not equally succeeded at Laguna, though its fruit
ripens at Teguesta, as well as between the port of Orotava and the
village of St. Juan de la Rambla. It is probable that some local
circumstances, perhaps the nature of the soil and the winds that
prevail in the flowering season, are the cause of this phenomenon.
In other regions, in the neighbourhood of Naples, for instance, the
coffee-tree thrives abundantly, though the mean temperature
scarcely rises above 18 centigrade degrees.
No person has ascertained in the island of Teneriffe, the lowest
height at which snow falls every year. This fact, though easy of
verification by barometrical measurements, has hitherto been
generally neglected under every zone. It is nevertheless highly
interesting both to agriculture in the colonies and meteorology,
and fully as important as the measure of the limit of the perpetual
snows. My observations furnished me with the data, set down in the
following table:--
Column 1: North latitude.
Column 2: Lowest height in toises at which snow falls.
Column 3: Lowest height in metres at which snow falls.
Column 4: Inferior limit in toises of the perpetual snows.
Column 5: Inferior limit in metres of the perpetual snows.
Column 6: Difference in toises of columns 4 and 5.
Column 7: Difference in metres of columns 4 and 5.
Column 8: Mean temperature degrees centigrade.
Column 9: Mean temperature degrees Reaum.
0 : 2040 : 3976 : 2460 : 4794 : 420 : 818 : 27 : 21.6.
20 : 1550 : 3020 : 2360 : 4598 : 810 : 1578 : 24.5 : 19.6.
40 : 0 : 0 : 1540 : 3001 : 1540 : 3001 : 17 : 13.6.
This table presents only the ordinary state of nature, that is to
say, the phenomena as they are annually observed. Exceptions
founded on particular local circumstances, exist. Thus it sometimes
snows, though seldom, at Naples, at Lisbon, and even at Malaga,
consequently as low as the 37th degree of latitude: and, as we have
just observed, snow has been seen to fall at Mexico, the elevation
of which is 1173 toises above the level of the ocean. This
phenomenon, which had not been seen for several centuries, took
place on the day that the Jesuits were expelled, and was attributed
by the people to that act of severity. A more striking exception
was found in the climate of Valladolid, the capital of the province
of Mechoacan. According to my measures, the height of this town,
situate in latitude 19 degrees 42 minutes, is only a thousand
toises: and yet, a few years before our arrival in New Spain, the
streets were covered with snow for some hours.
Snow had been seen to fall also at Teneriffe, in a place lying
above Esperanza de la Laguna, very near the town of that name, in
the gardens of which the artocarpus flourishes. This extraordinary
fact was confirmed to M. Broussonnet by very aged persons. The
Erica arborea, the Myrica Faya, and the Arbutus callicarpa,* (*
This fine arbutus, imported by M. Broussonnet, is very different
from the Arbutus laurifolia, with which it has been confounded, but
which belongs to North America.) did not suffer from the snow; but
it destroyed all the vines in the open air. This observation is
interesting to vegetable physiology. In hot countries, the plants
are so vigorous, that cold is less injurious to them, provided it
be of short duration. I have seen the banana cultivated in the
island of Cuba, in places where the thermometer descends to seven
centesimal degrees, and sometimes very near freezing point. In
Italy and Spain the orange and date-trees do not perish, though the
cold during the night may be two degrees below freezing point. In
general it is remarked by cultivators, that the trees which grow in
a fertile soil are less delicate, and consequently less affected by
great changes in the temperature, than those which grow in land
that affords but little nutriment.* (* The mulberries, cultivated
in the thin and sandy soils of countries bordering on the Baltic
Sea, are examples of this feebleness of organization. The late
frosts do more injury to them, than to the mulberries of Piedmont.
In Italy a cold of 5 degrees below freezing point does not destroy
robust orange trees. According to M. Galesio, these trees, less
tender than the lemon and bergamot orange trees, freeze only at ten
centesimal degrees below freezing point.)
In order to pass from the town of Laguna to the port of Orotava and
the western coast of Teneriffe, we cross at first a hilly region
covered with black and argillaceous earth, in which are found some
small crystals of pyroxene. The waters most probably detach these
crystals from the neighbouring rocks, as at Frascati, near Rome.
Unfortunately, strata of ferruginous earth conceal the soil from
the researches of the geologist. It is only in some ravines, that
we find columnar basalts, somewhat curved, and above them very
recent breccia, resembling volcanic tufa. The breccia contain
fragments of the same basalts which they cover; and it is asserted
that marine petrifactions are observed in them. The same phenomenon
occurs in the Vicentin, near Montechio Maggiore.
The valley of Tacoronte is the entrance into that charming country,
of which travellers of every nation have spoken with rapturous
enthusiasm. Under the torrid zone I found sites where nature is
more majestic, and richer in the display of organic forms; but
after having traversed the banks of the Orinoco, the Cordilleras of
Peru, and the most beautiful valleys of Mexico, I own that I have
never beheld a prospect more varied, more attractive, more
harmonious in the distribution of the masses of verdure and of
rocks, than the western coast of Teneriffe.
The sea-coast is lined with date and cocoa trees. Groups of the
musa, as the country rises, form a pleasing contrast with the
dragon-tree, the trunks of which have been justly compared to the
tortuous form of the serpent. The declivities are covered with
vines, which throw their branches over towering poles. Orange trees
loaded with flowers, myrtles, and cypress trees encircle the
chapels reared to devotion on the isolated hills. The divisions of
landed property are marked by hedges formed of the agave and the
cactus. An innumerable quantity of cryptogamous plants, among which
ferns are the most predominant, cover the walls, and are moistened
by small springs of limpid water. In winter, when the volcano is
buried under ice and snow, this district enjoys perpetual spring.
In summer, as the day declines, the breezes from the sea diffuse a
delicious freshness. The population of this coast is very
considerable; and it appears to be still greater than it is,
because the houses and gardens are distant from each other, which
adds to the picturesque beauty of the scene. Unhappily the real
welfare of the inhabitants does not correspond with the exertions
of their industry, or with the advantages which nature has lavished
on this spot. The farmers are not land-owners; the fruits of their
labour belong to the nobles; and those feudal institutions, which,
for so long a time, spread misery throughout Europe, still press
heavily on the people of the Canary Islands.
From Tegueste and Tacoronte to the village of St. Juan de la Rambla
(which is celebrated for its excellent malmsey wine), the rising
hills are cultivated like a garden. I might compare them to the
environs of Capua and Valentia, if the western part of Teneriffe
was not infinitely more beautiful on account of the proximity of
the peak, which presents on every side a new point of view. The
aspect of this mountain is interesting not merely from its gigantic
mass; it excites the mind, by carrying it back to the mysterious
source of its volcanic agency. For thousands of years, no flames or
light have been perceived on the summit of the Piton, nevertheless
enormous lateral eruptions, the last of which took place in 1798,
are proofs of the activity of a fire still far from being
extinguished. There is also something that leaves a melancholy
impression on beholding a crater in the centre of a fertile and
well cultivated country. The history of the globe informs us, that
volcanoes destroy what they have been a long series of ages in
creating. Islands, which the action of submarine fires has raised
above the waters, are by degrees clothed in rich and smiling
verdure; but these new lands are often laid waste by the renewed
action of the same power which caused them to emerge from the
bottom of the ocean. Islets, which are now but heaps of scoriae and
volcanic ashes, were once perhaps as fertile as the hills of
Tacoronte and Sauzal. Happy the country, where man has no distrust
of the soil on which he lives!
Pursuing our course to the port of Orotava, we passed the smiling
hamlets of Matanza and Victoria. These names are mingled together
in all the Spanish colonies, and they form an unpleasing contrast
with the peaceful and tranquil feelings which those countries
inspire. Matanza signifies slaughter, or carnage; and the word
alone recalls the price at which victory has been purchased. In the
New World it generally indicates the defeat of the natives: at
Teneriffe, the village of Matanza was built in a place* (* The
ancient Acantejo.) where the Spaniards were conquered by those same
Guanches who soon after were sold as slaves in the markets of
Europe.
Before we reached Orotava, we visited a botanic garden at a little
distance from the port. We there found M. Le Gros, the French
vice-consul, who had often scaled the summit of the Peak, and who
served us as an excellent guide. He was accompanying captain Baudin
in a voyage to the West Indies, when a dreadful tempest, of which
M. Le Dru has given an account in the narrative of his voyage to
Porto Rico, forced the vessel to put into Teneriffe. There M. Le
Gros was led by the beauty of the spot to settle. It was he who
augmented scientific knowledge by the first accurate ideas of the
great lateral eruption of the Peak, which has been very improperly
called the explosion of the volcano of Chahorra. This eruption took
place on the 8th of June, 1798.
The establishment of a botanical garden at Teneriffe is a very
happy idea, on account of the influence it is likely to have on the
progress of botany, and on the introduction of useful plants into
Europe. For the first conception of it we are indebted to the
Marquis de Nava. He undertook, at an enormous expense, to level the
hill of Durasno, which rises as an amphitheatre, and which was
begun to be planted in 1795. The marquis thought that the Canary
Islands, from the mildness of their climate and geographical
position, were the most suitable place for naturalising the
productions of the East and West Indies, and for inuring the plants
gradually to the colder temperature of the south of Europe. The
plants of Asia, Africa, and South America, may easily be brought to
Orotava; and in order to introduce the bark-tree* into Sicily,
Portugal, or Grenada, it should be first planted at Durasno, or at
Laguna, and the shoots of this tree may afterwards be transported
into Europe from the Canaries. (* I speak of the species of
bark-tree (cinchona), which at Peru, and in the kingdom of New
Granada, flourish on the back of the Cordilleras, at the height of
between 1000 and 1500 toises, in places where the thermometer is
between nine and ten degrees during the day, and from three to four
during the night. The orange bark-tree (Cinchona lancifolia) is
much less delicate than the red bark-tree (C. oblongifolia).) In
happier times, when maritime wars shall no longer interrupt
communication, the garden of Teneriffe may become extremely useful
with respect to the great number of plants which are sent from the
Indies to Europe; for ere they reach our coasts, they often perish,
owing to the length of the passage, during which they inhale an air
impregnated with salt water. These plants would meet at Orotava
with the care and climate necessary for their preservation. At
Durasno, the protea, the psidium, the jambos, the chirimoya of
Peru,* (* Annona cherimolia. Lamarck.) the sensitive plant, and the
heliconia, grow in the open air. We gathered the ripened seeds of
several beautiful species of glycine from New Holland, which the
governor of Cumana, Mr. Emparan, had successfully cultivated, and
which grow wild on the coasts of South America.
We arrived very late at the port of Orotava,* (* Puerto de la Cruz.
The only fine port of the Canary Islands is that of St. Sebastian,
in the isle of Gomara.) if we may give the name of port to a road
in which vessels are obliged to put to sea whenever the winds blow
violently from the north-west. It is impossible to speak of Orotava
without recalling to the remembrance of the friends of science the
name of Don Bernardo Cologan, whose house at all times was open to
travellers of every nation.
We could have wished to have sojourned for some time in Don
Bernardo's house, and to have visited with him the charming scenery
of St. Juan de la Rambla and of Rialexo de Abaxo.* (* This
last-named village stands at the foot of the lofty mountain of
Tygayga.) But on a voyage such as we had undertaken, the present is
but little enjoyed. Continually haunted by the fear of not
executing the designs of the morrow, we live in perpetual
uneasiness. Persons who are passionately fond of nature and the
arts feel the same sensations, when they travel through Switzerland
and Italy. Enabled to see but a small portion of the objects which
allure them, they are disturbed in their enjoyments by the
restraints they impose on themselves at every step.
On the morning of the 21st of June, we were on our way to the
summit of the volcano. M. Le Gros, whose attentions were unwearied,
M. Lalande, secretary to the French Consulate at Santa Cruz, and
the English gardener at Durasno, joined us on this excursion. The
day was not very fine, and the summit of the peak, which is
generally visible at Orotava from sunrise till ten o'clock, was
covered with thick clouds.
We were agreeably surprised by the contrast between the vegetation
of this part of Teneriffe, and that of the environs of Santa Cruz.
Under the influence of a cool and humid climate, the ground was
covered with beautiful verdure; while on the road from Santa Cruz
to Laguna the plants exhibited nothing but capsules emptied of
their seeds. Near the port of Santa Cruz, the strength of the
vegetation is an obstacle to geological research. We passed along
the base of two small hills, which rise in the form of bells.
Observations made at Vesuvius and in Auvergne lead us to think that
these hills owe their origin to lateral eruptions of the great
volcano. The hill called Montanita de la Villa seems indeed to have
emitted lavas; and according to the tradition of the Guanches, an
eruption took place in 1430. Colonel Franqui assured Borda, that
the place is still to be seen whence the melted matter issued; and
that the ashes which covered the ground adjacent, were not yet
fertilized. Whenever the rock appeared, we discovered basaltic
amygdaloid* (* Basaltartiger Mandelstein. Werner.) covered with
hardened clay,* (* Bimstein-Conglomerat. W.) which contains
rapilli, or fragments of pumice-stone. This last formation
resembles the tufas of Pausilippo, and the strata of puzzolana,
which I found in the valley of Quito, at the foot of the volcano of
Pichincha. The amygdaloid has very long pores, like the superior
strata of the lavas of Vesuvius, arising probably from the action
of an elastic fluid forcing its way through the matter in fusion.
Notwithstanding these analogies, I must here repeat, that in all
the low region of the peak of Teneriffe, on the side of Orotava, I
have met with no flow of lava, nor any current, the limits of which
are strongly marked. Torrents and inundations change the surface of
the globe, and when a great number of currents of lava meet and
spread over a plain, as I have seen at Vesuvius, in the Atrio dei
Cavalli, they seem to be confounded together, and wear the
appearance of real strata.
The villa de Orotava has a pleasant aspect at a distance, from the
great abundance of water which runs through the principal streets.
The spring of Agua Mansa, collected in two large reservoirs, turns
several mills, and is afterward discharged among the vineyards of
the adjacent hills. The climate is still more refreshing at the
villa than at the port of La Cruz, from the influence of the
breeze, which blows strong after ten in the morning. The water,
which has been dissolved in the air at a higher temperature,
frequently precipitates itself; and renders the climate very foggy.
The villa is nearly 160 toises (312 metres) above the level of the
sea, consequently 200 toises lower than the site on which Laguna is
built: it is observed also, that the same kind of plants flower a
month later in this latter place.
Orotava, the ancient Taoro of the Guanches, is situated on a very
steep declivity. The streets seem deserted; the houses are solidly
built, and of a gloomy appearance. We passed along a lofty
aqueduct, lined with a great number of fine ferns; and visited
several gardens, in which the fruit trees of the north of Europe
are mingled with orange trees, pomegranate, and date trees. We were
assured, that these last were as little productive here as on the
coast of Cumana. Although we had been made acquainted, from the
narratives of many travellers, with the dragon-tree of the garden
of M. Franqui, we were not the less struck with its enormous
magnitude. We were told, that the trunk of this tree, which is
mentioned in several very ancient documents as marking the
boundaries of a field, was as gigantic in the fifteenth century as
it is at the present time. Its height appeared to us to be about 50
or 60 feet; its circumference near the roots is 45 feet. We could
not measure higher, but Sir George Staunton found that, 10 feet
from the ground, the diameter of the trunk is still 12 English
feet; which corresponds perfectly with the statement of Borda, who
found its mean circumference 33 feet 8 inches, French measure. The
trunk is divided into a great number of branches, which rise in the
form of a candelabrum, and are terminated by tufts of leaves, like
the yucca which adorns the valley of Mexico. This division gives it
a very different appearance from that of the palm-tree.
Among organic creations, this tree is undoubtedly, together with
the Adansonia or baobab of Senegal, one of the oldest inhabitants
of our globe. The baobabs are of still greater dimensions than the
dragon-tree of Orotava. There are some which near the root measure
34 feet in diameter, though their total height is only from 50 to
60 feet. But we should observe, that the Adansonia, like the
ochroma, and all the plants of the family of bombax, grow much more
rapidly* than the dracaena, the vegetation of which is very slow.
(* It is the same with the plane-tree (Platanus occidentalis) which
M. Michaux measured at Marietta, on the banks of the Ohio, and
which, at twenty feet from the ground, was 15.7 feet in diameter.
--"Voyage a l'Ouest des Monts Alleghany" 1804 page 93. The yew,
chestnut, oak, plane-tree, deciduous cypress, bombax, mimosa,
caesalpina, hymenaea, and dracaena, appear to me to be the plants
which, in different climates, present specimens of the most
extraordinary growth. An oak, discovered together with some Gallic
helmets in 1809, in the turf pits of the department of the Somme,
near the village of Yseux, seven leagues from Abbeville, was about
the same size as the dragon-tree of Orotava. According to a memoir
by M. Traullee, the trunk of this oak was 14 feet in diameter.)
That in M. Franqui's garden still bears every year both flowers and
fruit. Its aspect forcibly exemplifies "that eternal youth of
nature," which is an inexhaustible source of motion and of life.
The dracaena, which is seen only in cultivated spots in the Canary
Islands, at Madeira, and Porto Santo, presents a curious phenomenon
with respect to the migration of plants. It has never been found in
a wild state on the continent of Africa. The East Indies is its
real country. How has this tree been transplanted to Teneriffe,
where it is by no means common? Does its existence prove, that, at
some very distant period, the Guanches had connexions with other
nations originally from Asia?* (* The form of the dragon-tree is
exhibited in several species of the genus Dracaena, at the Cape of
Good Hope, in China, and in New Zealand. But in New Zealand it is
superseded by the form of the yucca; for the Dracaena borealis of
Aiton is a Convallaria, of which it has all the appearance. The
astringent juice, known in commerce by the name of dragon's blood,
is, according to the inquiries we made on the spot, the produce of
several American plants, which do not belong to the same genus and
of which some are lianas. At Laguna, toothpicks steeped in the
juice of the dragon-tree are made in the nunneries, and are much
extolled as highly useful for keeping the gums in a healthy state.)
On leaving Orotava, a narrow and stony pathway led us through a
beautiful forest of chestnut trees (el monte de Castanos), to a
site covered with brambles, some species of laurels, and
arborescent heaths. The trunks of the latter grow to an
extraordinary size; and the flowers with which they are loaded form
an agreeable contrast, during a great part of the year, to the
Hypericum canariense, which is very abundant at this height. We
stopped to take in our provision of water under a solitary
fir-tree. This station is known in the country by the name of Pino
del Dornajito. Its height, according to the barometrical
measurement of M. de Borda, is 522 toises; and it commands a
magnificent prospect of the sea, and the whole of the northern part
of the island. Near Pino del Dornajito, a little on the right of
the pathway, is a copious spring of water, into which we plunged
the thermometer, which fell to 15.4 degrees. At a hundred toises
distance from this spring is another equally limpid. If we admit
that these waters indicate nearly the mean heat of the place whence
they issue, we may fix the absolute elevation of the station at 520
toises, supposing the mean temperature of the coast to be 21
degrees, and allowing one degree for the decrement of caloric
corresponding under this zone to 93 toises. We should not be
surprised if this spring remained a little below the heat of the
air, since it probably takes its source in some more elevated part
of the peak, and possibly communicates with the small subterranean
glaciers of which we shall speak hereafter. The accordance just
observed between the barometrical and thermometrical measures is so
much more striking, because in mountainous countries, with steep
declivities, the springs generally indicate too great a decrement
of caloric, for they unite small currents of water, which filtrate
at different heights, and their temperature is consequently the
mean between the temperature of these currents. The spring of
Dornajito has considerable reputation in the country; and at the
time I was there, it was the only one known on the road which leads
to the summit of the volcano. The formation of springs demands a
certain regularity in the direction and inclination of the strata.
On a volcanic soil, porous and splintered rocks absorb the rain
waters, and convey them to considerable depths. Hence arises that
aridity observed in the greater part of the Canary Islands,
notwithstanding the considerable height of their mountains, and the
mass of clouds which navigators behold incessantly overhanging this
archipelago.
From Pino del Dornajito to the crater of the volcano we continued
to ascend without crossing a single valley; for the small ravines
(barancos) do not merit this name. To the eye of the geologist the
whole island of Teneriffe is but one mountain, the almost
elliptical base of which is prolonged to the north-east, and in
which may be distinguished several systems of volcanic rocks formed
at different epochs. The Chahorra, or Montana Colorada, and the
Urca, considered in the country as insulated volcanoes, are only
little hills abutting on the peak, and masking its pyramidal form.
The great volcano, the lateral eruptions of which have given birth
to vast promontories, is not however precisely in the centre of the
island, and this peculiarity of structure appears the less
surprising, if we recollect that, as the learned mineralogist M.
Cordier has observed, it is not perhaps the small crater of the
Piton which has been the principal agent in the changes undergone
by the island of Teneriffe.
Above the region of arborescent heaths, called Monte Verde, is the
region of ferns. Nowhere, in the temperate zone, have I seen such
an abundance of the pteris, blechnum, and asplenium; yet none of
these plants have the stateliness of the arborescent ferns which,
at the height of five or six hundred toises, form the principal
ornament of equinoctial America. The root of the Pteris aquilina
serves the inhabitants of Palma and Gomera for food; they grind it
to powder, and mix with it a quantity of barley-meal. This
composition, when boiled, is called gofio; the use of so homely an
aliment is a pro
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