 Chapter 14 Part 1 of the Voyage of the Beagle San Carlos Chiloé, Osorno in Eruption, Contemporaneously with Aconcagua and Cosegüina, Ride to Cacao, Impenetrable Forests, Valdivia Indians, Earthquake, Concepcion, Great Earthquake, Rocks Fidget, Appearance of the Former Towns, The Sea Black and Boiling, Direction of the Vibrations, Stones Twisted Round, Great Wave, Permanent Elevation of the Land, Area of Volcanic Phenomena, The Connection between the Elevatory and Eruptive Forces, Courses of Earthquakes, Slow Elevation of Mountain Chains. On January the 15th we sailed from Lowe's Harbour, and three days afterwards anchored a second time in the Bay of San Carlos in Chiloé. On the night of the 19th the volcano of Osorno was in action. At midnight the century observed something like a large star which gradually increased in size till about three o'clock when it presented a very magnificent spectacle. By the aid of a glass dark objects in constant succession were seen in the midst of a great glare of red light to be thrown up and to fall down. The light was sufficient to cast on the water a long bright reflection, large masses of molten metal seem very commonly to be cast out of the craters in this part of the Cordillera. I was assured that when the Corcovado is in eruption great masses are projected upwards and are seen to burst in the air assuming many fantastical forms such as trees. Their size must be immense for they can be distinguished from the high land behind San Carlos, which is no less than ninety-three miles from the Corcovado. In the morning the volcano became tranquil. I was surprised at hearing afterwards that Aconcagua in Chile, 480 miles northwards, was in action on the same night, and still more surprised to hear that the great eruption of Conceguina, 2,700 miles north of Aconcagua, accompanied by an earthquake felt over 1,000 miles, also occurred within six hours of the same time. This coincidence is the more remarkable as Conceguina had been dormant for twenty-six years and Aconcagua most rarely shows any signs of action. It is difficult even to conjecture whether this coincidence was accidental or shows some subterranean connection. If Fasuvius, Etna and Heclyne Iceland, all three relatively nearer each other than the corresponding points in South America, suddenly burst forth in eruption on the same night, the coincidence would be thought remarkable, but it is far more remarkable in this case where the three vents fall on the same great mountain chain and where the vast plains along the entire eastern coast and the upraised recent shells along more than 2,000 miles on the western coast show in how equitable and connected a manner the Elevatory forces have acted. Captain Fitzroy being anxious that some bearings should be taken on the outer coast of Chiloë, it was planned that Mr. King and myself should ride to Castro and thence across the island to the Capella de Cacao, situated on the west coast. Having hired horses and a guide, we set out on the morning of the twenty-second. We had not proceeded far before we were joined by a woman and two boys who were bent on the same journey. Every one on this road acts on a hail-fellow-well-met fashion, and one may here enjoy the privilege, so rare in South America, of travelling without firearms. At first the country consisted of a succession of hills and valleys. Nearer to Castro it became very level. The road itself is a curious affair. It consists in its whole length with the exception of very few parts of great logs of wood, which are either broad and laid longitudinally, or narrow and placed transversely. In summer the road is not very bad, but in winter when the wood is rendered slippery from rain, travelling is exceedingly difficult. At that time of the year the ground on each side becomes a morass, and is often overflowed. Hence it is necessary that the longitudinal logs should be fastened down by transverse poles, which are pegged on each side into the earth. These pegs render a fall from a horse dangerous, as the chance of a lighting on one of them is not small. It is remarkable, however, how active custom has made the Chilots and horses. In crossing bad parts where the logs had been displaced they skipped from one to the other, almost with the quickness and certainty of a dog. On both hands the road is bordered by the lofty forest trees, with their bases matted together by canes. One occasionally a long reach of this avenue could be beheld, it presented a curious scene of uniformity. The white line of logs, narrowing and perspective, became hidden by the gloomy forest, or terminated in a zigzag which ascended some steep hill. Although the distance from San Carlos to Castro is only twelve leagues in a straight line, the formation of the road must have been a great labour. I was told that several people had formerly lost their lives in attempting to cross the forest. The first who succeeded was an Indian who cut his way through the canes in eight days, and reached San Carlos. He was rewarded by the Spanish Government with a grand of land. During the summer many of the Indians wander about the forests, but chiefly in the higher parts where the woods are not quite so thick, in search of the half-wild cattle which live on the leaves of the cane and certain trees. It was one of these huntsmen who by chance discovered, a few years since, an English vessel which had been wrecked on the outer coast. The crew were beginning to fail in provisions, and it is not probable that without the aid of this man they would ever have extricated themselves from these scarcely penetrable woods. As it was, one seaman died on the march from fatigue. The Indians in these excursions steer by the sun, so that if there is a continuance of cloudy weather they cannot travel. The day was beautiful, and the number of trees which were in full flower perfumed the air. Yet even this could hardly dissipate the effects of the gloomy dampness of the forest. Moreover, the many dead trunks that stand like skeletons never fail to give to these primeval woods a character of solemnity, absent in those of countries long civilized. Shortly after sunset we bivouacked for the night. Our female companion, who was rather good-looking, belonged to one of the most respectable families in Castro. She rode, however, astride, and without shoes or stockings. I was surprised that the total want of pride shown by her and her brother. They brought food with them, but at all our meals set watching Mr. King and myself whilst eating, till we were fairly shamed into feeding the whole party. The night was cloudless, and while lying in our beds, we enjoyed the sight, and it is a high enjoyment, of the multitude of stars which illumined the darkness of the forest. January 23. We rose early in the morning, and reached the pretty quiet town of Castro by two o'clock. The old governor had died since our last visit, and a cellino was acting his place. We had a letter of introduction to Don Pedro, whom we found exceedingly hospitable and kind, and more disinterested than as usual on this side of the continent. The next day Don Pedro procured us fresh horses, and offered to accompany us himself. We proceeded to the south, generally following the coast, and passing through several hamlets, each with its large barn-like chapel build of wood. At Villipili, Don Pedro asked the commandant to give us a guide to Cucau. The old gentleman offered to come himself, but for a long time nothing would persuade him that two Englishmen really wished to go to such an out-of-the-way place as Cucau. We were thus accompanied by the two greatest aristocrats in the country, as was plainly to be seen in the manner of all the poorer Indians towards them. At Chonchi we struck across the island, following intricate winding paths, sometimes passing through magnificent forests, and sometimes through pretty cleared spots, abounding with corn and potato crops. This undulating woody country, partially cultivated, reminded me of the wilder parts of England, and therefore had to my eye a most fascinating aspect. At Valinka, which is situated on the borders of the Lake of Cucau, only a few fields were cleared, and all the inhabitants appeared to be Indians. This lake is twelve miles long, and runs in an east and west direction. From local circumstances, the sea breeze blows very regularly during the day, and during the night it falls calm. This has given rise to strange exaggerations, for the phenomenon, as described to us at St. Carlos, was quite a prodigy. The road to Cucau was so very bad that we determined to embark in a periagua. The commandant, in the most authoritative manner, ordered six Indians to get ready to pull us over, without dayning to tell them whether they would be paid. The periagua is a strange, rough boat, but their crew were still stranger. I doubt if six uglier little men ever got into a boat together. They pulled, however, very well and cheerfully. The stroke oarsman gabbled Indian, and uttered strange cries, much after the fashion of a pick-driver driving his picks. We started with a light breeze against us, but yet reached the capella de Cucau before it was late. The country on each side of the lake was one unbroken forest. In the same periagua with us, a cow was embarked. To get so large an animal into a small boat appears at first a difficulty, but the Indians managed it in a minute. They brought the cow alongside the boat, which was heeled towards her. Then, placing two oars on their belly, with their ends resting on the gun-wail, by the aid of these levers, they fairly tumbled the poor beast, heels overhead into the bottom of the boat, and then lashed her down with robes. At Cucau we found an uninhabited hovel, which is the residence of the Padre, when he paced his capella a visit, where, lighting a fire, we cooked our supper, and were very comfortable. The district of Cucau is the only inhabited part on the whole west coast of Chilaue. It contains about thirty or forty Indian families who are scattered along four or five miles of the shore. They are very much secluded from the rest of Chilaue, and have scarcely any sort of commas, except sometimes in the little oil which they get from seal-blubber. They are tolerably dressed in clothes of their own manufacture, and they have plenty to eat. They seemed, however, discontented, yet humble to a degree which was quite painful to witness. These feelings are, I think, chiefly to be attributed to the harsh and authoritative manner in which they are treated by their rulers. Our companions, although so very civil to us, behave to the poor Indians as if they were slaves rather than free men. They ordered provisions and the use of their horses without even condescending to say how much, or indeed, whether the owners should be paid at all. In the morning, being left alone with these poor people, we soon ingratiated ourselves by presents of cigars and mate. A limp of white sugar was divided between all present and tasted with the greatest curiosity. The Indians ended all their complaints by saying, and that it is only because we are poor Indians and know nothing, but it was not so when we had a king. The next day after breakfast we rode a few miles northward to Punto Antámo. The road lay along a very broad beach, on which, even after so many fine days, a terrible surf was breaking. I was assured that after a heavy gale, the roar can be heard at night, even at Castro, a distance of no less than 21 sea miles across a hilly and wooded country. We had some difficulty in reaching the point, owing to the intolerably bad paths. For everywhere in the shade the ground soon becomes a perfect quagmire. The point itself is a bold, rocky hill. It is covered by a plant, allied, I believe, to Prmelia, and called by the inhabitants Chaponis. In scrambling through the beds our hands were very much scratched. I was amused by observing the precaution our Indian guide took in turning up his trousers, thinking that they were more delicate than his own hard skin. This plant bears a fruit in shape like an artichoke, in which a number of seed vessels are packed. These contain a pleasant sweet pulp here much esteemed. I saw at Lowe's Harbour the chilotons making chitchie, or cider, with his fruit. So true is it, as humbled remarks, that almost everywhere man finds means of preparing some kind of beverage from the vegetable kingdom. The savages, however, of Gerardo Fuego, and I believe of Australia, have not advanced thus far in the arts. The coast in the north of Punta Antamo is exceedingly rugged and broken, and is fronted by many breakers, on which the sea is eternally roaring. Mr. King and myself were anxious to return, if it had been possible, on foot along this coast, but even the Indians said it was quite impracticable. We were told that man have crossed by striking directly through the woods from Cacao to San Carlos, but never by the coast. On these expeditions the Indians carry with them only roasted corn, and of this they eat sparingly twice a day. 26. Re-embarking in the Peragua, we returned across the lake, and then mounted our horses. The whole of Chiloé took advantage of this week of unusually fine weather, to clear the ground by burning. In every direction volumes of smoke were curling upwards, although the inhabitants were so assiduous in setting fire to every part of the wood, yet I did not see a single fire which they had succeeded in making extensive. We dined with our friend the commandant, and did not reach Castro till after dark. The next morning we started very early. After having ridden for some time, we obtained from the brow of a steep hill an extensive view, and it is a rare thing on this road, of the great forest. Over the horizon of trees, the volcano of Corcovado, and the great flat-topped one to the north, stood out in proud preeminence. Scarcely another peak in a long range showed its snowy summit. I hope it will be long before I forget this farewell view of the magnificent Corriere fronting Chiloé. At night we bewalked under a cloudless sky, and the next morning reached San Carlos. We arrived on the right day, for before evening heavy rain commenced. February 4th, sailed from Chiloé. During the last week I made several short excursions. One was to examine a great bed of now existing shells, elevated 350 feet above the level of the sea. From among these shells, large forest trees were growing. Another ride was to P. Guichucque. I had with me a guide who knew the country far too well, for he would pertinaciously tell me endless Indian names for every little point, rivulet, and creek. In the same manner as in Tierra del Fuego, the Indian language appears singularly well adapted for attaching names to the most trivial features of the land. I believe everyone was glad to save our world to Chiloé. Yet, if we could forget the gloom and ceaseless rain of winter, Chiloé might pass for a charming island. There is also something very attractive in the simplicity and humble politeness of the poor inhabitants. We steered northward along shore, but owing to thick weather we did not reach Valdivia till the night of the eighth. The next morning, the boat proceeded to the town, which is distant about ten miles. We followed the course of the river, occasionally passing a few hovels, and patches of ground cleared out of the otherwise unbroken forest, and sometimes meeting a canoe with an Indian family. The town is situated on the low banks of the stream, and is so completely buried in a wood of apple trees that the streets are merely paths in an orchard. I have never seen any country where apple trees appear to thrive so well as in this damp part of South America. On the borders of the roads there were many young trees evidently self-grown. In Chiloé, the inhabitants possess a marvelously short method of making an orchard. At the lower part of almost every branch, small conical brown wrinkled points project. These are always ready to change into roots, as may sometimes be seen where any mud has been accidentally splashed against the tree. A branch as thick as a man's thigh is chosen in the early spring, and is cut off just beneath a group of these points. All the smaller branches are lopped off, and it is then placed about two feet deep in the ground. During the ensuing summer the stump throws out long shoots, and sometimes even bears fruit. I was shown one which had produced as many as twenty-three apples, but this was thought very unusual. In the third season the stump has changed, as I have myself seen, into a well-wooded tree loaded with fruit. An old man near Valdivia elicited his motto, Necessitat des la madre de l'invention, by giving an account of the several useful things he manufactured from his apples. After making cider, and likewise wine, he extracts from the refuse a white and finely flavored spirit. By another process he procured a sweet treacle, or, as he called it, honey. His children and pigs seemed almost to live during the season of the year in his orchard. February 11th. I set out with a guide on a short ride, in which, however, I managed to see singularly little, either of the geology of the country, or of its inhabitants. There is not much cleared land near Valdivia. After crossing a river at the distance of a few miles we entered the forest, and then passed only one miserable hovel before reaching our sleeping place for the night. The short difference in latitude of one hundred and fifty miles has given a new aspect to the forest compared with that of Chiloë. This is owing to a slightly different proportion in the kinds of trees. The evergreens do not appear to be quite so numerous, and the forest in consequence has a brighter tint. As in Chiloë the lower parts are matted together by canes. Here also, another kind, resembling the bamboo of Brazil and about twenty feet in height, grows in clusters, and ornaments the banks of some of the streams in a very pretty manner. It is with this plant that the Indians make their chusos, or long tapering spears. Our resting-house was so dirty that I preferred sleeping outside. On these journeys the first night is generally very uncomfortable, because one is not accustomed to the tickling and biting of the fleas. I am sure in the morning there was not a space on my legs the size of a shilling, which had not its little red mark where the flea had feasted. Twelve. We continued to ride through the unclear forest, only occasionally meeting an Indian on horseback, or a troop of fine mules, bringing a lecture-planks and corn from the southern plains. In the afternoon one of the horses knocked up, who were then on a brow of a hill, which commanded a fine view of the lanus. The view of these open plains was very refreshing, after being hemmed in and buried in the wilderness of trees. The uniformity of a forest soon becomes very wearisome. This west coast makes me remember with pleasure the three unbounded plains of Patagonia. Yet, with a truest period of contradiction, I cannot forget how sublime is the silence of the forest. The lanus are the most fertile and thickly peopled parts of the country, as they possess the immense advantage of being nearly free from trees. Before leaving the forest we crossed some flat little lawns around which single trees stood as in an English park. I have often noticed with surprise in wooded undiliterate districts that the quite level parts have been desitued of trees. On account of the tired horse, I determined to stop at the mission of Codico, to the friar of which I had a letter of introduction. Codico is an intermediate district between the forest and the lanus. There are a good many cottages, with patches of corn and potatoes, nearly all belonging to Indians. The tribes dependent on Valdivia are Reducidos y Cristianos. The Indians' father northward, about Arauco and Imperial, are still very wild and not converted, but they have all much intercourse with the Spaniards. The Padre said that the Christian Indians did not much like coming to Mars, but that otherwise they showed respect for religion. The greatest difficulty is in making them observe the ceremonies of marriage. The wild Indians take as many wives as they can support, and a cacique will sometimes have more than ten. On entering his house the number may be told by that of the separate fires. Each wife lives a week in turn with the cacique, but all are employed in weaving ponchos, etc., for his profit. To be the wife of a cacique is an honour much sought after by the Indian women. The men of all these tribes wear a coarse woolen poncho, those south of Valdivia wear short trousers and those north of it a petticoat, like the chilepa of the Gauchos. All have their long hair bound by a scarlet fillet, but with no other covering on their heads. These Indians are good-sized men, their cheekbones are prominent, and in general appearance they resemble the great American family to which they belong. But their physiognomy seemed to me to be slightly different from that of any other tribe which had before seen. Their expression is generally grave and even austere, and possesses much character. This may pass either for honest bluntness or fierce determination. The long black hair, the grave and much-lined features, and the dark complexion call to my mind old portraits of James I. On the road we met with none of that humble politeness so universal in Chilewe. Some gave their marimari, good morning, with promptness, but a greater number did not seem inclined to offer any salute. This independence of menace is probably a consequence of their long wars and the repealed victories which they alone of all the tribes in America have gained over the Spaniards. I spent the evening very pleasantly, talking with the Padre. He was exceedingly kind and hospitable, and coming from Santiago had contrived to surround himself with some few comforts. Being a man of some little education he bitterly complained of the total want of society. With no particular zeal for religion, no business or pursuit, how completely must this man's life be wasted? The next day, on our return, we met seven very wild-looking Indians, of whom some were kakiks that had just received from the Chilean government their yearly small stipend for having long remained faithful. They were fine-looking men, and they rode one after the other with most gloomy faces. An old kakik, who herded them, had been, I suppose, more excessively drunk than the rest, for he seemed extremely grave and very crapped. Shortly before this two Indians joined us, who were travelling from a distant mission to Valdivia concerning some lawsuit. One was a good-nume and old man, but from his wrinkled, beardless face looked more like an old woman than a man. I frequently presented both of them with cigars, and, though ready to receive them, and I dare say grateful, they would hardly can descend to thank me. A Chilotsan Indian would have taken off his head and given his Dias Lepage. The travelling was very tedious, both from the badness of the roads and from the number of great fallen trees which it was necessary either to leap over or to avoid by making long circuits. We slept on the road, and next morning reached Valdivia, whence I proceeded on board. A few days afterwards I crossed the bay with a party of officers, and landed near the fort called Niebla. The buildings were in a most ruinous state, and the gun-carriages quite rossen. Mr. Wickham remarked to the commanding officer that with one discharge they would certainly all fall to pieces. The poor man, trying to put a good face upon it, gravely replied, No, I am sure, sir, they would stand too. The Spaniards must have intended to have made this place impregnable. There is now lying in the middle of the courtyard a little mountain of mortar, which rivals in hardness the rock on which it is placed. It was brought from Chile and cost seven thousand dollars. The revolution, having broken out, prevented its being applied to any purpose, and now it remains a monument to the fallen greatness of Spain. I wanted to go to a house about a mile and a half distant, but my guide said it was quite impossible to penetrate the wood in a straight line. He offered, however, to lead me by following obscure cattle-tracks the shortest way. The walk nevertheless took no less than three hours. This man is employed in hunting-straight cattle, yet, well as he must know the woods, he was not long since lost for two whole days, and had nothing to eat. These facts convey a good idea of the impracticability of the forests of these countries. A question often occurred to me. How long does any prestige of a fallen tree remain? This man showed me one which a party of fugitive royalists had cut down fourteen years ago, and taking this as a criterion, I should think a bowl of food and a half in diameter would, in thirty years, be changed into a heap of mold. Chapter 14, Part 2 of The Voyage of the Beagle This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Anosimon. The Voyage of the Beagle, by Charles Darwin. Chapter 14, Part 2 Chelloe and Conception, Great Earthquake February 20th. This day has been memorable in the annals of Valdivia for the most severe earthquake experienced by the oldest inhabitant. I happened to be unsure and was lying down in the wood to rest myself. It came on suddenly and lasted two minutes, but the time appeared much longer. The rocking of the ground was very sensible. The annulations appeared to my companion and myself to come from due east, whilst others thought they proceeded from south-west. This shows how difficult it sometimes is to perceive the directions of the vibrations. There was no difficulty in standing upright, but the motion made me almost giddy. It was something like the movement of a vessel in a little cross-ripple, or still more like that felt by a person skating over thin ice, which bends under the weight of his body. A bad earthquake at once destroys our oldest associations. The earth, the very emblem of solidity, has moved beneath our feet like a thin crust over a fluid. One second of time has created in the mind a strange idea of insecurity, which hours of reflection would not have produced. In the forest, as a brief move the trees, I felt only the earth tremble, but saw no other effect. Captain Fitzroy and some officers were at the town during the shock, and there the scene was more striking. For, although the houses, from being built of wood, did not fall, they were violently shaken, and the boards creaked and rattled together. The people rushed out of doors in the greatest alarm. It is these accompaniments that create that perfect horror of earthquakes, experienced by all who have thus seen, as well as felt, their effects. Within the forest it was deeply interesting, but by no means an awe-exciting phenomenon. The tides were very curiously affected. The great shock took place at the time of low water, and an old woman, who was on the beach, told me that the water flowed very quickly, but not in great waves, to high water mark, and then as quickly returned to its proper level. This was also evident by the line of wet sand. The same kind of quick but quiet movement in the tide happened a few years since at Chilaue, during a slight earthquake, and created much causes alarm. In the course of the evening there were many weaker shocks, which seemed to produce in the harbour the most complicated currents, and some of great strength. March the 4th. We entered the harbour of Conception. While the ship was beating up to the anchorage, I landed on the island of Quiriquina. The Mayor Domo of the estate quickly wrote down to tell me the terrible news of the great earthquake of the 20th. That not a house in Conception or Tarcoano, the port was standing, that seventy villages were destroyed, and that a great wave had almost washed away the ruins of Tarcoano. Of this letter statement I soon saw abundant proofs, the whole coast being strewed over with timber and furniture, as if a thousand ships had been wrecked. Besides chairs, tables, bookshelves, etc., in great numbers, there were several roofs of cottages, which had been transported almost whole. The storehouses at Tarcoano had been burst open, and great bags of cotton, yerba, and other valuable merchandise were scattered on the shore. During my walk round the island I observed that numerous fragments of rock, which, from the marine productions adhering to them, most recently have been lying in deep water, had been cast up high on the beach. One of these was six feet long, three broad, and two thick. The island itself has plainly showed the overwhelming power of the earthquake, as the beach did that of the consequent great wave. The ground, in many parts, was fissured in north and south lines, perhaps caused by the yielding of the parallel and steep sides of this narrow island. Some of the fissures near the cliffs were a yard wide. Many enormous mosses had already fallen on the beach, and the inhabitants thought that when the rains commenced far greater slips would happen. The effect of the vibration on the hard primary slate, which composes the foundation of the island, was still more curious. The superficial parts of some narrow ridges were as completely shivered as if they had been blasted by gunpowder. This effect, which was rendered conspicuous by the fresh fractures and displaced soil, must be confined to near the surface, for otherwise there would not exist a block of solid rock throughout Chile, nor is this improbable, as it is known that the surface of a vibrating body is affected differently from the central part. It is perhaps owing to this same reason that earthquakes do not cause quite such terrific havoc within deep mines as would be expected. I believe this convulsion has been more effectual in lessening the size of the island of Quiriquina than the ordinary wear and tear of the sea and weather during the course of a whole century. The next day I landed at Tarcoano, and afterwards rode to Concepción. Both towns presented the most awful yet interesting spectacle I ever beheld. To a person who had formerly known them, it possibly might have been still more impressive for the ruins were so mingled together and the whole scene possessed so little the air of a habitable place that it was scarcely possible to imagine its former condition. The earthquake commenced at half-past eleven o'clock in the fall noon. If it had happened in the middle of the night, the greater number of the inhabitants, which in this one province must amount to many thousands, must have perished instead of less than a hundred, as it was the invariable practice of running out of doles at the first tremble of the ground alone saved them. In Concepción, each house or row of houses stood by itself a heap or line of ruins, but in Tarcoano, owing to the great wave, little more than one layer of bricks, tiles, and timber with here and there part of a wall left standing could be distinguished. From this circumstance, Concepción, although not so completely desolated, was a more terrible, and if I may so call it, picturesque sight. The first chock was very sudden. The Mayor Domo at Keikina told me that the first notice he received of it was finding both the horse he rode in himself rolling together on the ground. Rising up, he was again thrown down. He also told me that some cows which were standing on the steep side of the island were rolled into the sea. The great wave caused a destruction of many cattle. On one low island, near the head of the bay, seventy animals were washed off and drowned. It is generally thought that this has been the worst earthquake ever recorded in Chile. But, as the very severe ones occur only after long intervals, this cannot easily be known, nor indeed would a much worse shock have made any difference, for the ruin was now complete. Innumerable small tremlings followed the great earthquake, and, within the first twelve days, no less than three hundred were counted. After viewing Concepción, I cannot understand how the greater number of inhabitants escaped unheard. The houses in many parts fell outwards, thus forming in the middle of the streets little hillocks of brickwork and rubbish. Mr. Rouse, the English consul, told us that he was a breakfast when the first movement warned him to run out. He had scarcely reached the middle of the courtyard when one side of his house came thundering down. He retained presence of mind to remember that if he once got on the top of that part which had already fallen, he would be safe. Not being able from the motion of the ground to stand, he crawled up on his hands and knees, and no sooner had he ascended this little eminence than the other side of the house fell in, the great beams sweeping clothes in front of his head. With his eyes blinded and his mouth choked with the cloud of dust which darkened the sky, at last he gained the street. As shock succeeded shock at the interval of a few minutes, no one dared approach the shattered ruins, and no one knew whether his dearest friends and relations were not perishing from the want of help. Those who had saved any property were obliged to keep a constant watch for thieves prowled about, and at each little trembling of the ground, with one hand they beat their breasts and cried Misericordia, and then with the other filled what they could from the ruins. The attached roofs fell over the fires, and flames burst forth in all parts. Hundreds knew themselves ruined, and few at the means of providing food for the day. Earthquakes alone are sufficient to destroy the prosperity of any country. If beneath England the now inert subterranean forces should exert those powers which most assuredly informer geological ages they have exerted, how completely would the entire condition of the country be changed? What would become of the lofty houses, thickly packed cities, great manufactories, the beautiful public and private edifices? If the new period of disturbance were first to commence by some great earthquake in the dead of the night, how terrific would be the carnage? England would at once be bankrupt. All papers, records, and accounts would from that moment be lost. Government being unable to collect the taxes and failing to maintain its authority, the hand of violence and rapine would remain uncontrolled. In every large town famine would go forth, pestilence and death following in its train. Shortly after the shock a great wave was seen from the distance of three or four miles approaching in the middle of the bay with a smooth outline. But along the shore it tore up cottages and trees as it swept onwards with irresistible force. At the head of the bay it broke in a fearful line of white breakers which rushed up to a height of twenty-three vertical feet above the highest spring tides. Their force must have been prodigious. For at the fort a cannon with its carriage estimated at four tons in weight was moved fifteen feet inward. A schooner was left in the midst of the ruins, two hundred yards from the beach. The first wave was followed by two others, which in their retreat carried away a vast wreck of floating objects. In one part of the bay a ship was pitched high and dry on shore, was carried off, again driven on shore, and again carried off. In another part two large vessels anchored near together were rolled about and their cables were thrice wound round each other. Though anchored at a depth of thirty-six feet, they were for some minutes aground. The great wave must have travelled slowly, for the inhabitants of Talcoano had time to run up the hills behind the town, and some sailors pulled out sea-wet, trusting successfully to their boat riding securely over the swell if they could reach it before it broke. One old woman with a little boy, four or five years old, ran into a boat, but there was nobody to row it out. The boat was consequently dashed against an anchor and cut in twain. The old woman was drowned, but the child was picked up some hours afterwards, clinging to the wreck. Pools of salt water were still standing amidst the ruins of the houses, and children making boats with old tables and chairs appeared as happy as their parents were miserable. It was, however, exceedingly interesting to observe how much more active and cheerful all appeared than could have been expected. It was remarked with much truth that from the destruction being universal no one individual was humbled more than another, or could suspect his friends of coldness, that most grievous result of the loss of wealth. Mr. Rouse and the large party whom he kindly took under his protection lived for the first week in a garden beneath some apple-trees. At first they were as merry as if it had been a picnic, but soon afterwards heavy rain caused much discomfort, for they were absolutely without shelter. In Captain Fitzroy's excellent account of the earthquake it is said that two explosions, one like a column of smoke and another and another like the blowing of a great whale were seen in the bay. The water also appeared everywhere to be boiling, and it became black and exhaled a most disagreeable, sulfurious smell. These latter circumstances were observed in the Bay of Valparaiso during the earthquake of 1822. They may, I think, be accounted for by the disturbance of the mud at the bottom of the sea containing organic matter in decay. In the Bay of Calao during a calm day I noticed that as the ship dragged her cable over the bottom its course was marked by a line of bubbles. The lower orders in Tarquana thought that the earthquake was caused by some old Indian women who, two years ago being offended, stopped the volcano of Antuco. This silly believe is curious because it shows that experience has taught them to observe that there exists a relation between the suppressed action of the volcanoes and the trembling of the ground. It was necessary to apply the witchcraft to the point where their perception of cause and effect failed, and this was the closing of the volcanic vent. This believe is the more singular in this particular instance because, according to Captain Fitzroy, there is reason to believe that Antuco was no ways affected. The town of Concepción was built in the usual Spanish fashion with all the streets running at right angles to each other, one set ranging south-west by west and the other set north-west by north. The walls in the former direction certainly stood better than those in the latter. The greater number of the masses of brickwork were thrown down towards the northeast. Both these circumstances perfectly agree with the general idea of the undulations having come from the southwest, in which quarter subterranean noises were also heard. For it is evident that the walls running southwest and northeast, which presented their ends to the point whence the undulations came, would be much less likely to fall than those walls which, running northwest and southeast, must in their whole lengths have been at the same instant thrown out of the perpendicular. For the undulations coming from the southwest must have extended in northwest and southeast waves as they passed under the foundations. This may be illustrated by placing books etchways on a carpet and then, after the men are suggested by Michel, imitating the inhalations of an earthquake. It will be found that they fall with more or less readiness, according as their direction more or less nearly coincides with the line of the waves. The fissures in the ground generally, though not uniformly, extended in a southeast and northwest direction, and therefore corresponded to the lines of undulation or of principal flexure. Bearing in mind all these circumstances, which so clearly point to the southwest as a chief focus of disturbance, it is a very interesting fact that the island of Santa Maria, situated in that quarter, was, during the general uplifting of the land, raised to nearly three times the height of any other part of the coast. The different resistance offered by the walls, according to their direction, was well exemplified in the case of the cathedral. The side which fronted the northeast presented a grand pile of ruins, in the midst of which doorcases and masses of timbers stood up as if floating in a stream. Some of the angular blocks of brickwork were of great dimensions, and they were rolled to a distance on a level plaza, like fragments of rock at the base of some high mountain. The side walls running southwestern northeast, though exceedingly fractured, yet remained standing. But the vast buttresses at right angles to them, and therefore parallel to the walls that fell, were in many cases cut clean off as if by a chisel, and hurled to the ground. Some square ornaments on the coping of these same walls were moved by the earthquake into a diagonal position. A similar circumstance was observed after an earthquake at Valparaiso, Calabria, and other places, including some of the ancient Greek temples. This twisting displacement at first appears to indicate a vortico's movement beneath each point that is affected, but this is highly improbable. May it not be caused by a tendency in each stone to arrange itself in some particular position with respect to the lines of vibration, in a manner somewhat similar to pins on a sheet of paper when shaken. Generally speaking, arched doorways or windows stood much better than any other part of the buildings. Nevertheless, a poor lame old man who had been in the habit during trifling shocks of crawling to a certain doorway was this time crushed to pieces. I have not attempted to give any detailed description of the appearance of Concepcion, for I feel that it's quite impossible to convey the mingled feelings which I experienced. Several of the officers visited it before me, but their strongest language failed to give a just idea of the scene of desolation. It is a bitter and humiliating thing to see works which have cost man so much time and labour overthrown in one minute. Yet, compassion for the inhabitants was almost instantly banished by the surprise in seeing a state of things produced in a moment of time which one was accustomed to attribute to a succession of ages. In my opinion, we have scarcely beheld since leaving England any sight so deeply interesting. In almost every severe earthquake, the neighbouring waters of the sea are said to have been greatly agitated. The disturbance seems generally, as in the case of Concepcion, to have been of two kinds. First, at the instant of the shock, the water swells high upon the beach with a gentle motion, and then, as quietly retreats. Secondly, sometime afterwards, the whole body of the sea retires from the coast, and then returns in waves of overwhelming force. The first movement seems to be an immediate consequence of the earthquake, affecting differently a fluid and a solid, so that their respective levels are slightly deranged. But the second case is a far more important phenomenon. During most earthquakes, and especially during those on the west coast of America, it is certain that the first great movement of the waters has been a retirement. Some authors have attempted to explain this by supposing that the water retains its level whilst the land oscillates upwards. But surely the water close to the land, even on a rather steep coast, would partake of the motion of the bottom. Moreover, as urged by Mr. Lyle, similar movements of the sea have occurred at islands far distant from the chief line of disturbance, as was the case with Juan Fernandez during this earthquake, and with Madeira during the famous Lisbon shock. I suspect, but the subject is a very obscure one, that a wave, however produced, first draws the water from the shore, on which it is advancing to break. I have observed that this happens with the little waves from the paddles of a steamboat. It is remarkable that whilst Taquano and Callao, near Lima, both situated at the head of a large shallow bays, have suffered during every severe earthquake from great waves, Valpa Aizó, seated close to the edge of profoundly deep water, has never been overwhelmed, though so often shaken by the severest shocks. From the great wave not immediately following the earthquake, but sometimes after the interval of even half an hour, and from distant islands being affected similarly with the coasts near the focus of the disturbance, it appears that the wave first rises in the offing, and as this is of general occurrence the course must be general. I suspect we must look to the line where the less disturbed waters of the deep ocean join the water nearer the coast, which has partaken of the movements of the land, as the place where the great wave is first generated. It would also appear that the wave is larger or smaller according to the extent of shoal water which has been agitated together with a bottom on which it rested. The most remarkable effect of this earthquake was the permanent elevation of the land. It would probably be far more correct to speak of it as the cause. There can be no doubt that the land around the Bay of Concepción was upraised two or three feet, but it deserves notice that owing to the wave having obliterated the old lines of tidal action on the sloping sandy shores, I could discover no evidence of this fact, except in the united testimony of the inhabitants that one little rocky shoal now exposed was formerly covered with water. At the island of Santa María, about 30 miles distant, the elevation was greater. On one part Captain Fitzroy found beds of putered muscle shells still adhering to the rocks, ten feet above high water mark. The inhabitants had formerly dived at low water spring tides for the shells. The elevation of this province is particularly interesting, from its having been the theater of several other violent earthquakes, and from the vast number of sea shells scattered over the land up to a height of certainly six hundred, and I believe of one thousand feet. At Valparaiso, as I've remarked, similar shells are found at the height of 1300 feet. It is hardly possible to doubt that this great elevation has been affected by successive small uprisings, such as that which accompanied or caused the earthquake of this year, and likewise by an insensibly slow rise which is certainly in progress on some parts of this coast. The island of Juan Fernández, 360 miles to the northeast, was at the time of the great shock of the 20th violently shaken, so that the trees beat against each other, and a volcano burst forth under water close to the shore. These facts are remarkable, because this island, during the earthquake of 1751, was then also affected more violently than other places at an equal distance from Concepción, and this seems to show some subterranean connection between these two points. Chilaue, about 340 miles southward of Concepción, appears to have been shaken more strongly than the intermediate district of Valdivia, where the volcano of Villarica was no ways affected, whilst in the Cordillera in front of Chilaue, two of the volcanoes burst forth at the same instant in violent action. These two volcanoes and some neighboring ones continued for a long time in eruption, and ten months afterwards were again influenced by an earthquake at Concepción. Some men, cutting wood near the base of one of these volcanoes, did not perceive the shock of the 20th, although the whole surrounding province was then trembling. Here we have an eruption, relieving and taking the place of an earthquake, as would have happened at Concepción according to the belief of the lower orders, if the volcano at Antuco had not been closed by witchcraft. Two years and three quarters afterwards, Valdivia and Chilaue were again shaken, more violently than on the 20th, and an island in the Honos archipelago was permanently elevated more than eight feet. It will give a better idea of the scale of these phenomena, if, as in the case of the glaciers, we suppose them to have taken place at corresponding distances in Europe. Then would the land from the North Sea to the Mediterranean have been violently shaken, and at the same instant of time a large tract of the eastern coast of England would have been permanently elevated, together with some outlying islands. A train of volcanoes on the coast of Holland would have burst forth in action, and an eruption taken place at the bottom of the sea near the northern extremity of Ireland. And lastly, the ancient vents of Auvergne, Cantal and Mondeur would each have sent up to the sky a dark column of smoke, and have long remained in fierce action. Two years and three quarters afterwards, France, from its centre to the English Channel, would have been again desolated by an earthquake, and an island permanently appraised in the Mediterranean. The space from under which volcanic matter on the 20th was actually erupted is 720 miles in one line, and 400 miles in another line at right angles to the first. Hence, in all probability, a subterranean lake of lava is here stretched out of nearly double the area of the Black Sea. From the intimate and complicated manner in which the elevatory and eruptive forces were shown to be connected during this train of phenomena, we may confidently come to the conclusion that the forces which slowly and by little starts uplift continents, and those which at successive periods, poor-forth volcanic matter from open orifices, are identical. From many reasons I believe that the frequent quakings of the earth on this line of coast are caused by the rending of the strata, necessarily consequent on the tension of the land when appraised, and their injection by fluidified rock. This rending and injection would, if repeated often enough, and we know that earthquakes repeatedly affect the same areas in the same manner, form a chain of hills, and the linear island of Santa Maria, which was appraised thrice the height of the neighbouring country, seems to be undergoing this process. I believe that the solid axis of a mountain differs in its manner of formation from a volcanic hill, only in the molten stone having been repeatedly injected, instead of having been repeatedly ejected. Moreover, I believe that it is impossible to explain the structure of great mountain chains, such as that of the Cordillera, where the strata, capping the injected axis of plutonic rock, have been thrown on their edges along several parallel and neighbouring lines of elevation, except on this view of the rock of the axis having been repeatedly injected, after intervals sufficiently long to allow the upper parts, or wedges, to cool and become solid. For if the strata had been thrown into their present highly inclined, vertical, and even inverted positions by a single blow, the very bowels of the earth would have gushed out, and instead of beholding abrupt mountain axes of rock solidified under great pressure, the lounges of lava would have flowed out at the innumerable points on every line of elevation. End of Chapter 14 Part 2 Chapter 15 Part 1 of The Voyage of the Beagle This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are public domain. For further information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Gavin Smith The Voyage of the Beagle by Charles Darwin Chapter 15, Part 1, Passage of the Cordillera Effective snow on rocks Geological structure of the two main ranges, their distinct origin and upheaval Great subsidence Red snow Winds Pinnacles of snow Dry and clear atmosphere Electricity Pampas Zoology of the opposite side of the Andes Locusts Great bugs Mendoza Uspalata pass Silicified trees buried as they grew Incus bridge Badness of the passes exaggerated Coombrae Casuchus Valparaiso March 7th 1835 We stayed three days at conception and then sailed for Valparaiso The wind being northerly we only reached the mouth of the harbour of conception before it was dark Being very near to land and a fog coming on the anchor was dropped Presently a large American whaler appeared alongside of us and we heard the Yankee swearing at his men to keep quiet while he listened for the breakers. Captain Fitzroy hailed him in a loud clear voice to anchor where he then was. The poor man must have thought the voice came from the shore. Such a babble of cries issued at once from the ship everyone hallowing out Let go of the anchor via cable short and sail. It was the most laughable thing I ever heard. If the ship's crew had been all captains and no men they could not have been a greater uproar of orders. We afterwards found that the mate stuttered. I suppose all hands were assisting him in giving his orders. On the 11th we anchored at Valparaiso and two days afterwards I set out to cross the Cordillera. I proceeded to Santiago where Mr. Calclu most kindly assisted me in every possible way in making the little preparations which were necessary. In this part of Chile there are two passes across the Andes to Mendoza. The one most commonly used namely that of Aconcagua or Ruspalata is situated some way to the north. The other, called the Portillo, is to the south and nearer but more lofty and dangerous. March 18th. We set out for the Portillo Pass. Leaving Santiago we crossed the wide burnt up plain on which that city stands, and in the afternoon arrived at the Maypíu, one of the principal rivers in Chile. The valley, at the point where it enters the first Cordillera, is bounded on each side by lofty barren mountains and, although not broad, it is very fertile. Numerous cottages were surrounded by vines and by orchards of apple, nectarine and peach trees, their boughs breaking with the weight of the beautiful ripe fruit. In the evening we passed the customs house where our luggage was examined. The frontier of Chile is better guarded by the Cordillera than by the waters of the sea. There are very few valleys which lead to the central ranges, and the mountains are quite impassable in other parts by beasts of burden. The customs house officers were very civil, which was perhaps partly owing to the passport which the President of the Republic had given me, but I must express my admiration at the natural politeness of almost every Chileano. In this instance the contrast with the same class of men in most other countries was strongly marked. I may mention an anecdote which I was time much pleased. We met Nirmendoza, a little and very fat negress, riding astride on a mule. She had a goiter so enormous that it was scarcely possible to avoid gazing at her for a moment, but my two companions almost instantly, by way of apology, made the common salute of the country by taking off their hats. Where would one of the lower or higher classes in Europe have shown such feeling politeness to a poor and miserable object of a degraded race? At night we slept at a cottage. Our manner of traveling was delightfully independent. In the inhabited parts we bought a little firewood, hired pasture for the animals, and bivouacked in the corner of the same field with them. Carrying an iron pot, we cooked an eight-hour supper under a cloudless sky and knew no trouble. My companions were Mariano Gonzalez, who had formerly accompanied me in Chile, and an ariro with his ten mules and a madrina. The madrina, or godmother, is the most important personage. She is an old, steady mare with little bell around her neck, and wherever she goes the mules, like good children, follow her. The affection of these animals for their madrinas saves infinite trouble. If several large troops are turned into one field to graze, in the morning the mule-tears have only to lead the madrinas a little apart and tinkle their bells. Although there may be two or three hundred together, each mule immediately knows the bell of its own madrina and comes to her. It is nearly impossible to lose an old mule, for if detained for several hours by force, she will, by the power of smell, like a dog, track out her companions, or rather the madrina, for, according to the mule-tear, she is the chief object of affection. The feeling, however, is not of an individual nature, for I believe I am right in saying that any animal with a bell will serve as a madrina. In a troop each animal carries on a level road a cargo weighing 416 pounds, more than 29 stone, but in a mountainous country 100 pounds less. Yet with what delicate slim limbs, without any proportional bulk of muscle, these animals support so great a burden. The mule always appears to me a most surprising animal. That a hybrid should possess more reason, memory, obstinacy, social affection, powers of muscular endurance and length of life than either of its parents seems to indicate that art has here outdone nature. Of our ten animals, six were intended for riding and four for carrying cargos, each taking turn of out. We carried a good deal of food in case we should be snowed up, as the season was rather late for passing the portillo. March 19. We rode during this day to the last and therefore most elevated house in the valley. The number of inhabitants became scanty, but wherever water could be brought on the land, it was very fertile. All the main valleys in the Cordillera are characterized by having, on both sides, a fringe or terrace of shingle and sand, rudely stratified and generally of considerable thickness. These fringes evidently once extended across the valleys and were united, and the bottoms of the valleys in northern Chile, where there are no streams, are thus smoothly filled up. On these fringes the roads are generally carried, for their surfaces are even and they rise with a very gentle slope up the valleys. Hence also they are easily cultivated by irrigation. They may be traced up to a height of between 7,000 and 9,000 feet, where they become hidden by the irregular piles of debris. At the lower end or mouths of the valleys, they are continuously united to those land locked plains, also formed of shingle, at the foot of the main Cordillera, which I have described in a former chapter as characteristic of the scenery of Chile, and which were undoubtedly deposited when the sea penetrated Chile as it now does the more southern coasts. No one fact in the geology of South America interested me more than these terraces of rudely stratified shingle. They precisely resemble, in composition, the matter which the torrents in each valley would deposit if they were checked in their course by any course, such as entering a lake or arm of the sea. But the torrents, instead of depositing matter, are now steadily at work wearing away both the solid rock and these alluvial deposits along the whole line of every main valley and side valley. It is impossible here to give the reasons, but I am convinced that the shingle terraces were accumulated during the gradual elevation of the Cordillera, by the torrents delivering, at successive levels, their detritus on the beach heads of long narrow arms of the sea, first high up the valleys, then lower and lower down as the land slowly rose. If this be so, and I cannot doubt it, the grand and broken chain of the Cordillera, instead of having been suddenly thrown up, as was till lately the universal, and is still the common opinion of geologists, has been slowly upheaved in mass, in the same gradual manner as the coasts of the Atlantic and Pacific have risen within the recent period, a multitude of facts in the structure of the Cordillera on this view receive a simple explanation. The rivers which flow in these valleys, ought rather to be called mountain torrents. Their inclination is very great, and their water the colour of mud. The roar which the May pew made, as it rushed over the great rounded fragments, was like that of the sea. Amidst the din of rushing waters, the noise from the stones, as they rattled over one another, was most distinctly audible even from a distance. This rattling noise, night and day, may be heard along the whole course of the torrent. The sound spoke eloquently to the geologist. The thousands and thousands of stones, which, striking against each other, made that one dull uniform sound, were all hurrying in one direction. It was like thinking on time, where the minute that now glides past is irrevocable. So it was with these stones. The ocean is their eternity, and each note of that wild music told of one more step towards their destiny. It is not possible for the mind to comprehend, except by a slow process, any effect which is produced by a cause repeated so often that the multiplier itself conveys an idea. Not more definite than the savage implies when he points to the hairs of his head. As often as I have seen beds of mud, sand, and shingle, accumulated to the thickness of many thousand feet, how I have felt inclined to exclaim that causes such as the present rivers and present beaches could never have ground down and produced such masses. But, on the other hand, when listening to the rattling noise of these torrents, and calling to mind that whole races of animals have passed away from the face of the earth, and that during this whole period, night and day, these stones have gone rattling onwards in their course, I have thought to myself, can any mountains, any continent, withstand such waste? In this part of the valley, the mountains on each side were from 3,000 to 6,000 or 8,000 feet high, with rounded outlines and steep bare flanks. The general colour of the rock was dullish purple, and the stratification very distinct. If the scenery was not beautiful, it was remarkable and grand. We met during the day several herds of cattle which men were driving down from the higher valleys in the Cordillera. This sign of the approaching winter hurried our steps, more than was convenient for geologising. The house where we slept was situated at the foot of a mountain, on the summit of which are the mines of St Pedro de Nalasco. Sir F Head marvels how mines have been discovered in such extraordinary situations as the bleak summit of the mountain of St Pedro de Nalasco. In the first place, the metallic veins in this country are generally harder than the surrounding strata. Hence, during the gradual wear of the hills, they project above the surface of the ground. Secondly, almost every labourer, especially in the northern parts of Chile, understands something about the appearance of oars. In the great mining provolences of Coquimbo and Copiapo, firewood is very scarce, and men search for it over every hill and dale, and by this means nearly all the richest mines have there been discovered. Charon Silo, from which silver to the value of many hundred thousand pounds has been raised in the course of a few years, was discovered by a man who threw a stone at his loaded donkey, and, thinking that it was very heavy, he picked it up and found it full of pure silver. The vein occurred at no great distance, standing up like a wedge of metal. The miners, also, taking a crowbar with them, often wander on Sundays over the mountains. In this south part of Chile, the men who drive cattle into the Cordillera, and who frequent every ravine where there is a little pasture, are the usual discoverers. Twentieth. As we ascended the valley, the vegetation, with the exception of a few pretty alpine flowers, became exceedingly scanty, and of quadrupeds, birds or insects, scarcely one could be seen. The lofty mountains, their summits marked with a few patches of snow, stood well separated from each other, the valleys being filled up with an immense thickness of stratified alluvium. The features in the scenery of the Andes, which struck me most, as contrasted with the other mountain chains with which I am acquainted, were the flat fringes sometimes expanding into narrow plains on each side of the valleys, the bright colours, chiefly red and purple, of the utterly bare and precipitous hills of porphyry, the grand and continuous wall-like dykes, the plainly divided strata, which, we're nearly vertical, formed a picturesque and wild central pinnacles, but, we're less inclined, composed the great massive mountains on the outskirts of the range, and lastly, the smooth conical piles of fine and brightly coloured detritus, which sloped up at a high angle from the base of the mountains, sometimes to a height of more than two thousand feet. I frequently observed, both in Tierra del Fuego and within the Andes, that where the rock was covered during the greater part of the U.S. snow, it was shivered in a very extraordinary manner into small angular fragments. Scorsby has observed the same fact in Spitzbergen. Scorsby's Arctic Regions, Volume 1, Page 122. The case appears to me rather obscure, for that part of the mountain which is protected by mantle of snow must be less subject to repeated and great changes of temperature than any other part. I have sometimes thought that the earth and fragments of stone on the surface were perhaps less effectually removed by slowly percolating snow water than by rain, and therefore that the appearance of a quicker disintegration of the solid rock under the snow was deceptive. Footnote. I have heard it remarked in Shropshire that the water, when the seven is flooded from long-continued rain, is much more turbid than when it proceeds from the snow melting in the Welsh mountains. Diorbony, Tom 1, Page 184, in explaining the cause of the various colours of the rivers in South America, remarks that those with blue or clear water have their source in the Cordillera where the snow melts. End footnote. Whatever the cause may be, the quantity of crumbling stone on the Cordillera is very great. Occasionally in the spring, great masses of this detritus slide down the mountain and cover the snow drifts in the valleys, thus forming natural ice houses. We rode over one, the height of which was far below the limit of perpetual snow. As the evening drew to a close, we reached a singular basin-like plain called a valley de yeso. It was covered by a little dry pasture, and we had the pleasant sight of a herd of cattle amidst the surrounding rocky deserts. The valley takes its name of yeso from a great bed, I should think at least 2,000 feet thick, of white and in some parts pure gypsum. We slept with a party of men who were employed in loading mules with this substance, which is used in the manufacture of wine. We set out early in the morning, 21st, and continued to follow the course of the river, which had become very small, till we arrived at the foot of the ridge that separates the waters flowing into the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. The road, which has yet has been good with a steady but very gradual ascent, now changed into a steep zigzag track up the great range, dividing the republics of Chile and Mendoza. I will here give a very brief sketch of the geology of the several parallel lines forming the Cordillera. Of these lines there are two considerably higher than the others, namely on the Chilean side the Pucanese ridge, which where the road crosses it, is 13,210 feet above the sea, and the Portillo ridge on the Mendoza side, which is 14,305 feet. The lower beds of the Pucanese ridge, and of the several great lines to the westward of it, are composed of a vast pile, many thousand feet in thickness, of porphyries which have flowed as submarine larvas, alternating with angular and rounded fragments of the same rocks, thrown out of the submarine craters. These alternating masses are covered in the central parts by a great thickness of red sandstone, conglomerate, and calciferous clay slate, associated with, and passing into, prodigious beds of gypsum. In these upper beds shells are tolerably frequent, and they belong to about the period of the lower chalk of Europe. It is an old story, but not the less wonderful, to hear of shells which were once crawling on the bottom of the sea, now standing nearly 14,000 feet above its level. The lower beds in this great pile of strata have been dislocated, baked, crystallized, and almost blended together through the agency of mountain masses of a peculiar white soda granitic rock. The other main line, namely that of the Portillo, is of a totally different formation. It consists chiefly of grand bare pinnacles of a red potash granite, which, low down on the western flank, are covered by a sandstone, converted by the former heat into a quartz rock. On the quartz there rest beds of a conglomerate several thousand feet in thickness, which have been upheaved by the red granite, and dip at an angle of 45 degrees towards the Puccini's line. I was astonished to find that this conglomerate was partly composed of pebbles derived from the rocks, with their fossil shells of the Puccini's range, and partly of red potash granite like that of the Portillo. Hence we must conclude that both the Puccini's and Portillo ranges were partially upheaved and exposed to wear and tear when the conglomerate was forming, but as the beds of conglomerate have been thrown off at an angle of 45 degrees by the red Portillo granite, with the underlying sandstone baked by it, we may feel sure that the greater part of the injection and upheaval of the already partially formed Portillo line took place after the accumulation of the conglomerate and long after the elevation of the Puccini's ridge, so that the Portillo, the loftiest line in this part of the Cordillera, is not so old as the less lofty line of the Puccini's. Evidence derived from an inclined stream of lava at the eastern base of the Portillo might be adduced to show that it owes part of its great height to elevation at a still later date. Looking to its earliest origin, the red granite seems to have been injected on an ancient pre-existing line of white granite and micro slate. In most parts, perhaps in all parts of the Cordillera, it may be concluded that each line has been formed by repeated upheavals and injections, and that several parallel lines are of different ages. Only thus can we gain time at all sufficient to explain the truly astonishing amount of denudation, which these great, though comparatively with most other ranges recent, mountains have suffered. Finally, the shells in the Puccini's, or oldest ridge, prove, as before remarked, that it has been upraised 14,000 feet since the secondary period, which in Europe we are accustomed to consider as far from ancient. But since these shells lived in a moderately deep sea, it can be shown that the area now occupied by the Cordillera must have subsided several thousand feet, in northern Chile as much as six thousand feet, so as to have allowed that amount of submarine strata to have been heaped on the bed on which the shells lived. The proof is the same with that by which it was shown that at a much later period, since the tertiary shelled of Patagonia lived, there must have been a subsidence of several hundred feet, as well as an insuring elevation. Daily it is forced home on the mind of the geologist that nothing, not even the wind that blows, is so unstable as the level of the crust of this earth. I will make only one other geological remark. Although the Portillo chain is here higher than the Puccini's, the waters draining the intermediate valleys have burst through it. The same fact, on a grander scale, has been remarked in the eastern and loftiest line of the Bolivian Cordillera, through which the rivers pass. Analogous facts have also been observed in other quarters of the world. On the supposition of the subsequent and gradual elevation of the Portillo line, this can be understood. For a chain of islets would at first appear, and as these were lifted up, the tides would be always wearing deeper and broader channels between them. At the present day, even in the most retired sounds on the coast of Tierra del Fuego, the currents in the transverse breaks which connect the longitudinal channels are very strong, so that in one transverse channel even a small vessel under sail was world round and round. About noon we began the tedious ascent of the Puccini's ridge, and then for the first time experienced some little difficulty in our respiration. The mules would halt every 50 yards, and after resting for a few seconds, the poor willing animals started of their own accord again. The short breathing from the rarefied atmosphere is called by the Chileanios Puna, and they have the most ridiculous notions concerning its origin. Some say, all the waters here have Puna, others that where there is snow there is Puna, and this no doubt is true. The only sensation I experienced was a slight tightness across the head and chest, like that felt on leaving a warm room and running quickly in frosty weather. There was some imagination even in this, for upon finding fossil shells on the highest ridge I entirely forgot the Puna in my delight. Certainly the exertion of walking was extremely great, and the respiration became deep and laborious. I am told that in Potosi, about 13,000 feet above the sea, strangers do not become thoroughly accustomed to the atmosphere for an entire year. The inhabitants all recommend onions for the Puna, as this vegetable has sometimes been given in Europe for pectoral complaints, it may possibly be a real service. For my part, I found nothing so good as the fossil shells. When about halfway up, we met a large party with 70 loaded mules. It was interesting to hear the wild cries of the mulletiers, and to watch the long descending string of the animals. They appeared so diminutive there being nothing but the black mountain with which they could be compared. When near the summit, the wind, as generally happened, was impetus and extremely cold. On each side of the ridge, we had to pass over broad bands of perpetual snow, which were now soon to be covered by a fresh layer. When we reached the crest and looked backwards, a glorious view was presented. The atmosphere was splendidly clear, the sky and intense blue, the profound valleys, the wild broken forms, the heaps of ruins piled up during the lapse of ages, the bright coloured rocks contrasted with the quiet mountains of snow. All these together produced a scene no one could have imagined. Neither plant nor bird, excepting a few condors wheeling around the higher pinnacles, distracted my attention from the inanimate mass. I felt glad that I was alone. It was like watching a thunderstorm or hearing in full orchestra a chorus of the messiah. On several patches of the snow, I found the protococcus nivolus, or red snow, so well known from the accounts of Arctic navigators. My attention was called to it by observing the footsteps of the mules stained a pale red, as if their hooves had been slightly bloody. I had first thought that it was owing to dust blown from the surrounding mountains of red porphyry. For, from the magnifying power of the crystals of snow, the groups of these microscopical plants appeared like coarse particles. The snow was coloured only where it had thawed very rapidly, or had been accidentally crushed. A little rubbed on paper gave it a faint rose tinge mingled with a little brick red. I afterwards scraped some off the paper and found that it consisted of groups of little spheres in colourless cases, each of the thousandths part of an inch in diameter. The wind on the crest of the Pucanis, as just remarked, is generally impetus and very cold. It is said to blow steadily from the westward or pacific side. Footnote. Dr Gillies in Journal of Natural and Geographical Science, August 1830. This author gives the heights of the passes. End footnote. As the observations have been chiefly made in summer, this wind must be an upper and return current. The peak of Tenerife, with less elevation and situated in latitude 28 degrees, in like manner, falls within an upper return stream. At first it appears rather surprising that the trade wind along the northern parts of Chile and on the coast of Peru should blow in so very subtler direction as it does. But when we reflect that the Cordillera running in a north and south line intercepts, like a great wall, the entire depth of the lower atmospheric current, we can easily see that the trade wind must be drawn northward following the line of the mountains towards the equatorial regions and thus lose part of that easterly movement which it otherwise would have gained from the Earth's rotation. At Mendoza, on the eastern foot of the Andes, the climate is said to be subject to long calms and frequent though false appearances of gathering rainstorms. We may imagine that the wind, which coming from the eastward is thus banked up by the line of mountains, would become stagnant and irregular in its movements. Having crossed the Pucanis, we descended into a mountainous country, intermediate between the two main ranges and then took up our quarters for the night. We were now in the Republic of Mendoza. The elevation was probably not under 11,000 feet and the vegetation in consequence exceedingly scanty. The root of a small scrubby plant served as fuel, but it made a miserable fire and the wind was piercingly cold. Being quite tired with my day's work, I made up my bed as quickly as I could and went to sleep. About midnight, I observed the sky became suddenly clouded. I awakened the Eriro to know if there was any danger of bad weather, but he said that without thunder and lightning, there was no risk of heavy snowstorm. The peril is imminent and the difficulty of subsequent escape great to anyone overtaken by bad weather between the two ranges. A certain cave offers the only place of refuge. Mr. Calgklu, who crossed on this same day of the month, was detained there for some time by a heavy fall of snow. Kasuchas, or houses of refuge, have not been built in this pass as in that of Uspolata and, therefore, during the autumn, the Portillo is little frequented. I may hear a remark that within the main cordillera rain never falls, for during the summer the sky is cloudless and in winter snowstorms alone occur. At the place where we slept, water necessarily boiled from the diminished pressure of the atmosphere at a lower temperature than it does in a less lofty country, the case being the converse of that of a papern's digester. Hence the potatoes, after remaining for some hours in the boiling water, were nearly as hard as ever. The pot was left on the fire all night, and next morning it was boiled again, but yet the potatoes were not cooked. I found out this by overhearing my two companions discussing the cause. They had come to the simple conclusion that the cursed pot, which was a new one, did not choose to boil potatoes. Chapter 15, Part 2 of the Voyage of the Beagle. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Gavin Smith. The Voyage of the Beagle by Charles Darwin. Chapter 15, Part 2, Passage of the Cordillera. March 22nd. After eating our potato-less breakfast, we travelled across the intermediate track to the foot of the Portillo Range. In the middle of summer cattle are brought up here to graze, but they had now all been removed. Even the greater number of the Guarnacos had de-kipped, knowing well that if overtaken here by a snowstorm, they would be caught in a trap. We had a fine view of a mass of mountains called Tupungato, the whole clothed with an unbroken snow, in the middle of which there was a blue patch, no doubt a glacier, a circumstance of rare occurrence in these mountains. Now commenced a heavy and long climb, similar to that of the Pucanis. Bold conical hills of red granite rose on each hand. In the valleys there were several broad fields of perpetual snow. These frozen masses, during the process of thawing, had in some parts been converted into pinnacles or columns, which, as they were high and close together, made it difficult for the cargo mules to pass. Footnote. This structure in frozen snow was long since observed by Scorsby in the icebergs near Spitzbergen, and, lately, with more care, by Colonel Jackson, Journal of Geographical Society, Volume 5, page 12, on the Neva. Mr. Lyell, Principles, Volume 4, page 360, has compared the fissures by which the columnar structures seem to be determined to the joints that traverse nearly all rocks, but which are best seen in the non-stratified masses. I may observe that in the case of the frozen snow, the columnar structures must be owing to a metamorphic action and not to a process during deposition. End footnote. On one of these columns of ice, a frozen horse was sticking up as on a pedestal, but with its hind legs straight up in the air. The animal, I suppose, must have fallen with its head downwards into a hole, where the snow was continuous, and afterwards the surrounding parts must have been removed by the thaw. When, nearly on the crest of the Portillo, we were enveloped in a falling cloud of minute frozen specular. This was very unfortunate, as it continued the whole day and quite intercepted our view. The pass takes its name of Portillo from a narrow cliffed or doorway on the highest ridge through which the road passes. From this point, on clear day, those vast plains which uninterruptably extend to the Atlantic Ocean can be seen. We descended to the upper limit of vegetation, and found good quarters for the night under the shelter of some large fragments of rock. We met here some passengers, who made anxious inquiries about the state of the road. Shortly after it was dark, the clouds suddenly cleared away, and the effect was quite magical. The great mountains, bright with the full moon, seemed impending over us on all sides, as over a deep crevice. One morning, very early, I witnessed the same striking effect. As soon as the clouds were dispersed, it froze severely, but as there was no wind, we slept very comfortably. The increased brilliancy of the moon and stars at this elevation, owing to the perfect transparency of the atmosphere, was very remarkable. Travellers, having observed the difficulty of judging heights and distances amid sloughy mountains, have generally attributed it to the absence of objects of comparison. It appears to me that there is fully as much owing to the transparency of the air confounding objects at different distances, and likewise partly to the novelty of an unusual degree of fatigue arising from a little exertion, havert being thus opposed to the evidence of the sensors. I am sure that this extreme clearness of the air gives a peculiar character to the landscape, all objects appearing to be brought nearly into one plane, as in a drawing or panorama. The transparency is, I presume, only to the equable and high state of atmospheric dryness. This dryness was shown by the manner in which woodwork shrank, as I soon found by the trouble my geological hammer gave me, by articles of food, such as bread and sugar becoming extremely hard, and by the preservation of the skin and parts of the flesh of the beasts which had perished on the road. To the same cause we must attribute the singular facility with which electricity is excited. My flannel waistcoat, when rubbed in the dark, appeared as if it had been washed with phosphorus. Every hair on a dog's back crackled. Even the linen sheets and leather and straps of the saddle, when handled, emitted sparks. March 23rd. The descent on the eastern side of the Cordillera is much shorter or steeper than on the Pacific side. In other words, the mountains rise more abruptly from the plains than from the alpine country of Chile. A level and brilliantly white sea of clouds was stretched out beneath our feet, shutting out the view of the equally level Pampas. We soon entered the band of clouds, and did not again emerge from it that day. About noon, finding pasture for the animals and bushes for the fireworld at Los Arenales, we stopped for the night. This was near the uppermost limit of bushes, and the elevation, I suppose, was between seven and eight thousand feet. I was much struck with a marked difference between the vegetation of these eastern valleys and those on the Chilean side, yet the climate, as well as the kind of soil, is nearly the same, and the difference of longitude very trifling. The same remark holds good with the quadrupedes, and in a lesser degree with the birds and insects. I may instance the mice, of which I obtained 13 species on the shores of the Atlantic, and five on the Pacific, and not one of them is identical. We must accept all those species, which habitually or occasionally frequent elevated mountains, and certain birds, which range as far south as the Strait of Magellan. This fact is in perfect accordance with the geological history of the Andes, for these mountains have existed as a great barrier since the present races of animals have appeared, and, therefore, unless we suppose the same species to have been created in two different places, we ought not to expect any closer similarity between the organic beings on the opposite sides of the Andes than on the opposite shores of the ocean. In both cases, we must leave out of the question those kinds which have been able to cross the barrier, whether of solid rock or salt water. This is merely an illustration of the admirable laws first laid down by Mr Lael on the geographical distribution of animals as influenced by geological changes. The whole reasoning, of course, is founded on the assumption of the immutability of species, otherwise the difference in the species in the two regions might be considered as super induced during a length of time. End footnote. A great number of the plants and animals were absolutely the same as, or most closely allied to, those of Patagonia. We have here the aguti, biscacha, three species of armadillo, the ostrich, certain kinds of partridges and other birds, none of which are ever seen in Chile, but are the characteristic animals of the desert plains of Patagonia. We have likewise many of the same, to the eyes of a person who is not a botanist, thorny stunted bushes, withered grass, and dwarf plants. Even the black slowly crawling beetles are closely similar, and some, I believe, on rigorous examination, absolutely identical. It had always been to me a subject of regret that we are unavoidably compelled to give up the ascent of the Santa Cruz River before reaching the mountains. I had always had a latent hope of meeting with some great change in the features of the country, but I now feel sure that it would only have been following the plains of Patagonia of a mountainous ascent. March 24th. Early in the morning I climbed up a mountain on one side of the valley, and enjoyed a far extended view over the Pampas. This was a spectacle to which I had always looked forward with interest, but I was disappointed. At the first glance it much resembled a distant view of the ocean, but in the northern parts many irregularities were soon distinguishable. The most striking feature consisted in the rivers, which, facing the rising sun, glittered like silver threads till lost in the immensity of the distance. At midday we descended the valley and reached a hovel, where an officer and three soldiers were posted to examine passports. One of these men was a thoroughbred Pampas Indian. He was kept much for the same purpose as a bloodhound, to track out any person who might pass by secretly, either on foot or horseback. Some years ago a passenger endeavored to a skate detection by making a long circuit over a neighbouring mountain, but this Indian, having by chance crossed his track, followed it for the whole day over dry and very stony hills, till at last he came on his prey hidden in a gully. We here heard that the silvery clouds, which we had admired from the bright region above, had poured down torrents of rain. The valley from this point gradually opened, and the hills became mere water-worn hillocks compared to the giants behind. It then expanded into a gently sloping plain of shingle, covered with low trees and bushes. This talus, although appearing narrow, must be nearly ten miles wide before it blends into the apparently dead-level Pampas. We passed the only house in this neighbourhood, the Estancia of Chaquillo, and at sunset we pulled up in the first snug corner and there bivouacked. March 25th. I was reminded of the Pampas of Buenos Aires by seeing the disk of the rising sun intersected by a horizon level as that of the ocean. During the night a heavy dew fell, a circumstance which we did not experience within the Cordillera. The road proceeded for some distance due east across a low swamp, then meeting the dry plain, it turned to the north towards Mendoza. The distance is two very long days journey. Our first day's journey was called 14 Leagues to Estacado, and the second 17 to Luxan near Mendoza. The whole distance is over a level desert plain, with not more than two or three houses. The sun was exceedingly powerful and the ride devoid of all interest. There is very little water in this traversia, and in our second day's journey we found only one little pool. Little water flows from the mountains, and it soon becomes absorbed by the dry and porous soil, so that, although we travelled at the distance of only 10 or 15 miles from the outer range of the Cordillera, we did not cross a single stream. In many parts the ground was encrusted with the saline efflorescence, hence we had the same salt-loving plants which are common near Bahia Blanca. The landscape has a uniform character from the Strait of Magellan along the whole eastern coast of Patagonia to the Rio Colorado, and it appears that the same kind of country extends inland from this river in a sweeping line as far as San Luis, and perhaps even further north. To the eastwards of this curved line lies the basin of the comparatively damp and green plains of Buenos Aires. The sterile plains of Mendoza and Patagonia consist of a bed of shingle, worn smooth and accumulated by the waves of the sea, whilst the Pampas, covered with thistles, clover and grass, have been formed by the ancient estuary mud of the Plata. After our two days tedious journey, it was refreshing to see in the distance the rows of poplars and willows growing around the village and river of Luxan. Shortly before we arrived at this place, we averbed to the south a ragged cloud of dark reddish brown colour. At first we thought that it was smoked from some great fire on the plains, but we soon found that it was a swarm of locusts. They were flying northward and with the aid of a light breeze, they overtook us at a rate of 10 or 15 miles an hour. The main body filled the air from a height of 20 feet to that, as it appeared, of two or three thousand above the ground, and the sound of their wings was as the sound of chariots of many horses running to battle, or rather I should say like a strong breeze passing through the rigging of a ship. The sky, seen through the advanced guard, appeared like a mezzo-tinto engraving, but the main body was impervious to sight. They were not, however, so thick together, but that they could escape a stick waved backwards and forwards. When they alighted, they were more numerous than the leaves of the field, and the surface became reddish instead of being green. The swarm having once alighted, the individuals flew from side to side in all directions. Locusts are not an uncommon pest in this country. Already during the season, several smaller swarms have come up from the south, where, as apparently in all other parts of the world, they are bred in the deserts. The poor cottages in vain attempted by lighting fires, by shouts, and by waving branches to avert the attack. This species of locust closely resembles, and perhaps is identical with, the famous grillus migratorius of the east. We crossed the Luxan, which is a river of considerable size, though its course towards the sea coast is very imperfectly known. It is even doubtful whether, in passing over the plains, it is not evaporated and lost. We slept in the village of Luxan, which is a small place surrounded by gardens, and forms the most southern cultivated district in the province of Mendoza. It is five leagues south of the capital. At night, I experienced an attack, for it deserves no lesser name, of the Bencucha, a species of the Reduvius, the great black bug of the Pampas. It is most disgusting to feel soft, wingless insects about an inch long, crawling over one's body. Before sucking, they are quite thin, but afterwards they become round and bloated with blood, and in this state are easily crushed. One which I caught at Iquique, for they are found in Chile and Peru, was very empty. When placed on a table, and though surrounded by people, if a finger was presented, the bold insect would immediately protrude its sucker, make it charge, and if allowed, draw blood. No pain was caused by the wound. It was curious to watch its body during the act of sucking. As in less than two minutes, it changed from being flat as a wafer to a globular form. This one feast, for which the Bencucha was indebted to one of the officers, kept it fat during four whole months, but after the first fortnight, it was quite ready to have another suck. March 27th. We rode on to Mendoza. The country was beautifully cultivated and resembled Chile. This neighborhood is celebrated for its fruit, and certainly nothing could appear more flourishing than the vineyards and the orchards of figs, peaches, and olives. We bought watermelons nearly twice as large as a man's head, most deliciously cool and well-flavored, for a half penny apiece, and for the value of three pence, half a wheelbarrow full of peaches. The cultivated and enclosed part of this province is very small. There is little more than that which we passed through between Luxan and the capital. The land, as in Chile, owes its fertility entirely to artificial irrigation, and it is really wonderful to observe how extraordinarily productive a barren traversia is thus rendered. We stayed the ensuing day in Mendoza. The prosperity of the place has much declined of late years. The inhabitants say, it is good to live in, but very bad to grow rich in. The lower orders have the lounging, reckless manner of the gauchos of the Pampas, and their dress, riding gear, and habits of life are nearly the same. To my mind, the town has a stupid forlorn aspect. Neither the boasted Alameda nor the scenery is at all comparable with that of Santiago, but to those who, coming from Buenos Aires, have just crossed the unvaried Pampas, the gardens and orchards must appear delightful. Sir Effhead, speaking of the inhabitants, says, they eat their dinners, and at so very hot they go to sleep, and could they do better? I quite agree with Sir Effhead. The happy doom of the Mendocinos is to eat, sleep, and be idle. March 29th. We set out on our return to Chile by the Uspilata Pass situated north of Mendoza. We had to cross a long and most sterile traversia of 15 leagues. The soil in parts was absolutely bare, in others covered by numbalist dwarf cacti armed with formidable spines and called by the inhabitants little lions. There were also a few low bushes. Although the plane is nearly 3,000 feet above the sea, the sun was very powerful and the heat as well as the clouds of impalpable dust rendered the traveling extremely irksome. Our course during the day lay nearly parallel to the Cordillera, but gradually approaching them. Before sunset we entered one of the wide valleys, or rather bays, which open on the plane. This soon narrowed into a ravine where a little higher up the house of Villa Vicencio is situated. As we had ridden all day without a drop of water, both our mules and selvers were very thirsty, and we looked out anxiously for the stream which flows down this valley. It was curious to observe how gradually the water made its appearance. On the plane the course was quite dry. By degrees it became a little damper, then puddles of water appeared. These soon became connected, and at Villa Vicencio there was a nice little rivulet. 30th. The solitary hovel which bears the imposing name of Villa Vicencio has been mentioned by every traveller who has crossed the Andes. I stayed here and at some neighbouring mines during the two succeeding days. The eugology of the surrounding country is very curious. The Iusbalata range is separated from the main Cordillera by a long, narrow plain or basin, like those so often mentioned in Chile, but higher, being 6,000 feet above the sea. This range has nearly the same geographical position with respect to the Cordillera, which the gigantic Portillo line has, but is of a totally different origin. It consists of various kinds of submarine lava, alternating with volcanic sandstones and other remarkable sedimentary deposits. The whole having a very close resemblance to some of the tertiary beds on the shores of the Pacific. From this resemblance I expected to find silicafied wood, which is generally characteristic of these formations. I was gratified in a very extraordinary manner. In the central part of the range, at an elevation of about 7,000 feet, I observed on a bare slope some snow-white projecting columns. These were petrified trees, 11 being silicafied, and from 30 to 40 converted into coarsely crystallized white calcarius spa. They were abruptly broken off, the upright stumps projecting a few feet above the ground. The trunks measured from three to five feet each in circumference. They strolled a little way apart from each other, but the whole formed one group. Mr. Robert Brown has been kind enough to examine the wood. He says it belongs to the fur tribe, partaking of the character of the Irucarian family, but with some curious points of affinity with the U. The volcanic sandstone in which the trees were embedded, and from the lower part of which they must have sprung, had accumulated in successive thin layers around their trunks, and the stone yet retained the impression of the bark. It requires little geological practice to interpret the marvellous story which this scene at once unfolded, though I confess I was at first so much astonished that I could scarcely believe the plainest evidence. I saw the spot where a cluster of fine trees once waved their branches on the shores of the Atlantic when that ocean, now driven back 700 miles, came to the foot of the Andes. I saw that they had sprung from a volcanic soil which had been raised above the level of the sea, and that subsequently this dry land, with its upright trees, had been let down into the depths of the ocean. In these depths the formally dry land was covered by sedimentary beds, and these again by enormous streams of submarine lava, one such mass attaining the thickness of a thousand feet, and these deluges of molten stone and aqueous deposits five times alternately had been spread out. The ocean which had received such thick masses must have been profoundly deep, but again the subterranean forces exerted themselves, and I now beheld the bed of that ocean forming a chain of mountains more than 7000 feet in height. Nor had those antagonistic forces been dormant, which were always at work wearing down the surface of the land. The great piles of strata had been intersected by many wide valleys, and the trees now changed into silics were exposed projecting from the volcanic soil, now changed into rock, whence formally in a green and budding state they had raised their lofty heads. Now all is utterly irreclaimable and desert, even the lichen cannot adhere to the stony casts of former trees, vast and scarcely comprehensible as such changes must ever appear, yet they have all occurred within a period recent when compared with the hydrae of the Cordillera, and the Cordillera itself is absolutely modern as compared with many of the fossiliferous strata of Europe and America. April 1st. We crossed the Uspolata Range, and at night slept at the Custom House, the only inhabited spot on the plain. Shortly before leaving the mountains, there was a very extraordinary view. Red, purple, green, and quite white sedimentary rocks, alternating with black lathers, were broken up and thrown into all kinds of disorder by masses of porphyry of every shade of colour, from dark brown to the brightest lilac. It was the first view I ever saw, which really resembled those pretty sections which geologists make of the inside of the earth. The next day we crossed the plain and followed the course of the great mountain stream which flows by Luxam. Here it was a furious torrent, quite impassable, and appeared larger than in the low country, as was the case with the rivulet of Villa Vicencio. On the evening of the succeeding day we reached the Rio de la Veacas, which is considered the worst stream in the Cordillera to cross. As all these rivers have a rapid and short course, and are formed by the melting of the snow, the hour of the day makes a considerable difference in their volume. In the evening the stream is muddy and full, but about daybreak it becomes clearer and much less impetus. This we found to be the case with the Rio de la Veacas, and in the morning we crossed it with little difficulty. The scenery was thus far very uninteresting compared with that of the Portillo Pass. Little can be seen beyond the bare walls of the once grand flat-bottomed valley, which the road follows up to the highest crest. The valley and the huge rocky mountains are extremely barren. During the two previous nights the poor mules had absolutely nothing to eat, for accepting a few low, resinous bushes, scarcely a plant can be seen. In the course of this day we crossed some of the worst passes in the Cordillera, but their danger has been much exaggerated. I was told that if I attempted to pass on foot my head would turn giddy, and that there was no room to dismount, but I did not see a place where anyone might not have walked over backwards or got off his mule on either side. One of the bad passes, called Las Animos, the Souls, I had crossed and did not find out till a day afterwards that it was one of the awful dangers. No doubt there are many parts in which, if the mule should stumble, the rider would be hurled down a great precipice, but of this there is little chance. I dare say, in the spring, the Laderas, or roads, which each year are formed anew across the piles of fallen detritus, are very bad, but from what I saw I suspect the real danger is nothing. With cargo mules the case is rather different, for the loads project so far that the animals, occasionally running against each other or against a point of rock, lose their balance and are thrown down the precipices. In crossing the rivers I can well believe that the difficulty may be very great. At this season there was little trouble, but in the summer they must be very hazardous. I can quite imagine, as Sir Effhead describes, the different expressions of those who have passed the gulf and those who are passing. I have never heard of any man being drowned, but with loaded mules it frequently happens. The ariro tells you how to show your mule the best line and then allow her to cross as she likes. The cargo mule takes a bad line and is often lost. April 4th. From the Rio de la Vacas to the Puente de Incas, half a day's journey. As there was pasture for the mules and geology for me, we'd bevwacked here for the night. When one hears of a natural bridge, one pictures to oneself some deep and narrow ravine, across which a bold mass of rock has fallen, or a great arch hollowed out like the vault of a cavern. Instead of this, the Incas bridge consists of a crust of stratified chingle cemented together by the deposits of the neighbouring hot springs. It appears as if the streams had scooped out a channel on one side, leaving an overhanging ledge which was met by earth and stones falling down from the opposite cliff. Certainly an oblique junction, as would happen in such a case, was very distinct on one side. The bridge of the Incas is by no means worthy of the great monarchs whose name it bears. Fifth. We had a long day's ride across the central bridge from the Incas bridge to the Ojos del Agua, which are situated near the lowest casucha on the Chilean side. These casuchas are round little towers, with steps outside to reach the floor, which is raised some feet above the ground on account of the snow drifts. They are eight in number, and under the Spanish government were kept during the winter well stocked with food and charcoal, and each courier had a master key. Now they only answer the purpose of caves, all rather dungeons. Seated on some little eminence, they are not however ill-suited to the surrounding scene of desolation. The zigzag ascent of the cumbre, or the partition of the waters, was very steep and tedious. Its height, according to Mr Petland, is 12,454 feet. The road did not pass over any perpetual snow, although there were patches of it on both hands. The wind on the summit was exceedingly cold, but it was impossible not to stop for a few minutes to admire, again and again, the colour of the heavens, and the brilliant transparency of the atmosphere. The scenery was grand. To the westward there was a fine chaos of mountains, divided by profound ravines. Some snow generally falls before this period of the season, and it has even happened that the Cordillera have been finally closed by this time. But we were most fortunate. The sky, by night, and by day, was cloudless, except for a few round little masses of vapour that floated over the highest pinnacles. I've often seen these islets in the sky, marking the position of the Cordillera, when the far-distant mountains have been hidden beneath the horizon. April 6th. In the morning we found some thief had stolen one of our mules, and the bell of the Madrina. We therefore rode only two or three miles down the valley, and stayed there the ensuing day in the hopes of recovering the mule, which the Eriro thought had been hidden in some ravine. The scenery in this part had assumed a Chilean character. The lower sides of the mountains, dotted over with the pale evergreen Cule tree, and with the great chandelier-like cactus, are certainly more to be admired than the bare eastern valleys, but I cannot quite agree to the admiration expressed by some travellers. The extreme pleasure, I suspect, is chiefly owing to the prospect of a good fire, and of a good supper, after escaping from the cold regions above, and I am sure I most heartily participated in these feelings. 8th. We left the valley of the Aconcagua, by which we had descended, and reached in the evening a cottage near the Villa del Saint Rosa. The fertility of the plain was delightful, the autumn being advanced, the leaves of many of the fruit trees were falling, and of the labourers. Some were busy in drying figs and peaches on the roofs of their cottages, while others were gathering the grapes from vineyards. It was a pretty scene, but I missed that pensive stillness which makes the autumn in England indeed the evening of the year. On the 10th we reached Santiago, where I received a very kind and hospitable reception from Mr Calclu. My excursion only cost me 24 days, and never did I more deeply enjoy an equal space of time. A few days afterwards I returned to Mr Corfield House at Valparaiso. End of Chapter 15 Part 2. Recording by Gavin Smith in Sydney, Australia.