Notes of a naturalist in South America

On the way from Valparaiso to Santiago I had already been much struck by the prevalence over wide areas of plants not indigenous to the country, most of them introduced from Southern Europe. The most conspicuous are plants of the thistle tribe, all strangers to South America, and especially the cardoon, or wild state of the common artichoke. This is now far more common in temperate South America than it anywhere is in its native home in the Mediterranean region. In Chili it is regarded with some favour, as mules, and even horses, eat the large spiny leaves freely at a season when other forage is scarce. The same cannot be said of our common coarse spear-thistle (Cnicus lanceolatus), which, though of much more recent introduction, has now invaded large tracts of country, especially in the rather moister southern provinces. I was informed that, with the strange expectation that it would be useful as fodder, an Englishman had imported a sack of the seed, which he had spread broadcast somewhere in the neighbourhood of Concepcion. Many other European plants have been introduced, either intentionally or by accident, and have in some districts to a great extent supplanted the indigenous vegetation. As to many of these, it appears to me probable that their diffusion is due more to the aid of animals than the direct intervention of man. This is especially true of the little immigrant which has gone farthest in colonizing this part of the earth – the common stork’s-bill (Erodium cicutarium), which has made itself equally at home in the upper zone of the Peruvian Andes, in the low country of Central Chili, and in the plains of Northern Patagonia. Its extension seems to keep pace with the spread of domestic animals, and, as far as I have been able to ascertain, it is nowhere common except in districts now or formerly pastured by horned cattle. It is singular that the same plant should have failed to extend itself in North America, being apparently confined to a few localities. It is now common in the northern island of New Zealand, but has not extended to South Africa, where two other European species of the same genus are established.

IMMIGRANT PLANTS.

In considering the facts relating to the rapid extension of certain plants when introduced into new regions, and the extent to which they have supplanted the indigenous species, I confess that I have always been a little sceptical as to the primary importance attributed by Darwin[24 - “Origin of Species,” 3rd edit., p. 410.] to the fact that most of these invaders are northern continental species. In the course of a long existence extending over wide areas, he maintains that these have acquired an organization fitting them better to maintain the struggle for existence than the indigenous species of the regions over which they have spread. Of course, it is true in the case of territories very recently raised from the sea, and not in direct connection with a continental area inhabited by species well adapted to the conditions of soil and climate, that immigrant species well adapted to the conditions of their new home will spread very rapidly, and may easily supplant the less vigorous, because less well adapted, native species. The most remarkable case of this kind is perhaps presented by Northern Patagonia and a portion of the Argentine region, raised from the sea during the most recent geological period. The only quarters from which the flora could be recruited were the range of the Andes to the west, and the subtropical zone of South America to the north. Everything goes to prove that the forms of plants are far more slowly modified than those of animals – or, at least, of the higher vertebrate orders. The new settlers are unable quickly to adapt themselves to the new conditions of life, and as a result we find that the indigenous flora of the region in question is both numerically poor in species, and that these have been unable fully to occupy the ground. Among the species intentionally or accidentally introduced by the European conquerors, those well adapted to the new country have established a predominance over the native species; but I question whether, if the course of history had been different, and the conquerors of South America had come from South Africa or South Australia, bringing with them seeds of those regions, we should not have seen in Patagonia African or Australian plants in the place of the European thistles and other weeds now so widely spread.

CHECKS ON COLONIZATION.

If I am not much mistaken as to the history of the introduction of foreign plants into new regions, it very commonly happens that a species which spreads very widely at first becomes gradually restricted in its area, and finally loses the predominance which it seemed to have established. Attention has not, I think, been sufficiently directed to the fact that the chief limit to the spread of each species is fixed by the prevalence of the enemies to which it is exposed, and that plants carried to a distant region will, as a general rule, enjoy advantages which in the course of time they are likely to lose. Whether it be large animals that eat down the stem – as goats prevent the extension of pines – or birds that devour the fruit, or insects that attack some vital organ, or vegetable parasites that disorganize the tissues, the chances are great that in a new region the species will not find the enemies that have been adapted to check its extension in its native home. Of the marvellous complexity of the agencies that interact in the life-history of each species we first formed some estimate through the teachings of Darwin; but to follow out the details in each case will be the work of successive generations of naturalists. We cannot doubt that in a new region new enemies will arise for each species that has become common, or, in other words, that other organisms, whether animals or plants, will acquire the means of maintaining their own existence at the expense of the new-comer. The wild artichoke is doubtless perfectly adapted to the climate of the warmer and drier parts of the Mediterranean region, and is there rather widely spread; but it is nowhere very common, even in places where the ground is not much occupied by other species. We do not know all the agencies that prevent it from spreading farther, but we do not doubt that it is held in check by its appropriate enemies. In South America it would appear that these, or some of them, are absent, and the plant has spread far and wide. If some common bird should take to devouring the seeds, or some other effectual check should arise, the area would very speedily be reduced.

The train stopped for breakfast at the Rancagua station, a few miles from the town of that name. Along with very fair food at the restaurant, cheaper delicacies were offered by itinerant hawkers, including various sweet cakes of suspicious appearance and baskets of red berries of the peumo tree. At the next station, called Gualtro, about fifty miles from Santiago, we left the train, and, after the usual long delay, continued our journey in a lumbering coach set upon very high wheels. This seems to be the general fashion for carriages in South America, arising from the fact that the smaller streams, which swell fast after rain, are usually unprovided with bridges.

Incautious travellers in South America may easily be misled by the frequent use of the same name for quite different places. One bound for the Baths of Cauquenes must be careful not to confound these with the town of Cauquenes, the chief place of a department of the same name, more than a hundred miles farther to the south.

PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY OF CHILI.

Before reaching Gualtro we had crossed the Cachapoal, a torrential stream which drains several valleys of the high Cordillera. Our course now lay eastward, towards the point where the river issues from the mountains into the plain, and where, as everywhere in Central Chili, its waters are largely used for irrigation. The road along the left bank lies on a slope at some height above the stream, and gives a wide view over the plain, backed by the great range of the Cordillera. Irrespective of the picturesque interest of the grand view, I added somewhat to the impressions respecting the physical geography of Central Chili which I had recently received from an examination of Petermann’s reduction from the large government map, and from the information given me at Santiago.

I had reached Chili with no other ideas respecting the configuration of the country than those derived from the twelfth chapter of Darwin’s “Journal of Researches,” which with little modification have been repeated by subsequent writers, even so lately as in the excellent article on “Chile,” in the American Cyclopædia.

Struck by the conformation of the range between Quillota and Santiago, and the somewhat similar range south of the Maipo, and writing at a time when there were no maps deserving of the name, and when the channels of Patagonia had been most imperfectly explored, Darwin was led to infer a much closer resemblance between the orographic features of the two regions than it is now possible to admit. He supposed the greater part, if not the whole of the Chilian coast, to be bordered by mountain ranges running parallel to the main chain of the Cordillera, thus forming a succession of nearly level basins lying between these outer mountains and the main range, each being drained through a transverse valley which cuts through the outer range. Such a conformation of the surface would undoubtedly resemble what we find on the western coast of South America, between the Gulf of Ancud and the Straits of Magellan. But the facts correspond with this view only to a limited extent.

The tints laid down on Petermann’s map to indicate successive zones of height above the sea are far from being completely accurate, but slight errors of detail do not affect the general conclusions to which we must arrive. If we carry the eye along from north to south, we find a succession of great buttresses or promontories of high land projecting westward from the main range, between which relatively deep valleys carry the drainage towards the Pacific coast. The effect of a continuous sinking of the land would be to produce a series of deep bays running far inland to the base of the Cordillera, and further depression might show here and there some scattered islets, but nothing to resemble the almost continuous range of mountainous islands that separate the channels of Patagonia from the ocean. As far as it is possible to judge of a region yet imperfectly surveyed, the case is quite different in Southern Chili, below the parallel of 40°. From near Valdivia a lofty coast range, cut through by only one deep and narrow valley, extends southward to the strait, only a few miles wide, that divides the island of Chiloe from the mainland, and is evidently prolonged to the southward in the high land that fringes the western flank of that large island. A moderate rise of the sea-level would submerge the country between Puerto Montt and the Rio de San Pedro, and produce another island very similar in form and dimensions to that of Chiloe.

A CHILIAN COUNTRY-GENTLEMAN.

Our lumbering carriage came to a halt at the place where the road crosses a stream – the Rio Claro – which drains some part of the outer range and soon falls into the Cachapoal. Close at hand was a plain building with numerous dependencies, which turned out to be the residence of Don Olegario Soto, the chief proprietor of this part of the country. I proceeded at once to deliver a letter to this gentleman, whose property extends along the valley for a distance of thirty or forty miles into the heart of the Cordillera. My object was to ascertain the possibility of making an excursion into the interior of the great range, and to obtain such assistance as the proprietor might afford. The house, so far as I saw, was rustic in character, and my first impression of its owner was that the same epithet might serve as his description. There was a complete absence of the conventional and perfectly hollow phrases which form the staple of Castilian courtesy. But first impressions are proverbially misleading. On my making some obviously superfluous remark as to my imperfect use of the Spanish tongue, Don Olegario changed the conversation to English, which he spoke with perfect ease and correctness. We discussed my project of a mountain excursion, and I found at once that he was ready to give practical assistance in every way. The doubt remained as to the season and the weather. If no rain or snow should fall, there was no other obstacle. He readily undertook to provide men and horses and everything needful for an excursion of three days in the Cordillera, and I was to let him know my resolve on the following day.

I afterwards heard in some detail the family history of this liberal-minded gentleman. His father commenced life as a common miner. With the aid of good fortune, natural intelligence, and activity, he became the owner of a valuable mine in Northern Chili, and amassed a large fortune, mainly invested in the purchase of land. Having several sons, he sent them all for education to England, and, to judge from the specimen I saw, with excellent results. Large proprietors who use intelligence and capital to develop the natural resources of the country supply, in some states of society, the most effectual means for progress in civilization; but, excepting in Chili, such examples are rare in South America.

The day was declining when we reached the Baths of Cauquenes, and I had time only for a short stroll through the establishment and its immediate surroundings. It stands on a level shelf of stony ground less than a hundred feet above the river Cachapoal, the main building consisting of a range of bedrooms, all on the ground floor, disposed round a very large quadrangle. The rooms are spacious and sufficiently furnished, and I was struck by the fact that there is no fastening whatever to the doors, which usually stand ajar. This speaks at once for the constant apprehension of earthquakes that seems to haunt the Chilian mind, and for the general honesty of the people, amongst whom theft is almost unknown. Besides some additional rooms in wings adjoining the great court, the baths are an annexe overhanging the river, to which you descend by broad flights of stairs. A large handsome hall, lighted from above, has the bath-rooms ranged on either side, all exquisitely clean and attractive. The adjoining ground, planted mainly with native trees, is limited in extent. A narrow and deep ravine, cut through the rocky slope of the adjoining hill, is traversed by one of those slight wire suspension bridges common in this country, that swing so far under the steps of the passenger as to disquiet the unaccustomed stranger. The views gained from below up the rugged and stern valley of the Cachapoal are naturally limited, but the rather steep hills rising above the baths promised a wider prospect towards the great range of the Cordillera, and did not disappoint expectation.

THE BATHS OF CAUQUENES.

The autumn season being now far advanced, the guests at the establishment were few – about twenty in all. After supper they assembled in a drawing-room and adjoining music-room. I was struck not only by the general tone of courtesy and good-breeding of the party, but by the fact that several of them at least were well-informed men, taking an intelligent interest in physics and natural history. Two or three gentlemen spoke a little, but only a little, English, and, my command of Spanish being equally imperfect, conversation did not flow very freely, and I retired for the night with a feeling that at a more favourable season I should be very loth to quit such pleasant head-quarters.

After a rather cold night, I rose early on the 15th of May, with a sense of the impending necessity for an immediate decision as to my future plans. Scanning anxiously the portion of the great range seen towards the head of the valley, I saw that fresh snow extended much lower than I had observed it at Santiago, while heavy broken masses of dark clouds lay along the flanks of the higher mountains. I received no encouragement from Mr. Hess. The ordinary season for rain in the low country had arrived, and this would take the form of snow in the inner valleys of the Cordillera; all appearances boded a change of weather which is always anxiously desired by the native population. I reluctantly decided to despatch a messenger to Don Olegario Soto renouncing the projected excursion, contenting myself with the prospect of approaching as near to the great range as could be accomplished in a single day from the baths.

To the naturalist, however, a new country is never devoid of interest; and this was my first day on the outer slopes of the Chilian Andes. The season was, indeed, the most unfavourable to the botanist of the entire year. After six months’ drought, broken only by one or two slight showers, the ground was baked hard, nearly to the consistence of brick, and most of the herbaceous vegetation utterly dried up. A great part of the day was nevertheless very well spent in rambling over the hill above the baths, and making closer acquaintance with many vegetable forms altogether new, or hitherto seen only from a distance. The trees and shrubs of this region are with scarce an exception evergreen, and the most conspicuous, though differing much from each other in structure and affinities, bear a striking resemblance in the general form and character of their foliage, formed of thickset, broadly elliptical, leathery leaves, giving a dense shade impervious to the sun. The largest is the peumo[25 - Molina, one of the most pernicious blunderers who have brought confusion into natural history, grouped together under the generic name Peumus several Chilian plants having no natural connection with each other. Misled by his erroneous description, botanists have applied the name peumus to a fragrant shrub, common about Valparaiso and elsewhere, which is known in the country by the name boldu.] tree, already referred to, which forms a thick trunk, but rarely exceeds thirty feet in height. Next to this in dimensions are two trees of the Rosaceous family, allied in essential characters (though very different in appearance) to the Spiræas, of which the common meadowsweet is the most familiar example. One of these, the Quillaja saponaria of botanists, is much prized for the remarkable properties of the bark, said to contain, along with carbonate of lime and other mineral constituents, much saponine, an organic compound having many of the properties of soap. It is commonly used for washing linen, and especially for cleansing woollen garments, to which it gives an agreeable lustre. Nearly allied to this is the Kageneckia oblonga, a small tree of no special use except to aid in clothing the parched hills of the lower region of Chili. It would seem that all these trees might be successfully introduced into the warmer parts of southern Europe, especially the south of Spain and Sicily, and the Quillaja would doubtless prove to be of some economic value.

CHILIAN TREES.

To the European traveller the most remarkable vegetable inhabitant of the dry hills of Central Chili is the tall cactus (Cereus quisco), which I had first seen on the way from Valparaiso to Santiago. They were abundant on the lower slopes about Cauquenes, the stiff columnar stems averaging about a foot in diameter. I was told that the plant was now to be found in flower, and was surprised to observe on the trunks, as I approached, clusters of small deep-red flowers that appeared very unlike anything belonging to this natural family. Nearer inspection showed that they had none but an accidental connection with the plant on which they grew. The genus Loranthus, allied to our common European parasite, the mistletoe, is widely spread throughout the world, chiefly in the tropics. From three to four hundred different species are known, nearly all parasites on other plants; as a rule, each species being confined to some special group, and many of them known to fix itself only upon a single species. Botanists in various regions have remarked that there is frequently a marked resemblance between the foliage of the parasitic Loranthus and that of the plants to which it is attached; but it is especially remarkable that the only species which is known to grow upon the leafless plants of the cactus family should itself be the only leafless species of Loranthus, consisting as it does only of a very short stem, from which the crowded flower-stalks form a dense cluster of bright-red, moderately large flowers. Although it is not easy to conjecture how it may act, it is conceivable that these conformities may be results of natural selection; but it is also possible that, like many curious instances of parallelism among the forms of plants belonging to widely different types, the facts may hereafter be seen to result from some yet undiscovered law regulating the direction of variation in the development of organic beings.

A CURIOUS PARASITE.

In some places dense masses of spiny shrubs were massed together, overgrown by climbing plants, amongst which the most strange and attractive were composites of the genus Mutisia. The Chilian species have all stiff, leathery, undivided leaves ending in a tendril, with large brownish-red or purple flowers, of which very few were to be found at this advanced season. Among the shrubs I was struck by a species of Colletia, a genus characteristic of temperate South America. They are nearly or quite leafless, and remind one slightly of our European furze, but are much more rigid, with fewer, but hard and penetrating spines, which, unlike those of the furze, are true branches, sharpened to a point and set on at right angles to the stem. The species common here (Colletia spinosa of Lamarck) grows to a height of four or five feet, and would probably be found very useful for hedges on dry stony ground in the south of Europe. I regret that the seeds which I sent to Italy have not germinated.

At the present season, corresponding to mid-November in Europe, I could not expect to see much of the native herbaceous vegetation, and the majority of the plants collected showed little more than the parched skeletons of their former selves. The recent slight showers, which alone had broken the long drought since the preceding spring, sufficed to awaken into life two species of Oxalis, whose flowers and early leaves just pierced through the hard surface of the soil; but, although some young leaves heralded the appearance of species of the lily tribe, no other new flowers had appeared. Ferns were scarce, but I was rather surprised to find a fine Adiantum in some abundance under the shade of the Quillaja and Kageneckia trees.

In the evening I arranged with Mr. Hess to start early on the following morning, with the object of approaching as nearly as possible to the higher zone of the Cordillera, of which, despite cloudy weather, I had tempting glimpses during the day.

I was on foot early on the 16th, but the prospect was not altogether cheering. The clouds which covered the sky were of leaden hue, and lay about mid-height on the range of the Cordillera. The horses were ready after the usual delay, and a taciturn young man, who probably thought the expedition a bore, was in readiness to act as guide. As I was about to mount, Mr. Hess lent me a poncho, which I at once drew over my head, and for which I afterwards had reason to be grateful. We rode on in silence for more than an hour, following a track that cuts across the great bend of the Cachapoal above the baths. The river is formed by the union of four or five torrents that issue from as many of the interior valleys of the Cordillera. It flows at first northward, nearly parallel to the main chain, until, a few miles above the baths, it bends westward and descends towards the open country. We had reached a point overlooking the upper valley, and, as far as one might judge from glimpses through breaks in the clouds, commanding a noble view of the great range of the Cordillera. Before us lay the slopes by which, at a distance of two or three miles, we might reach the only bridge which spans the upper course of the Cachapoal. Just at this interesting point the threatened rain began, at first gentle, but steadily increasing. I went on for some time on the chance of any token of improvement; but, as none appeared, I decided on sending back the horses and returning on foot to the baths.

USE OF THE PONCHO.

I had this day my first experience of the value of a genuine poncho woven by the Indian women from the wool of the guanaco. Throughout South America the cheap articles in common use, manufactured in England and Germany, have almost replaced the native garment. They are comparatively heavy and inconveniently warm, while not at all efficient in keeping out rain. After more than three hours’ exposure to heavy rain, the light covering lent to me by Mr. Hess had allowed none to pass. It is surprising that such a serviceable and convenient garment, which leaves the arms free, and is equally useful on foot or on horseback, is not more generally adopted in Europe, especially by sportsmen. A good poncho is not, however, to be had cheaply. I was asked sixty dollars for one at Buenos Ayres, and that, I believe, is about the ordinary price.

The change of weather which culminated in this wet day at Cauquenes seems to have extended along the range of the Cordillera; but, to illustrate the rapid change of climate which is found in advancing northward along the west side of the Andes, I may mention that, while the rain continued to fall steadily for ten and a half hours at Cauquenes, it lasted but five hours at Santiago, about fifty miles to the northward; and at Santa Rosa, forty miles farther in a direct line, only two hours’ rain was obtained by the thirsty farmers on the banks of the Aconcagua.

On the morning of the 17th the clouds had disappeared, and the valley was lit up with brilliant sunshine. Fresh snow lay thickly on the flanks of the higher mountains, and I had reason to congratulate myself that I had not undertaken an expedition which would have resulted in utter discomfort without any adequate compensation, as the Alpine vegetation must have been completely concealed by the fresh snow. The roads and paths were all deep in mud, and the slopes very slippery from the rain, so I decided on descending to the rocky banks of the river below the baths, and, following the stream as far as I conveniently could. I did not go far, but a good many hours were very well occupied in examining the vegetation of the left bank of the Cachapoal and of a little island of rock in the middle of the stream. In summer one of the ordinary suspension bridges of the country enables the visitors to cross to the right bank, but this is removed during winter, and the swollen waters of the river made all the usual fords impassable for the present.

GROUPS OF INCOMPLETE SPECIES.

Many forms of Escallonia were abundant along the stream. A few species only of this genus are cultivated in English gardens, but in their native home, the middle and lower slopes of the Andes, they exhibit a surprising variety of form while preserving a general similarity of aspect. They are all evergreen shrubs, some rising to the stature of small trees, with undivided, thick, usually glossy leaves, and white, red, or purplish flowers. Although forty-three different species have been described from Chili alone, it is easy to find specimens not exactly agreeing with any of them, and to light upon intermediate forms that seem to connect what appeared to be quite distinct species. They afford an example of a fact which I believe must be distinctly recognized by writers on systematic botany – that in the various regions of the earth there are some groups of vegetable forms in which the processes by what we call species are segregated are yet incomplete; and amid the throng of closely allied forms, the suppression of those least adapted to the conditions of life has not advanced far enough to differentiate those which can be defined and marked by a specific name.

To the believer in evolution, it must be evident that at some period in the history of each generic group there must have occurred an interval during which species, as we understand them, did not yet exist; and perhaps the real difficulty is to explain why such instances are not more frequent than they now appear to be. Familiar examples are the genera Hieracium and Rosa in Europe; Aster and Solidago in North America; while in South America, Escallonia, Malvastrum, and several groups of Myrtaceæ seem to exhibit the same phenomenon.

Another genus having numerous species in South America, but, so far as I know, not displaying the same close connection of forms linking the several species, is Adesmia, a leguminous genus allied to the common sainfoin. I found several species near the baths, the most attractive being a little spiny yellow-flowered bush, with much the habit of some Mediterranean Genistæ, but with pods formed of several joints, each covered with long, purple, glistening hairs.

A bright day was followed by a clear cold night, the thermometer falling to 40° Fahr. in the court, and slight hoar-frost was visible in the lower part of the valley near the baths. I started early for a ramble over the higher hills rising to the south and south-west of the establishment. After following a track some way, I struck up the steep stony slopes, meeting at every step the dried skeletons of many interesting plants characteristic of this region of America, but here and there rewarded by finding some species in fruit, or even with remains of flower. After gaining the ridge, I found that the true summit lay a considerable way back, quite out of sight of the baths. To this, which is called El Morro de Cauquenes,[26 - The Baths of Cauquenes are said to be 2523 feet above the sea; the Morro, by aneroid observation, is about 2000 feet higher.] I directed my steps, wishing to enjoy a unique opportunity for a wide view of the Chilian Andes.

PANORAMIC VIEW OF THE ANDES.

The day was cloudless, and the position most favourable. In this part of the range the Cordillera bends in a curve convex to the east, so as to describe a nearly circular arc of about 60°, with Cauquenes as a centre. The summits of the main range, which apparently vary from about sixteen to nineteen thousand feet in height, and are nearly forty miles distant, send out huge buttresses dividing the narrow valleys whose waters unite to form the Cachapoal, and are in many places so high as to conceal the main range. The slopes are everywhere very steep, so that, in spite of the recent fall of snow, dark masses of volcanic rock stood out against the brilliant white that mantled the great chain. The tints in Petermann’s map would indicate that the highest peaks are those lying about due east, but it appeared to me that two or three of those which I descried to the south-east, though slightly more distant, were decidedly higher. It will probably be long before the Chilian Government can undertake a complete survey of the gigantic chain which walls in their country on the eastern side. No pass, as I was informed, is used to connect the upper valley of the Cachapoal with the Argentine territory.

From the summit I descended about due north into a little hollow, whence a trickling streamlet fell rather rapidly towards the main valley. As commonly happens in Chili, this has cut a deep trench, or quebrada; and when I had occasion to cross to the opposite bank, I had no slight difficulty in scrambling down the nearly vertical wall, though partly helped and partly impeded by the shrubs that always haunt these favourable stations. The Winter’s bark, not yet in flower, differed a good deal from the form which I had seen at Valparaiso, and the foliage was much the same that I afterwards found in the channels of Patagonia. Among the few plants yet flowering at this season was a large lobelia, of the group formerly classed as a distinct genus under the name Tupa,[27 - As happens with many other plants described by early botanists, there has been much confusion in regard to the species named by Linnæus Lobelia Tupa. The plant was first made known to Europeans by the excellent traveller, Father Feuillée, whose “Journal des Observations Physiques Mathématiques et Botaniques faites sur les côtes de l’Amérique meridionale, etc.,” published in 1714, is a book which may still be consulted with advantage. His descriptions of plants are usually careful and accurate, but the accompanying plates all ill-executed and often misleading. Linnæus, followed by Willdenow, refers to Feuillée’s work, but gives a very brief descriptive phrase which suits equally well Feuillée’s plant and several others subsequently discovered. Aiton, in the “Hortus Kewensis,” gives the name Lobelia Tupa to a plant which is plentiful about Valparaiso, where I found it still in flower, the seeds of which were received at Kew about a century ago from Menzies. This is now generally known by the not very appropriate name Tupa salicifolia of Don, but was first published by Sims in the Botanical Magazine, No. 1325, as Lobelia gigantea, which name it should now bear. The plant which I found near Cauquenes appears to be the Tupa Berterii of Decaudolle, a rare species, apparently not known to the authors of the “Flora Chilena.” No doubt could have arisen as to the plant intended by Linnæus as Lobelia Tupa if writers had referred to Feuillée’s full and accurate description. His account of the poisonous effects of the plant was probably derived from the Indians, and may be exaggerated. The whole plant, he says, is most poisonous, the mere smell causing vomiting, and any one touching his eyes after handling the leaves is seized with blindness. I may remark that the latter statement, which appears highly improbable, receives some confirmation from the observations of Mr. Nation, mentioned above in page 77. The plant which I saw in Peru, but failed to collect, is much smaller than most of the Chilian species, and has purple flowers, but is nearly allied in structure. It is probably the Tupa secunda of Don. I gather from a passage in one of Mr. Philippi’s writings that the word tupa in Araucanian signifies poison. We are yet, I believe, ignorant of the chemical nature of the poisonous principle contained in the plants of this group.] and which is peculiar to Chili and Peru.

CAPTIVE CONDORS.

On my return from a delightful walk, I found much-desired letters from home awaiting me, and along with them the less welcome information that the departure of the Triumph was delayed for several weeks. Renouncing with regret the agreeable prospect of a voyage in company with Captain Markham, I at once wrote to secure a passage in the German steamer Rhamses, announced to leave Valparaiso on May 28.

Among other objects of interest at this place, I was struck by the proceedings of two captive condors, who, with clipped wings, roamed about the establishment, and seemed to have no desire to recover the liberty which they had lost as young birds. One of them was especially pertinacious in keeping to the side of the court near to the dining-room and kitchen, always on the look-out for scraps of meat and refuse. Contrary to my expectation, the colour of both birds, which were females, was a nearly uniform brown, with only a few white feathers beneath. They were larger than any eagles, but scarcely exceeded one or two of the largest lämmergeier of the Alps that I have seen in confinement.

On the morning of May 19 I with much regret took my departure from the baths, and found myself in company with an elderly gentleman and his pretty and agreeable daughter, who also desired to return to Santiago. Starting some two hours earlier than was at all necessary, we had spare time, which I employed in looking for plants at Rio Claro and about the Gualtro station; but at this season very little remained to interest the botanist. We reached the capital about five p.m., and, as the days were now short, the sun was setting as I went in an open carriage along the broad Alameda, which runs nearly due east. The better to enjoy the finest sunset which I had yet seen in America, I was sitting facing westward, with my back to the horses, when an unusual glow of bright light on the adjoining houses caused me to turn my head. Never shall I forget the extraordinary spectacle that met my eyes. I am well used to brilliant sunsets, for, so far as I know, they are nowhere in the world so frequent as in the part of north-eastern Italy approaching the foot of the Alps, with which I am familiar. But the scene on this evening was beyond all previous experience or imagination. The great range of the Cordillera that rises above the town, mostly covered with fresh snow, seemed ablaze in a glory of red flame of indescribable intensity, and the whole city was for some minutes transfigured in the splendour of the illumination.

SUNSET ILLUMINATION.

The subject of sunset illumination has been much discussed of late in connection with the supposed effects of the great eruption of Krakatoa, and I confess to a suspicion that these have been considerably overrated. That the presence of finely comminuted particles in the higher region of the atmosphere is one of the chief causes that determine the colour of the sky, may be freely conceded by those who doubt whether a single volcanic eruption sufficed to alter the conditions over the larger part of the earth’s surface. It is certain that some of the districts ordinarily noted for sunsets of extraordinary brilliancy are remote from active volcanoes. So far as South America is concerned, it may, on the other hand, be remarked that if volcanic action be an efficient cause, it is present at many points of the continent as well as in Central America, while brilliant sunsets are, so far as I know, of rare occurrence except in Chili.

CHAPTER IV

Baths of Apoquinto – Slopes of the Cordillera – Excursion to Santa Rosa de los Andes and the valley of Aconcagua – Return to Valparaiso – Voyage in the German steamer Rhamses– Visit to Lota – Parque of Lota – Coast of Southern Chili – Gulf of Peñas – Hale Cove – Messier’s Channel – Beautiful scenery – The English narrows – Eden harbour – Winter vegetation – Eyre Sound – Floating ice – Sarmiento Channel – Puerto Bueno – Smyth’s Channel – Entrance to the Straits of Magellan – Glorious morning – Borya Bay – Mount Sarmiento – Arrival at Sandy Point.

Having devoted the day following my return to Santiago to botanical work, chiefly in the herbarium of Dr. Philippi, I started on the following morning in company with his son, Professor Friedrich Philippi, for an excursion up the slopes of the mountain range nearest the city. My companion had kindly sent forward in advance his servant with horses, and we engaged a hackney coach to convey us to the Baths of Apoquinto, where a warm mineral spring bursts out at the very base of the mountain. The common carriages throughout South America are heavy lumbering vehicles, and the road, though nearly level, was deep in volcanic sand; but the horses are excellent, and, in spite of several halts to collect a few plants yet in flower, we accomplished the distance of nine miles in little over an hour.

BATHS ON APOQUINTO.

The establishment at Apoquinto is on a small scale and somewhat rustic in character, but it had been recently taken by an Englishman, and now supplies fair accommodation, which would be prized by a naturalist who should be fortunate enough to visit Chili at a favourable season. We mounted our horses without delay, and at once commenced the ascent, gentle for a short way, but soon becoming so steep that it was more convenient to dismount at several places. Under the experienced guidance of my companion, I found more interesting plants still in flower or fruit than I had ventured to expect at this season. I here for the first time found a species of Mulinum, one of a large group of umbelliferous plants characteristic of the Chilian flora, and nearly all confined to South America. The leaves in the commonest species are divided into a few stiff pointed segments, reminding one somewhat of the Echinophora of the Mediterranean shores, once erroneously supposed to be a native of England.