EXCURSION ON THE TAMISSEE RIVER. CHAPOTÉ, ITS APPEARANCE IN THE LAKES AND THE GULF OF MEXICO.
Once more in a canoe.—The Tamissee river.—Fertility of its banks.—Wages on the plantations.—Magnificent trees.—Mounds on Carmelote creek.—Entertained by a Yankee.—Character and condition of the people.—The Chapoté—Observed on the lakes in the interior of Mexico.—Seen also in the Gulf.—Article in Hunt's Merchants' Magazine.—Speculations of the writer upon the Gulf Stream.—Supposed connection with the Pacific ocean.—Objections to this theory.—Another view of the matter.—Insects.—Return to Tampico. The city in mourning.
It was not enough for me to know that I had arrived at Tampico. I soon became uneasy; and, being desirous to make the best use of my time, my thoughts were immediately turned upon resuming my paddle in some other direction. Accordingly, in the evening of an early day, I found myself once more in a canoe, with an Indian for a companion, going up the Tamissee River, for the purpose of visiting the creeks that empty into it at different points, and of ascertaining what ruins might be found in their vicinity.
This river rises at the foot of the mountains near Victoria, and falls into the Panuco at Tampico. It is navigable about forty leagues, for any vessel that can pass the bar, at which the depth of water is only eight or nine feet. The average depth of the stream is eight fathoms,—and a ship of a hundred guns, might haul up close to the side of its banks. This river rises and falls but little, and there are no towns situated upon its margin. Its crystal waters are well stocked with fish, of various kinds. The scenery, on either side, is exceedingly beautiful, opening occasionally, as you pass along, the most picturesque landscapes, and then completely embowering you in the shade of the luxuriant trees, that overhang the stream.
The borders of the Tamissee, with a soil of exceeding richness and fertility, are under Indian cultivation, and supply the market of Tampico with fruit and vegetables. The plantain is in great request there, and plantations for cultivating it are numerous and extensive. Its growth is luxuriant, and its flavor particularly rich and agreeable. Sugar cane grows almost spontaneously, and in such abundance that credulity itself is staggered at the thought. One planting, without further care or labor, is all that it requires of human attention, for fifteen or twenty years. I measured a cane which had been planted nine years. It was vigorous and thrifty, as if of last year's planting, had grown to the enormous length of twenty-one feet, and exhibited forty-five joints. The product of the juice, though not perhaps in full proportion to the size of the plant, is much greater than that of the ordinary cane. Thirty-two gallons of the juice will yield no less than twelve pounds of sugar. This is considered only a fair average. That this gigantic cane is in very tall company, will be seen from the fact that the bamboo, which I have often measured, grows to the height of sixty feet.
Wages, on these plantations, including the amount of one dollar allowed in rations of corn, are seven dollars per month, which, if properly husbanded, and prudently expended, would afford a comfortable subsistence to the laborer. But the Indians, who perform all this kind of labor, are, as I have before had occasion to remark, proverbially lazy and shiftless. Great difficulty is experienced, in all this country, in keeping them steadily at any kind of work. To find one of them so industrious and thoughtful, as to have any thing in advance of the absolute wants of the day, would be matter of astonishment. They work only when they are hungry, and stop as soon as they are fed. The instincts of nature alone can rouse them to make any exertion, unless compelled by some superior force, or a contract from which they cannot escape.
The price of the ordinary sugar, in this vicinity, is only about two cents per pound; but the clay-clarified is worth from twelve to fourteen cents, a price which, it would seem, would amply remunerate the manufacturer. And yet I do not know of an establishment of the kind in any section of this country. If any enterprising Yankee should take the hint, and realize a fortune in the enterprise, I trust he will bear in mind, as he retires, that "one good turn deserves another."
In pursuing my different routes through the woods, and along the water courses, of Mexico, I have often been struck with the immense size, and luxuriant foliage of the trees. The Banyan, or wild fig, in particular—of which I had occasion to take some notice before—with its numerous gigantic trunks, propping up its great lateral branches, from which they had originally descended in slender suckers, often covers an immense area. Possessing within itself the material for a vast forest, it presents to the beholder a magnificent and imposing spectacle. From some points of view, when favorably situated, it has the aspect of a vast natural temple, with its "long drawn aisles" and its almost endless colonnades supporting a roof overgrown with trees, and walls hung with clustering vines. The gloomy recesses within, would seem a fitting altar-place for the bloody rites of that dark idolatry, which once overshadowed these beautiful regions.
The fan palm, called here palma real or royal palm, rises from seventy to eighty feet in height. It is a magnificent tree, and whether seen in clusters, or alone, is always beautiful. With its tall straight trunk, and its richly tufted crown of fringed leaves, waving and trembling in every breath of air that stirs, and glistening in the sun with a beautiful lustre, it has a glory and a grace peculiar to itself. It was so abundant in this region, at the time of the conquest, that the Panuco was then called the Rio des Palmas, the River of Palms. A great variety of other trees are met with here, of magnificent size and splendid foliage, waving their brilliant branches in the breeze, and presenting strong inducements to the traveller continually to pause in wonder and admiration. In good sooth, it may be said that "man is the only thing that dwindles here."
Having hauled up under a tree, made fast our canoe, and spread my blanket over me, I passed a comfortable night, as I had often done before, in the same primitive way. In the morning, I continued on my way two or three leagues farther up the river, where I found ruins, similar, in their general character, to those I have already described. They covered a considerable space, and were buried in some places, beneath masses of vegetable mould, and in others, overgrown with trees of immense size and great age. I wandered up and down among them, for a considerable time, sometimes cutting my way through the thick forest, and sometimes clambering over piles of broken stones, and long dilapidated walls, till I was quite weary with my labors. But I made no discoveries of sufficient interest to require a particular description. Every thing was so utterly ruinous, that it was impossible to trace out the lines of a single building, or determine the boundaries of the city, in any direction.
Some distance farther up, on Carmelote Creek, there are other ruins, in the midst of which there are seventeen large mounds, of a somewhat peculiar construction. Though in a pretty good state of preservation, I found that the walls were not built of stone. I penetrated one of them to some distance, but discovered nothing but earth and mortar, and broken pieces of pottery, with a few rude specimens of carved images, cut in concrete sandstone. Some of the latter were as large as life. One of these I brought away with me; also several fragments of Penates, some of which are represented in the engraving at the close of this chapter.
The mortar in these mounds seems to have been placed in layers at the bottom of the walls, but for what purpose I could not discover. It was not used as a cement, for, as I have said, there were no stones to be cemented. It was my opinion that these mounds were erected as places of burial, but there were no bones to be found, nor other traces of human remains.
At night, I came to a house, which seemed more like home than any thing I had seen in Mexico. The very sight of it was refreshing to the traveller. The arrangements were all made with good taste and judgment, and a due regard to comfort. The grounds were pleasantly laid out, and beautifully ornamented with trees and flowers. On inquiry, I learned, as might have been expected, that this inviting looking place was built and occupied by a thriving Yankee, who had brought with him to Mexico his good notions of husbandry and house-keeping. He gave me a hearty welcome to his house, and entertained me, for the night, with the greatest kindness and hospitality. If there were a few more such hospitable, home-like resting-places, distributed here and there among these interesting regions, it would be vastly more agreeable and comfortable to the jaded traveller, who attempts to explore their time-honored ruins.
The native Mexicans, in these parts, are an indolent, haughty, overbearing race. Still adhering to the barbarous policy of old Spain, they hold the people of every nation except their own, however much they may be in advance of them, in utter contempt. They are decidedly the most disagreeable class of people in this country. There is little intelligence or information among them. Education is at a very low ebb. There are some bright exceptions to this general remark; but they are lamentably few and far between. Whether a good school-master would be well sustained in this region, is a question which I am not prepared to answer; but certain I am he would find ample scope for the exercise of his vocation—a native soil wholly unoccupied, except with weeds.
In pursuing my adventures, I stopped frequently at the different milpas that lay in the way; but nothing like thrift or comfort was any where visible. A rude hovel with mud walls, and a single room, is all they aspire to, in the way of a dwelling. The land is rich and fruitful to excess, and the lounging, listless Indian is the only insurmountable obstacle to its profitable cultivation and improvement. In the hands of our southern planters, or of the sturdy farmers of the northern and western states, this whole region would become a paradise of perennial fruits and flowers, and teem with the golden treasures of every clime under heaven.
In some of the fresh water lakes, in the interior, the "chapoté," a species of asphaltum, is found bubbling up to the surface. When washed upon the borders, it is gathered, and used as a varnish upon the bottoms of canoes. It has a peculiar pungent smell, like that of liquid asphaltum, and possesses, I think, some of its qualities. I have observed a remarkable phenomenon, of the same kind, out of sight of land, in the Gulf of Mexico, where the waters bubble up in the same manner, and accompanied with a similar smell. There can be no doubt that the ebullition and effluvia observed in the Gulf, are the effect of the same cause, which produces the asphaltic substance on the surface of the Lakes.
This Asphaltic deposite in the Gulf, it appears, has attracted the notice of others, and from it a theory has recently been formed, to account for that hitherto unexplained, or not satisfactorily explained phenomenon, the Gulf Stream. The article appears in the August number of Hunt's Merchant's Magazine. As I had remarked upon the circumstance before that article was published, and furnished my remarks to the writer, as a confirmation of his statements, each of them having been made without a knowledge of the other, I think it not amiss to present, in this place, the substance of his theory, and the reasons upon which it is founded. I shall then have an opinion of my own to present, which differs materially from his.
The opinion of the writer is, that the Gulf Stream is not caused by the trade winds forcing into the Caribbean Sea, between the South Caribbee Islands and the coast of South America, a large quantity of water which can only find vent into the North Atlantic, by the Florida channel. In his view, there are serious objections to this theory. First, the water in the Gulf Stream is hotter than that of any part of the Atlantic, under the equator, and therefore it cannot be that, which supplies this never failing current. Secondly, the water of the Stream is hotter in deep water, where the current begins, or rather where it has become regular and strong, than it is in the Gulf, on soundings, where there is little or no current, indicating that it comes not from the shores, but from the bottom in deep water.
Thirdly, the appearance, in the Gulf, of bubbles of asphaltum constantly rising to the surface, and spread over it for a considerable distance. It has been collected in quantities sufficient to cover vessels chains, and other portions of the equipments. It is of a bituminous character, offensive to the smell, and becomes hard on exposure to the sun, forming a durable varnish, and doing better service on iron than any paint.
Fourthly, the volume of the Gulf Stream is sometimes so great, that the Florida channel is not sufficient to give it outlet, and the excess passes off to the south of the Island of Cuba. This has been noticed to such an extent, that vessels, in sailing across from Cape Catoche, the eastern extremity of Yucatan, to Cape Corientes or Antonio, are often driven by it very much to the eastward of their course. It is manifest that such a current could not exist, if the Gulf Stream were supplied by waters driven from that direction, as the two currents would counteract and destroy each other.
From these premises, the inference of the writer is, that nothing less than an ocean subsidiary to the Atlantic could supply the immense quantity of water, which is continually flowing out of the Gulf, with the force of an independent stream. And because this portion of the Atlantic is separated from the Pacific only by a narrow Isthmus, and the water in the Pacific is known to be constantly higher than that in the Atlantic, a passage under the Isthmus would necessarily create a powerful current. This passage he supposes to exist, to afford the supply necessary to keep the Gulf Stream perpetually in action. And, as the regions through which the supposed passage is formed, are known to be volcanic, the supposition accounts for the high temperature of the water, as well as for the force of the current.
With regard to the temperature of the water in the stream, it is stated, that its average, off the Capes of Florida, is 86°, and in latitude 36, it is 81°; while the mean temperature of the atmosphere, under the equator, is 74°, and of the water of the Atlantic, in the same place, not above 60°. It appears, then, that the water of the Stream, in passing out of the Gulf is some 26° hotter than that of the ocean, which, under the old theory, is supposed to supply it.
There is an error, either of the author, or of the printer, in these figures. The temperature of the Gulf Stream is correctly given; but he has evidently placed that of the ocean under the tropics, too low. It does not materially affect his argument, however, since it is undoubtedly a fact, notwithstanding the assertions of another writer, who has undertaken to reply to the article in question, that the water of the Gulf Stream, after it leaves the tropics, is warmer by some degrees, than the average of any part of the ocean under the tropics. On this point, the argument in Hunt's Magazine will not, I imagine, be controverted.
The suggestion, that the water which constitutes this stream, is derived from the Pacific, forced by its superior elevation there, through a subterranean passage, across or under the Isthmus, is certainly original, and ingenious. But, to my view, it is liable to as many objections, as the old one which it is intended to displace. It is indeed, as the writer says, a bold conjecture, having nothing to support it, except the volume of water required for the constant supply of the great stream, and the asphaltic ebullition, which first suggested the theory, and gave rise to the discussion. Both these circumstances, I imagine, can be disposed of in a very satisfactory manner, without resorting to the supposition of this mysterious communication between the two great oceans.
It is, in my view, a serious objection to the above-named theory, that there is no evidence whatever, on the Pacific coast, of any such submarine discharge of its surplus waters, as is here supposed. The natural, and almost inevitable effect of such an offlet would be the formation, at the place of discharge, of a mighty whirlpool, another Maelstrom, whose wide sweeping eddies would gather into its fearful vortex, and swallow up in inevitable destruction, whatever should venture within the reach of its influence. Whether such a phenomenon exists on that coast, I do not know; but it certainly is not described in any geography, nor laid down on any atlas, which has ever fallen under my notice.
Another objection, almost, if not quite as fatal to this "bold conjecture," is the fact, that upon the established and well known principles of hydrostatic pressure, a discharge, such as is here supposed, could not long continue without reducing the two oceans to the same level. The immense volume of the discharge which requires such a conjecture to account for it, would surely, in the long course of ages, exhaust the surplus in the Pacific, and then the stream would cease to flow. So that the fact of the Pacific still maintaining its elevation, would seem to be conclusive evidence that no such equalizing communication exists.
It may be further argued against this new theory, and it seems to me with great plausibility, that the appearance of the "chapoté" on the surface of the inland lakes, demonstrates the inconclusiveness of the main inference, on which the theory is based. Wherever the supposed subterranean passage may be, the volcanic fires, which are supposed to heat the water, and to furnish the asphaltic element, must necessarily lie below it; while the passage itself must, with equal certainty, lie below the bottom of the lakes. Now, if the asphaltic ebullition finds its way up through the lakes, would it not, certainly, and from necessity, carry the water along with it? And should we not expect to find a jet of salt water in the midst of the lake, or such an infusion of salt as to change the character of the lake?
If it be replied to this, that the level of the lake is higher than that of the sea, another, and equally formidable difficulty will result. For, as water must always find its level, through the same opening by which the asphaltum rises, the water of the lake would inevitably leak out, and lose itself in the mighty current.
While, therefore, I am, equally with the writer in the Merchants' Magazine, dissatisfied with the old theory of water from the south, forced into the Gulf by the trade winds, and compelled to find a northern outlet—which, from the nature of the case, the formation of the land, and the ordinary phenomena of the seas where it is held to originate, appears, at the first blush, absurd and impossible. I am constrained to say that his "bold conjecture" deserves no better name than he has given it. My own view of the case is, that the true cause of this singular phenomenon must be sought in the bottom of the Gulf itself—in a perpetual submarine volcano, which, like a gigantic cauldron, is for ever sending up to the surface its heated currents, mingled with bituminous ebullition from the heart of the earth. I have taken some pains to examine the water in the immediate vicinity of these asphaltic bubbles, and have found it always considerably warmer than in any other part of the Gulf. It did not occur to me then, to compare it with the known temperature of the stream, after it is formed into a current; but I have no doubt that it will be found so to agree, as to afford substantial confirmation to these views.
Neither the ebullition here spoken of, nor the idea of submarine volcanoes in the Gulf, is intended to be presented as any thing new. The former was observed, and commented upon, by several of the early voyagers, who followed in the track of Columbus, more than three hundred years ago. It was then attributed to the existence of volcanic fires beneath the bed of the ocean. The latter is an opinion long since put forth, by some shrewd observer, I know not whom, in whose mind the insuperable objections to the old theory created a necessity for another and a better. Whether it is the true one, it is perhaps impossible for human sagacity to say. But that it is far more plausible, and more consistent with all the known facts in the case, than the other, I think, cannot be denied.
The insects in this region are inconceivably numerous and annoying,—so much so, that I was actually compelled to relinquish my researches; not however, until I had very little reason to anticipate any thing more of interest.
Thus defeated, I changed my course; and, turning the head of my canoe towards home, was once again in Tampico, but apparently not in the same city, of that name, which I had so recently left, to perform my pilgrimage to the cities of the dead.
The place was enveloped in deep mourning. The shops were closed, colors were hanging mournfully at half-mast, and the officers of the Mexican army were engaged in suspending effigies in various parts of the town, on which the zealous population might vent their pious spite. It was Good Friday; and the effigies thus exposed to the brunt of a well meant, but harmless popular indignation, were intended as representatives of Judas Iscariot.
