It would be difficult, if not quite impossible, by dint of any number of precepts, to drive geology, or any other kind of instruction, into the noddles of some folks; so that it will often seem an even chance with a blockhead, whether, when he is obliged to think, he will generalise too much or too little. I remember, for example, once lying at anchor, for some weeks, in the harbour of Vigo, on the west coast of Spain, during which time, for a piece of fun, the first lieutenant desired one of the youngsters on board to write a letter to his friends at home.
“What in the world, sir, am I to say?” asked the noodle of a fellow, after pondering over the subject for a long time.
“Say?—Why, describe the country, and the manners of the people—tell how they behaved to you.”
To work went the youth, sorely bothered; and though he had been on shore many times, he could extract nothing from his memory. The first lieutenant, however, who was inexorable, insisted upon the letter being written, and locked him up in his cabin till he intimated, by a certain signal, that the epistle was ready for inspection. The following was the result of four hours’ painful labour:—
“All Spain is hilly—so is this. The natives all wear wooden shoes, and they are all a set of brutes, of which I take this to witness, that one of them called me a Picaroon.
“I remain, &c.”
Although geology be a topic often intensely interesting on the spot, it is not always easy to give it this character to people at a distance, who care very little whether the world has been baked or boiled, or both, or neither. Most persons, indeed, remain all their lives quite indifferent whether the globe has come into its present shape by what is called Chance, that is, I suppose, by means which we cannot investigate, and can only guess at,—or whether its various changes are susceptible of philosophical examination, and their history of being recorded with more or less precision. The sound geologist of the present day, it will be observed, professes to have nothing to do with the origin of things, but merely investigates the various physical revolutions which have taken place on the earth’s surface, by the instrumentality of natural causes. The great charm of this fascinating science, accordingly, though it may be difficult to say why, consists in the manner in which the Reason and the Imagination are brought together, in regions where two such travellers could hardly have been expected to meet.
Many practical and popular questions also mingle themselves up with the scientific inquiries of geology. I remember, for instance, even when a boy, taking a great interest, on this account, in the plaster of Paris quarries of Nova Scotia. This formation shews itself generally above ground, and is of a dingy white colour, the parts exposed to the air being crumbly or decomposed. The workmen having removed the superincumbent earth, and the rotten rock, as they call it, blast the solid gypsum with gunpowder, and, having broken it into blocks sufficiently small to be handled, sell it to the American dealers. A number of vessels are daily employed in carrying it to New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. In my early notes, I find it gravely stated, as a thing generally understood, that most of this gypsum was sold to the millers in the United States, for the purpose of adulterating their flour! Prejudice apart, however, the fact is quite the reverse of what I believed in my youth; for, by an ingenious system of regulations, the Americans contrive that the best quality should have an advantage over bad in leaving the country. Such, indeed, is the success of these measures, that I can safely say I never saw a barrel of it that was not excellent.
Besides this capital flour, the Americans export biscuit of a delicious quality to all parts of the globe; and those only who have known the amount of discomfort produced by living on the ‘remainder biscuit after a voyage,’ perhaps not good of its kind originally, can justly appreciate the luxury of opening a barrel of crackers from New York! By the way, it is a curious and not unimportant fact in nautical affairs, though only discovered of late years, that the best way to keep this description of bread is to exclude the air from it as much as possible. In former times, and even for some years after I entered the navy, the practice was, to open the bread-room frequently, and, by means of funnels made of canvass, called windsails, to force the external air amongst the biscuit, in order, as was supposed, to keep it sweet and fresh. Nothing, it now appears, could have been devised more destructive to it; and the reason is easily explained. It is only in fine weather that this operation can be performed, at which seasons the external air is generally many degrees hotter than the atmosphere of the bread-room, which, from being low down in the ship, acquires, like a cellar, a pretty uniform temperature. The outer air, from its warmth, and from sweeping along the surface of the sea, is at all times charged with a considerable degree of vapour, the moisture of which is sure to be deposited upon any body it comes in contact with, colder than the air which bears it along. Consequently, the biscuit, when exposed to these humid currents, is rendered damp, and the process of decay, instead of being retarded, is rapidly assisted by the ventilation. This ancient system of airing is now so entirely exploded, that in some ships the biscuit is placed in separate closed cases, in which it is packed like slates, with great care, and the covers are then caulked or sealed down. By this contrivance, no more biscuit need be exposed than is absolutely necessary for the immediate consumption of the crew. If I am not mistaken, this is the general practice in American men-of-war, and it certainly ought to be adopted by us.
I remember once, when sailing in the Pacific Ocean, about a couple of hundred leagues to the south of the coast of Peru, falling in with a ship, and buying some American biscuit which had been more than a year from home. It was enclosed in a new wine puncheon, which was, of course, perfectly air-tight. When we opened it, the biscuit smelled as fresh and new as if it had been taken from the oven only the day before. Even its flavour and crispness were preserved so entire, that I thought we should never have done cranching it.