Rambles by Land and Water; or, Notes of Travel in Cuba and Mexico

by Benjamin Moore Norman

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.