CHAPTER V.
HOW THE MATERIALS WERE BROUGHT TOGETHER.
These changes in the heavens, though slow, produce
Like change on sea and land.
Milton
Probably every mountain climber, resting for a brief space on a loose boulder, or seeking the shade of some overhanging piece of rock, has often asked himself, "How were all these rocks made?" The question must occur again and again to any intelligent person on visiting a mountain for the first time, or even on seeing a mountain-range in the distance. He may well ask his companions how these great ramparts of the earth were built up. But unless he possesses some knowledge of the science of geology, which tells of the manifold changes which in former ages have taken place on the earth, or unless, in the absence of such knowledge, he chance to meet with a geologist, his question probably remains unanswered. Such questions, however, can be very satisfactorily answered,—thanks to the labours of zealous seekers after truth, who have given the best part of their lives to studying the rocks which are found everywhere on the surface of the earth, and the changes they undergo. Geology is a truly English science; and Englishmen may well cherish gratefully the memories of its pioneers,—Hutton, Playfair, Lyell, and others, who have made the way so clear for future explorers.
The story of the hills as written on their own rocky tablets and on the very boulders lying loose on their sloping sides, and interpreted by geologists, is a long one; for it takes us far back into the dim ages of the past, and like the fashionable novel, may be divided into three parts, or volumes. To those who follow the stony science it is quite as fascinating as a modern romance, and a great deal more wonderful, thus illustrating the force of the old saying, "Truth is stranger than fiction."
The three parts of our story may be best expressed by the three following inquiries:
- I. How were the materials of which mountains are built up brought together and made into hard rock?
- II. How were they raised up into the elevated positions in which we now find them?
- III. How were they carved out into all their wonderful and beautiful features of crag and precipice, peaks and passes?
A mountain group, with its central peak or spire, its long ridges, steep walls, towers, buttresses, dark hollows, and carved pinnacles standing out against the sky, has well been compared to a great and stately building such as a cathedral or a temple. Mountains are indeed "a great and noble architecture, giving first shelter, comfort, and rest, but covered also with mighty sculpture and painted legend;" and to many they are Nature's shrines, where men may offer their humble praises and prayers to the great Architect who reared them for His children. We have introduced this illustration because it will help us in our inquiry. Suppose we were standing in front of some great cathedral, such as Milan, with all its marble pinnacles, or Notre Dame, with its stately towers, or the minsters of York or Durham in our own country, and trying to picture to ourselves how it was built. No one has lived long enough to watch the completion of one of these great buildings; but for all that, we know pretty well how it was made, even by watching the builder's operations for a short time, or by following, as we often may, the various stages in the construction of a small house. So it is with Nature's work. We cannot, in our little lives, witness the rearing of a great mountain-chain, or even the carving of a single hill; but we can observe for ourselves the slow and continuous operations which in the course of thousands and thousands of years produce such stupendous results. We may learn how the building operations are conducted, though the final results will only be manifested in the far-distant future.
But to return to our cathedral. If we try to picture to ourselves the long years during which it was covered with scaffolding and surrounded by a busy army of workers, we shall soon perceive that the operations may be broadly divided into three heads. First, we must inquire how the separate stones of which it is composed were brought together into one place, and we shall at once picture to ourselves groups of men working in stone-quarries,—perhaps a long way off,—busy with their crowbars and hammers, breaking off large blocks of stone, and following the natural divisions of the rock that their rough labour may be lessened; for all rocks will split more easily along certain lines than along others. Sometimes it is easier to follow the "bedding," or natural layers in which the rock was formed; at other times the "joints," or cracks subsequently formed as the rocky materials hardened and contracted in bulk, afford easier lines for the workmen to follow. Others are busily engaged in placing the stony blocks on trollies drawn by horses, that they may be borne along the roads leading from the quarry to the site of the future cathedral. And so, taking a bird's-eye view, we seem to see horses and carts slowly moving on from many a distant quarry, but all converging like the branches of a river to one main channel, and finally depositing their burdens in the stone-yard where the masons are at work. Perhaps bricks are partly employed, in which case we can easily picture to ourselves the brickyards, where some are digging out the soft clay, others moulding it into bricks with wooden moulds, while others again lay them down in rows on the ground to dry, before they are baked in the ovens. And when the bricks are ready for use, the same means of transportation are employed; and cart-loads of them are borne along the country roads until they so reach their destination.