Notes of a naturalist in South America

by John Ball

COAL DEPOSITS OF LOTA.

I was courteously invited to the house of Mr. Squella, a relation of Madame Cousiño, who has the direction of this great establishment, and there had the pleasure of again meeting my former travelling companion, Mr. H——, and also Captain Simpson, an officer of the Chilian navy of English extraction, who, while commanding a ship on the southern coast, has rendered some services to science. The conversation was carried on chiefly in English, which has decidedly become the lingua franca of South America, but was shortened by my natural anxiety to turn to the best account the short time at my disposal. I had a choice between three alternatives—a descent into the coal mine, a visit to the works above ground and the miners’ town, or a ramble through the so-called park, which occupies the promontory stretching westward which forms the natural harbour of Lota, and covers a great portion of the precious deposit to which the place owes its new-born importance. I naturally preferred the latter, feeling that my limited experience as a geological observer would not allow me to profit much by a subterranean excursion. I made inquiry, however, as to the vegetable remains found in the lignite, and I was told that they are abundant, although the few specimens which I saw showed but slight traces of vegetable structure. I was led to believe that a collection of specimens had been sent to Europe to my late lamented friend, Dr. Oswald Heer, but I am not aware that he has left any reference to such a collection, or even that it ever reached his hands.

The parque of Lota, to which I directed my steps, has rather the character of an extensive pleasure-ground than of what we call a park; but the surface is so uneven, and the outline so irregular, that I could not estimate its extent. The numerous fantastic structures in questionable taste that met the eye in every direction create at the first moment an unfavourable impression, but the charms of the spot are so real that this is soon forgotten. The variety and luxuriance of the vegetation, and the diversified views of the sea and the rocky shores, were set off by occasional bursts of bright sunshine, in which the drops that still hung on every leaflet glittered like jewels of every hue. The trees here were of very moderate dimensions, the largest (here called roble) being of the laurel family, which, for want of flower or fruit, I failed to identify. The Spaniards in South America have given the name roble, which properly means “oak,” to a variety of trees which agree only in having a thick trunk and spreading branches. The shrubs were very numerous, partly indigenous and partly exotic, and a peculiar feature which I have not noticed in any other large garden is the number of parasites living on the trunks and branches of the trees and shrubs. Ferns were very numerous and grow luxuriantly, showing a wide difference of climate between this coast and that of the country two or three degrees further north. But the great ornament of this place is the beautiful climber, Lapageria rosea, now producing in abundance its splendid flowers, which so finely contrast with its dark-green glossy foliage. The specific name rosea is unfortunate, as the colour of the flowers is bright crimson, verging on scarlet.

THE PARQUE OF LOTA.

One of the special features of this garden was the abundance of humming-birds that haunted the shrubs and small trees, and darted from spray to spray with movements so rapid that to my imperfect vision their forms were quite indistinguishable. Whenever I drew near in the hope of gaining a clearer view, they would dart away to another shrub a few yards distant, and I am unable to say whether the bright little creatures belonged to one and the same or to several different species.

At one place where the garden is only some twenty feet above the beach, I scrambled down the rocks, and was rewarded by the sight of two or three plants characteristic of this region. The most attractive of these is one of the many generic types peculiar to the Chilian flora, allied to the pine-apple. The long stiff leaves, edged with sharp teeth and radiating from the lower part of the stem, are coloured bright red along the centre and at the base, forming, when seen from a distance, a brilliant, many-rayed red star. Another novelty was Francoa sonchifolia, which also clings to the rocks by the sea. It has somewhat the habit of a large crucifer, but the structure of the flower and fruit is widely different. It was regarded by Lindley as the type of a distinct natural family, but has been, with one other Chilian genus (Tetilla), classed as a tribe of the saxifrage family.

Time passed quickly in such an interesting spot, and the hour appointed for returning to the ship had nearly arrived, when Mr. Reilly, the gardener who has the management of the parque, invited me to see his house. He came, as I learned, from Wexford, in Ireland, had had some training in the Royal Gardens at Kew, when his fortunate star led him to Chili. I found him installed in a very pretty and comfortable house, charmingly situated, in as full enjoyment of one of the most beautiful gardens in the world as if he were its absolute owner. This was only one more instance of the success which so often attends my countrymen when removed to a distance from their native land. Freed from the evil influences that seem indigenous to the soil of that unfortunate island, they develop qualities that are too rarely perceptible at home. The arguments for emigration are commonly based only on the economical necessity for relieving the land of surplus population; to my mind it may be advocated on other and quite different grounds. For every Irishman who is carried to a distant land there is a strong probability of a distinct gain to the world at large.

CAUTIOUS SEAMANSHIP.

I left the parque at Lota with my memory full of pictures of a spot which, along with Mr. Cooke’s famous garden at Montserrat, near Cintra, and that of M. Landon in the oasis of Biskra, I count as the most beautiful garden that I have yet seen.

A rather large island—Isla de Sta. Maria—lies off the Chilian coast to the west of Lota, and is separated on the southern side from the promontory of Lavapie by a channel several miles wide. But as this is beset with rocks, the rule of the German steamers is to avoid the passage, excepting in clear weather by day. In deference, therefore, to this cautious regulation, we set our helm to the north on leaving Lota, two or three hours after sunset, and only after keeping that course for some ten miles, and running past the small port of Coronel, steered out to seaward, and finally resumed our proper southerly direction. Our sleep was somewhat disturbed by the heavy rolling of the ship during the night, and the morning of the 1st of June broke dimly amid heavy lowering clouds, just such a day as one might expect at the corresponding date (December 1) on the western coast of Europe. Although the sea was running high, there was little wind. The barometer at daybreak stood at 29·98, having risen a tenth of an inch since the previous evening, and the temperature was about 52° Fahr. In our seas one would suppose that a gale must have recently prevailed at no great distance, but I believe the fact to be that in the Southern Pacific high seas prevail during a great part of the year, even where no strong winds are present to excite them. Gales are undoubtedly common in the zone between the fiftieth and sixtieth degrees of south latitude, and the waves habitually run higher there than they ever do in the comparatively confined area of the Atlantic. The disturbances are propagated to great distances, modified, of course, by winds, currents, and the form of the coasts when they approach the land; but the smooth waters that extend more than thirty degrees on either side of the equator are rarely encountered in higher latitudes. The skies brightened as the day wore on, and the sun from time to time broke through the clouds; but we were out of sight of land, and the only objects in view during the day were the sea, the sky, and the numerous sea-fowl that followed the ship. The incessant rolling made it difficult to settle down to any occupation.