Notes of a naturalist in South America

by John Ball

ATTRACTIONS OF PETROPOLIS.

The large majority of the trees and shrubs of this region have persistent leaves, but a few lose their foliage annually in winter, and a few others, I believe, during the heat of summer. The only prominent reminder of the fact that we were in winter was the appearance of the Bombax trees that line the main street, now completely bare of foliage. The tree commonly planted in this part of Brazil is, I believe, the Bombax pubescens of botanists. The fruit, with its copious silky appendage to the seeds, alone remained at this season; but when covered with a mass of large white flowers, it must have a gorgeous appearance.

I cannot feel sure that every naturalist will approve of the resolution, which I very soon formed, to remain as long as was possible at Petropolis. To reach the higher summits of the Organ Mountains would have required at least three or four days’ travel, and at this season I could expect to see very little of the vegetation of the higher zone. In the mean time, I found in the immediate neighbourhood, within a radius of four or five miles, an unexhausted variety of objects of interest, and the attractions of the place were doubtless heightened by the fortunate circumstances in which I found myself. It is certain that the ten days that I spent at this fascinating spot remain in my memory as the nearest approach to a visit to the terrestrial paradise that I can expect to realize. Besides the British minister, Mr. Corbett, I was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of two English families, whose constant kindness and hospitality largely contributed to the enjoyment of my stay. To find in the midst of the marvels of tropical nature the charms of cultivated society, was a combination that I had not ventured to promise to myself.

Although I never went farther than five or six miles from my head-quarters, the variety of delightful walks in every direction seemed to be inexhaustible; go where one would, it seemed certain that one could not go wrong. I soon ascertained, indeed, that it is useless to attempt to penetrate the forests, except by following a road or cleared path. My first lesson was on the slope of a little hill some three hundred feet in height that overlooks the town. I was told that there was a path on the farther side, but, seeing the ground partly open, with trees of small stature not much crowded together, I resolved to follow the straight course. The ascent cost me over two hours of hard work, and I accomplished it only with the help of a sharp knife, by which to cut through the tangle of vegetation. In the midst of this I was surprised to find tall fronds of our common English bracken (Pteris aquilina), a fern that has been able to adapt its constitution to all but the most extreme climates of the world. The little hill that cost me so much labour had been completely cleared ten years before, so that all the trees and shrubs had grown up since that time.

THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE.

The first excursion recommended to every stranger at Petropolis is that to the Falls of Itamariti. I went there twice, varying somewhat my course—the first time with a horse, which I found quite unnecessary and rather an incumbrance; the second time alone. The falls are not very considerable. A stream so slender that it can be passed by stepping-stones falls over two ledges of granite rock, together about forty feet in height; but, framed in a mass of the most luxuriant tropical vegetation, the whole forms a lovely picture. For some reason which I did not learn, the forest on the slopes of the lower part of the glen below the falls had been felled just before my visit, and its beauty had vanished, but fortunately the arm of the destroyer was arrested before reaching the falls.

As happens to every stranger in a tropical forest, I was bewildered amidst the great variety of trees that struggle for supremacy, the one condition for victory being to get a full share of the glorious sunshine overhead. By vigorous tugging at one of the lianes that hung like a rope from a branch sixty feet above my head, I succeeded in breaking off a fragment, and identifying one of the larger trees as a species of fig, with large, oval, leathery leaves somewhat like those of a magnolia. It is needless to say that each tree is invaded by a host of enemies—parasites that fatten on its substance, comparatively harmless epiphytes that cling to the branches, and hosts of climbing lianes that mount to the topmost branches, robbing them of their share of sunlight, and hang down, often twined together, and in the deep shade are generally mere bare flexible stems. It was strange to observe that one of the deadliest enemies, a small parasite, fixing itself near the ground on the trunks of the larger trees, is a species of fig, belonging to the same genus as some of the giants of the forest, and doubtless tracing its descent from a common ancestor. It is in the tropical forest that one feels the force of Darwin’s phrase “struggle for existence,” as applied to the vegetable world. In our latitudes it is by an effort of the imagination that we realize the fact that in our fields and woodlands there is a contest going on between rival claimants for the necessary conditions of life. Here we see ourselves in the midst of a scene of savage warfare. The great climbers, like monstrous boas, that twine round and strangle the branch, remind one of the Laocoon; the obscure parasite that eats into the trunk of a mighty tree till a great cavity prepares its downfall, testifies to the destructive power of an insidious enemy.

THE HERMIT OF PETROPOLIS.

It is only in the more open spots that a botanist is able to make close acquaintance with the smaller trees and shrubs. Near to the stream I was able to hook down a branch and secure flowering specimens of a Begonia that grew to a height of over twenty feet. In such situations Melastomaceæ were everywhere abundant, but for variety of forms the ferns surpassed any of the families of flowering plants. I was surprised to find that the beautiful tree ferns, that add so much to the charm of the tropical flora, were rarely to be found with fructification, and the huge fronds being of quite unmanageable dimensions, I did not attempt to collect specimens. Of the smaller kinds, when I was able, with the kind assistance of Mr. Baker, of Kew, to name my specimens, I found that I had collected thirty-five species in the neighbourhood of Petropolis.

During my stay here I visited a German gentleman whose singular manner of life excites the interest and curiosity of the European residents. I am ignorant of the motives that have led Mr. Doer, evidently an educated and cultivated man, to lead the life of a hermit far from his native country. He has built for himself a small house in the forest, on one of the hills that enclose the basin of Petropolis, and lives quite alone, except for the daily visit of a boy who carries the provisions that satisfy his very moderate wants. He seems to be entirely occupied in studying the habits of the native animals of the country, and especially those of the Lepidopterous insects—butterflies and moths—that adorn this region. By attention to the habitual food of the various species, he has succeeded in keeping in his house the caterpillars that in due time produce the perfect insect, and has preserved in cabinets large collections of fine specimens.