A Journey in Brazil

by Louis Agassiz; Elizabeth Cabot Cary Agassiz

Garrafaō, among the Organ Mountains.

The ascent may be easily accomplished on foot in three or four hours. We had nothing to urge us forward, however, except a growing desire for breakfast, appeased every now and then by an orange, of which we had a good supply in the tin case for plants, and many a slow train of laden mules passed us in their upward march, and left us far behind as we loitered along, though not lazily. On the contrary, Mr. Agassiz and his friends found plenty of occupation in botanizing and geologizing. They stopped constantly to gather parasites, to study ferns and mosses, to break boulders, to collect insects and the little land-shells found here and there along the road. We saw one most beautiful insect, hardly larger than a lady-bug, but of the most exquisite colors and gleaming like a jewel on the leaf where it had alighted. In breaking the stones along the roadside Mr. Agassiz found many evidences of erratics, several of them being Diorite, entirely distinct from the rock in place. The surfaces of the boulders were universally decomposed and covered with a uniform crust, so that it was necessary to split them in order to ascertain their true nature. From distance to distance along the road were immense fragments of rock, sometimes twenty or thirty feet in height. These huge masses were frequently seen hanging on the brink of steep declivities, as if, having broken off from the heights above, and rolled down, they had been prevented from advancing farther by some obstacle, and had become gradually embedded in the soil. Many of these boulders were clothed in soft, thick reindeer moss, so like the reindeer moss of the Arctics that, if specifically distinct, the difference could not be detected except by the most careful examination. It suggests the question whether there are any representatives of the tropical flora among the lichens and pines of the high north. As we advanced, the character of the vegetation changed considerably, and we began to feel, by the increasing freshness of the air, that we were getting into higher regions. The near view became more beautiful as we approached the heart of the mountains, coming under the shadow of their strange peaks, which looked sharp and attenuated from a distance, but changed into wonderful masses of bare rock, very grand in their effect, as we drew closer to them. We reached the hotel at Theresopolis at about two o’clock. After our long walk, the answer we received to our inquiry about breakfast at the little grocery adjoining the inn was rather discouraging. What could they give us on short notice? “Only four eggs and some sausage.” However, the master of the hotel made his appearance, opened his house, where, to judge from its closed doors and windows, the advent of guests is rare, and comforted us with the information that breakfast “pode se arranjar.” Indeed, from the dish of eggs which made its appearance soon afterwards, we might have supposed that all the hens in the village had been called upon to contribute, and we enjoyed a breakfast for which mountain air and exercise had supplied the best sauce.

The village of Theresopolis is very prettily situated, lying in a dip between the mountains and commanding a magnificent view of the peaks, one of which stands out like a tall, narrow tower against the sky. Near it is another sharp summit, on the extreme point of which a large boulder is placed. It looks as if a touch would dislodge it; and yet for how many a long year has it held its place there through storm and sunshine! We looked up at this huge fragment of rock on its dizzy height, and wondered whether it was erratic, or simply an effect of decomposition on the spot,—a point impossible of decision at that distance. If the latter, it seems strange that the weather should have worn and excavated such a mass underneath, without destroying its upper surface, thus detaching it from the mountain, till it stands, as now, in bold relief, only supported by a single point of attachment on the extreme summit. We spent the rest of the day in a walk to a very pretty cascade which comes rushing down through the wood a mile or two from the village.

June 11th.—We left the inn at half past seven this morning, to pass the day again in rambling. Following the main road for a quarter of a mile or so beyond the village, we presently turned to the left into a narrow, shady pathway. It led us through the woods to the edge of a deep basin sunk between the mountains, on the slopes of which were strewn many immense boulders. A curious feature of the Organ Mountains which we have observed repeatedly even in this short excursion is, that between their strangely fantastic forms the country sinks down into well-defined basins, which usually have no outlet. Following the brink of such a basin for a couple of miles, and crossing an intervening ridge, we came out upon a kind of plateau overhanging another depression of the same character, and commanding a magnificent view of the chain, in the very centre of which it seems to be, for the mountains rise tier upon tier around it on every side. On this plateau stands the fazenda called St. Louis, belonging to Mr. d’Escragnolle. The exquisite beauty of the site and the hospitality of its owner have made this fazenda a favorite resort for travellers. The grounds are laid out with much taste, and Mr. d’Escragnolle’s success in raising many of the European fruits and vegetables, as well as those of his own country, makes it the more to be regretted that this beautiful region should be so little cultivated. Pears, peaches, strawberries, thrive admirably, as also do green peas, asparagus, artichokes, and cauliflowers. The climate strikes a happy medium between the heat in the neighborhood of Rio de Janeiro, which brings these products to too rapid a development, drying them up before they have time to mature, and the sharp cold of higher mountain regions. But though at so short a distance from the capital, the transport is so difficult and expensive that Mr. d’Escragnolle, instead of sending the produce of his farm to the city market, as he would gladly do, feeds his pigs with cauliflowers. We passed the rest of the day most delightfully in this charming country place. Mr. Agassiz and Mr. Glaziou ascended one of the near mountain summits, but did not gain so extensive a view as they had hoped, on account of an intervening spur. They were able to distinguish three parallel ridges, however, separated by intervening depressions. Toward evening, while the mountains were still bright with the purple glory of the sunset, though shadows were settling over the valleys, we started on our return, bidding good by with great regret to our kind host, who warmly pressed us to stay. The path we had followed in the morning, without giving a thought to its irregularities, seemed quite broken and difficult by night. The slopes along which it ran were changed, in the dim light, to sudden precipices, and we picked our steps with care between rocks and over fallen logs and rivulets. It was bright starlight as we came out of the woods upon the high road. The village lay below, its lights twinkling cheerily, and the peaks and towers behind it drawn with strange distinctness against the night sky.

Organ Mountains.

June 12th.—Barreira. This morning at seven o’clock we were on our way down the serra. Mr. Agassiz deplores the necessity which obliges him to leave this region after so short an examination of its striking features. A naturalist might pass months here, and find every day rich in results. As we left the hotel the sun was just gilding the highest summits, while white clouds rose softly from the valleys, and, floating upward, broke into fleecy fragments against the mountain-sides. Having the day before us, we descended as slowly as we had mounted the serra, stopping almost at every step to gather plants, to examine rocks, to wonder at the strange position of the immense boulders hanging often just on the brow of some steep declivity. I wandered on beyond the others and sat down to wait for them on the low stone wall, forming a parapet on the edge of the road. Directly before me rose the bare, rocky surface of one of the great peaks; a vapory white cloud hung midway upon it; shadows floated over it. On the other side I looked down upon wooded valleys and mountains in strange confusion, while far below, stretching out to the sea, lay the billowy plain tossed into endless soft green waves. The stillness made the scene more impressive, the silence being only occasionally broken by the click of hoofs, as a train of mules came cautiously down the flagged road. While I sat there a liteira passed me slung between mules; a mode of travelling fast disappearing with the improvements of the roads, but still in use for women and children in certain parts of the country. We stopped to breakfast at a little venda about half-way down the serra; here the boulders are most remarkable from their great size and singular position. We reached the inn at the bottom of the serra between two and three o’clock, and are now sitting in the little piazza, while a drenching rain, which fortunately did not begin till we were under shelter, swells the stream near by, and is fast changing it to a rapid torrent. I will add here such observations respecting the geological structure of this mountain range as Mr. Agassiz has been able to make in our short excursion.

“The chain is formed by the sharp folding up of strata, sometimes quite vertically, in other instances with a slope more or less steep, but always rather sudden. To one standing on the hill to the east of Theresopolis, the whole range presents itself in a perfect profile; the axis, on either side of which dip the almost vertical beds of metamorphic rocks composing the chain, occupies about the centre of the range. To the north, though very steeply inclined, the beds are not so vertical as in the southern prolongation of the range. The consequence of this difference is the formation of more massive and less disconnected summits on the north side; while on the south side, where the strata are nearly or quite vertical, the harder sets of beds alone have remained standing, the softer intervening beds having been gradually disintegrated. By this process have been formed those strange peaks which appear from a distance like a row of organ-pipes, and have suggested the name by which the chain is known. They consist of vertical beds isolated from the general mass in consequence of the disappearance of contiguous strata. The aspect of these mountains from Rio is much the same as from Theresopolis, only that from the two points of view—one being to the northeast, the other to the southwest of the range—their summits present themselves in the reverse order. When seen in complete profile their slender appearance is most striking. Viewed from the side, the broad surfaces of the strata, though equally steep, exhibit a triangular form rather than that of vertical columns. It is strange that the height of the Organ Mountain peaks, so conspicuous a feature in the landscape of Rio de Janeiro, should not have been accurately measured. The only precise indication I have been able to find is recorded by Liais, who gives 7,000 feet as the maximum height observed by him.

“These abrupt peaks frequently surround closed basins, very symmetrical in shape, but without any outlet. On account of this singular formation, the glacial phenomena which abound in the Organ Mountains are of a peculiar character. At first, I was at a loss to explain how loose masses of rock, descending from the heights above, should be caught on the edges of these basins, instead of rolling to the bottom. But their position becomes quite natural when we remember that the ice must have remained in these depressions long after it had disappeared, or nearly disappeared, from the slopes above. Hindered from advancing, these huge masses of rock have become gradually embedded in the soil, and are now solidly fixed in positions which would be perfectly inexplicable, unless we suppose the basin to have been formerly filled with something which offered an obstacle to their farther descent. Moraines also abut upon these depressions, coming to an abrupt close upon their margin. Morainic soil—that is, masses of drift with all sorts of loose materials buried in it—abounds everywhere in this region; but, on the whole, the glacial phenomena are difficult to study, because the heavy growth of forest has covered all inequalities of the soil, and, except where sections have been made or ground has been cleared, the outlines are lost.”