Outlines of the Earth's History: A Popular Study in Physiography

by Nathaniel Southgate Shaler

Although the swayings of the streams to and fro in their alluvial plains will give the reader some idea as to the struggle which the greater rivers have with the débris which is committed to them, the full measure of the work and its consequences can only be appreciated by those who have studied the phenomena on the ground. A river such as the Mississippi is endlessly endeavouring to bear its burden to the sea. If its slope were a uniform inclined plane, the task might readily be accomplished; but in this, as in almost all other large water ways, the slope of the bed is ever diminishing with its onward course. The same water which in the mountain torrent of the Appalachians or Cordilleras rolled along stones several feet in diameter down slopes of a hundred feet or more to the mile can in the lower reaches of the stream move no pebbles which are more than one fourth of an inch in diameter over slopes which descend on the average about half a foot in a mile. Thus at every stage from the torrent to the sea the detritus has from time to time to rest within the alluvial banks, there awaiting the decay which slowly comes, and which may bring it to the state where it may be dissolved in the water, or divided into fragments so small that the stream may bear them on. A computation which the present writer has made shows that, on the average, it requires about forty thousand years for a particle of stone to make its way down the Mississippi to the sea after it has been detached from its original bed. Of course, some bits may make the journey straightforwardly; others may require a far greater time to accomplish the course which the water itself makes at most in a few weeks. This long delay in the journey of the detritus—a delay caused by its frequent rests in the alluvial plain—brings about important consequences which we will now consider.

As an alluvial plain is constructed, we generally find at the base pebbly material which fell to the bottom in the current of the main stream as the shores grew outward. Above this level we find the deposits laid down by the flood waters containing no pebbles, and this for the reason that those weightier bits remained in the stream bed when the tide flowed over the plain. As the alluvial deposit is laid down, a good deal of vegetable matter was built into it. Generally this has decayed and disappeared. On the surface of the plain there has always been growing abundant vegetation, the remains of which decayed on the surface in the manner which we may observe at the present day. This decomposing vegetable matter within and upon the porous alluvial material produces large quantities of carbonic acid, a gas which readily enters the rain water, and gives it a peculiar power of breaking up rock matter. Acting on the débris, this gas-charged water rapidly brings about a decay of the fragments. Much of the material passes at once into solution in this water, and drains away through the multitudinous springs which border the river. As this matter is completely dissolved, as is sugar in water, it goes straight away to the sea without ever again entering the alluvium. In many, if not most, cases this dissolving work which is going on in alluvial terraces is sufficient to render a large part of the materials which they contain into the state where it disappears in an unseen manner; thus while the annual floods are constantly laying down accumulations on the surface of these plains, the springs are bearing it away from below.

In this way, through the decomposition which takes place in them, all those river terraces where much vegetable matter is mingled with the mineral substances, become laboratories in which substances are brought into solution and committed to the seas. We find in the water of the ocean a great array of dissolved mineral substances; it, indeed, seems probable that the sea water contains some share, though usually small, of all the materials which rivers encounter in their journey over and under the lands. As the waters of the sea obtain but little of this dissolved matter along the coast, it seems likely that the greater share of it is brought into the state of solution in the natural laboratories of the alluvial plains.

Here and there along the sides of the valleys in which the rivers flow we commonly find the remains of ancient plains lying at more or less considerable heights above the level of the streams. Generally these deposits, which from their form are called terraces, represent the stages of down-wearing by which the stream has carved out its way through the rocks. The greater part of these ancient alluvial plains has been removed through the ceaseless swinging of the stream to and fro in the valley which it has excavated.

In all the states of alluvial plains, whether they be the fertile deposits near the level of the streams which built them, or the poorer and ruder surfaced higher terraces, they have a great value to mankind. Men early learned that these lands were of singularly uniform goodness for agricultural use. They are so light that they were easily delved with the ancient pointed sticks or stone hoes, or turned by the olden, wooden plough. They not only give a rich return when first subjugated, but, owing to the depth of the soil and the frequency with which they are visited by fertilizing inundations, they yield rich harvests without fertilizing for thousands of years. It is therefore not surprising that we find the peoples who depended upon tillage for subsistence first developed on the great river plains. There, indeed, were laid the foundations of our higher civilization; there alone could the state which demands of its citizens fixed abodes and continuous labour take rise. In the conditions which these fields of abundance afforded, dense populations were possible, and all the arts which lead toward culture were greatly favoured. Thus it is that the civilization of China, India, Persia, and Egypt, the beginnings of man's higher development, began near the mouths of the great river valleys. These fields were, moreover, most favourably placed for the institution of commerce, in that the arts of navigation, originating in the sheltered reaches of the streams, readily found its way through the estuaries to the open sea.

Passing down the reaches of a great river as it approaches the sea, we find that the alluvial plains usually widen and become lower. At length we attain a point where the flood waters cover the surface for so large a part of the year that the ground is swampy and untillable unless it is artificially and at great expense of labour won to agriculture in the manner in which this task has been effected in the lower portion of the Rhine Valley. Still farther toward the sea, the plain gradually dips downward until it passes below the level of the waters. Through this mud-flat section the stream continues to cut channels, but with the ever-progressive slowing of its motion the burden of fine mud which it carries drops to the bottom, and constantly closes the paths through which the water escapes. Every few years they tend to break a new way on one side or the other of their former path. Some of the greatest engineering work done in modern times has been accomplished by the engineers engaged in controlling the exits of large rivers to the sea. The outbreak of the Yellow River in 1887, in which the stream, hindered by its own accumulations, forced a new path across its alluvial plains, destroyed a vast deal of life and property, and made the new exit seventy miles from the path which it abandoned.

Below the surface of the open water the alluvial deposits spread out into a broad fan, which slopes gradually to a point where, in the manner of the continental shelf, the bottom descends steeply into deep water.

It is the custom of naturalists to divide the lower section of river deposits—that part of the accumulation which is near the sea—from the other alluvial plains, terming the lower portion the delta. The word originally came into use to describe that part of the alluvium accumulated by the Nile near its mouth, which forms a fertile territory shaped somewhat like the fourth letter of the Greek alphabet. Although the definition is good in the Egyptian instance, and has a certain use elsewhere, we best regard all the detritus in a river valley which is in the state of repose along the stream to its utmost branches as forming one great whole. It is, indeed, one of the most united of the large features which the earth exhibits. The student should consider it as a continuous inclined plane of diminishing slope, extending from the base of the torrents to the sea, and of course ramifying into the several branches of the river system. He should further bear in mind the fact that it is a vast laboratory where rock material is brought into the soluble state for delivery to the seas.

The diversity in the form of river valleys is exceedingly great. Almost all the variety of the landscape is due to this impress of water action which has operated on the surface in past ages. When first elevated above the sea, the surface of the land is but little varied; at this stage in the development the rivers have but shallow valleys, which generally cut rather straight away over the plain toward the sea. It is when the surface has been uplifted to a considerable height, and especially when, as is usually the case, this uplifting action has been associated with mountain-building, that valleys take on their accented and picturesque form. The reason for this is easily perceived: it lies in the fact that the rocks over which the stream flows are guided in the cutting which they effect by the diversities of hardness in the strata that they encounter. The work which it does is performed by the hard substances that are impelled by the current, principally by the sand and pebbles. These materials, driven along by the stream, become eroding tools of very considerable energy. As will be seen when we shortly come to describe waterfalls, the potholes formed at those points afford excellent evidence as to the capacity of stream-impelled bits of stone to cut away the firmest bed rocks. Naturally the ease with which this carving work is done is proportionate to the energy of the currents, and also to the relative hardness of the moving bits and the rocks over which they are driven.

So long as the rocks lie horizontally in their natural construction attitude the course of the stream is not much influenced by the variations in hardness which the bed exhibits. Where the strata are very firm there is likely to be a narrow gorge, the steeps of which rise on either side with but slight alluvial plains; where the beds are soft the valley widens, perhaps again to contract where in the course of its descent it encounters another hard layer. Where, however, the beds have been subjected to mountain-building, and have been thrown into very varied attitudes by folding and faulting, the stream now here and now there encounters beds which either restrain its flow or give it freedom. The stream is then forced to cut its way according to the positions of the various underlying strata. This effect upon its course is not only due to the peculiarities of uplifted rocks, but to manifold accidents of other nature: veins and dikes, which often interlace the beds with harder or softer partitions than the country rock; local hardenings in the materials, due to crystallization and other chemical processes, often create indescribable variations which are more or less completely expressed in the path of the stream.