Part 94
This is, in part, still in the same place where it stood when our forefathers first stepped upon it at their landing, and is pointed out to the visitor as “Plymouth rock,” or the “Pilgrim rock,” or the “Rock of the Pilgrims.” It is a hard kind of syenitic granite, of a dark gray color. The mica, which in part composes it, is in very small quantity, and in fine black particles. The rock is now in two pieces, each of which is about four feet through. One of these pieces, about six feet and a half in diameter, as already said, is still at the water’s edge, in its original position. The other part, represented in the engraving on the next page, has been removed from its natural location, and inclosed in an iron railing in front of “Pilgrim hall,” which was erected as a monumental edifice on land that once belonged to Governor Carver. Here it is visited by thousands, who, from year to year, go, as to a shrine of the most sacred associations, to the spot which is consecrated by the sufferings, the courage, and the piety of the founders of our nation.
[Illustration: PLYMOUTH ROCK.]
We might fill pages with the narratives of their exposures, hardships and dangers; but they are more or less familiar to all. The history of their perils from the Indians, the native lords of the forest, is of itself full of excitement and thrilling interest. The latter, fearful lest the superior knowledge and rising power of the white men should in the end be the ruin of their own supremacy, were stirred up to endeavor to exterminate them; and though some powerful chiefs and tribes were steadfastly friendly, others were as steadfastly their foes. For years after the firm establishment of the colonies, the early settlers were compelled to go to church, on the Sabbath, armed, as represented in the engraving on the next page, that they might be ready, if need be, to defend themselves in case of an attack by the Indians. During the days of the Indian warfare such scenes were not uncommon, and more than once a congregation has been roused by such an attack, and gone forth to meet and disperse the foe, and then, setting their sentinels to watch, returned to the house of God, to thank him for their deliverance, and continue the worship of his holy day. Thanks to their labors, and toils, and self-denials, and heroic enterprise, to the principles that guided them and the institutions they established, and to the divine blessing attending all, we are not exposed to such perils; but may safely enjoy the privileges they have handed down to us, with none to molest us or make us afraid.
[Illustration: EARLY SETTLERS OF NEW ENGLAND GOING TO CHURCH.]
A WONDER OF ART.
There is now (1855) on exhibition in Paris, one of the most remarkable pieces of masterwork which the union of art and science has ever produced. It consists of a picture, of about three feet square. This picture is made up of colors admirable for their beauty and boldness, but there is no _subject_. The most experienced eye can detect nothing but disjointed and half-formed approximations toward a coherent design. The most able artist sees there only the finest colors, but no one can tell what they are intended to represent. In the middle of the picture, which is horizontally placed, is a mirror formed by a copper cylinder covered by a perfectly polished coating of silver. This mirror is usually veiled. So far there is little remarkable, and the greatest amateurs in painting would hardly consent to spend five francs on such an apparently profitless study. But it is impossible not to feel a glow of admiration, when, on uncovering the mirror, there is represented upon it in the brightest reflected rays, the whole scene of the Crucifixion. The partial coloring then takes a character of incontestable superiority, and presents to the astonished spectators a picture composed of six most perfect figures, depicted with a degree of boldness such as the master painters alone knew how to impart to the subject which it was their glory to represent.
THE WHALE-KILLER.
This fish is one of the wonders of the mighty deep, well known to those engaged in whaling, and in the Pacific cruisers. It is thus described by one who has often witnessed its attacks on the whale.
“The _killer_ is the wolf of the ocean, and hunts in packs, and their tall dorsal fin can be constantly seen above the water. This fish has always as a companion, but swimming deeper, the _sword-fish_, and now and then can be seen the _shark_. On sighting their prey, which the killer sees at a great distance, the pack gives chase. The unconscious whale is slowly moving near the surface, and occasionally spouting, as it were in sport, jets of water above him. But he now suddenly sees the sea-wolf near him. Instinct at once teaches him that on the surface he can not be safe, and, taking in a long breath, he flukes; that is, dives. But there has been another enemy watching him from the depths below—the sword-fish, which now darts at him with the velocity of lightning, and perforates the whale beneath, with his long and spear-like nose. This sends him at once to the surface; here he again meets with his enemies, the killers; but as yet they are afraid to approach him. The whale now begins to see the extent of his danger, and for a time merely lashes the water with his ponderous fluke. He soon tires of this, and remains for a short time at rest; the pack now approach him, and he seeks safety in flight. But what can he do? The poor whale has a hump on his back, and steers unsteadily, while the killer’s tail and stiff fin steady him on his course. Nearer and nearer approach the pack to their victim; again he takes a long breath and dives. The sword-fish has steadily kept him in view; he, too, has a tall fin and long slender propelling tail; and while it is an effort to the whale to increase his speed, it is but play to the sword-fish, which again darts and perforates his prey, and sends the wounded whale again to the surface.
“The race again commences, but this time with diminished speed, the killers having separated to watch the rise of the whale, who, finding his enemies in every direction, courses in a circle, and again makes a third, and sometimes a fourth attempt to escape by diving, but is always met by the terrible spike of the sword-fish. He at last, weak, exhausted and dispirited, returns to the surface, where he again attempts escape by flight. Streams of blood mark his course; his enemies still follow steadily after him, until he stops and begins to lash and make the ocean foam around him; but now large streams of his life-blood are pouring out, and he is only increasing his weakness by the exertion, and merely lashing amidst his own gore. Tired, exhausted and faint, he rolls over. The deep red streaks of blood flowing from large orifices in his white belly can now be distinctly seen. The hungry pack now close, and one more bold than the rest seizes him near the throat and tears away the white skin and fat; he opens his mouth and bellows with pain. This is generally the signal for a combined attack. His tongue is seized and torn out; so are his eyes. The sword-fish now rises to the surface, and his tall spar-like protuberance is seen projecting over the body of the whale; the sharks also close in and feed on the fat rejected by the killers. In this state the whale makes a few dying struggles. The feast now commences and continues until the fat and sufficient flesh are stripped off to cause the carcass to become too heavy to float on the surface, and it sinks. The shark is left to enjoy his few streaks of fat, while the killer pack, accompanied by their companion, the sword-fish, rove again the broad ocean to seek another leviathan of the great deep.”
A PILE OF SERPENTS.
Baron Humboldt says: “In the savannas of Izacubo, Guiana, I saw the most wonderful and terrible spectacle that can be seen; and although it be not uncommon to the natives, no traveler has ever mentioned it. We were ten men on horseback, two of whom took the lead, in order to sound the passages, while I preferred to skirt the great forests. One of the blacks who formed the vanguard returned at full gallop, and called to me, ‘Here, sir, come and see the serpents in a pile.’ He pointed to something elevated in the middle of the savanna or swamp, which appeared like a bundle of arms. One of my company said, ‘This is certainly one of the assemblages of serpents which heap themselves on each other after a violent tempest. I have heard of these, but never saw any; let us proceed cautiously, and not too near them.’ When we were within twenty paces of it, the terror of our horses prevented our approaching nearer, to which none of us were inclined. On a sudden, the pyramid mass became agitated; a horrid hissing issued from it, thousands of serpents rolled spirally on each other, and shot forth out of the circle their hideous heads, presenting their envenomed darts and fiery eyes to us. I own I was the first to draw back, but when I saw this formidable phalanx remain at its post, and appear to be more disposed to defend itself than to attack us, I rode round, in order to view its order of battle, which faced the enemy on every side. I then thought what could be the design of this numerous assemblage; and I concluded that this species of serpent dreaded some colossean enemy, which might be the great serpent or cayman, and they reunite themselves after seeing the enemy, so as to resist this enemy in a mass.”
AMERICAN RUINS.
The recent discoveries in what is called the “Great Basin,” a tract of table-land lying between the Rocky and the Pacific chain of mountains, are exciting much interest, and awakening inquiry and speculation again as to the origin of the people who evidently, in a former period, inhabited these now desolate regions. Captain Walker, the mountaineer, passed through the center of this basin in 1850, and made some interesting revelations of what he saw. These statements have been called in question, on account of their supposed improbability; but a later trip of Lieutenant Beale gives a degree of confirmation to the facts, which will make the credibility of the statements more readily admitted. The whole country, from the Colorado to the Rio Grande, between the Gila and San Juan, is full of ruined habitations and cities, most of which are on this table-land. Captain Walker states that, in traversing this desert, he had frequently met with crumbling masses of masonry and numberless specimens of antique pottery.
In his last trip across, he saw the ruins of a city more than a mile in extent, the streets of which ran at right angles. The houses had all been built of stone, but all had been reduced to ruin by the action of some great heat, which had evidently passed over the whole country. In the center of the city rose abruptly a rock twenty or thirty feet high, upon the top of which stood a portion of the walls of what had once been an immense building. The outline of the building was still distinct, although only the northern angle, with walls fifteen or eighteen feet long, and ten feet high, was standing. These walls were constructed of stone, well quarried and well built. Lieutenant Beale, on his first trip across the continent, discovered in the midst of the wilderness of Gila, what appeared to be a strong fort, the walls of great thickness, built of stone. He traversed it, and found it contained forty-two rooms. A correspondent of the Placerville Herald gives an account more wonderful still, of a stone bridge, which had also been discovered, the foundations of which were of stone, and nearly six hundred feet from one of the outer abutments to the other, while between the two are no less than seven distinct piers. This bridge has the appearance of a river once flowing between its piers, though now there is not the slightest appearance of such a river in that vicinity.
Next we have an account of a strange race of people, neither whites nor Indians, called Moquis, lighter in color than the Indians of California. The women are tolerably fair, not being so much exposed to the sun. Among them Captain Walker saw three perfectly white, with white hair and light eyes. They raise all kinds of grain, melons and vegetables. They have also a number of orchards, filled with many kinds of fruit-trees. The peaches they raise are particularly fine. They have large flocks of sheep and goats, but very few beasts of burden or cattle. They are a harmless, inoffensive race; kind and hospitable to strangers, and make very little resistance when attacked. The warlike Navajos, who dwell in the mountains to the north-east of them, are in the habit of sweeping down upon them every two or three years, and driving off their stock. At such times, they gather up all that is movable from their farms, and fly for refuge to their mountain stronghold. Here their enemies dare not follow them. When a stranger approaches, they appear on the top of the rocks and houses, watching his movements. One of their villages, at which Captain Walker stayed for several days, is over six hundred yards long. The houses are mostly built of stone and mortar; some of adobe. They are very snug and comfortable, and many of them are two and even three stories high. The inhabitants are considerably advanced in some of the arts, and manufacture excellent woolen clothing, blankets, leather, basket-work and pottery. Unlike most of the Indian tribes in this country, the women work within doors, the men performing all the farm and out-door labor. These people, according to the accounts, have never had any intercourse with the white race.
INSECT SLAVERY.
The most remarkable fact connected with the history of ants, is the propensity possessed by certain species to kidnap the workers of other species, and compel them to labor for the benefit of the community, thus using them completely as slaves; and, as far as we yet know, the kidnappers are red or pale-colored ants, and the slaves, like the ill-treated natives of Africa, are of a jet black. The time for capturing slaves extends over a period of about ten weeks, and never commences until the male and female are about emerging from the pupa state; and thus the ruthless marauders never interfere with the continuation of the species. When the red ants are about to sally forth on a marauding expedition, they send scouts to ascertain the exact position in which a colony of negroes may be found. These scouts having discovered the objects of their search, return to the nest and report their success. Shortly afterward, the army of red ants marches forth, headed by a vanguard, which is perpetually changing; the individuals which constitute it, when they advance a little before, are sent to the rear, and their places occupied by others. The vanguard consists of eight or ten ants only. When they have arrived near the negro colony, they disperse, wandering through the herbage and hunting about, as if aware of the propinquity of the object of their search, yet ignorant of its exact position. At last they discover the settlements, and the foremost of the invaders, rushing impetuously to the attack, are met, grappled with, and frequently killed by the negroes on guard. The alarm is quickly communicated to the interior of the nest; the negroes sally forth by thousands, and the red ants rushing to the rescue, a desperate conflict ensues, which, however, always terminates in the defeat of the negroes, who retire to the innermost recesses of their habitation. Now follows the scene of pillage. The red ants, with their powerful mandibles, tear open the sides of the ant-hills, and rush into the heart of the citadel. In a few minutes each invader emerges, carrying in its mouth the pupa of a worker negro, which it has obtained in spite of the vigilance and valor of its natural guardians. The red ants return in perfect order to their nests, bearing with them their living burdens. On reaching the nest the pupa appears to be treated precisely as their own; and the workers, when they emerge, perform the various duties of the community with the greatest energy and apparent good-will. They repair the nest, excavate passages, collect food, feed the larvæ, take the pupa into the sunshine, and perform every office which the welfare of the colony seems to require. They conduct themselves entirely as if fulfilling their original destination.
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Transcriber’s Note
At 94.32, there is a paragraph preceding some verse which ends abruptly, without punctuation. It seems that the intent was to continue the thought with the first lines of the poem.
At 530.18, a closing quote mark occurs where there is no opening quote. The previous paragraph closes an extended quotation, which is not re-opened. It is difficult to say whether the ‘voice’ has shifted. In any case, the closing quote in question has been removed.
The word ‘bass-relief’ appears thirty-two times, while the more familiar ‘bas-relief’ appears only twice. Both versions have been retained.
Other errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
9.18 an object must be seen[,] Removed. 18.1 “THE CASTA[G]NO DE CENTO CAVILLI,” Inserted. 26.17 rate of eight[y]-six feet an hour Added. 28.2 wholly disap[p]eared Inserted. 36.1 mottled with black and[ and] white spots Redundant. 82.17 Mauna Loa and Mauna [R/K]ea Replaced. 87.33 In many [y/p]arts of the precipice Replace. 126.23 by any sounding line[,/.] Replaced. 198.12 carried on in Colebrook[ ]dale Removed. 230.17 Earth’s universal family.[”] Added. 275.23 [‘/“]the waterfall mountain,” Replaced. 289.1 some of the savan[t]s Inserted. 317.17 or St. Helmo’s fires _sic_: Elmo’s. 324.28 I had thought a mere fable.[’/”] Replaced. 348.36 from such a[ ]surface Inserted. 421.6 four hund[d]red feet Removed. 427.27 it[s] extreme length Added. 446.21 fresh-water mus[cle/sel]s Replaced. 470.23 the name of E[d/l] Hedjeaz Probable. 470.24 the cities of Medi[an/na] and Taif Transposed. 511.15 PYRAMIDS OF MERO[E/Ë] Replaced. 516.3 so has it been forever!’[”] Added. 525.37 and quitted them forever.[”] Added. 610.15 in Agræ[./,] Replaced. 634.22 these ancient piles.[”] Added. 649.35 the f[ri/ir]th of Forth Transposed. 655.24 On the top is a bas[o/i]n Replaced. 710.37 [“]France, Belgium, Holland, Added. 798.27 closed by the operator at will[.] Restored.