Originally published in The Leisure Hour (Religious Tract Society) vol.1 #18 (29 Apr 1852).
Charles Waterton is well known to most readers as the author of two remarkable volumes, entitled, "Wanderings in South America," and "Essays on Natural History;" and one can scarcely speak too highly in praise of the strong and vigorous yet simple Saxon style in which they are written. They are both redolent of the forest and the field, and bear upon them the impress of Nature's own seal and commission. Indeed, the "Wanderings" were composed in the depths of the South American woods, and the facts and experiences recorded in them were dotted down whilst they were fresh in the memory of the wanderer. There is no mistaking these books for the performances of a dilletante penman. There is life in every line; bold, wild, and stirring life, daguerreotyped, as it were, from the actual features of the forest. The "Essays," which constitute the last book that Waterton has given to the public, appeared originally in Mrs. Loudon's "Magazine of Natural History," and are rare things in their way; full of anecdote and information; and exhibiting, when a theorist has to be hunted down, a keen scent and much critical acumen. His defence of the vulture's nose is one of the cleverest papers in the book, and shows how skilful Waterton is in the lawyer's fence, and with what terrible backwoodsman's vigour he can demolish an opponent.
The sole object of Waterton's wanderings was to make discoveries in natural history, and it must be confessed that no man ever brought to the enterprise a more daring and courageous spirit, or a more cultivated and observant mind. Such strange and stirring adventures as he met with, in a tract of country for the most part unknown to Englishmen, were sure on their publication to excite much interest, and to awaken here and there a suspicion of their truthfulness. He relates some stories which, indeed, would be altogether incredible, if they were not authenticated by his own earnest word and high name. The taking of the cayman, for example, on the banks of the Essequibo, by means of an enormous barb, wrapped round with the entrails of a wild beast, and his adventurous encountering of the scaly monster in the water, armed with a marling spike, whilst the Indians on shore held the monster fast with a rope to which the barb was attached; and then his vaulting on the cayman's back, and pulling up his fore feet by main force of arm, and so drawn by his red Indians, coming triumphantly to land—this, I say, is an example of the kind of story in his book which some people thought incredible. And yet there is no doubt about its literal truth. It was a kind of feat which Waterton would glory in performing, and which at the time did not, I dare say, appear to him as anything very extraordinary. And much as we have spoken of and lauded this exploit, I do not think it of so daring a character as the attack upon a huge snake—boa-constrictor, I believe—which he made unarmed, and in the very den of the reptile. He wrapped a jacket round his left arm, entered crawling into the dark and noisome cavern where the snake lay in its monstrous coils; and when the affrighted creature roused itself, lifted its head, flashing its fiery eyes upon him as he stole cautiously along, and then suddenly opened its jaws with intent to spring upon him, he sprang upon it, seized it by the neck, and thrust his well-jacketed elbow down its throat, calling upon his servants to come and lay upon the snake's body to prevent it crushing him with its coils. And thus, with his hunting-knife, he slew it; and the stranger may at any time see this snake and the cayman also by knocking at the hospitable gates of Walton Hall, for they are both in Waterton's museum.
These performances are of a piece with others which mark the whole life of the naturalist. In the winter of 1817-18, he went to Italy, and fell in with his old friend, Captain Alexander of the navy. Many a time had they climbed trees together for birds' nests in the last century, and now they resolved to show Rome what they could do in this gymnastic way. Accordingly, they mounted to the top of St. Peter's,[1] ascended the cross, and then climbed thirteen feet higher, where they reached the point of the conductor, and left their gloves on it. After this, they visited the castle of St. Angelo, and contrived to get on the head of the figure of the guardian angel, where they stood on one leg.
Similar anecdotes, full of courage and daring—even to wantonness—are numerous in Waterton's history. He never knew either the weakness or the humanity of fear; and possessed qualities in an eminent degree, which, under other circumstances, would have made him an admirable leader and chief of men. Courage, promptitude, and energy are characteristic of all his adventures. Difficulties do but stimulate him to greater exertion, and his resources are always equal to the occasion. Even when alone in the wilderness, far from all human habitations, and devoured with alternate fever and ague, his presence of mind never forsakes him; but he coolly deliberates what is best to be done under the circumstances, and does it, always with success. For he is his own physician, and, if necessary, surgeon also. "I consider," he says, "inflammation to be the root of almost all diseases. To subdue this at its earliest stage has been my constant care. Since my four and-twentieth year, I have been blooded above one hundred and ten times, in eighty of which I have performed the operation on myself with my own hand. This, with calomel and jalap mixed together as a purgative, with the use of rhubarb in occasional cases of dysentery, and with vast and oft-repeated potations of powdered Peruvian bark, as a restorative, has enabled me to grapple successfully with sickness when I was far away from medical aid. In cases where laudanum was absolutely necessary, I was always extremely cautious. My severest trials of sickness were those when I had to contend with internal inflammation at the very time when I was labouring under tertian ague. In these cases, the ague had to bear all the burden, for I knew that it was not a mortal complaint; whereas internal inflammation was not to be trifled with one moment. Under this impression, I would fearlessly open a vein, and would trust to the Peruvian bark, at a later period, to counteract the additional encouragement which I had been forced to give to the ague, through the medium of the lancet. I am now, I think, in as perfect health as a man can be."
This is a self-helping man in all ways, worthy to be imitated, if not for his bleeding prowess, at least for his bravery and self-reliance.
Waterton was born about the year 1782. He has written his own autobiography, and published it by way of preface to his "Essays on Natural History;" and, amongst other curious things, he has furnished us with some anecdotes of his boyhood and school-days, which are interesting preludes to his subsequent history, and show what a strong bias Nature had originally given to the mind and disposition of the future naturalist. He was always a wild boy of the woods, an intense lover of Nature in all her operations; and his instincts continually impelled him to watch the haunts of birds and animals. When he was but eight years of age, he was an inveterate birdsnester, and used to climb trees, and go grubbing in the dark holes of ancient buildings for starling's eggs. Upon one of these occasions, he had mounted the roof of an out-house, and stood in a very perilous situation, although he was quite unconscious of his danger. He had just got to a starling's nest under one of the slates, when he was observed by the old housekeeper, who, trembling for her young master's safety, did not dare to call out, lest he should lose his presence of mind and his foothold together. In this dilemma, the old lady bethought her of an expedient which none but a kind-hearted woman could have devised. So away she toddled to the store-room and returned with a great batch of gingerbread, which she held up to the daring boy, and in this manner lured him down. "And then she seized me," says Waterton, "as if I had been a malefactor." The kind old dame was so glad to have him safe in her arms.
At nine years old, he was sent to a school in the north of England, where his incessant wanderings in search of "ornithological architecture," got him many sound birchings, but did not at all cure him of this inbred propensity. So deeply was the mind of the boy infatuated with birds' nests and the woods, that he was haunted with adventures in his dreams, and one of them very nearly led to fatal results. He was caught getting out of his chamber-window in his sleep, and when awake and questioned, he confessed that he was going after a crow's nest, which he had found in the neighbourhood during the day.
He was soon after removed to Stonyhurst, the well-known Jesuit seminary, where he remained until it was time for him to leave school altogether. During his residence here, he evinced all the real characteristics of his disposition, and was constantly wandering out of bounds in quest of birds, foumarts, and squirrels. Once he was chased by the prefect, who, however, was not certain that Waterton was the fugitive. When the latter reached the out-buildings, which abutted on the college, he entered the postern-gate of a pigstye, where he found old Joe Brown, the brewer, bringing straw into the stye. Joe was very fond of young Charles, for the latter had known him during his school-days in the north, and had presented the old man with a very fine terrier. "I've just saved myself," said Waterton to his trusty friend; "cover me up with litter!" The request was barely complied with, when the prefect came up out of breath: "Have you seen Charles Waterton?" said he. "Sir," replied the old brewer--who, be it remembered, had been bred up amongst the Jesuits--"I have not spoken a word to Charles Waterton these three days, to my knowledge." So the prefect went away, and Charles stole out of cover. The morality of the transaction, we need scarcely say, was anything but defensible on Protestant principles, however much it might square with those of Stonyhurst.
It was not all play with Charles, however, at Stonyhurst. He entered upon a regular systematic course of study, and was much beloved by the Jesuits of the college, who watched over him with incessant care. His immediate master was Father Clifford, first cousin of the noble lord of that name; a man of rare talents and great insight. He had carefully studied the character of his young pupil, and foresaw the destiny which was in reserve for him. One day he called the young man into his study: "Charles," said he, with great kindness in his voice, "I know nothing will keep you at home, when you leave Stonyhurst. You will journey into distant countries, where you will be exposed to many dangers. Promise me that you will never from this day put your lips to wine or spirituous liquors. The sacrifice is nothing," he added; "but in the end it will prove of incalculable advantage to you." Charles agreed at once, and has kept his word up to the present time.
Shortly afterwards, he left Stonyhurst and went to Spain, where two of his maternal uncles were settled at Malaga. They had a pleasant country house at the foot of the adjacent mountains, and Waterton spent many happy days there. "The red-legged partridges abounded," he says, "in the environs, and the vultures were remarkably large; whilst goldfinches appeared to be much more common than sparrows in this country. During the spring, the quails and bee-eaters arrived in great numbers from the opposite coast of Africa. Once, when I was rambling along the sea-shore, a flock of a dozen red flamingoes passed, nearly within gunshot of me." He subsequently paid a visit to Gibraltar to see the apes which abound on that mighty rock. "I counted from fifty to sixty of them," he said; "and an ape or two might be seen in the flock with a young one on its back." From Gibraltar he went to Cadiz, and returned from thence to Malaga on board a Spanish ship. Having passed more than a year in this fine old Moorish town, he resolved on a trip to Malta. But in the meanwhile the black vomit broke out, and attacked the population with terrible fury. Waterton himself was seized with it, but his constitution prevailed against the pestilence. His uncles now retired altogether to their countryhouse; but one of them, being compelled by business to go to the city, never returned. A person had fallen sick and desired to see him; he went, ministered to his necessities with his own hand, took the contagion, and died—a victim to his noble and disinterested charity. Waterton was with him in his last moments, loving his uncle more than he feared the plague. "It was always said that 50,000 people left the city at the commencement of the pestilence, and that 14,000 of those who remained fell victims to the disease."
To increase the horror of this ghastly feast of death, the city was shaken with earthquakes, which came on in the night. Waterton ran out to the Alameda, where he saw half-naked men and women huddled together, and not knowing what to do, or which way to turn. Happily, however, the catastrophe of Lisbon was not repeated here, and the earthquakes gradually died away.
The port of Malaga was closed long after the plague had left the city, and Waterton was in haste to begone. But how to get away was the question; for there were the guns of the fort ready to open their terrible mouths and rake any vessel that should dare to venture out. Nothing, however, seemed impossible to Waterton, and he determined to risk the trial. So he engaged the captain of a vessel laden with fruit for London, and long anxious to get away, to carry him thither. They watched their opportunity, waited until the harbour-master had gone his usual rounds, and the boats of two Spanish brigs-of-war had landed their officers for the afternoon's amusement, and the old governor was gone to take an airing in his carriage, when precisely at one o'clock p.m. the vessel cleared away from the outer shipping, and "instantly became a cloud of canvass." Waterton, who seems not to have been troubled with any scruples as to the violation of the Spanish code which he had committed, speaks in the highest terms of the coolness and intrepidity of the captain upon this daring occasion, and declares that he would have made him an admiral on the spot, if he had possessed the power. Away rode the gallant vessel, driving through the surge with such a press of sail that it seemed impossible for her topmast to bear it; and before there was any time for alarm or pursuit, she had passed through the Straits of Gibraltar at the rate of eleven knots an hour. After thirty days of stormy weather at sea, they anchored off Brownsea Castle, near Poole, in Dorset, whence they sent their papers to London, and followed in due course up the Thames.
Waterton immediately returned to his father at Walton Hall, but with a shattered constitution, for the plague had told upon him, and during the voyage he had taken cold, which presently brought him to the brink of death. The English climate did not suit him either, and he longed to bask in a warmer sun. As soon, therefore, as he recovered, he was sent to Demerara to superintend the estates of his paternal uncle, and those which his father had lately bought there for the benefit of his younger children. Before he left England he was introduced by his relative, Sir John Bedingfield, to Sir Joseph Banks, who gave him some excellent advice about the climate to which he was going, advising him never to stop in it longer than two or three years at a time; advice which Waterton acted upon with much advantage to himself. He set sail from Portsmouth, Nov. 29, 1804, and landed at the town of Stabrock, in ci-devant Dutch Guiana, after a six weeks' voyage. He administered the estates until 1812, returning home occasionally, agreeably to the advice of Sir Joseph Banks, and then his father being dead, he delivered them to "those concerned in them, and never more put foot upon them."
Whilst Waterton was living on these estates at Demerara he had a rare opportunity of examining the water-fowl of Guiana. "They were in vast abundance all along the sea-shore, and in the fresh-water swamps behind the plantations. No country in the world can offer a more extensive and fertile field to the ornithologist than our celebrated colony of Demerara."
On the 11th Sept., 1807, Waterton received a commission as lieutenant in the 2nd regiment of militia, from Colonel Nicholson—the first commission that any of the name of Waterton had received since Queen Mary's days, and one which in no way compromised his religious opinions; for, as will have been perceived, he was by creed a Roman Catholic. He relates many adventures which happened to him during his stay in Demerara; and one is pleased to find that they are all on the side of humanity, undertaken to help the distressed. On one occasion, he sailed to Barbadoes in a leaky vessel, in search of a party of six English gentlemen, who went out in a schooner, without a commission from government, to attack a privateer from the Orinoco, which had committed great depredations upon the property of the British planters, and were taken prisoners. His vessel sank at her anchorage before Barbadoes, but the prisoners were saved from being hanged as pirates by the Spaniards—which they were liable to, having gone out without a commission—through the prompt intervention of Admiral Cochrane.
Waterton left Barbadoes with regret, and returned to Demerara. Notwithstanding his abstemious habits, he suffered a great deal from fever and ague, and used to fly to his friend Mr. Edmonstone's house, in Mibiri Creek, to get himself well. In the year 1808, he was sent by Governor Ross to carry despatches from Admiral Collingwood to the Spanish government in the Orinoco, and sailed on this mission in the Levina, flag-of-truce. After they had doubled Point Barima, they found the current rushing down with astonishing rapidity, and carrying with it enormous fragments of trees into the Atlantic ocean. "During the whole passage up the river there was a grand feast for the eves and ears of an ornithologist. In the swampy parts of the wooded islands, which abound in this mighty river, we saw water-fowl innumerable; and when we had reached the higher grounds, it was quite charming to observe the increased quantities of parrots and scarlet aras which passed over our heads. The loud, harsh screams of the bird called the horned screamer were heard far and near, and I frequently got a sight of this extraordinary bird as we passed along."
Waterton had a narrow escape during this voyage. A large Labarri snake was coiled up in a bush which was close to the boat, and he fired at it, wounding it so severely that it could not escape. Anxious to dissect it, he reached over to the bush to seize it by the throat and convey it aboard. The Spaniard at the tiller, on seeing this, took the alarm, and immediately put his helm a-port. This forced the vessel's head to the stream, and Waterton was left hanging to the bush with the snake close to him; for he had not been able to recover his balance when the vessel veered from the land. He kept firm hold, however, and was three times overhead in the water below. The boat was presently put hard a-starboard, and he got on board, bringing the snake along with him, to the horror of the crew. When he had changed his clothes, he dissected the head of this reptile.
All this was cool enough in more ways than one; and many times, during the remainder of the voyage up the Orinoco, Waterton would go ashore, and shoot marondies in the swamps of the river, a bird somewhat related to a pheasant, he tells us. On these occasions, he got amongst the "hungry leeches, which made pretty free with his legs." Then, as they sailed along on the morning after the adventure with the snake, they saw the dusky form of a huge cayman floating through the water.
It would be impossible, however, to follow Waterton through all his rambles and adventures in a paper so necessarily short as this; and the reader must be contented to get a bare outline instead of a history. Waterton was driven from the forests, during his expedition after the wourali poison, in 1812, by his old enemies—fever and ague—and was ordered to England. General Carmichael gave him the colonial despatches to deliver to Lord Bathurst in person, at the sane time furnishing him with a letter of introduction. When he arrived in England, however, he had to send the despatches to his lordship with an explanatory letter, being too ill to present them himself. His lordship invited him to town as soon as he was well enough to come, offering him an appointment in an exploring expedition which he was about to send to Madagascar. This was in May, 1813. Waterton, however, never accompanied the expedition, on account of his health. In 1817, we find him applying to Sir Joseph Banks to allow him to go with a similar expedition, which was then contemplated, to explore the river Congo, his health being greatly improved. But the appointments of the expedition were so inefficient, that Sir Joseph would not allow Waterton to go with it, and prophesied its entire failure, which actually took place. Disappointed in this project, Waterton set sail from Liverpool for Pernambuco, in Brazil. And here we must leave him, referring the reader to the "Wanderings" for further particulars of his history up to the year 1825, since which time he has lived in comparative retirement at Walton Hall. He is a strict preserver of game in his own park, and has built a high wall round it to keep the game within bounds. His object is not sport, but natural history. He watches for hours the ways of birds and other animals, and is understood to have by him a curious and interesting record of these observations.
Here-is his portrait: "I feel as though I were not more than thirty years old. I am quite free from all rheumatic pains, and am so supple in the joints that I can climb a tree with the utmost facility. I stand six feet high, all but half an inch. On looking at myself in the glass, I can see at once that my face is anything but comely; continual exposure to the sun, and to the rain of the tropics, has furrowed it in places, and given it a tint, which neither Rowland's Kalydor nor all the cosmetics in Belinda's toilette would ever be able to remove. My hair, which I wear very short, was once of a shade between black and brown; it has now the appearance as though it had passed the night exposed to a November hoarfrost. I cannot boast of any great strength of arm; but my legs, probably by much walking, and by frequently ascending trees, have acquired vast muscular power; so that, on taking a view of me from top to toe, you would say that the upper part of Tithonus has been placed upon the lower part of Ajax."
Waterton has well earned his fame as a naturalist, and is probably better acquainted than any other man now living with the science to which he has devoted his life. He is humane, generous, and hospitable, and bears a high character in his own neighbourhood.
1. We would merely warn our younger readers, that although enterprise is perhaps essential to distinction as a naturalist, yet the rushing into danger needlessly is a wanton and sinful perilling of the great blessing and talent of life. This remark will especially apply to the anecdote that follows.—Ed.