Personal Narrative Of Travels To The Equinoctial Regions Of America During The Years 1799-1804 - Volume 1 - By Alexander Von Humboldt And Aime Bonpland.
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We Have Just Seen That, In The Cueva Del Guacharo, The Water Of The
River Is Nearly 2 Degrees Colder Than The Ambient Air Of The
Cavern.
The water, whether in filtering through the rocks, or in
running over stony beds, doubtless imbibes the temperature of these
beds.
The air contained in the grotto, on the contrary, is not in
repose; it communicates with the external atmosphere. Though under
the torrid zone, the changes of the external temperature are
exceedingly trifling, currents are formed, which modify
periodically the internal air. It is consequently the temperature
of the waters, that of 16.8 degrees, which we might look upon as
the temperature of the earth in those mountains, if we were sure
that the waters do not descend rapidly from more elevated
neighbouring mountains.
It follows from these observations, that when we cannot obtain
results perfectly exact, we find at least under each zone certain
numbers which indicate the maximum and minimum. At Caripe, in the
equinoctial zone, at an elevation of 500 toises, the mean
temperature of the globe is not below 16.8 degrees, which was the
degree indicated by the water of the subterranean river. We can
even prove that this temperature of the globe is not above 19
degrees, since the air of the cavern, in the month of September,
was found to be at 18.7 degrees. As the mean temperature of the
atmosphere, in the hottest month, does not exceed 19.5 degrees,* it
is probable that a thermometer in the grotto would not rise higher
than 19 degrees at any season of the year. (* The mean temperature
of the month of September at Caripe is 18.5 degrees; and on the
coast of Cumana, where we had opportunities of making numerous
observations, the mean heat of the warmest months differs only 1.8
degrees from that of the coldest.)
CHAPTER 1.8.
DEPARTURE FROM CARIPE.
MOUNTAIN AND FOREST OF SANTA MARIA.
MISSION OF CATUARO.
PORT OF CARIACO.
The days we passed at the Capuchin convent in the mountains of
Caripe, glided swiftly away, though our manner of living was simple
and uniform. From sunrise to nightfall we traversed the forests and
neighbouring mountains, to collect plants. When the winter rains
prevented us from undertaking distant excursions, we visited the
huts of the Indians, the conuco of the community, or those
assemblies in which the alcaldes every evening arrange the labours
of the succeeding day. We returned to the monastery only when the
sound of the bell called us to the refectory to share the repasts
of the missionaries. Sometimes, very early in the morning, we
followed them to the church, to attend the doctrina, that is to
say, the religious instruction of the Indians. It was rather a
difficult task to explain dogmas to the neophytes, especially those
who had but a very imperfect knowledge of the Spanish language. On
the other hand, the monks are as yet almost totally ignorant of the
language of the Chaymas; and the resemblance of sounds confuses the
poor Indians and suggests to them the most whimsical ideas. Of this
I may cite an example. I saw a missionary labouring earnestly to
prove that infierno, hell, and invierno, winter, were not one and
the same thing; but as different as heat and cold. The Chaymas are
acquainted with no other winter than the season of rains; and
consequently they imagined the Hell of the whites to be a place
where the wicked are exposed to frequent showers. The missionary
harangued to no purpose: it was impossible to efface the first
impression produced by the analogy between the two consonants. He
could not separate in the minds of the neophytes the ideas of rain
and hell; invierno and infierno.
After passing almost the whole day in the open air, we employed our
evenings, at the convent, in making notes, drying our plants, and
sketching those that appeared to form new genera. Unfortunately the
misty atmosphere of a valley, where the surrounding forests fill
the air with an enormous quantity of vapour, was unfavourable to
astronomical observations. I spent a part of the nights waiting to
take advantage of the moment when some star should be visible
between the clouds, near its passage over the meridian. I often
shivered with cold, though the thermometer only sunk to 16 degrees,
which is the temperature of the day in our climates towards the end
of September. The instruments remained set up in the court of the
convent for several hours, yet I was almost always disappointed in
my expectations. Some good observations of Fomalhaut and of Deneb
have given 10 degrees 10 minutes 14 seconds as the latitude of
Caripe; which proves that the position indicated in the maps of
Caulin is 18 minutes wrong, and in that of Arrowsmith 14 minutes.
Observations of corresponding altitudes of the sun having given me
the true time, within about 2 seconds, I was enabled to determine
the magnetic variation with precision, at noon. It was, on the 20th
of September, 1799, 3 degrees 15 minutes 30 seconds north-east;
consequently 0 degrees 58 minutes 15 seconds less than at Cumana.
If we attend to the influence of the horary variations, which in
these countries do not in general exceed 8 minutes, we shall find,
that at considerable distances the variation changes less rapidly
than is usually supposed. The dip of the needle was 42.75 degrees,
centesimal division, and the number of oscillations, expressing the
intensity of the magnetic forces, rose to 229 in ten minutes.
The vexation of seeing the stars disappear in a misty sky was the
only disappointment we felt in the valley of Caripe. The aspect of
this spot presents a character at once wild and tranquil, gloomy
and attractive. In the solitude of these mountains we are perhaps
less struck by the new impressions we receive at every step, than
with the marks of resemblance we trace in climates the most remote
from each other.
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