CHAPTER III.

VALLEYS AND GREAT LEVELS OF THE EARTH.

T has been observed, that the ridge line of a chain of mountains is marked with great irregularities, numerous breaks and depressions occurring. Though the base of these depressions is at a high elevation above the general superficies, yet when internally surveyed they have all the appearance of being sunk far below it. The traveller slowly wending his way through them, shut out from any extensive observation of the country, and seeing on each hand eminences towering far aloft, might imagine himself at an immense depth beneath the surface land of the globe. They are mountain chasms, through which communication is maintained between opposite sides of the ridge they intersect, and are called Cols in the Alps, Ports in the Pyrenees,

Gaps in the United States, and in general, gates, or passes. They abound with scenes of striking grandeur,-overhanging rocks, undefended precipices, patches of wood, and cascades of water, rendered the more impressive by the seclusion of their sites. Some of the present passes across the Alps have been frequented from a very early period, but many natural obstacles have in modern times been removed by the art and labour of man, and the difficult mule paths of a former age been converted into carriage roads. The Carthaginians are supposed to have entered Italy under Hannibal by the pass of the Great St. Bernard; at least the weight of evidence is in favour of this route, which was made practicable for cars by order of Augustus, and along this course Pepin certainly led his army to attack the Lombards. "It is natural," says Mr. Inglis, "to compare one mountain pass with another; and after having for the first time crossed any celebrated mountain, one naturally calls to mind the journeys which one may have made across other mountains, and the comparative interest with which such journeys have been attended. I need scarcely say, that there are certain features common to all mountain passes; that there is sublimity in elevation; that mountain clefts are filled by rivulets, which swell as they descend; that plants of less or more interest attract the eye; that from certain heights, extensive prospects of the country below are laid open; and that the phenomena of clouds, rain, and rainbows, and the effects of lights and shadows are common to all great elevations. But notwithstanding these features of common resemblance, mountains and their passes widely differ in interest, and consequently in the features by which nature has distinguished them. These differences, supposing the mountains to be equal in height, arise from the diversity in conformation, and the variety in their geological character. When we talk of one mountain pass being finer than another, we mean that the views it affords are more

sublime, or more picturesque; that sublimity, and that picturesqueness, are the result of their shape and surface. I have never passed either Mount Cenis, or the Simplon; I

cannot therefore speak of them. The passes with which I am acquainted are, St. Go

thard; Mount Albula; the pass by the sources of the Rhine; the Rhetian Alps; the Brenner; the limb of the

Pic du Midi; the pass of the Pyrenees from Perpignan to Cata

lonia, and from Gavarnie by the Brêche de Roland to Arragon;

some of the mountain passes of Norway; and the Spanish Sierras. Now it may seem singular, that of these, the lowest passes should be the finest; yet so it is in my estimation. Mount Albula, and the Brêche de Roland, are certainly lower than St. Gothard, and yet their features are more striking; and the truth is, that besides the causes I have already mentioned, arising from diversity in conformation and surface, the very lowness is itself the chief cause of superiority. Nor is that apparent paradox difficult to explain. Where a road traverses the summit of a mountain, there cannot be precipices above; and the mere fact, that a road is necessarily led over the highest part of a mountain, is itself a proof that it is not indented by those deep valleys, clefts, and ravines, which, did they exist, would permit the road to be conducted across at a lower elevation. Where a road traverses the summit of a mountain the views may be extensive; but they must yield in sublimity to those which are presented where the road conducts the traveller through the heart of the mountain,-among its deep recesses, its forests, and cataracts."

The ancients esteemed the passes of the mountains bounding their respective territories, or intersecting them, of great military importance, and added to their natural strength to render them impregnable. Pliny thus describes the defiles of the Caucasus, and the mode of maintaining them: "Each pass was closed by large beams of wood pointed with iron. In the midst of the narrow valley flowed a river. The southern extremity was protected by a castle built on a high rock. This defence was to prevent incursions from the people of the north." Three great passes through the Caucasus are spoken of by the classical writers, the Pyle Sarmatæ, the Pyle Albania, and the Via Caspia. The former, probably the Porta Caucasia of Strabo, is the particular one

referred to by Pliny, now the pass or valley of the river Terek, one of the ancient keys of the East. The river has its rise towards the centre, and flows northward, a foaming torrent, by the side of which the emperor Alexander caused the present road out of Europe into Georgia to be constructed in the year 1804. The road winds by the edge of precipices rising up from the roaring waters of the Terek, while above, large projections of rock, many thousand tons in weight, hang from the beetling steep of the mountains, threatening destruction on all below-not always a vain apprehension. After the winter season, many of these huge masses have been launched downwards by the effect of a sudden thaw, blocking up the narrow pathway, or flooding it by the obstruction offered to the course of the river. The mountain sides of this pass-from one of which the lofty Kasibeck rises four thousand feet above the limit of perpetual snow—are so high, close, and overhanging, that even at mid-day the whole is covered with a shadow bordering on twilight.

At Darial, about a day's journey up the European side of the pass, the Russians have a military post. The scene is here one of great magnificence. The walls of rock reach the height of nearly four thousand feet above the bed of the river. The passes of the Taurus, which are the channels of communication between the interior plains of Asia Minor and the southern coast, have milder features. The most celebrated in antiquity the Pyla Cilicia-through which the younger Cyrus and Alexander poured their armies, consists of a narrow defile, with cliffs covered a considerable way up with evergreens and pine-trees, hanging in some places like a vast canopy over the road, while bare and desolate peaks tower above the clouds. The passes of the Andes and Himalaya exhibit Nature in her wildest and most terrific aspects, and are perilous sites. The latter especially, owing to their elevation in the regions of eternal ice and snow, are seldom traversed without the loss of human life, and yet are annually travelled by crowds of people journeying to and from the Indian and Tartarian sides, on purposes of traffic, rarely proceeding a mile, at the higher points, without meeting with the remains of some ill-fated wayfarer. Captain A. Gerard accomplished the ascent of the Mannering Pass, 3000 feet higher than Mont Blanc, and thus describes the scene and its dangers :- "The river Darboong was lost among the fields of snow and ice by which it was generated; the whole space on every side was floored by ice, half hid under stones and rubbish. In some places the snow is of an incredible thickness, and lies in heaps. Having accumulated for years together, it separates by its gravity, and spreads wide desolation in its route. Nowhere, in all my travels, have I observed such enormous bodies of snow and ice, or altogether such a scene. So rapid and incessant is the progress of destruction here, that piles of stone are erected to guide the traveller, since the pathway is often obliterated in a few days by fresh showers of splinters. Our elevation was now upwards of 16,000 feet, although we had but ascended in company with the river. Here only began our toils: we scaled the slope of the mountain very slowly; respiration was laborious, and we felt exhausted at every step. The crest of the pass was not visible, and we saw no limit to our exertions. The road inclined to an angle of 30°. Vast benches of limestone, like marble, were passed under; the projections frowned over us in new and horrid shapes! Our situation was different from any thing we had yet experienced it cannot be described. Long before we got up, our respiration became hurried and oppressive, and compelled us to sit down every few yards; and then only could we inhale a sufficient supply of air. The least motion was accompanied by debility and mental dejection: and thus we laboured on for two miles. The last half-mile was over the perpetual snow, sinking with the foot from three to twelve inches, the fresh covering of the former night. The direct road leads to the centre of the gap, where the snow is very deep and treacherous; and we made a circuit to the right, to avoid the

danger of being swallowed up in one of the dark rents into which often shepherds and their flocks have sunk, never to rise. The day was cloudy, and a strong wind half froze us. The rocks were falling on all sides, and we narrowly escaped destruction. I myself twice saw large blocks of rock pass with dreadful velocity through the line of people, and between two of them not four feet apart. At half-past two I reached the summit."

The broad and deep depressions in mountainous districts-properly speaking, valleys -are ranged into two classes, according to their direction in relation to the main elevations. Those which are situated between two principal ridges are termed longitudinal, and those which are at right angles with a great chain, or variously inclined, are called transverse. Valleys also are styled lateral which feed, with tributary streams, a great watercourse; and by the terms upper and lower valley, parts of the same valley, near and more remote from the source of a river flowing through it, are denoted. The canton of the Valais in Switzerland-one of the most remarkable spots upon the globe, combining, within a very contracted area, the productions and temperature of every latitude from the arctic to the torrid zone-is a longitudinal valley, the largest in the Swiss Alps. Its axis is parallel to the main chain of Mont Blanc and Mont Rosa on the south, and the ridge of the Bernese Alps, with the grand heights of the Jungfrau and Finster-Aar-Horn, on the north. The Rhone passes through it, rising at its western extremity among the glaciers of Mont Furca, at the height of 5726 feet above the sea, descending to an elevation of 1350 feet before it escapes out of the valley towards the Lake of Geneva. The valley is nearly a hundred miles long, the breadth of the base varying from a quarter of a mile to three miles. It can only be entered on level ground at one point, where the Rhone rushes out of it through a narrow gorge formed by the Dent de Midi and the

Dent de Morcles, which rise 8000 feet above its waters. Connected with this great longitudinal valley, there are thirteen lateral valleys on the south side, and three on the north, which bring down the waters of its enclosing mountains. The canton of the Grisons also comprises upwards of sixty transverse valleys, belonging chiefly to those which are longitudinal those of the upper and lower Rhine, and the Inn. These bye-valleys are often nooks into which man seldom pries, and where no specimens of his handiwork are to be found. There are no sights or sounds but those of Nature, exhibiting herself in rock, wood, heath, and mossy flower, and speaking by the rippling rivulet, as if inviting the enquiry

"Free rover of the hills, pray tell me now

The chances of thy journey, since first thou

From thy deep-prison'd well away didst break,

A solitary pilgrimage to take.

Among the quiet valleys, I do ween

Thou with the daisied tufts of tender green

Hast loving linger'd; didst thou not awake,
With thy soft kiss, the hare-bell bending low,

Stealing her nectar from the wild bee's wooing?

And thou hast toy'd (though thou wilt tell me, no!)
With many a modest violet, that looks

Into thy grassy pools in secret nooks.

Come, tell me, rover, all thou hast been doing!"

The larger Pyrenean valleys differ from the Alpine in being transverse, running at various angles with the principal range. There are those which are longitudinal, but not of equal extent with the former. It is common also for a Pyrenean valley to present the form of a succession of basins, at various distances from each other, called " oules," meaning pots or boilers, in the language of the mountaineers. These basins are large circular spaces covered with alluvial soil, sometimes eight miles in length by four in breadth, through which the streams flow sluggishly, owing to their level surfaces. They have all the appearance of having once been lakes, the beds of which have been emptied, by the waters bursting through their mountain ramparts. In fact, in the upper parts of these valleys, the basins exhibit lakes at present, some of which are on very elevated sites. Malte Brun enumerates eight which are at the height of 6557 feet; but that of the Pic-du-Midi is 8813, and is perpetually covered with ice. In the regions of the Andes, the longitudinal and transverse valleys constitute the most majestic and varied scenes which the Corderillas present, and produce, says Humboldt, the most striking effects upon the imagination of the European traveller. The enormous height of the mountains cannot be seen as a whole except at a considerable distance, when in the plains which extend from the coast to the foot of the central chain. The table-lands which surround the summits covered with perpetual snow are, for the most part, elevated from 8000 to 10,000 feet above the level of the ocean. That circumstance diminishes to a certain degree the impression of grandeur produced by the colossal masses of Chimboraço, Cotopaxi, and Antisana, when seen from the table-land of Quito. Deeper and narrower than those of the Alps and Pyrenees, the valleys of the Corderillas present situations so wild as to fill the mind with fear and admiration. They are formed by vast rents, clothed with a vigorous vegetation; and of such a depth that Vesuvius might be placed in them without overtopping the nearest heights. Thus, the sides of the celebrated valleys of Chota and Cutaco are 4875 and 4225 feet in perpendicular height; their breadth does does not exceed 2600 feet. The deepest valley in Europe is that of Ordesa in the Pyrenees, a part of Mont Perdu; but this, according to Ramond, is not more than 3200 feet deep.

The valley form in more open regions is that of a depression, generally a water-course, with rounded and gently swelling embankments. The largest specimens of this class in Europe are found along the course of the Danube. Of a similar character are the celebrated valleys of Cashmere in Asia, with the vale of York, the vale of the Severn, and the vale of Exeter, upon a minor scale, in our own island. Some of the spots, too, which pass in our own country under the humble name of dales, are true pictures, though in a miniature form, of the high-walled valleys of Alpine and Andean districts. Perhaps the best representation, and certainly one of the mose exquisite specimens of scenery we have, is the Dovedale of the Peak, so styled from its locality being in the Peak of Derby