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CHAPTER V PATAGONIA Port Desire — Eastern Magellan Straits — Punta Arenas — Western Magellan Straits — Patagonian Channels The most southerly portion of the South
American continent, called Patagonia, first became known in the endeavour to
find a new way into the Pacific. Magellan was commissioned by Charles of Spain
to try to find by the south that ocean passage to the Indies which Columbus had
sought in vain further north. He sailed in August 1519, and began his search
along the coast at the River Plate; on October 21st, the day of the Eleven
Thousand Virgins, he came in sight of a large channel opening out to the west: the
promontory to the north of this channel still bears the name he bestowed of
Cape Virgins. He proceeded cautiously, sending boats ahead to explore, and on
November 28th entered the Pacific. When he saw the open sea he is said to have
wept for joy, and christened the last cape "Deseado," or the "Desired."
The sea power of England, which had been
negligible in the time of the first voyages to the New World, was growing in
strength; and, though she had attempted no settlement on the southern
continent, she saw no reason to acquiesce in the edicts of the King of Spain,
shutting her off from all trade with the New World. In 1578 Drake took
Magellan's route, with the object of intercepting galleons on the Pacific
coast, and passed through the Straits in sixteen days. On entering the Pacific
he was blown backward towards Cape Horn, and was the first to realise that
there was another waterway, yet further south, from the Atlantic to the
Pacific. Up till this time the land had been supposed to extend to the Antarctic.
A hundred years later Charles II of England
sent an expedition under Sir John Narborough to explore this part of the world
and trade with the Indians, which wintered on the eastern coast of Patagonia. Anson's squadron avoided the Straits, taking
the way by the Horn. The Chilean and Argentine Boundary Commission
divided Patagonia between the two countries, giving the west and south to Chile
and bisecting Tierra del Fuego, 1902. We
flatter ourselves our experience in detecting mendacity would qualify us as
police-court magistrates, but we never saw any reason to doubt the substantial
accuracy of Freeman's stories. His experience dated back to the time when mares
of two or three years old were sold for ten shillings, or were boiled down for
fat, as, after the Spanish fashion, no man would demean himself by riding one.
He had at one time ridden across the continent from the Patagonian to the
Chilean coast, a journey of six weeks, half of which time he never saw a human
being; he was followed all the way by a dog, though the poor animal was once
two or three days without water; it got left behind at times, but always managed
to pick up his trail. He was most candid about the means by which he had made
money when at one time employed on the railway, for honesty was not in his
opinion the way that the game was played in South America, and therefore no
individual could afford to make it part of his programme: it did happen to be
one of the rules on Mana, and we
never knew him break it. He was once running away after some drunken escapade,
when a policeman appeared and took pot-shots at him with a rifle. Freeman
turned and dropped him with his revolver; he did it the more reluctantly as he
knew and liked the man. Happily the shot was not fatal, and he felt convinced that
he himself had not been recognised. After,
therefore, carefully arranging an alibi elsewhere he returned, condoled with
the victim on the lawless deed, and gave him what assistance he could; he felt,
however, that that part of the country had become not very "healthy,"
and subsequently moved on. Even our experiences of the ports had scarcely
prepared us for the cynical indifference to human life which his experiences
incidentally revealed as an everyday affair in "the camp." In
sparsely inhabited districts, with their very recent population, the factors
are absent through which primitive societies generally secure justice, clans do
not exist, families are the exception, and in almost every case a man is simply
a unit. The more advanced methods of keeping the peace have either not been
formed or are not effective, for crime is often connived at by the authorities
themselves. The result is that the era of vendetta and private revenge seems
civilised in comparison with a state of things where no notice is taken of
murder, and the victim who falls in a brawl or by fouler means simply
disappears unknown and unmissed, while the murderer goes scot-free to repeat
his crime on the next occasion. Freeman
had, inter alia, been employed on one
of the farms in Patagonia, along the coast of which we were sailing, and told
tales of the pumas, or South American lions, which abounded in a certain
neighbourhood. This district had railway connection with a little anchorage
known as Port Desire, and as one of our intervals in harbour was now due S.
arranged to turn in here, and go up-country with him to try to get a shot at
the animals. We therefore put into the port on October 3rd. It is a small
inlet, of which the surrounding country is covered with grass, but flat and dreary
in the extreme, the only relief being a distant vision of blue hills. Sir John
Narborough, who spent part of the winter here in 1670, said he never saw in the
country "a stick of wood large enough to make the handle of a hatchet.'' The human
dwellings are a few tin shanties. In a walk on shore we were able to see in a
gully, a few remains of the walls of the old Spanish settlement. As to the
puma, fortunately from its point of view, the railway service left a good deal
to be desired. We arrived on Friday, and there turned out to be no train till
the following Tuesday, so it lived to be shot another day — unless indeed it
met a more ignominious end, for the South American lion is so unworthy of its
name that it is sometimes killed by being ridden down and brained with a
stirrup-iron. We took three sheep on board, as mutton at twopence a pound
appealed to the housekeeping mind, and were able to secure some water, which is
brought down by rail; it was a relief to have our tanks well supplied, as the
ports further down the coast are defended by bars, and would have been
difficult of access in bad weather. Drake, on whose course we were now
entering, selected St. Julian, the next bay to the southward, for his port of
call before entering the Straits of Magellan; it was there he had trouble with
his crew, and was obliged to hang Doughty. We sailed
from Port Desire on Monday morning, but were not to say good-bye to it so
speedily. We soon encountered a strong head-wind, with the result that
Wednesday evening found us fifteen miles backwards on a return journey to
Buenos Aires, and the whole of Thursday saw us still within sight of it. We
amused ourselves by discussing the voyage, which had now lasted more than seven
months. One of the company declared that he had lost all sense of time and felt
like a native or an animal: things just went on from day to day; there was
neither before nor after, neither early nor late. It did not, he said, seem
very long since we left Falmouth, but on the other hand our stay at Pernambuco
was certainly in the remote past, and so with everything else. We had now, in
fact, done about three-quarters of the distance from Buenos Aires towards the
Straits of Magellan, and had 300 miles left before we reached their entrance at
Cape Virgins. Ever
since the Expedition was originally projected the passage of the Straits had
been spoken of in somewhat hushed tones; but now, when with a more favourable
wind we began to approach them, instead of going into Arctic regions, as some
of us had anticipated, the weather improved, the sun went south faster than we
did, and the days lengthened rapidly. Our numerous delays had at least one
fortunate result — they secured us a much better time of year in the Straits
than we had expected would fall to our lot. The feeling in the air was that of
an English April, bright and sunny, but fresh; we kept the saloon cold on
principle during the daytime, living in big coats; in the evening we had on the
hot-water apparatus, so as to go warm to bed. It was quite possible to write on
deck, and the sea was almost too beautifully calm. We had a great many ocean
callers, who seemed attracted by the vessel: porpoises tumbled about the bows
till we could nearly stroke them, a whale would go round and round the yacht,
coming up to blow at intervals, while seals reared their heads and shoulders
out of the waters and looked at us in a way that was positively bewitching;
once a whale and seal paid us a visit at the same time. One night S., who was
keeping a watch for one of the officers who was indisposed, was interested in
watching the gulls still feeding during the dark hours. At 10
p.m. on October 15th the light of Cape Virgins was sighted, and we woke to find
ourselves actually in the Straits of Magellan. The Magellan route, as compared
with that by the Horn, is not only a short road from the Atlantic to the
Pacific, cutting off the islands to the south of the continent, but ensures
calm waters, instead of the stupendous seas of the Antarctic Ocean. For a
sailing-ship, however, the difficulties are great; the prevailing wind is from
the west, and there is no space for a large vessel to beat up against it, nor
does she gain the advantage that can be derived from any slight shift of wind;
outside the gale may vary a point or two, but within the channel it always
blows straight down as in a gully. The early mariners could overcome these
obstacles through the strength of their crews; in case of necessity they
lowered their boats and towed the ship, but the vessels of the present no longer
carry sufficient men to make such a proceeding possible. Sailing-ships
therefore take to-day the Cape Horn route, in spite of its well-known delays,
trials, and hardships. When later the German cruiser turned up at Easter Island
with her captured crews, the great regret of the latter was that they had been
taken just too late, after they had gone through the unpleasantness of the
passage round the Horn. The first
sight of Tierra del Fuego is certainly disappointing. The word calls up visions
of desolate snowy mountains inhabited by giants; what is seen are low cliffs,
behind which are rolling downs, sunny and smiling, divided up into prosaic
sheep farms. A reasonably careful study of the map would of course have shown
what was to be expected, as on the Atlantic coast the plains continue to the
extreme south of the continent, while the chain of the Andes looks only on to
the Pacific. Nevertheless^ if not thrilling, it was at least enjoyable to be in
a stretch of smooth water, with Patagonia on the north and Tierra del Fuego on
the south. The land on either hand is excellent pasture for sheep, and there is
said to be sometimes as much as 97 per cent, increase in a flock. The largest
owners are one or two Chilean firms, but the shepherds employed are almost all
Scotsmen, and indeed the scenery recalls some of the less beautiful districts
in the Highlands. When sheep-farming was established, the Indians, not
unnaturally from their point of view, made raids on the new animals, with the
result that the representatives of the company were consumed with wrath at
seeing their stock eaten by lazy natives; they started a campaign of
extermination, shooting at sight and offering a reward for Indian tongues. Our
friend Freeman had worked on one of the farms, which had a stock of 200,000
sheep, and the information he gave on this head was fully confirmed later in
conversations at Punta Arenas. The destruction of the Indians was spoken of
there as a matter for regret, but as rendered inevitable by circumstances. The navigation
through the straits of a craft like ours makes it necessary to anchor in the
dark hours: the first night we spent off the Fuegian coast, in sight of one of
the pillars which define the boundary of Chile and Patagonia; the second we lay
in Possession Bay, which is on the Patagonian side. We had time at the latter
anchorage to examine the pathetic wreck of a steamer, which had gone aground.
She was a paddle-boat, which was being towed presumably from one lake or river
area to another, and had to be cut adrift. Even in such an unheroic vessel it
was touching to see the sign of departed and luxurious life cast away on this
lonely shore, stained-glass doors bearing the inscription of
"smoking" or "dining-room," and good mahogany fittings such
as washing-stands still in place. It is said that the outer coast is strewn
with wrecks containing valuable articles which it is worth no one's while to
remove. S. walked up to the neighbouring lighthouse, and was presented with
three rhea eggs. ![]() FIG. 8. — IN THE MAGELLAN STRAITS. S. and an ostrich. The next
morning we were under way at 5 o'clock, in order to pass with the correct tide
through what are known as the First Narrows. The current here is so strong that
it would have been impossible for us to make headway against it; as it was, the
wind sank soon after we started, and we only just accomplished the passage,
anchoring in St. Jago Bay. The following day, Sunday, we negotiated
successfully the Second Narrows. From our next anchorage we saw from the yacht
several rhea, or South American ostriches, on a small promontory. S. went
ashore on the point and shot two of them, while Mr. Ritchie and Mr. Gillam, who
had landed on the neck of the promontory, endeavoured to cut off the retreat of
the two remaining birds. The one marked by Mr. Ritchie went through some water
and escaped him; the onlookers then viewed with much interest a duel between
Mr. Gillam on the one hand, running about in sea-boots armed with a revolver,
and the last ostrich on the other, vigorously using its legs and wings and on
its own ground. Victory remained with the bird, which reached the mainland
triumphantly, or at least disappeared behind a bush and was no more seen. Seven
miles south-west of the Second Narrows lies Elizabeth Island, so named by
Drake. We took the passage known as Queen's Road on the Fuegian side of the
island, and reached Punta Arenas next afternoon, Monday, October 20th. We had
intended to be there for two or three days only, but fate willed otherwise, and
we sat for weeks in a tearing wind among small crests of foam, gazing at a
little checkered pattern of houses on the open hillside opposite. It will
be remembered that the motor engine, to our great chagrin, was practically
useless through heated bearings, and that all our endeavours at Buenos Aires to
diagnose and remedy its ailment had been ineffectual. We had consequently to
rely on passing through the Straits either under sail, or, as the late Lord
Crawford had suggested to us before starting, through getting a tow from some
passing tramp by means of a £50 cheque to the skipper, a transaction which
would probably not appear in their log. However, in mentioning our
disappointment to the British Consul, who was one of an engineering firm, he
and his partner hazarded the suggestion that the defect lay, not in the engine,
where it had been sought, but in the installation; that the shaft was probably
not "true." They bravely undertook the job of overhauling it on the
principle of "no cure, no pay," and were entirely justified by the
result. The alteration was to have been finished in ten days, but there were
the usual delays, one of which was a strike at the "shops," when a
piece of work could only be continued by inducing one man to ply his trade
behind closed doors while S. turned the lathe. It was six weeks before the
anxious moment finally came for the eight hours' trial, which had been part of
the bargain, but the motor did it triumphantly without turning a hair. We found
what consolation for the delay was possible in the reflection that we had at
least done all in our power to guard against such misfortune. The engine had
been purchased from a first-class firm who had done the installation; the work
had been supervised on our behalf by a private firm and passed by Lloyds; nevertheless
it was peculiarly aggravating, for not only did it involve great money loss,
but it sacrificed some of the strictly limited time of our navigator and
geologist. We had the pleasure at this time of welcoming the said geologist,
Mr. Lowry-Corry, who now joined the Expedition after successfully completing
his work in India. Punta
Arenas, with which we became so well acquainted, is a new and unpretentious
little town, but it is the centre of the sheep-grazing districts, and its shops
are remarkably good. Anything in reason can be purchased there, and on the
whole at more moderate prices than elsewhere in South America. The beautiful
part of the Straits is not yet reached, and save for some distant views the
place is ugly, but it gives a sensation of cleanliness and fresh air, and our
detention might have been worse. There is indeed, on occasion, too much air,
for it was at times impossible to get from the ship to the shore or vice versa,
and if members of the party were on land when the wind sprang up they had to
spend the night at the little hotel; the waves were not big, but the gales were
too strong for the men to pull against them. I was with reluctance obliged to
give up some promising Spanish lessons, with which I had hoped to occupy the
time, for it was impossible to be sure of keeping any appointment from the
yacht. Punta Arenas boasts an English chaplain, and Boy Scouts are in evidence.
The chief celebrity is an Arctic spider-crab, which multiplies in the channels
and is delicious eating, but we never discovered anything of much local
interest. I made
one day a vain attempt to find the graves of the officers and crew of H.M.S. Dotterel, which was blown up off Sandy
Point some thirty years ago. The cemetery overlooked the Straits; it was desolate
and dreary, the ground being unlevelled and the tufted grass, with which it was
covered, unkept and unmown. Most of the graves were humble enclosures, some of
which gave the impression of greenhouses, being covered with erections of wood
and glass; but here and there were small mausoleums, the property of rich
families or corporations. It is the custom with some Chileans so to preserve
the remains that the faces continue visible; an Englishman at Santiago told us
that after a funeral which he had attended, the mourners expressed a desire to
"see Aunt Maria," whereupon the coffin of a formerly deceased
relative was taken down from its niche for her features to be inspected. The
police of Punta Arenas had their home together in a large vault, which was apparently
being prepared for a new occupant; while the veterans of '79 (the war between
Chile and Peru) slept as they had fought, side by side. There was apparently no
Protestant corner, for the graves of English, Germans, and Norwegians were
intermingled with those of Chileans. The resting-places of all, rich and poor
alike, were lovingly decorated with the metal wreaths so prevalent in Latin
countries, but unattractive to the English eye. Whilst I wandered among the
tombs a storm burst, which had been gathering for some time amongst distant
mountains, and chilly flakes of snow swept down in force, with biting wind and
hail. I sheltered in the lee of a mausoleum, on whose roof balanced a large
figure of the angel of peace bearing the palm-branch of victory, and the
inscription on which showed it to be the property of a wealthy family, whose
name report specially connected with the poisoning of Indians. The landscape
was temporarily obscured by the driving storm, not a soul was in sight, and the
iron wreaths on hundreds of graves rattled with a weird and ghostly sound.
Presently, however, the tempest passed and the sun shone out, while over the
Straits, towards the Fuegian land, there came out in the sky a wonderful arc of
light edged by the colours of the rainbow, which turned the sea at its foot
into a translucent and sparkling green. But if
there was not much occupation on shore, the unexpected length of our stay
provided us unpleasantly with domestic employment. We had on arrival parted
from our friend Freeman, his object in coming to Punta Arenas was, it
transpired, to collect the remainder of a sum due to him in connection with the
sale of a skating-rink, which he had at one time started there and run with
considerable success: we were proud to think that service on an English
scientific vessel would now be added to his experiences. Life below deck was
then in the hands of Luke, the under-steward, who, as will be remembered by
careful readers, had been the salvation of the inner man during our first gale
in the North Atlantic . We had engaged him at Southampton on the strength of a
character from a liner on which he had served in some subordinate capacity, and
he. signed on for the voyage of three years at the rate of £2 10s. a month.
Though never what registry offices would call "clean in person and
work," he plodded through somehow, and again in the Freeman episode
rescued the ship from starvation; we accordingly doubled his wages as a
testimonial of esteem. My feelings can therefore be imagined when one morning,
after we had been some weeks at Punta Arenas, I was told that Luke was not on
board and his cabin was cleared. He had somehow in the early morning eluded the
anchor watch and had gone off in a strange boat. A deserter forfeits of course
his accumulated wages, which, by a probably wise regulation, are payable to
Government and not to the owner; but there is nothing to prevent a man who is
leaving a vessel recouping himself by means of any little articles that he may
judge will come in handy in his new career. The one that I grudged most to Luke
was my cookery book, to which he had become much attached, and which was never
seen again after his departure; it was really a mean theft, from which I
suffered much in the future. S.
offered, through the police, a reward for his detention, and enlarged his
knowledge of the town by going personally through every low haunt, but without
success. A rumour subsequently reached us that a muffled figure had been seen
going on board one of the little steamers which plied backwards and forwards to
the ports in Tierra del Fuego, and we heard, when it was too late, that Luke
had been enticed to a sheep farm there, with the promise of permanent
employment at £10 a month, with £2 bonus during shearing-time, which was then
in progress. The temptation was enormous, and I have to this day a sneaking
kindliness for Luke, but for those who tempted him no pardon at all. The
condition in which the successive defaulters had left their quarters is better
pictured than described, and so stringent is the line of ship's etiquette
between work on deck and below, that, as the simplest way and for the honour of
the yacht, the Stewardess did the job of cleaning out cabin and pantry herself.
The moral for shipowners is — do not dally in South American ports. Now began
a strange hunt in the middle of nowhere for anything that could call itself a
cook or steward. The beachcombers who applied were marvellous; one persistent
applicant was the pianist at the local cinema; our expedition, as already discovered,
had a certain romantic sound, which was apt to attract those who had by no
means always counted the cost. Mail steamers pass Punta Arenas every fortnight,
once a month in each direction, and these we now boarded with the tale of our
woes. Both captain and purser were most kind in allowing us to ask for a
volunteer among the stewards, but the attempt was only temporarily successful;
the routine work of a big vessel under constant supervision proved not the
right training for such a post as ours. ![]() FIG. 9. — PUNTA ARENAS. Finally,
we were told of a British cook who had been left in hospital by a merchant ship
passing through the Straits. The cause of his detention was a broken arm,
obtained in fighting on board; this hardly seemed promising, but the captain
was reported to have said that he was "sorry to lose him," and we
were only too thankful to get hold of anything with some sort of
recommendation. On the whole Bailey was a success. He too had knocked about the
world; at one time he had made money over a coffee-and-cake stall in Australia,
and then thrown it away. We had our differences of course; he once, for
instance, told me that as cook he took "a superior position on the ship's
books to the stewardess," but his moments of temper soon blew over. I
shall always cherish pleasant memories of the way in which he and I stood by
one another for weeks and months in a position of loneliness and difficulty;
but this is anticipating. As
departure drew near, provisioning for the next stage became a serious business,
as, with the exception of a few depots for shipwrecked mariners, there was no
possibility of obtaining anything after we sailed, before we reached our
Chilean destination of Talcahuano. S.'s work was more simple, as he had only to
fill up to the greatest extent with coal and oil, knowing that at the worst the
channels provide plenty of wood and water. The next
few weeks, when we traversed the remainder of the Magellan Straits and the
Patagonian Channels, were the most fascinating part of the voyage. The whole of
this portion of South America is a bewildering labyrinth of waterways and
islands; fresh passages open up from every point of view, till the voyager
longs to see what is round the corner, not in one direction, but in all. It
has, too, much of the charm of the unknown: such charts as exist have been made
principally by four English men-of-war at different periods, the earliest being
that of the Beagle, in the celebrated
voyage in which Darwin took part. A large portion of the ways and inlets are,
however, entirely unexplored. The effect of both straits and channels is best
imagined by picturing a Switzerland into whose valleys and gorges the sea has
been let in; above tower snow-clad peaks, while below precipices, clothed with
beautiful verdure, go straight down to the water's edge. The simile of a
sea-invaded Alps is indeed fairly accurate, for this is the tail of the Andes
which has been partially submerged. The mountains do not rise above 5,000 feet,
but the full benefit of the height is obtained as they are seen from the
sea-level. The permanent snow line is at about 1,200 feet. The depths are very
great, being in some places as much as 4,000 feet, and the only places where it
is possible to anchor are in certain little harbours where there is a break in
the wall of rock. These anchorages lie anything from five miles to twenty or
thirty miles apart, and as it was impossible to travel at night it was
essential to reach one of them before dark. If for any reason it did not prove
feasible to accomplish the necessary distance, there was no option but to turn
back in time to reach the last resting-place before daylight failed, and start
again on the next suitable day. On the other hand, when things were propitious,
we were able on occasion to reach an even further harbour than the one which
had been planned. The
proceeding amusingly resembled a game, played in the days of one's youth, with
dice on a numbered board, and entitled "Willie's Walk to Grandmamma":
the player might not start till he had thrown the right number, and even when
he had begun his journey he might, by an unlucky cast, find that he was
"stopping to play marbles" and lose a turn, or be obliged to go back
to the beginning; if, however, he were fortunate he might pass, like an express
train, through several intermediate stopping-places, and outdistance all
competitors. The two other sailing yachts with whose record we competed were
the Sunbeam in 1876 and the Nyanza in 1888: the match was scarcely a
fair one, as the Sunheam had strong
steam power and soon left us out of sight, while the Nyanza, though a much bigger vessel, had no motor, and we halved
her record. It will
be seen that it was of first-rate importance to make the most of the hours of
daylight, which were now at their longest, and to effect as early a start as
possible, so that in case of accident or delay we should have plenty of time in
hand before dark. We therefore, long before such became fashionable, passed a
summer-time bill of a most extended character, the clock being put five hours
forward. Breakfast was really at 3 a.m., and we were under way an hour later,
when it was broad daylight; but as the hours were called eight and nine
everyone felt quite comfortable and as usual, it was a great success. The difficulty
lay in retiring proportionately early. Stevenson's words continually rose to
mind: "In summer quite the other way — I have to go to bed by day."
The greatest drawback was the loss of sunset effects; we should, theoretically,
have had the sunrise instead, but the mornings were often grey and misty, and
it did not clear till later in the day. One of
the charms of the channels, is the smoothness of the water: we were able to
carry our cutter in the davits as well as the dinghy. It also suited the motor,
which proved of the greatest use, entirely redeeming its character, there is no
doubt however, that to become accustomed to sailing is to be spoilt for any
other method of progression. The photographers accomplished something, but the
scenery scarcely lends itself to the camera and the light was seldom good. The
water-colour scribbles with which I occupied myself serve their purpose as a
personal diary. We
speculated from time to time whether these parts will ultimately turn into the
"playground of South America," when that continent becomes densely
populated after the manner of Europe, and amused ourselves by selecting sites
for fashionable hotels: golf-courses no mortal power will ever make. On the
whole the probability seems the other way, for the climate is against it; it is
too near to the Antarctic to be warm even under the most favourable conditions,
and the Andes will always intercept the rain-clouds of the Pacific. One of the survey-ships
chronicled an average of eleven hours of rain in the twenty-four, all through
the summer months. We ourselves were fortunate both in the time of year and in
the weather. It resembled in our experience a cold and wet October at home; but
there were few days, I cannot recall more than two, when we lost the greater part
of the view through fog and rain. On the rare occasions when it was sunny and
clear the effect was disappointing, and less impressive than when the mountains
were seen partially veiled in mist and with driving cloud. The last hundred
miles before the Gulf of Peñas it became markedly warmer, and the steam-heating
was no longer necessary. It was
far from our thoughts that exactly one year later these same channels would
witness a game of deadly hide-and-seek in a great naval war between Germany and
England. In them the German ship Dresden lay
hidden, after making her escape from the battle of the Falkland Islands, while
for two and a half months English ships looked for her in vain. They explored
in the search more than 7,000 miles of waterway, not only taking the risks of
these uncharted passages, but expecting round every corner to come upon the
enemy with all her guns trained on the spot where they must appear. We left
Punta Arenas on Saturday, November 29th, 1913, spending the night in Freshwater
Bay, and the next afternoon anchored in St. Nicholas Bay, which is on the
mainland. Opposite to it, on the other side of the Straits, is Dawson Island,
and separating Dawson from the next island to the westward is Magdalen Sound,
which leads into Cockburn Channel; it was in this last that the Dresden found her first hiding-place
after escaping from Sturdee's squadron and obtaining an illicit supply of coal
at Punta Arenas. St. Nicholas Bay forms the mouth of a considerable river, the
banks of which are clothed with forests which come down to the sea; near the
estuary is a little island, and on it there is a conspicuous tree. Mr. Corry
and I went out in the boat, and found affixed to the tree a number of boards
with the names of vessels which had visited the place. Jeffery scrambled up and
added Mana's card to those already
there. This was our first introduction to a plan frequently encountered later
in out-of-the-way holes and corners, and which subsequently played a part in
the war. At the outbreak of hostilities the
Dresden was in the Atlantic, and had to creep round the Horn to join the
squadron of Von Spee in the Pacific. She put into Orange Bay, one of the
furthest anchorages to the south; there she found that many months before the Bremen had left her name on a similar
board. Moved by habit someone on the cruiser wrote below it "Dresden, September 11th, 1914";
then caution supervened, and the record was partially, but only partially,
obliterated; there it was shortly afterwards read by the British ships Glasgow and Monmouth, and formed a record of the proceedings of the enemy. ![]() FIG. 10 — RIVER SCENE, ST. NICHOLAS BAY On
Monday, December ist, we started at daylight and made our way with motor and
sail as far as Cape Froward, the most southerly point of the Straits; but the
sea was running too high to proceed. We had to retrace our steps, and cast
anchor again in St. Nicholas Bay. This time S. and I were determined to explore
the river, so, after an early luncheon, in order to get the benefit of the
tide, we made our way up it in the cutter. It was most pleasant rowing between
the banks of the quiet stream, and so warm and sheltered that we might almost
have imagined ourselves on the Cherwell, if the illusion had not been dispelled
by the strange vegetation which overhung the banks,, amongst which were
beautiful flowering azaleas. Every here and there also a bend in the course of
the river gave magnificent views of snow-clad peaks above. A happy little
family of teal, father, mother, and children, disported themselves in the
water. Later in the voyage, as the mountains grew steeper, we had many
waterfalls, but never again a river which was navigable to any distance. Some
of the crew had been left to cut firewood, and we found on our return that they
had achieved a splendid collection, which Mr. Ritchie and Mr. Corry had kindly
been helping to chop. Burning wood was not popular in the galley, but we were
anxious to save our supplies of coal. Tuesday,
December 2nd, we again left the bay, and this time were more fortunate. It was
misty and sunless, but as we rounded Cape Froward it stood out grandly, with
its foot in grey seas and with driving clouds above. We had now definitely
entered on the western half of the Straits and were amongst the spurs of the
Andes. As the day advanced the wind freshened^ the clouds were swept away, and
blue sky appeared, while the sea suddenly became dark blue and covered with a
mass of foaming, tumbling waves; on each coast the white-capped mountains came
out clear and strong. This part of the channel, which is known as Froward
Reach, is a path of water, about five miles wide, lying between rocky walls;
and up this track Mana beat to
windward, rushing along as if she thoroughly enjoyed it. Every few minutes came
the call "Ready about, lee oh!” and over she went on a fresh tack,
travelling perfectly steadily, but listed over until the water bubbled beneath
the bulwarks on the lee side. It would have been a poor heart indeed that did
not rejoice, and every soul on board responded to the excitement and thrill of
the motion: that experience alone was worth many hundred miles of travel. As
evening came the wind sank, and we were glad of the prosaic motor to see us
into our haven at Fortescue Bay. The next
day the wind was too strong to attempt to leave the harbour, and we went to bed
with the gale still raging, but during the night it disappeared, and before
dawn we were under way. As light and colour gradually stole into the dim
landscape, the grey trunks and brown foliage of trees on the near mountainsides
gave the effect of the most lovely misty brown velvet. Rain and mist
subsequently obscured the view, but it cleared happily as we turned into the
harbour of Angosto on the southern side of the channel. Rounding the corner of
a narrow entrance, we found ourselves in a perfect little basin about a quarter
of a mile across, surrounded with steep cliffs some 300 feet in height, on one
side of which a waterfall tore down from the snows above. Our geologist
reported it as a glacier tarn, which, as the land gradually sank, had been
invaded by the sea. We left it with regret at daylight next morning. ![]() FIG. 11 — CAPE FROWARD, MAGELLAN STRAITS. Looking East. The
Straits became now broader and the scenery was more bleak, the great grey
masses being scarcely touched with vegetation till they reached the water's
edge. It was decided to spend the night at Port Churruca in Desolation Island,
rather than at Port Tamar on the mainland opposite, which is generally
frequented by vessels on entering and leaving the Straits. We passed through
the entrance into a rocky basin, but when we were at the narrowest part between
precipitous cliffs the motor stopped. It had been frequently pointed out, when
we were wrestling with the engine, how perilous would be our position if
anything went wrong with it in narrow waters. I confess that I held my breath.
S. disappeared into the engine-room, the Navigator's eyes were glued to the
compass, and the Sailing-master gave orders to stand by the boats in case it
was necessary to run out a kedge anchor and attach the yacht to the shore. It
was a distinct relief when the throb of the motor was once more heard; the
difficulty had arisen from the lowness of the temperature, which had interfered
with the flow of the oil. The ship, how ever, was luckily well under control,
with the wind at the moment behind her. In an inner basin soundings were taken,
“twenty-five fathoms no bottom, thirty fathoms no bottom," till, when the
bowsprit seemed almost touching the sheer wall of rock, the Nassau Anchorage
was found and down went the hook. We grew
well acquainted with Churruca, as we were detained there for five days;
Saturday through the overhauling of the engine; Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday by
bad weather; of Wednesday more anon. The position was not without a certain
eeriness: we lay in this remote niche in the mountains, while the storm raged
in the channel without and in the peaks above; at night, after turning in, the
gale could be heard tearing down from above in each direction in turn, and the
vessel's chain rattling over the stony bottom as she swung round to meet it.
The heavy rain turned every cliff-face into a multitude of waterfalls, which
vanished at times into the air as a gust of wind caught t he j et of water and
converted it into a cloud of spray. Although the weather prevented our
venturing outside, it was quite possible to explore the port by means of the
ship's boats. It proved not unlike Angosto, but on a larger and more
complicated scale. Beyond our inner anchorage, although invisible from it, was
a further extension known as the Lobo Arm, and there were also other small
creeks and inlets Even the
prosaic Sailing Directions venture on the statement that the scenery at Port
Churruca is "scarcely surpassed," and one of the fiords must be
described, although the attempt seems almost profane. In its narrow portion it
was about a mile in length and from loo to 200 yards in width; the sheer cliffs
on either hand were clothed to the height of many hundreds of feet with various
forms of fern and most brilliant moss. Above this belt of colour was bleak
crag, and higher again the snow-line. The gorge ended in a precipice, above
which was a mountain-peak; a glacier descending from above had been arrested in
its descent by the precipice and now stood above it, forming part of it, a
sheer wall of ice and snow as if cut off by a giant knife. There was little
life to be seen, but an occasional gleam was caught from the white breast of a
sea-bird against the dark setting of the ravine . In one part , high up on the
cliff, where the wind was deflected by a piece of overhanging rock, was a
little colony of nests; the mother birds and young broods sat on the edge in
perfect shelter, even when to venture off it was to be beaten down on to the
surface of the water by the strength of the wind. Some of our party visited the
fiord on a second occasion to try to obtain photographs; it was blowing at the
time a severe gale, and the effect was magical. The squalls, known as
"williwaws," rushed down the ravine in such force that the powerful
little launch was brought to a standstill. They lashed the water into waves,
and then turned the foaming crests into spray, till the whole surface presented
the aspect of a fiercely boiling cauldron, through which glimpses could be
caught from time to time of the dark cliffs above. ![]() FIG. 12. — THE GLACIER GORGE, PORT CHURRUCA. While S.
and I were visiting the glacier gorge, the two other members of the party were
exploring the last portion of the inlet named on the chart the Lobo Arm. It
terminated on low ground, on which stood the frame of an Indian hut, and pieces
of timber had been laid down to form a portage for canoes. A few steps showed
that the low ground extended only for some i6o yards, while beyond this was another
piece of water which had the appearance of an inland lake, some three miles
long and a mile wide. The portage end of the water was vaguely shown on the
chart of Port Churruca, but there was no indication of anything of the kind on
the general map of Desolation Island. Our curiosity was mildly excited, and we
all visited the place; one of our number remarked that "the water was
slightly salt," another that there "were tidal indications," a
third that "from higher ground the valley seemed to go on indefinitely."
At last the map was again and more seriously examined, and it was seen that,
while there were no signs of this water, there were on the opposite side of the
island the commencements of two inlets from the open sea, neither of which had
been followed up: the more northerly of these was immediately opposite Port
Churruca. “If," we all agreed, “our lake is not a lake at all, but a
fiord" — and to this every appearance pointed — "it is in all
probability the termination of this northern inlet, and Desolation Island is
cut in two except for the small isthmus with the portage." Then a great
ardour of exploration seized us, Mr. Corry fell a victim to it, Mr. Gillam fell
likewise, and we refused to be depressed by Mr. Ritchie's dictum that it had
"nothing to do with serious navigation." We wrestled with a
conscientious conviction that it had certainly nothing to do with Easter
Island, and we ought to go forward at the earliest possible moment, but the
exploration fever conquered. We discussed the possibility of getting the motor-launch
over the portage, and were obliged reluctantly to abandon it as too heavy, but
it was concluded that it would be quite feasible with the cutter. The next
day proved too wet to attempt anything, but Wednesday dawned reasonably fine,
though with squalls at intervals. Great were the preparations, from compasses,
notebooks, and log-lines, to tinned beef and dry boots. At last at 11.30 (or
6.30 a.m. by true time) we sallied forth. The launch towed us down the Lobo
Arm, and then came the work of passing the boat across the isthmus, at which
all hands assisted. It was the prettiest sight imaginable; the portage, which
had been cut through the thick forest undergrowth, had the appearance of a long
and brilliant tunnel between the two waters, it was carpeted with bright moss
and overhung by trees which were covered with lichen (fig. 14). The bottom was
soft and boggy, and I at one time became so firmly embedded that I could not
get out without assistance. In less than half an hour the boat was launched on
the other side, and Mr. Corry, Mr. Gillam, our two selves, and two seamen set
forth on our voyage. Soon after starting the creek divided, part going to the
north-west and part to the south-east. We decided to follow the latter as apparently
the main channel. We rowed
for an hour and a quarter, taking our rate of speed by the log. The mountains
on each side were of granite, showing very distinct traces of ice action. At 2
p.m. we landed on the left bank for luncheon. It was, it must be admitted, a
somewhat wet performance; the soaked wood proved too much even for our expert
campers-out, who had been confident that they could make a fire under all
circumstances, and had disdainfully declined a proffered thermos. Enthusiasm
was, however, undamped. Mr. Corry ascended to high ground and discovered that
there was another similar creek on the other side of the strip of ground on
which we had landed, which converged towards that along which we were
travelling. After rowing for an hour and a half we reached the point where the
two creeks joined; here we landed and scrambled up through some brushwood to
the top of a low eminence. Looking backwards we could see up both pieces of
water, while looking forward the two fiords, now one, passed at right angles,
after some four miles, into a larger piece of water. This was where we had
expected to find the open sea, and some distant blue mountains on the far
horizon were somewhat of an enigma. As we had to row back against a head wind,
it was useless to think of going further, unless we were prepared to camp out,
so all we could do was to make as exact sketches as possible to work out at
home. The
return journey was easier than had been expected, for the wind dropped; we kept
this time to the right bank, and stopped for "tea" by some rocks,
which added mussels to the repast for the taking. The portage was gained four
hours after the time that the rest of the crew had been told to meet us there;
and it was a relief to find that they had possessed their souls with patience. Mana was finally reached at 11 p.m. It
was found by calculating the speed at which we had travelled and its direction,
that our creek had led into the more southerly of the unsurveyed inlets, and
not as we had expected into that to the northward. The distant blue hills were
islands. Like all great explorers, from Christopher Columbus downwards, our
results were therefore not precisely those we had looked for, but we had
undoubtedly proved our contention that Desolation Island is in two halves, united
only by the 160 yards covered by the portage on the Lobo Isthmus. ![]() FIG. 13. — MANA INLET A
knowledge of the existence of this channel, connecting the Pacific Ocean with
the Magellan Straits, might be of high importance to the crew of a vessel lost
to the south of Cape Pillar, when making for the entrance to the Straits.
Instead of trying to round that Cape against wind at sea, her boats should run
to the southward until the entrance to the inlet is reached; they can then
enter the Magellan Straits without difficulty at Port Churruca. With the
consent of the Royal Geographical Society, it has been christened "Mana Inlet." 1 The next
morning, December 1st, we left Churruca with a fair wind, so that the engine
was only needed at the beginning and end of the day; but the weather was
drizzling and unpleasant, so that we could see little of Cape Pillar,2 where
the Magellan Straits enter the Pacific Ocean. Our own course was up the
waterways between the western coast of Patagonia and the islands which lie off
the coast. It is a route that is little taken, owing to the dangers of
navigation. Not only is much of it uncharted and unsurveyed, but it is also
unlighted, and its passage is excluded by the ordinary insurance terms of
merchant ships; they consequently pass out at once into the open sea at Cape
Pillar. We turned north at Smyth's Channel, the first of these waterways, and
made such good progress that, instead of anchoring as we had intended at
Burgoyne's Bay, we were able to reach Otter Bay. It is situated amid a mass of
islands, and the sad vision of a ship with her back broken emphasised the need
for caution. The general character of the Patagonian Channels is of the same
nature as the Magellan Straits, but particularly beautiful views of the Andes
are obtained to the eastward. The next day Mount Burney was an impressive
spectacle, although only glimpses of the top could be obtained through fleeting
mists; and the glistening heights of the Sarmiento Cordillera came out clear
and strong. We anchored that night at Occasion Cove on Piazzi Island; and on
Saturday, December 13th, had a twelve hours' run, using the engine all the way.
Here there was a succession of comparatively monotonous hills and mountains, so
absolutely rounded by ice action as to give the impression of apple dumplings
made for giants. The lines show always, as would be expected, that the ice-flow
has been from the south. Later a ravine on Esperanza Island was particularly
remarkable; its mysterious windings, which it would have been a joy to explore,
were alternately hidden by driving cloud or radiant with gleams of sun.
Glimpses up Peel Inlet gave pleasant views, and two snowy peaks on Hanover
Island, unnamed as usual, were absorbing our attention when we turned into
Latitude Cove. On December
14th the landscape was absolutely grey and colourless, so that Guia Narrows
were not seen to advantage. Later the channel was wider and the possibility of
sailing debated, but abandoned in view of the head wind. We had been struck
with the absence of life and fewness of birds, but we now saw some albatrosses.
In slacking away the anchor preparatory to
letting go in Tom Bay, in a depth stated to be seventeen fathoms, it hit an
uncharted rock at eleven fathoms. It was still raining as we left Tom Bay, but
when we turned up Brassey Pass, which lies off the regular channel, the clouds
began to lift, and Hastings Fiord and Charrua Bay were grand beyond
description. From time to time the mists rose for an instant, and revealed the
immediate presence of reach beyond reach of wooded precipices; or a dark summit
appeared without warning, towering overhead at so great a height that, severed
by cloud from its base, it seemed scarcely to belong to the earth. Then as
suddenly the whole panorama was cut off, and we were alone once more with a
grey sea and sky. ![]() FIG. 14 — CANOE CORDUROY PORTAGE BETWEEN PORT CHURRUCA AND MANA INLET. ![]() FIG. 15. — PATAGONIAN WATERWAYS. Showing water near the land smoothed by growing kelp. As we
approached Charrua, we caught sight among the trees on a neighbouring island of
something which was both white and nebulous; it might, of course, be only an
isolated wreath of mist, but after watching it for a while we came to the
conclusion that it was undoubtedly a cloud of smoke. Our hopes of seeing
Indians, which had grown faint, began to revive. As soon as we were anchored,
orders were given that immediately after dinner the launch should be ready for
us to inspect what we hoped might prove a camping-ground. This turned out to be
unnecessary, as the neighbours made the first call. In an hour's time S. came
to inform me that two canoes were approaching full of natives "just like
the picture-books," whereon the anthropologists felt inclined to adapt the
words of the immortal Snark-hunters and exclaim: "We
have sailed many weeks, we have sailed many days,
Seven days to the week I allow, But an Indian on whom we might lovingly gaze We have never beheld until now." The crew,
however, were fully convinced that the hour had arrived when they would have to
defend themselves against ferocious savages. They had been carefully primed in
every detail by disciples of Ananias at Buenos Aires, and by the bloodcurdling
accounts of a certain mariner named Slocum, who claimed to have sailed the
Straits single-handed and to have protected himself from native onslaught by
means of tin-tacks sprinkled on the deck of his ship. The canoes were about 23
feet in length, with beam of 4 to 6 feet and a depth of 2 feet. Six Indians
were in one and seven in the other; all were young with the exception of one
older man, and each boat contained a mother and baby. Their skins were a dark
olive, which was relieved in the case of the women and children by a beautiful
tinge of pink in the cheeks, and they had very good teeth. Their hair was long
and straight, and a fillet was habitually worn round the brow; the top was cut à la brosse, giving the impression of a
monk's tonsure which had been allowed to grow. The height of the men was about
5 feet 4 inches. Most of the party were clad in old European garments, but a
few wore capes of skins, and some seemed still more at home in a state of
nature. They had brought nothing for sale, but begged for biscuits and old
clothes. I parted with a wrench from a useful piece of calico, in the interests
of one of the infants, which was still in its primitive condition; it was
accepted, but with a howl of derision, which I humbly felt was well merited
when it was seen that the rival baby was already wrapped in an old waistcoat
given by the cook. One of the Indians talked a little Spanish, and was
understood to say he was a Christian. After
dealing with them for a while we offered to tow them home, an offer readily
understood, and accepted without hesitation. It was a strange procession amid
weird surroundings; the sun had shown signs of coming out, but had thought
better of it and retreated, and we made our way over a grey sea, between
half-obscure cliffs in drizzling rain, taking keen note of our route for fear
of losing our way back. Truly we seemed to have reached the uttermost ends of
the earth. The lead was taken by that recent product of civilisation a
motor-launch, containing our two selves and our Glasgow socialist engineer; then at the end of a rope came the
dinghy, to be used for landing, the broad back of one of our Devonshire seamen
making a marked object as he stood up in it to superintend the towing of the
craft behind. The two canoes followed, full of these most primitive specimens
of humanity, while the rear was brought up by a seal, which swam after us for a
mile or so, putting up its head at intervals to gaze curiously at the scene. S.
had brought his gun, and as we approached the camp thought it well to shoot a
sea-bird, for the double reason of showing that he was armed and giving a
present to our new friends. The encampment was situated in a little cove, and
nothing could have been more picturesque. In front was a shingly beach, on
which the two canoes were presently drawn up, flanked by low rocks covered with
bright seaweed. In the background was a mass of trees, shrubs, and creepers,
which almost concealed two wigwams, from one of which had issued the smoke
which attracted our notice (fig. 16). We
returned next morning to photograph and study the scene. The size of the
shelters, or tents, was about 12 feet by 9 feet, with a height of some 5 feet.
They were formed by a framework of rods set up in oval form, the tops of which
were brought together and interwoven, and strengthened by rods laid
horizontally and tied in place: the opening was at the side and towards the
sea. Over this structure seals' skins were thrown, which kept in place by their
own weight, as the encampments are always made in sheltered positions in dense
forests. With the exception that they do not possess a ridge-pole, the tents,
which are always the same in size and make, closely resemble those of English
gipsies, the skins taking the place of the blankets used by those people. No
attempt was made to level the floor, the fire was in the middle, and in one the
sole occupant was a naked sprawling baby, who occupied the place of honour on
the floor beside it. In some of the old encampments, which we saw subsequently
, there were as many as six huts, but it was doubtful if they had all been occupied
at the same time. The middens are outside and generally near the door. Some of
the Indians were quite friendly, but others were not very cordial, the old
women in particular making it clear to the men of the party that their presence
was not welcome. The old man, whose picture appears (fig. 17), was apparently
the patriarch of the party, and quite amiable, though he firmly declined to
part with his symbol of authority in the shape of his club; in order to keep
him quiet while his photograph was taken he was fed on biscuits, which he was
taught to catch after the manner of a pet dog. The staff of life is mussels and
limpets, and we saw in addition small quantities of berries. A lump of seal fat
weighing perhaps 10 lb. was being gnawed like an apple, and a portion was
offered to our party. The dogs are smooth-haired black-and-tan terriers, like
small heavy lurchers; they are, it is said, taught to assist their masters in
the catching of fish.3 The
company presently showed signs of unusual activity, and began to shift camp;
the movement was not connected, as far as we could tell, with our presence,
and, judging by the odour of the place, the time for it had certainly arrived.
It was interesting to see their chattels brought down one by one to the canoes.
Amongst them were receptacles resembling large pillboxes, about 12 inches
across, made of birchwood, which was split thin and sewn with tendons. In these
were kept running nooses made of whalebone for capturing wild geese, and also harpoon-lines
cut out of sealskin: at one extremity of these last was a barbed head made of
bone; this head, when in use, fits into the extremity of a long wooden shaft,
to which it is then attached by the leather thong. The possessions included an
adze-like tool for making canoes, the use of which was demonstrated, and
resembled that of a plane; also an awl about 2 inches long, in form like a
dumb-bell, with a protruding spike at one end. There were small pots made of
birch bark for baling the boats, and some European axes. We did not see any
form of cooking utensil. When all the objects, including the sealskin coverings
of the huts, had been stowed in the canoes, the company all embarked and rowed
off towards the open sea. On
leaving Charrua and returning to the main channel we obtained magnificent views
of the Andes. Penguin Inlet leading inland opened up a marvellous panorama of
snowy peaks, which can be visible only on a clear day such as we were fortunate
in possessing; this range received at least one vote, in the final comparing of
notes, as to the most beautiful thing seen between Punta Arenas and the Gulf of
Pefias. A white line across the water showed where the ice terminated, while
small pieces which reached the main channel, looked, as they floated past us,
like stray water-lilies on the surface of the sea. We anchored at Ring Dove
Inlet, and went on next day through Chasm Reach, where the channel is only from
five hundred to a thousand yards in width. Our expectations, which had been
greatly raised, were on the whole disappointed, but here again no doubt it was
a question of lighting; the usually gloomy gorge was illuminated with the full
radiance of the summer sun, leaving nothing to the imagination. Chasm
Reach leads into Indian Reach, in which sea, mountain, and sky formed a perfect
harmony in varying shades of blue, with touches of white from high snow-clad
peaks. Suddenly, in the middle of this vista, as if made to fit into the scene,
appeared a dark Indian canoe with its living freight, evidently making for the
vessel. We stopped the engine, threw them a line, and towed them to our
anchorage in Eden Harbour. The weather had suddenly become much warmer, and the
thermometer in the saloon had now risen to the comfortable but scarcely
excessive height of 64°; the crew of the canoe, however, were so overcome with
the heat that they spent the time pouring what must have been very chilly
sea-water over their naked bodies.4 ![]() FIG. 16. — ENCAMPMENT OF THE PATAGONIAN INDIANS, BRASSEY PASS. ![]() FIG. 17. — INDIANS OF BRASSEY PASS. ![]() FIG. 18. — CANOE IN INDIAN REACH. The party
was conducted by two young men; a very old woman without a stitch of clothing
crouched in the bow; while in the middle of the boat, in the midst of ashes, mussel-shells,
and other debris, a charming girl mother sat in graceful attitude. She was,
perhaps, seventeen, and wore an old coat draped round her waist, while her
baby, of some eighteen months, in the attire of nature, occupied itself from
time to time in trying to stand on its ten toes. A younger girl of about
fourteen sat demurely in the stern with her folded arms resting on a paddle
which lay athwart the canoe, beneath which two shapely little brown legs were
just visible. Her rich colouring, and the faded green drapery which she wore,
made against the dark background of the canoe a perfect study for an artist,
but the moment an attempt was made to photograph her she hid her face in her
hands. The party was completed by a couple of dogs and a family of fat tan
puppies, who were held up from time to time, but whether for our admiration or
purchase was not evident. The
belongings were similar to those seen at the encampment and there were also
baskets on board. The young mother had a necklace which looked like a charm,
and therefore particularly excited our desires: in response to our gestures she
handed to us a similar one worn by the baby, which was duly paid for in
matches. When we were still unsatisfied she beckoned to the young girl to sell
hers, but stuck steadfastly to her own, till finally a mixed bribe of matches
and biscuits proved too much, and the cherished ornament passed into our
keeping. The young men readily came on deck of the yacht, but the women were
obviously frightened, and kept saying mala,
mala in spite of our efforts to reassure them. After we had cast anchor,
the party went with our crew to show them the best spot in which to shoot the
net, and on their return ran up the square sail of their canoe, the halyard
passing over a mast like a small clothes-prop with a Y-shaped extremity, got
out their paddles, and vanished downstream. At Eden
Harbour a wreck was lying in mid-stream, where she had evidently struck on an
uncharted rock when trying to enter the bay, a danger from which no possible
foresight can guard those who go down to the sea in ships. English Narrows,
which was next reached, is considered the most difficult piece of navigation in
the channels: a small island lies in the middle of the fairway, leaving only a
narrow passage on either side, down which, under certain conditions, the tide
runs at a terrific rate. It was exciting, as the yacht approached her course
between the island and opposing cliff which are separated by only some 360
yards, to hear Mr. Ritchie ask Mr. Gillam to take the helm himself, and the
latter give the order to "stand by the anchor" in case of mishap; but
we had hit it off correctly at slack water and got through without difficulty.
From there our route passed through Messier Channel, which has all the
appearance of a broad processional avenue, out of which we presently turned to
the right and found ourselves in Connor Cove. The harbour terminates in a
precipitous gorge, down which a little river makes its way into the inlet. We
endeavoured to row up it, but could not get further than 100 or 200 yards; even
that distance was achieved with difficulty, owing to the number of fallen trees
which lay picturesquely across the stream. The plant
life, which had always been most beautiful, became even more glorious with the
rather milder climate, which we had now reached. When the trees were stunted it
was from lack of soil, not from atmospheric conditions. Tree-ferns abounded,
and flowering plants wandered up moss-grown stems; among the most beautiful of
these blooms were one with a red bell and another one which almost resembled a
snowdrop.5 The impression of the luxuriant mêlé was rather that of a tropical forest than of an almost
Antarctic world, while the intrusion of rocks and falling water added peculiar
charm. Butterflies were seen occasionally, and sometimes humming-birds. Since our
detention at Churruca we had been favoured with unvarying good fortune, and the
crew were beginning to say that thirteen, which we had counted on board since
Mr. Corry joined us, was proving our lucky number. Now, however, our fate
changed; twice did we set forth from this harbour only to be obliged to return
and start afresh, till we began to feel that getting under way from Connor Cove
was rapidly becoming a habit. On the first occasion the weather became so thick
that in the opinion of our Navigator it was not safe to proceed: the second
time the wind was against us. We tried both engine and sails, but though we
could make a certain amount of headway under either it was obviously
impossible, at the rate of progression, to reach the next haven before
nightfall; when, therefore, we were already half-way to our goal we once more
found it necessary to turn round. It was peculiarly tantalising to reflect that
there were, in all probability, numerous little creeks on the way in which we
could have sheltered for the night, but as none of them had been surveyed there
was no alternative but to go back to our previous anchorage. Residence there
had the redeeming point that it proved an excellent fishing-ground. On each of
the three nights the trammel was shot at a short distance from the spot where
the stream entered the bay, and we obtained in all some 200 mullet. They formed
an acceptable change of diet, and those not immediately needed were salted.
From that time till we left the channels we were never without fresh fish,
catching, in addition to mullet, bream, gurnet, and a kind of whiting; they
formed part of the menu at every meal, till the more ribald persons suggested
that they themselves would shortly begin to swim. Our third
effort to leave Connor Cove was crowned with greater success, and we safely
reached Island Harbour, which, as its name suggests, is sheltered by outlying
islands. This bay and the neighbouring anchorage of Hale Cove are the last two
havens in the channels before the Gulf of Pefias is reached, and in either of
them a vessel can lie with comfort and await suitable weather for putting out
to sea. It is essential for a sailing vessel to obtain a fair wind, for not
only has she to clear the gulf, but must, for the sake of safety, put 200 miles
between herself and the land; otherwise, should a westerly gale arise, she
might be driven back on to the inhospitable Patagonian coast. In Island Harbour
we filled our tanks, adorned the ship for'ard with drying clothes and fish, and
for three days waited in readiness to set forth. At the end of that time it was
still impossible to leave the channels, but we decided to move on the short
distance to Hale Cove, which we reached on December 24th. Christmas Eve was
spent by three of our party, Mr. Ritchie, Mr. Corry, and Mr. Gillam, on a small
rock "taking stars" till 2 a.m. The rock, which had been selected at
low tide, grew by degrees unexpectedly small, and to keep carefully balanced on
a diminishing platform out of reach of the rising water, while at the same time
being continuously bitten by insects, was, they ruefully felt, to make
scientific observations under difficulties. On Christmas Day it poured without
intermission, but it was a peaceful if not an exciting day. It is, I believe,
the correct thing to give the menu on these occasions: the following was ours. Christmas Day, 1913. Potages aux légumes à I'Anglais. Mulets d'eaux Patagonia. Bœuf rôti d'Argentine. Pommes de terre de Punta Arenas. Petits Pois à I'Angleterre. Pouding Noël de Army & Navy Stores, garni "Holly Antarctic." Fromage Gouda, Beurre, Pain de Mana, Biscuits Matelote. Bonbons Peppermint à la School-girl. Café de Rio de Janeiro. The
forecastle was visited after dinner and each man given a half-pound tin of
tobacco. Boxing Day was comparatively fine, and a laundry was organised on
shore with great success; a fire was made, old kerosene tins turned into
boilers, and the articles washed in camp-baths with water from a streamlet. It is
one thing, however, to wet clothes in the Patagonian Channels; it is quite
another to dry them. For days afterwards the rain descended in torrents, while
the wind blew persistently from the north-west; with one short intermission we
lay in Hale Cove weather-bound for thirteen days, till, as some one remarked, “it
was a pity that we had not given it as a postal address." It was tiresome
of course, but an interval of rest for all on board after the strenuous passage
of the channels was not without advantage; for ourselves journals were written
up, flowers pressed, and photographs developed. Hale Cove
was fortunately one of those few ports in which it was possible to get a little
exercise, which the denseness of the undergrowth generally rendered impossible.
The cliffs, at the foot of which Mana
lay, were precipitous and clothed with vegetation to the sky-line, they thus
scarcely lent themselves to exploration. There was, however, across the small
bay a southern spur, on the top of which for some reason trees had not
flourished and which was comparatively clear; this it was possible to reach by
landing on a little beach and scrambling along an old track which had been cut
through an intermediate belt of wood. We could in this way get some sort of a
walk, at the cost of course of becoming soaked through from bogs and dripping
vegetation. Not far
from the cove there were traces of a small frame house, and near it flourished
European wheat and grass, which had obviously taken root from stray seed. Its
history was difficult to guess. Why had a white man lived there, and on what
had he subsisted? The only solution suggested was that it might at one time
have been a port of call for a line of steamers, and a woodman had been
employed to cut fuel. Another dwelling, but made of material found on the spot,
had obviously been destroyed by fire, and on its abandoned site native wigwams
had been erected. The place was evidently the resort of Indians; when,
therefore, we noted near the old track, and not far from the water-course, part
of two rough boards protruding from the earth, we hoped that we had chanced on
an Indian burial-ground, which would naturally have been of much
anthropological interest. The soil which had originally covered the boards had
been partially washed away by the rain, and on moving them we found, as had
been guessed, that just below were human bones; they were so deeply encrusted
with roots and earth that it was only by much digging with our fingers we could
get them out at all. Then they proved to be in much confusion, two parts of the
skull even were in different places, and it was difficult at first to say
whether the body, which was that of a man in middle life, had been buried full
length or in the folded attitude so common among primitive peoples. It was my
first experience in scientific body-snatching, a proceeding to which later I
became fairly well inured, and it felt not a little weird being thus in contact
with the dead in his lonely resting-place. A great tree-fern kept guard over
the grave on one side, a gnarled trunk bent over it from the other, and the sun
gleamed at intervals through the thick branches of surrounding cedars. At last
it became obvious that the body had been outstretched, and the grave lined as
well as covered with boards, in addition to which there had been a wrapping of
some woven material; it seemed therefore evident that the corpse had been that
of a civilised man. Who was he? the lumberman, the remains of whose hut we had
seen? one of the crew of some vessel which had put in here? or possibly a
ship-wrecked mariner? for there were traces of an ill-fated vessel in a
quantity of coal washed up on the beach. Why, though he had been buried with
considerable care, was the grave so shallow, and why had it been left unmarked?
We buried him again reverently, and though he was very possibly an unpleasant
person when alive, the thoughts of one of us at least, who is naturally mid-Victorian,
turned to the mother who had once borne and tended him somewhere and who could
so little have pictured where he would lie. "One
midst the forest of the west
By a dark stream is laid; The Indian knows his place of rest, Far in the cedar shade." Mrs. Hemans. The wind
still being contrary, charts and sailing directions were ransacked for change
of scene, and on New Year's Eve we shifted our quarters, proceeding up Kriiger
Channel, and anchoring in a little cove called after De Wet: as Joubert was
also in the neighbourhood, officials of the Chilean Government who had surveyed
the district had apparently been of pro-Boer sympathies. On January 1st, 1914,
we went out into the Gulf of Peñas, only to find that it was useless to attempt
to put to sea, and we returned again to Hale Cove. The Challenger had, we found, anchored in the same spot on New Year's
Day, 1876. During the next few days Mr. Ritchie, with the help of Mr. Corry,
occupied himself at my husband's request in surveying a small cove as a
possible anchorage for lesser craft. A
shooting expedition also took place after kelp-geese, which are large birds
about the size of Aylesbury ducks. When cruising in the launch we saw at some
distance a couple of them swimming in the sea; we circled round them in the
endeavour to get a shot, till we were about a hundred yards distant, when they
took the alarm and made off. They are unable to fly, but when, as in this case,
they anticipate danger scuttle along on the top of the water, lashing it up
with their webbed feet. The surface was smooth as a mirror, and the boat went
about seven miles an hour, but for some two miles we were unable to overhaul
them. Presently they dived and separated, and on their reappearance we
continued to follow one of them. During the whole of the pursuit, whenever the
wobbling of the boat and the antics of the bird permitted the fore and back
sights to be brought in line, a .275 mauser bullet was sent somewhere in the
neighbourhood of the fleeing object. The goose apparently came to the
conclusion that the white launch, with its spluttering motor, was a peculiarly
formidable sea-beast, and the safest place would be on land; he therefore went
on shore, climbed up some rocks, and looked at it; a bullet between his feet,
however, unsettled his mind on the subject, and he once more took to the water,
where he finally met his doom. Light, who happened to be with us, witnessed the
chase with intense delight, and constantly referred to it afterwards as the
most exciting recollection of the voyage. As was not astonishing in the case of
such an athletic bird, no part of him proved to be eatable except his liver,
which was excellent.6 ![]() FIG. 19 — HALF COVE. On
Tuesday, January 6th, we at last got our favourable wind and said good-bye to
Hale Cove. It is the usual resort for vessels entering and leaving the
channels, but we had lain there for nearly a fortnight in the height of the
season without seeing a trace of a ship, a fact which shows how little these
waterways are frequented. As we passed out of the Gulf of Peñas we gazed with
interest on the unfriendly and barren peaks of Wager Island, where Anson's
store-ship of that name was lost on May 14th, 1740, after the squadron had
rounded the Horn. The members of the crew who survived the wreck, one hundred
and forty-five in number, were there for five months, at the end of which time
they had been reduced by about one-third, chiefly through starvation. Seventy
or eighty of the remainder then took to the longboat and cutter, of whom thirty
finally reached the coast of Brazil via the Magellan Straits. The rest of the
survivors, a party of twenty, including the captain and an officer named Byron,
a great-uncle of the poet, made their way northward, and through the aid of
Indians four of them managed to reach the Spanish settlements in Chile. The
graphic account given by Byron of their surroundings on the island would be
equally applicable to-day, and has already been quoted in these pages. 1 We were
subsequently interested to learn from a private diary kept on board The Challenger that they had also taken
their boat over into this water; they had, however, neither explored it nor
marked it on the map. 2 Cape
Pillar is the name which has been given to Magellan's "Cape Deseado"
since the days of Sir John Narborough; it has two peaks, of which the western
one is like a pillar. The point which on the chart is named Deseado lies two
miles to the south-west and could not possibly have been seen by Magellan: see Early Spanish Voyages and the Straits of
Magellan, edited by Sir C. Markham, Hakluyt Series II. vol. xxviii. 3
"The Indians had taught their dogs to drive the fish into a corner of some
pond or lake, from whence they were easily taken out by the skill and address
of these savages." — Narrative of
Hon. J. Byron, ed. 1768, p. 56. 4 "We
were well clothed, and though sitting close to the fire were far from too warm;
yet these naked savages (Fuegians), though further off, were observed, to our
great surprise, to be streaming with perspiration." — Voyage of H.M.S. "Beagle" (Darwin), ed. 1870, p. 220. 5 Philesia buxifolia and Luzuriaga erecta. 6
"Among the birds we generally shot was a bird much larger than a goose,
which we called the Racehorse, from the velocity with which it moved upon the
surface of the water in a sort of half-flying, half-running motion." — The Narrative of the Hon. John Byron, ed.
1768, p. 50. |