Not knowing to what height the mutinous spirit of his men might carry them, Mr. Hall wrote a brief statement of his affairs, and an account of my arrival on the island, and enclosed them, together with what money and valuable papers he had, in a tin box, which he buried at night in a guano-heap. That would certainly be removed on Capt. White’s arrival, or by some one else, if he never returned; so that our tale would not be lost, even though we should not survive to tell it. The desperate character of the men,—all but one or two of whom, as we had reason to believe, had left their country for their country’s good,—and the recklessness of their behavior, made our situation rather ticklish. Our fear of the Indians, moreover, was not laid entirely to sleep, though all visible tokens of their neighborhood to us had disappeared. By passing up and crossing the river, they might approach us from the south shore, which was separated from the island by a channel not more than half as broad as that on the opposite side. The bank, to be sure, was steep and muddy, involving the risk that they would be hopelessly bemired in attempting to land; but this was a weak security against them, if they were resolute enough to make the effort. Nothing occurred for several days to break the monotony of life. No work was done; the men received their allowances twice a week, spending their time in wandering over the island. The large boat needed repairs, but they rendered no aid. We took advantage of high water, rove tackles, and, by the help of rollers, drew it up high and dry on the land. When it was finished,—through fear that the men might seize it and make off to some place northward, thus depriving us of our only means of escape, if our provisions should be exhausted before Capt. White’s return,—it was turned over, and the sails and oars were secured, as far as possible, from depredation.
Old John was devoured, to the partial relief of the company; but some were still badly affected with scurvy. Yet we were afraid to go any distance in search of fresh provisions, on account of the risk of finding Indians about. The carcass of a guanaco, just killed by the dogs, was picked up in time to afford a sensible alleviation of suffering, and to replenish our rapidly wasting stock of provisions. Indians without, discontent and mutiny within, and the possibility of famine, together, would have made the island anything but a paradise to one who had not so lately escaped the purgatorial pains of a Patagonian captivity. The first of these disagreeables, however, began to be less vividly felt. We got tired of sweeping the horizon with our glass in search of the smoke of their camp-fires, or other appearances suggesting their vicinity, and gradually relaxed our vigilance. Bose was released from his sentry duties, and suffered to exchange such unwilling service for the society of his friends the pigs. But we still took the axe into the house by night, and kept our guns loaded. The boat had to be launched once more, to go up the creek for water. When it was unladed, we got the aid of a Spaniard and Frenchman in drawing it on land, to prevent the rascals from stealing it, by telling them that it needed painting, which was true enough. The seine was next got out, to see if some fish could not be had for the improvement of our diet; but we got what is vulgarly termed “fisherman’s luck,” and spread the ineffectual net on the gravelly beach to dry. Grown desperate, at last, we decided that, Indians or no Indians, we must have fresh provisions, if any were to be had, and manned the whale-boat for an expedition to the continent. We landed on the south shore, and succeeded in discovering and bringing down a solitary guanaco. The game was dressed, and we returned to our home in triumph. The two following days were chiefly spent in hunting, unsuccessfully.
In the afternoon of the second day, having nothing else to pass away the hours, I commenced repairing the lighter, but had not been long at work before Mr. Hall came down, with a smile. “Look out to sea!” he exclaimed; “Captain White is coming.” I looked as directed, and saw distinctly two sail approaching. A thrill of joy shot through me; I thought no more of work that day. An examination through the glass made them out to be a ship and a fore-and-aft schooner. Could it be any one else than Captain White? The island was not frequented by vessels except for guano; but it seemed very strange to see a schooner, as a vessel of that rig was not adapted to such a service. Mr. Hall began to think it might be some of General Rosas’ vessels despatched to drive away people engaged in taking guano on the Patagonian coast. It had been reported, some time before, that he designed doing so. He heard the rumor a few months previous at Montevideo; and also another, that the Chilian government claimed the country, and were determined to hold it.
The little schooner led the way, considerably in advance of the ship. As the vessels approached nearer, they presented a decidedly Yankee look. We watched them with intense interest, as they passed the shoals, and came up with a favorable breeze, under a press of sail. Soon they entered the river’s mouth. On passing the north point the schooner stood up, keeping the north shore, and cast anchor. It was evident they were not acquainted with the navigation, as there is a large shoal running from the upper end of the island nearly to the mouth of the river, and they had sailed within it. On discovering the error, she attempted to keep off, but, in so doing, struck the lower end of the shoal. Mr. Hall manned the boat, and boarded the schooner. She proved to be the Washington, tender to the ship Hudson, Captain Clift, of Mystic, Connecticut,—a whaling vessel, just from the Falkland Islands. Mr. Hall promised to go on board again during the following forenoon, and pilot the vessel into the channel.
I went with him for this purpose; and, as it was calm, the anchor was hove aweigh, and, with the boat ahead, we towed the schooner across the shoal, which at low water is plainly to be seen, but now, at flood tide, had plenty of water. After getting into the right position, the anchor was dropped, and we spent the day on board very pleasantly. The weather held moderate till afternoon. The ship yet lay off the mouth of the harbor, and made slow progress upward. The schooner, the day before, being so far ahead, had only daylight and wind enough to get in; and the ship, finding she would be benighted, as the wind sank with the sun, hauled on and off during the night, and then lay with scarcely wind enough to fill the sails. A smart breeze, however, sprung up in the afternoon, and she came gallantly into port, only repeating the mistake made by the schooner between the channels; but got off at night with the tide, and, after some delay, anchored securely in sufficient depth of water. As she intended making some stay in port, she was subsequently taken further up to the proper anchorage, and was moored on the 5th of October, having come in on the 4th.
Captain Clift had been informed by the mate, who had been ashore, and by Mr. Hall, of my misfortunes and adventures among the Patagonians, and on the following day sent a message inviting me on board his vessel. He received me very cordially, and insisted that I should make his ship my home as long as it should suit my convenience to do so. I accepted his kind offer, first going on shore, and communicating it to my liberal benefactor, Mr. Hall. He at once assented that it would undoubtedly be pleasanter to be with my countrymen. I could not leave him, however, without endeavoring to express my earnest gratitude for my rescue from a captivity worse almost than death, and for the kindly sympathy and generous hospitality that he had exercised for two months. In my destitute condition I had nothing but thanks to give, and I fervently hoped he might never be in a situation to need the like kindness from others; but he was assured, that whenever or however it might be possible to show my gratitude in a more substantial manner, it would be my happiness to do so. He begged me to give myself no trouble on that score, insisted on my retaining the articles of clothing with which he had supplied me, hoped I would come often and see him while the vessels continued there, and I bade this noble specimen of the true-hearted Englishman a tearful good-by.
CHAPTER X.
A Christian ship-master—Cruise for whales, and for a California-bound vessel—An outlandish craft—An American vessel—Passage secured for California—Tempestuous passage through the Straits of Magellan—Warlike demonstrations, with an inglorious issue—Chilian penal settlement—Pleasing reception—Extensive coal-mine—Sea-lions—Mutiny of the convicts, and awful fate of the governor and chaplain.