Through the Heart of Patagonia

by H. Hesketh-Prichard

"To attain such shelter as the promontory offered it was necessary to make our way through a group of rocks. This we did, and the wind sinking, Cattle and I scrambled ashore with the axes and fell to work while Bernardo remained on board.

"Before, however, we had gathered half the required quantity of wood a second squall, more heavy than the first, came screaming across the lake, tearing the launch from her anchorage and almost driving her upon the beach. We stripped off some of our clothes and waded down into the water, and after a ten-minutes hard struggle we succeeded in getting her back into deep water, where she again dropped anchor.

"We returned to our work ashore, and cut and piled a good store of fuel, almost as much as we needed, on the shingle ready to carry aboard, but the violence of the waves put all hope of embarkation out of the question for the time. This was about 10 A.M., and all day the wind increased in violence. A stately procession of icebergs began to float down from the northerly arms of the lake and squall succeeded squall. Soon it became evident that the launch was drifting again, and I shouted to Bernardo, who was now within hearing distance of the shore, to break up an oar and use it for fuel. Luckily he had kept up fire in the furnace and steam in the boiler, and as the weather was growing rapidly worse, I ordered him to steam up over the anchor, and afterwards to take the boat a quarter of a mile out and there drop anchor with all the length of chain out that we possessed.

"What followed gave to us, I think, perhaps the most heartbreaking moments we experienced throughout the whole trip. While Bernardo was getting up enough steam to carry out orders, the launch, still drifting, swooped nearer and nearer a reef of submerged rocks. As she was in deep water, Cattle and I could do nothing to help; we were compelled to watch helplessly from the shore and rage at our own impotence. We called to Bernardo to keep her off with an oar, and while he was unlashing one the stern of the launch and, more than all, her precious propeller barely escaped being smashed to pieces as she rose and fell on the rollers. To us, looking from the shore, it seemed as if her last hour was come, and it appeared hard indeed that she should have run safely through so many perils only to end her existence in the lake before we had had time to carry out any part of the exploration on which we had set our hearts.

"At the crucial moment, however, Bernardo managed to pole her clear and give her steam. She moved slowly out and anchored far off shore.

"Evening drew on, but the wind showed no signs of dropping, as it usually did at the rising or setting of the sun. There was nothing for it but to make up our minds to a night ashore. We found ourselves in a dilemma, for we had our whole supply of food on shore, while, with the exception of my poncho, which I brought with me to dry, Bernardo had all the rugs and blankets in the launch. However, we made the best of it by building up a big shelter of drift-wood and bushes. Then we lit a huge fire, for our clothes were soaking, and essayed to dry them.

"Meantime the launch was riding out the storm as well as could be expected, but taking a good deal of water aboard all the same. It grew dark and the last we saw of her that night, her anchor was holding and a big sea was racing aft. Bernardo had got on the hatches and gone to bed, we supposed, for we did not see him the whole time save once, and then he was bailing furiously."

The sky was black with the promise of rain, so we heaped up the big fire, filled the cooking-pots with water, and spreading the poncho on the ground took our places upon it. It was not such a very bad night after all. Things rarely fulfil their promise of disagreeableness—things of this kind anyway. We passed the night somehow with the help of our pipes and an occasional brew of sugarless tea. I never desired sugar so much as then. Sugarless tea is far less warming than sugared. Sleep was well-nigh impossible. It was too cold for that, and, besides, one or other of us was always up and trying to pick out the launch from the surrounding mass of spindrift and tumbling black and grey waters.

In those latitudes the wind generally rises or falls, as the case may be, with the setting or rising of the sun, and eagerly we waited to see if the dawn would bring any change in our uncomfortable position. But at dawn it was blowing, if anything, harder than ever. The launch, however, was all right, although there was no sign of Bernardo. We were driven to make a breakfast of berries from the califate-bushes, of which a few mean specimens grew sparsely on the hillside. It is a desolate place, that northern shore of Argentino.

When the sun came out we lay down and slept in its liquid rays. A little after midday we cooked some fariña with mutton fat and ate it. The gale was still tearing across the water, and we began to count over our resources. We still had the greater part of the ostrich which the hound Moses had killed on the way to the River Santa Cruz, but it was an immature bird, and would provide us with no more than three meagre meals. A couple of handfuls of fariña were yet in the bottom of the bag, we had a half-tin of tea and three-parts of a plug of tobacco.