Barney Blake, the Boy Privateer; or, The Cruise of the Queer Fish

by Herrick Johnstone

There was some utility in this. It might be fashioned into a spear or arrow-head, or crooked for a hook to hang dried fish on. And it was, therefore, far more valuable to the simple natives than the brightest ornament of gold or precious stones.

We gathered our boat full of wood—such as it was—which we cut and collected from the dwarf forests in the vicinity, and in a few hours were ready to take our departure. I do not know whether they had ever seen a ship, but, by some intuitive faculty, they seemed to conjecture that we hadn't come all the way from the other side of the world in the long boat—that there must be a vessel of larger proportions somewhere in our vicinity, and they all wanted to accompany us on board the ship. Strange to say, these natives are very poor boatmen. They are almost devoid of any water conveyance.

We could not accommodate all of them, so they deputed one of their number—quite a lad—to accompany us. He got in at the bow, we followed, and pushed off, with our load of fuel, having a much better opinion of the natives than before.

It was worth a long journey to witness the wonder and awe of our little passenger upon first beholding the Queer Fish, as she lay at anchor in the straits. At first the solemnity of the thing kept him silent. His feelings of awe, however, gradually wore off, and he began to clap his hands and utter wild exclamations at everything he saw. When on board of the ship, he danced about in perfect ecstasy. We had a great deal of fun with him, and the captain offered him a glass of grog, "just to see," to use the skipper's own language, "how civilized the youngster was." Upon the latter's rejecting the liquor in unutterable disgust, Joker unhesitatingly declared him to be in the lowest depths of primitive barbarism.

The next day, after putting our guest ashore—much to his dissatisfaction—we proceeded westward through the straits. In two days we arrived at the western extremity, without encountering a solitary ship. It was here that I met with quite an adventure.

I was again a member of a boat expedition to procure wood, and as we had seen a good many animals on the rocks, I, together with several others, provided myself with a musket and ammunition, in hopes of procuring something edible in the way of game.

So, after we had loaded our boat, those who had guns—myself among them—started off in different directions through the rocks and woods. For my part, I struck a bee-line inland, through the scrub trees, and had not proceeded more than a mile or so when I sighted a small grayish fox, and brought him to a standstill with a bullet through his skull. It occurred in a singularly gloomy and dreary sort of dingle or ravine, surrounded by frowning rocks and ragged trees. I hastened forward to secure my prey, but, just as I was bending down to pick it up, a deep growl startled me, and upon looking up I perceived a monstrous gray wolf, who was approaching me with a hungry and ferocious aspect. Almost immediately I perceived several more of the same ugly customers approaching from the summit of the ridge. I had neglected to reload my gun, and was somewhat taken aback by this strange apparition. But I have seldom been at a loss for expedients in times of peril. I now snatched up the carcass of the little fox, and tossed it at the wolf to attract his attention, at the same time springing to a scrub-oak, which I succeeded in climbing, bringing my gun with me.

No sooner was I safely ensconced in the crotch of the tree, than I saw myself surrounded by a pack of at least fifty of the gaunt, ferocious beasts, who had gobbled up the little fox in the twinkling of an eye—more or less—and now seemed especially thirsty for my blood. To my further dismay, I now saw a large reinforcement of wolves coming at a brisk trot over the opposite ridge. You see, I was considerably uneasy in my mind, on account of the lowness of the tree. I straddled the crotch, and my feet swung, at most, only six feet from terra firma, and there wasn't much chance of standing on my feet without dropping my gun. I was debating the grave question in my mind as to whether the wolves were spry enough to leap as high as my feet, when the biggest "varmint" among them dissolved all dubiousness on the subject by taking a short run and a flying leap at my feet. He missed them by about six inches, and his teeth gnashed together with a most villainous snap. He made several more trials, as did some others of the pack, but as they could not succeed in coming any nearer, I felt easier in my mind on this score. The entire pack then surrounded me, gazing up at me wistfully, as at a dainty piece of meat hung beyond their reach, and set up a prolonged, dismal howl.

I forgot all about my gun at first. The strangeness of my situation, as well as its peril, lay upon my spirit like a spell. Can you imagine anything more ridiculously lonesome and desolate than a Yankee tar treed in the middle of Terra del Fuego by a pack of unreasonable, gigantic and hungry wolves? I can't. I believe I would as lief climb the North Pole and take a lonely roost on its summit.