We were now abreast of that large tract of Chili which has been left in the possession of its aboriginal owners, the Araucanian Indians, extending about one hundred miles from north to south, and a rather greater distance from the coast to the crest of the Cordillera. It is unfortunate that so little is known of the Araucanians, as, in many respects, they appear to be the most interesting remaining tribe of the aboriginal American population. For nearly two centuries they maintained their independence in frequent sanguinary encounters with the Spaniards, which are said on Chilian authority to have cost the invaders the loss of 100,000 men. Since the establishment of Chilian independence, the policy of the republic has been to establish friendly relations with this indomitable people. The territory between the Bio-Bio river to the north and the Tolten to the south was assigned to them, and small annual donations were made to the principal chiefs on condition of their maintaining order amongst the tribesmen. During the last forty years, however, white settlers have trespassed to a considerable extent on the Indian territory, both on the north and south sides, but have generally contrived to keep up friendly intercourse with the natives, while Chilian officials, established at Angol on the river Mallego, exercise a species of supervision over the entire region.
ARAUCANIAN INDIANS.
The present Araucanian population is somewhat vaguely estimated at about 40,000, and it is a question of some interest whether, like most native races in contact with those of European descent, they will ultimately be improved out of existence, or be gradually brought within the pale of civilization and fused with the intrusive element. The soil is said to be in great part fertile; they raise a large quantity of live stock, and some of the chiefs are said to have amassed wealth, and to have begun to show a taste for the comforts and conveniences of civilized life.
While at Santiago, I made some inquiry as to the language of the Araucanian tribes. I was informed that in the seventeenth century the Jesuit missionaries published a grammar of the language, of which only two or three copies are known to exist. About the beginning of this century a new edition, or reprint, of this work appeared at Madrid, but, as I was assured, has also become extremely rare, and copies are very seldom to be procured.
On the evening of the 1st the barometer had risen about a tenth of an inch, but by the following morning had returned to the same point (very nearly thirty inches) as on the previous day, without any change in the state of the weather; but we enjoyed more sunshine, and the proceedings of the birds that ceaselessly bore us company afforded us constant occupation and amusement. Two species were predominant. One of these was the well-known cape pigeon (Daption capensis), familiar to all mariners in the southern hemisphere. This is a handsome bird, much larger than a pigeon, exhibiting a considerable variety of plumage in what appeared to be adult individuals. In all the ground colour is white, and the tips of the spreading tail feathers are dark brown or nearly black. The upper surface of the wings sometimes showed a somewhat tesselated pattern of white and dark brown, but more commonly were marked by two transverse dark bands, with pure white between. They were very numerous, as many as from fifty to a hundred being near the ship at the same time, keeping close company, and often swooping over the deck a few feet over our heads; but, although seemingly fearless, they never were induced to take a piece of meat from a man’s hand, though the temptation was often renewed. The next in frequency—called on this coast colomba—is nearly as large as the cape pigeon, with plumage much resembling that of a turtle dove. This also approached very near. Both of these birds seemed to feel fatigue, as, after circling round the ship for half an hour at a time, they would rest on the surface of the water, dropping rapidly astern, but after some minutes resume their flight and soon overtake the ship. More interesting to me were the two species of albatross, which I had never before had an opportunity of observing. These were more shy in their behaviour, never, I think, approaching nearer than seventy or eighty yards, and usually following the ship with a slow, leisurely flight still farther astern. The common, nearly white, species (Diomedea exulans) is but a little larger than the dark-coloured, nearly black species, which I supposed to be the Diomedea fuliginosa of ornithologists.[31] If, as is probable, the same birds followed us all day, we saw but two of the latter, which are, I believe, everywhere comparatively scarce. In both species I was struck by the peculiar form of the expanded wing, which is very narrow in proportion to its great length.
BIRDS OF THE SOUTHERN OCEAN.
The moment of excitement for the birds, as well as for the lookers-on, was when a basket of kitchen refuse was from time to time thrown overboard. It was amusing to watch the rush of hungry creatures all swooping down nearly at the same point, and making a marvellous clatter as they eagerly contended for the choice morsels. It did not appear to me that the smaller birds showed any fear of the powerful albatross, or that the latter used his strength to snatch away anything that had been secured by a weaker rival.
About noon on the 2nd of June we were abreast of the northern part of the large island of Chiloe, but were too far out to sea to get a glimpse of the high land on the west coast. At the northern end the island is separated from the mainland by a narrow channel (Canal de Chacao) only two or three miles in width; but on the east side the broad strait or interior sea between Chiloe and the opposite coast is from thirty to forty miles in breadth, and beset by rocky islets varying in size from several miles to a few yards.
Another unquiet night ushered in the morning of the 3rd of June. This was fairly clear, with a fresh breeze from the south-west, which, as the day advanced, rose nearly to a gale. The sea did not appear to run higher than before, but the waves struck the ship’s side with greater force, and at intervals of about ten minutes we shipped rather heavy seas, after which the deck was nearly knee-deep in water, and a weather board was needed to keep the saloon from being flooded. The barometer fell slightly, and the temperature was decidedly lower, the thermometer marking about 50° Fahr. Some attempts at taking exercise on the hurricane deck were not very successful, my friend, Mr. H——, being knocked down and somewhat bruised, and we finally retired to the saloon, and found the state of things not exhilarating. We saw nothing of the Chonos Archipelago, consisting of three large and numerous small islands, all covered with dense forest, and separated from the mainland by a strait, yet scarcely surveyed, about a hundred and twenty miles in length, and ten to fifteen in breadth.
Darwin, writing nearly fifty years ago, anticipated that these islands would before long be inhabited, but I was assured that no permanent settlement has ever been established. Parties of woodcutters have from time to time visited the islands, but no one has been tempted to remain. The excessive rainfall, which is more continuous in summer than in winter, makes them unfit for the residence of civilized man; but it seems probable that Fuegians transported there would find conditions favourable to their constitution and habits of life. It is another question whether the world would be any the better for the multiplication of so low a type of humanity.