It struck me as very singular that, with a moderately strong breeze from the north, the barometer should have stood so high, remaining through the day at about 30·3 inches, and marking at nine p.m. 30·28. The temperature, as was to be expected, was higher than on the previous day, being about 40° during the day, and not falling at night below 35°.
Although the morning showed some improvement in the appearance of the weather, the sky was gloomy when, after a little trouble in raising the anchor, we got under way early on the 7th of June. The clouds lifted occasionally during the day, and I enjoyed some brief glimpses of grand scenery; but the only distinct impression I retained was that of hopeless bewilderment in attempting to make out the positions of the endless labyrinth of islands through which we threaded our way. In spite of all that has been done, it seems as if there remained the work of many surveying expeditions to complete the exploration of these coasts. As to several of the eminences that lie on the eastern side of the channel, it is yet uncertain whether they are islands or peninsulas projecting from the mainland. It was announced that our next anchorage was to be at Puerto Bueno, there being no other suitable place for a considerable distance, and we were led to expect that we should probably find there some Fuegians, as the place is known to be one of their favourite haunts.
PUERTO BUENO.
We dropped anchor about half-past two, in a rather wide cove, or small bay, opening into the mainland a few miles south of Chatham Island. The shores are comparatively low, and enclosed by a dense forest of evergreen beech, which in most parts descends to the water’s edge. The place owes its good repute among mariners to the excellent holding-ground; but it did not appear to me as well sheltered as the other natural harbours that we visited, and as the bottom shelves very gradually, we lay fully a mile off the shore. Fortunately the weather had improved somewhat; a moderate breeze from the north brought slight drizzling rain, but gave no further trouble. A boat was soon ready alongside, and we pulled for the shore, with three of the ship’s officers armed with fowling-pieces, intended partly to impress the natives with due respect, but mainly designed for the waterbirds that abound along the shores of the inlet. We were correctly steered for the right spot, as, on scrambling ashore and crossing the belt of spongy ground between the water and the edge of the forest, we found evident tokens that the Fuegian encampment had not been long deserted. The broken remains of a rude canoe and fragments of basket-work were all that we could find, and we judged that a small party, perhaps no more than ten or a dozen, had left the place a few weeks before our arrival. These wretched Fuegians are said to go farther south, and to keep more to the exposed coasts during winter, because at that season animal life is there more abundant.
After exchanging sundry jokes about the general disappointment in failing to behold the wilde fräulein in their natural home, the party separated, two of the officers proceeding in the boat towards the upper part of the inlet in quest of water-fowl. For nearly an hour we heard the frequent discharge of their guns, and much ammunition must certainly have been expended; but when they returned their report was that the birds were too wild, and no addition was made to the ship’s larder.
The general character of the vegetation at Puerto Bueno was the same as that at Eden Harbour, but there were some indications of a slight increase in the severity of the climate. Mitraria coccinea and a few other representatives of the special flora of Chili were no longer to be found, while some antarctic types not before seen here first made their appearance. The most prominent of these was a bush from three to five feet high, in general appearance reminding one of rosemary, but at this season abundantly furnished with the plumed fruits characteristic of a composite. This plant, nearly allied to the genus Olearia, whose numerous species are confined to Australia, New Zealand, and the adjoining islands, is known to botanists as Chiliotrichium amelloides, and is one of the characteristic species of this region. It is plentiful in Fuegia and on the northern shores of the Straits of Magellan. Sir Joseph Hooker, in the “Flora Antarctica,” remarks that this is the nearest approach to a tree that is made by the meagre native vegetation of the Falkland Islands.
PATAGONIAN CONIFERS.
My attention had already been directed at Eden Harbour to the peculiar coniferous plants of this region, and I here found the same species in better condition. The most conspicuous, a small tree with stiff pointed leaves somewhat like an araucaria, here produced abundant fruit, which showed it to be a Podocarpus (P. nubigena of Lindley). Another shrub of the same family, but very different in appearance, is a species of Libocedrus, allied to the cypress of the Old World, which tolerates even the inclement climate of Hermite Island, near Cape Horn. The distribution of the various species of this genus is not a little perplexing to the botanical geographer. This and another species inhabit the west side of South America, two are found in New Zealand, one in the island of New Caledonia, one is peculiar to Southern China, and one to Japan, while an eighth species belongs to California. The most probable supposition is that the home of the common ancestor of the genus was in the circumpolar lands of the Antarctic Circle at a remote period when that region enjoyed a temperate climate; but the processes by which descendants from that stock reached such remote parts of the earth are not easily conjectured.
It was nearly dark when the unsuccessful sportsmen returned with the boat, and but for the ship’s lights we should have scarcely been able to make out her position. Some of the many stories of seamen cast away in this inclement region came into my mind during the short half-hour of our return, and, in the presence of the actual scenes and conditions, my impressions assumed a vividness that they had never acquired when “living at home at ease.”
In the evening I observed that the barometer had fallen considerably from the usually high point at which it stood up to the 6th, and throughout the night and the following day (June 8) it varied little from 29·9 inches. When we came on deck on the morning of the 8th, the uniform remark of the passengers was, “What a warm day!” We had become used to a temperature of about 40°, and a rise of 5° Fahr. gave the impression of a complete change of climate. It is curious how completely relative are the impressions of heat and cold on the human body, and how difficult it is, even for persons accustomed to compare their sensations with the instrument, to form a moderately good estimate of the actual temperature. We paid dearly, however, for any bodily comfort gained from the comparative warmth in the thick weather that prevailed during most of the day. We had some momentary views of grand scenery, but, as on the preceding day, these were fleeting, and I failed to carry away any definite pictures. It would appear that in such weather the navigation amid such a complete maze of islands and channels must be nearly impossible, but the various surveying-expeditions have placed landmarks, in the shape of wooden posts and crosses, that suffice to the practised eyes of seamen.