The navigation through the straits of a craft like ours makes it necessary to anchor in the dark hours: the first night we spent off the Fuegian coast, in sight of one of the pillars which define the boundary of Chile and Patagonia; the second we lay in Possession Bay, which is on the Patagonian side. We had time at the latter anchorage to examine the pathetic wreck of a steamer, which had gone aground. She was a paddle-boat, which was being towed presumably from one lake or river area to another, and had to be cut adrift. Even in such an unheroic vessel it was touching to see the sign of departed and luxurious life cast away on this lonely shore, stained-glass doors bearing the inscription of “smoking” or “dining-room,” and good mahogany fittings such as washing-stands still in place. It is said that the outer coast is strewn with wrecks containing valuable articles which it is worth no one’s while to remove. S. walked up to the neighbouring lighthouse, and was presented with three rhea eggs.
FIG. 8.
IN THE MAGELLAN STRAITS.
S. and an ostrich.
The next morning we were under way at 5 o’clock, in order to pass with the correct tide through what are known as the First Narrows. The current here is so strong that it would have been impossible for us to make headway against it; as it was, the wind sank soon after we started, and we only just accomplished the passage, anchoring in St. Jago Bay. The following day, Sunday, we negotiated successfully the Second Narrows. From our next anchorage we saw from the yacht several rhea, or South American ostriches, on a small promontory. S. went ashore on the point and shot two of them, while Mr. Ritchie and Mr. Gillam, who had landed on the neck of the promontory, endeavoured to cut off the retreat of the two remaining birds. The one marked by Mr. Ritchie went through some water and escaped him; the onlookers then viewed with much interest a duel between Mr. Gillam on the one hand, running about in sea-boots armed with a revolver, and the last ostrich on the other, vigorously using its legs and wings and on its own ground. Victory remained with the bird, which reached the mainland triumphantly, or at least disappeared behind a bush and was no more seen. Seven miles south-west of the Second Narrows lies Elizabeth Island, so named by Drake. We took the passage known as Queen’s Road on the Fuegian side of the island, and reached Punta Arenas next afternoon, Monday, October 20th. We had intended to be there for two or three days only, but fate willed otherwise, and we sat for weeks in a tearing wind among small crests of foam, gazing at a little checkered pattern of houses on the open hillside opposite.
It will be remembered that the motor engine, to our great chagrin, was practically useless through heated bearings, and that all our endeavours at Buenos Aires to diagnose and remedy its ailment had been ineffectual. We had consequently to rely on passing through the Straits either under sail, or, as the late Lord Crawford had suggested to us before starting, through getting a tow from some passing tramp by means of a £50 cheque to the skipper, a transaction which would probably not appear in their log. However, in mentioning our disappointment to the British Consul, who was one of an engineering firm, he and his partner hazarded the suggestion that the defect lay, not in the engine, where it had been sought, but in the installation; that the shaft was probably not “true.” They bravely undertook the job of overhauling it on the principle of “no cure, no pay,” and were entirely justified by the result. The alteration was to have been finished in ten days, but there were the usual delays, one of which was a strike at the “shops,” when a piece of work could only be continued by inducing one man to ply his trade behind closed doors while S. turned the lathe. It was six weeks before the anxious moment finally came for the eight hours’ trial, which had been part of the bargain, but the motor did it triumphantly without turning a hair. We found what consolation for the delay was possible in the reflection that we had at least done all in our power to guard against such misfortune. The engine had been purchased from a first-class firm who had done the installation; the work had been supervised on our behalf by a private firm and passed by Lloyds; nevertheless it was peculiarly aggravating, for not only did it involve great money loss, but it sacrificed some of the strictly limited time of our navigator and geologist. We had the pleasure at this time of welcoming the said geologist, Mr. Lowry-Corry, who now joined the Expedition after successfully completing his work in India.
Punta Arenas, with which we became so well acquainted, is a new and unpretentious little town, but it is the centre of the sheep-grazing districts, and its shops are remarkably good. Anything in reason can be purchased there, and on the whole at more moderate prices than elsewhere in South America. The beautiful part of the Straits is not yet reached, and save for some distant views the place is ugly, but it gives a sensation of cleanliness and fresh air, and our detention might have been worse. There is indeed, on occasion, too much air, for it was at times impossible to get from the ship to the shore or vice versa, and if members of the party were on land when the wind sprang up they had to spend the night at the little hotel; the waves were not big, but the gales were too strong for the men to pull against them. I was with reluctance obliged to give up some promising Spanish lessons, with which I had hoped to occupy the time, for it was impossible to be sure of keeping any appointment from the yacht. Punta Arenas boasts an English chaplain, and Boy Scouts are in evidence. The chief celebrity is an Arctic spidercrab, which multiplies in the channels and is delicious eating, but we never discovered anything of much local interest.
I made one day a vain attempt to find the graves of the officers and crew of H.M.S. Dotterel, which was blown up off Sandy Point some thirty years ago. The cemetery overlooked the Straits; it was desolate and dreary, the ground being unlevelled and the tufted grass, with which it was covered, unkept and unmown. Most of the graves were humble enclosures, some of which gave the impression of greenhouses, being covered with erections of wood and glass; but here and there were small mausoleums, the property of rich families or corporations. It is the custom with some Chileans so to preserve the remains that the faces continue visible; an Englishman at Santiago told us that after a funeral which he had attended, the mourners expressed a desire to “see Aunt Maria,” whereupon the coffin of a formerly deceased relative was taken down from its niche for her features to be inspected. The police of Punta Arenas had their home together in a large vault, which was apparently being prepared for a new occupant; while the veterans of ’79 (the war between Chile and Peru) slept as they had fought, side by side. There was apparently no Protestant corner, for the graves of English, Germans, and Norwegians were intermingled with those of Chileans. The resting-places of all, rich and poor alike, were lovingly decorated with the metal wreaths so prevalent in Latin countries, but unattractive to the English eye. Whilst I wandered among the tombs a storm burst, which had been gathering for some time amongst distant mountains, and chilly flakes of snow swept down in force, with biting wind and hail. I sheltered in the lee of a mausoleum, on whose roof balanced a large figure of the angel of peace bearing the palm-branch of victory, and the inscription on which showed it to be the property of a wealthy family, whose name report specially connected with the poisoning of Indians. The landscape was temporarily obscured by the driving storm, not a soul was in sight, and the iron wreaths on hundreds of graves rattled with a weird and ghostly sound. Presently, however, the tempest passed and the sun shone out, while over the Straits, towards the Fuegian land, there came out in the sky a wonderful arc of light edged by the colours of the rainbow, which turned the sea at its foot into a translucent and sparkling green.
But if there was not much occupation on shore, the unexpected length of our stay provided us unpleasantly with domestic employment. We had on arrival parted from our friend Freeman, his object in coming to Punta Arenas was, it transpired, to collect the remainder of a sum due to him in connection with the sale of a skating-rink, which he had at one time started there and run with considerable success: we were proud to think that service on an English scientific vessel would now be added to his experiences. Life below deck was then in the hands of Luke, the under-steward, who, as will be remembered by careful readers, had been the salvation of the inner man during our first gale in the North Atlantic. We had engaged him at Southampton on the strength of a character from a liner on which he had served in some subordinate capacity, and he signed on for the voyage of three years at the rate of £2 10s. a month. Though never what registry offices would call “clean in person and work,” he plodded through somehow, and again in the Freeman episode rescued the ship from starvation; we accordingly doubled his wages as a testimonial of esteem. My feelings can therefore be imagined when one morning, after we had been some weeks at Punta Arenas, I was told that Luke was not on board and his cabin was cleared. He had somehow in the early morning eluded the anchor watch and had gone off in a strange boat. A deserter forfeits of course his accumulated wages, which, by a probably wise regulation, are payable to Government and not to the owner; but there is nothing to prevent a man who is leaving a vessel recouping himself by means of any little articles that he may judge will come in handy in his new career. The one that I grudged most to Luke was my cookery book, to which he had become much attached, and which was never seen again after his departure; it was really a mean theft, from which I suffered much in the future.
S. offered, through the police, a reward for his detention, and enlarged his knowledge of the town by going personally through every low haunt, but without success. A rumour subsequently reached us that a muffled figure had been seen going on board one of the little steamers which plied backwards and forwards to the ports in Tierra del Fuego, and we heard, when it was too late, that Luke had been enticed to a sheep farm there, with the promise of permanent employment at £10 a month, with £2 bonus during shearing-time, which was then in progress. The temptation was enormous, and I have to this day a sneaking kindliness for Luke, but for those who tempted him no pardon at all. The condition in which the successive defaulters had left their quarters is better pictured than described, and so stringent is the line of ship’s etiquette between work on deck and below, that, as the simplest way and for the honour of the yacht, the Stewardess did the job of cleaning out cabin and pantry herself. The moral for shipowners is—do not dally in South American ports.
