We left Punta Arenas on Saturday, November 29th, 1913, spending the night in Freshwater Bay, and the next afternoon anchored in St. Nicholas Bay, which is on the mainland. Opposite to it, on the other side of the Straits, is Dawson Island, and separating Dawson from the next island to the westward is Magdalen Sound, which leads into Cockburn Channel; it was in this last that the Dresden found her first hiding-place after escaping from Sturdee’s squadron and obtaining an illicit supply of coal at Punta Arenas. St. Nicholas Bay forms the mouth of a considerable river, the banks of which are clothed with forests which come down to the sea; near the estuary is a little island, and on it there is a conspicuous tree. Mr. Corry and I went out in the boat, and found affixed to the tree a number of boards with the names of vessels which had visited the place. Jeffery scrambled up and added Mana’s card to those already there. This was our first introduction to a plan frequently encountered later in out-of-the-way holes and corners, and which subsequently played a part in the war. At the outbreak of hostilities the Dresden was in the Atlantic, and had to creep round the Horn to join the squadron of Von Spee in the Pacific. She put into Orange Bay, one of the furthest anchorages to the south; there she found that many months before the Bremen had left her name on a similar board. Moved by habit someone on the cruiser wrote below it “Dresden, September 11th, 1914”; then caution supervened, and the record was partially, but only partially, obliterated; there it was shortly afterwards read by the British ships Glasgow and Monmouth, and formed a record of the proceedings of the enemy.

FIG. 10.
RIVER SCENE, ST. NICHOLAS BAY.

On Monday, December 1st, we started at daylight and made our way with motor and sail as far as Cape Froward, the most southerly point of the Straits; but the sea was running too high to proceed. We had to retrace our steps, and cast anchor again in St. Nicholas Bay. This time S. and I were determined to explore the river, so, after an early luncheon, in order to get the benefit of the tide, we made our way up it in the cutter. It was most pleasant rowing between the banks of the quiet stream, and so warm and sheltered that we might almost have imagined ourselves on the Cherwell, if the illusion had not been dispelled by the strange vegetation which overhung the banks, amongst which were beautiful flowering azaleas. Every here and there also a bend in the course of the river gave magnificent views of snow-clad peaks above. A happy little family of teal, father, mother, and children, disported themselves in the water. Later in the voyage, as the mountains grew steeper, we had many waterfalls, but never again a river which was navigable to any distance. Some of the crew had been left to cut firewood, and we found on our return that they had achieved a splendid collection, which Mr. Ritchie and Mr. Corry had kindly been helping to chop. Burning wood was not popular in the galley, but we were anxious to save our supplies of coal.

Tuesday, December 2nd, we again left the bay, and this time were more fortunate. It was misty and sunless, but as we rounded Cape Froward it stood out grandly, with its foot in grey seas and with driving clouds above. We had now definitely entered on the western half of the Straits and were amongst the spurs of the Andes. As the day advanced the wind freshened, the clouds were swept away, and blue sky appeared, while the sea suddenly became dark blue and covered with a mass of foaming, tumbling waves; on each coast the white-capped mountains came out clear and strong. This part of the channel, which is known as Froward Reach, is a path of water, about five miles wide, lying between rocky walls; and up this track Mana beat to windward, rushing along as if she thoroughly enjoyed it. Every few minutes came the call “Ready about, lee oh!” and over she went on a fresh tack, travelling perfectly steadily, but listed over until the water bubbled beneath the bulwarks on the lee side. It would have been a poor heart indeed that did not rejoice, and every soul on board responded to the excitement and thrill of the motion: that experience alone was worth many hundred miles of travel. As evening came the wind sank, and we were glad of the prosaic motor to see us into our haven at Fortescue Bay.

The next day the wind was too strong to attempt to leave the harbour, and we went to bed with the gale still raging, but during the night it disappeared, and before dawn we were under way. As light and colour gradually stole into the dim landscape, the grey trunks and brown foliage of trees on the near mountain-sides gave the effect of the most lovely misty brown velvet. Rain and mist subsequently obscured the view, but it cleared happily as we turned into the harbour of Angosto on the southern side of the channel. Rounding the corner of a narrow entrance, we found ourselves in a perfect little basin about a quarter of a mile across, surrounded with steep cliffs some 300 feet in height, on one side of which a waterfall tore down from the snows above. Our geologist reported it as a glacier tarn, which, as the land gradually sank, had been invaded by the sea. We left it with regret at daylight next morning.

The Straits became now broader and the scenery was more bleak, the great grey masses being scarcely touched with vegetation till they reached the water’s edge. It was decided to spend the night at Port Churruca in Desolation Island, rather than at Port Tamar on the mainland opposite, which is generally frequented by vessels on entering and leaving the Straits. We passed through the entrance into a rocky basin, but when we were at the narrowest part between precipitous cliffs the motor stopped. It had been frequently pointed out, when we were wrestling with the engine, how perilous would be our position if anything went wrong with it in narrow waters. I confess that I held my breath. S. disappeared into the engine-room, the Navigator’s eyes were glued to the compass, and the Sailing-master gave orders to stand by the boats in case it was necessary to run out a kedge anchor and attach the yacht to the shore. It was a distinct relief when the throb of the motor was once more heard; the difficulty had arisen from the lowness of the temperature, which had interfered with the flow of the oil. The ship, however, was luckily well under control, with the wind at the moment behind her. In an inner basin soundings were taken, “twenty-five fathoms no bottom, thirty fathoms no bottom,” till, when the bowsprit seemed almost touching the sheer wall of rock, the Nassau Anchorage was found and down went the hook.

FIG. 11
CAPE FROWARD, MAGELLAN STRAITS.
Looking East.