It is very curious, therefore, while noting the difference between these two tribes of Indians, to observe how each confines its range to that part of the Magellanic land that appears best adapted to their own peculiar habits,—those of the Patagonian being altogether terrestrial, while those of the Fuegian are essentially aquatic.
We have stated elsewhere the limits of the Patagonian territory; and shown that, ethnologically speaking, they do not occupy the whole northern shore of the Magellan Straits, but only the eastern half of it. Westward towards the Pacific the aspect of the land, on both sides of this famous channel, may be regarded as of the same character, though altogether different from that which is seen at the entrance, or eastern end.
West of Cape Negro on one side, and the Sebastian passage on the other, bleak mountain summits, with narrow wooded valleys intervening, become the characteristic features. There we behold an incongruous labyrinth of peaks and ridges, of singular and fantastic forms,—many of them reaching above the limits of perpetual snow,—which, in this cold climate descends to the height of four thousand feet. We have seen that these mountains are separated from each other,—not by plains, nor even valleys, in the ordinary understanding of the term; but by ravines, the steep sides of which are covered with sombre forests up to a height of one thousand five hundred feet above the level of the sea: at which point vegetation terminates with a uniformity as exact as that of the snow-line itself! These forests grow out of a wet, peaty soil,—in many places impassable on account of its boggy nature; and of this character is almost the whole surface of the different islands. The trees composing the forests are few in species,—those of the greatest size and numbers being the “winter’s bark” (drymys), of the order magnoliacæ, a birch, and, more abundantly, a species of beech-tree, the fagus betuloides. These last-named trees are many of them of great size; and might almost be called evergreens: since they retain part of their foliage throughout the whole year; but it would be more appropriate to style them ever-yellows: since at no period do they exhibit a verdure, anything like the forests of other countries. They are always clad in the same sombre livery of dull yellow, rendering the mountain landscape around them, if possible, more dreary and desolate.
The forests of Tierra del Fuego are essentially worthless forests; their timber offering but a limited contribution to the necessities of man, and producing scarce any food for his subsistence.
Many of the ravines are so deep as to end, as already stated, in becoming arms or inlets of the sea; while others again are filled up with stupendous glaciers, that appear like cataracts suddenly arrested in their fall, by being frozen into solid ice! Most of these inlets are of great depth,—so deep that the largest ship may plough through them with safety. They intersect the islands in every direction,—cutting them up into numerous peninsulas of the most fantastic forms; while some of the channels are narrow sounds, and stretch across the land of Tierra del Fuego from ocean to ocean.
The “Land of Fire” is therefore not an island,—as it was long regarded,—but rather a collection of islands, terminated by precipitous cliffs that frown within gun-shot of each other. Ofttimes vast masses of rock, or still larger masses of glacier ice, fall from these cliffs into the profound abysses of the inlets below; the concussion, as they strike the water, reverberating to the distance of miles; while the water itself, stirred to its lowest depths, rises in grand surging waves, that often engulf the canoe of the unwary savage.
“Tierra del Fuego” is simply the Spanish phrase for “Land of Fire.” It was so called by Magellan on account of the numerous fires seen at night upon its shores,—while he and his people were passing through the Straits. These were signal fires, kindled by the natives,—no doubt to telegraph to one another the arrival of those strange leviathans, the Spanish ships, then seen by them for the first time.
The name is inappropriate. A more fit appellation would be the “land of water;” for, certainly, in no part of the earth is water more abundant: both rain and snow supplying it almost continually. Water is the very plague of the island; it lies stagnant or runs everywhere,—forming swamps, wherever there is a spot of level ground, and rendering even the declivities of the mountains as spongy as a peat-bog.
The climate throughout the whole year is excessively cold; for, though the winter is perhaps not more rigorous than in the same latitude of a northern land, yet the summer is almost as severe as the winter; and it would be a misnomer to call it summer at all. Snow falls throughout the whole year; and even in the midsummer of Tierra del Fuego men have actually perished from cold, at no great elevation above the level of the sea!
Under these circumstances, it would scarce be expected that Tierra del Fuego should be inhabited,—either by men or animals of any kind; but no country has yet been reached, too cold for the existence of both. No part of the earth seems to have been created in vain; and both men and beasts are found dwelling under the chill skies of Tierra del Fuego.