If rich or industrious, he sometimes becomes the possessor of a craft superior to this. It is also a bark canoe, but not made of a single “flitch.” On the contrary, there are many choice pieces used in its construction: for it is fifteen feet in length and three in width amidships. Its “build” also is better,—with a high prow and stern, and cross-pieces regularly set and secured at the ends. The pieces of bark are united by a stitching of thongs; and the seams carefully calked, so that no water can enter. In this vessel, the Fuegian may embark with his whole family,—and his whole furniture to boot,—and voyage to any part of his coast And this in reality he does; for the “shanty” above described, is to him only a temporary home. The necessities of his life require him to be continually changing it; and a “removal,” with the building of a new domicile, is a circumstance of frequent recurrence.
Not unfrequently, in removing from one part of the coast to another, he finds it safer making a land-journey, to avoid the dangers of the deep. In times of high wind, it is necessary for him to adopt this course,—else his frail bark might be dashed against the rocks and riven to pieces. In the land-journey he carries the canoe along with him; and in order to do this with convenience, he has so contrived it, that the planks composing the little vessel can be taken apart, and put together again without much difficulty,—the seams only requiring to be freshly calked. In the transport across land, each member of the family carries a part of the canoe: the stronger individuals taking the heavier pieces,—as the side and bottom planks,—while the ribs and light beams are borne by the younger and weaker.
The necessity of removal arises from a very natural cause. A few days spent at a particular place,—on a creek or bay,—even though the community be a small one, soon exhausts the chief store of food,—the muscle-bank upon the beach,—and, of course, another must be sought for. This may lie at some distance; perhaps can only be reached by a tedious, and sometimes perilous water-journey; and under these circumstances the Fuegian deems it less trouble to carry the mountain to Mahomet, than carry Mahomet so often to the mountain. The transporting his whole ménage, is just as easy as bringing home a load of limpets; and as to the building of a new house, that is a mere bagatelle, which takes little labor, and no more time than the erection of a tent. Some Fuegians actually possess a tent, covered with the skins of animals; but this is a rare and exceptional advantage; and the tent itself of the rudest kind The Fuegian has his own mode of procuring fire. He is provided with a piece of “mundic,” or iron pyrites which he finds high up upon the sides of his mountains. This struck by a pebble will produce sparks. These he catches upon a tinder of moss, or the “punk” of a dead tree, which he knows how to prepare. The tinder once ignited, is placed within a roundish ball of dry grass; and, this being waved about in circles, sets the grass in a blaze. It is then only necessary to communicate the flame to a bundle of sticks; and the work is complete. The process, though easy enough in a climate where “punk” is plenty, and dry grass and sticks can be readily procured, is nevertheless difficult enough in the humid atmosphere of Tierra del Fuego,—where moss is like a wet sponge, and grass, sticks, and logs, can hardly be found dry enough to burn. Well knowing this, the Fuegian is habitually careful of his fire: scarce ever permitting it to go out; and even while travelling in his canoe, in search of a “new home,” side by side with his other “penates” he carries the fire along with him.
Notwithstanding the abundance of fuel with which his country provides him, he seems never to be thoroughly warm. Having no close walls to surround him, and no clothing to cover his body, he suffers almost incessantly from cold. Wherever met, he presents himself with a shivering aspect, like one undergoing a severe fit of the ague!
The Fuegians live in small communities, which scarce deserve the name of “tribes:” since they have no political leader, nor chief of any description. The conjuror—and they have him—is the only individual that differs in any degree from the other members of the community; but his power is very slight and limited; nor does it extend to the exercise of any physical force. Religion they have none,—at least, none more sacred or sanctified than a vague belief in devils and other evil spirits.
Although without leaders, they are far from being a peaceful people. The various communities often quarrel and wage cruel and vindictive war against one another; and were it not that the boundaries of each association are well defined, by deep ravines and inlets of the sea, as well as by the impassable barriers of snow-covered mountains, these warlike dwarfs would thin one another’s numbers to a far greater extent than they now do,—perhaps to a mutual extermination. Fortunately the peculiar nature of their country hinders them from coming very often within fighting distance.
Their whole system of life is abject in the extreme. Although provided with fires, their food is eaten raw; and a fish taken from the water will be swallowed upon the instant,—almost before the life is gone out of it. Seal and penguin flesh are devoured in the same manner; and the blubber of the whale is also a raw repast. When one of these is found dead upon the beach,—for they have neither the skill nor courage to capture the whale,—the lucky accident brings a season of rejoicing A fleet of canoes—if it is to be reached only by water—at once paddle towards the place; or, if it be an overland journey, the whole community—man, woman, and child—start forth on foot. In an hour or two they may be seen returning to their hut-village, each with a large “flitch” of blubber flapping over the shoulders, and the head just appearing above, through a hole cut in the centre of the piece,—just as a Mexican ranchero wears his “serape,” or a denizen of the Pampas his woollen “poncho.” A feast follows this singular procession.
Like the Esquimaux of the north, the Fuegian is very skilful in capturing the seal. His mode of capturing this creature, however, is very different from that employed by the “sealer” of the Arctic Seas; and consists simply in stealing as near as possible in his canoe, when he sees the animal asleep upon the surface, and striking it with a javelin,—which he throws with an unerring aim.
We have already observed that the principal subsistence of the Fuegian is supplied by the sea; and shell-fish forms the most important item of his food. These are muscles, limpets, oysters, and other kinds of shell-fish, and so many are annually consumed by a single family, that an immense heap of the shells may be seen not only in front of every hut, but all along the coast of the islands, above high-water mark,—wherever a tribe has made its temporary sojourn.
There is a singular fact connected with these conglomerations of shells, which appears to have escaped the observations of the Magellanic voyagers. It is not by mere accident they are thus collected in piles. There is a certain amount of superstition in the matter. The Fuegian believes that, were the shells scattered negligently about, ill-luck would follow; and, above all, if the emptied ones were thrown back into the sea: since this would be a warning of destruction that would frighten the living bivalves in their “beds,” and drive them away from the coast! Hence it is that the shell-heaps are so carefully kept together.