“The particulars of his coming on board, or of his leaving, have passed from me, and I could wish that many other occurrences of that eventful voyage might. H. C.”
Letters from Nantucket inform me that the log-book of the Henry Astor was lost in the great fire of 1846. The captain’s private journal, brought home by Mr. C., the cooper of the ship, contains the information desired. “A Scotch boy, by the name of James Walker (assumed name), deserted the ship at the Isle of Dominica, one of the Marquesas, on the 8th day of October, 1842; and they had good reason to believe that he was enticed away from the ship.”
Not having seen the captain’s journal, I cannot learn anything relative to the men who accompanied Don Guillermo when he left the vessel. I have added these few facts, thinking that they might be interesting to the relatives of Don Guillermo, who are now able to carry on a correspondence with him.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] Hiva-oa is about seventy miles south-west of Nukuheva, the island upon which Mr. Herman Melville, the author of “Typee,” passed four months among the islanders.
[5] The Masorca was a club of three hundred men, organized by Rosas to cut the throats of his political foes and defenseless citizens, who would not succumb to his tyrannical sway.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CROSSING THE ANDES.
While the fig, the olive, and the orange trees were clothed in green, and vast herds of cattle from the great pampas were arriving, to be fattened in the clover-fields, the mountains still remained covered with snow, and impassable, save to the trained courier. Still I had seen all that rendered San Juan attractive, and a longing to return to my own country came so strongly upon me, that I determined to risk a passage to Chili at the earliest possible moment.
It was only when my intentions became known that I was made aware of the numbers and kindly feelings of my San Juan friends; for so many were interested in my welfare, and warned me so earnestly of the danger of the journey, and attempted to receive from me the promise that I would remain with them, at least until the snow had disappeared, that I could not but feel I had indeed fallen in with some of the truly hospitable and generous peoples that here and there are scattered over the world, making it, as do the oases in the desert, not all a dreariness.
I learned from these friends that the northern passes that led to Copiapo and Coquimbo were buried in the snow, and that, on the first-named road, a party of eight arrieros, while lately attempting to cross into Chili, had been frozen to death. The Coquimbo road was said to be equally as bad, for there eleven experienced guides had just fallen victims to a fierce snow storm in the valleys of the Andes. The two southern passes of Uspallata and Portillo were more elevated than the two northern ones, but were much shorter. The Portillo could not be passed by man. The mail road of Uspallata was the one fixed upon by me as the most practicable; and though the courier reported the loss of two young Chilenos, who probably had been swept away by the mountain torrent, I believed that, having been reared in a New England climate, whose winters are rigorous, I could bear the hardships of the cold better than the native guides themselves.