Captain Gardiner had left England in the autumn of 1850, with Dr Williams, a surgeon, who went forth as a catechist; Mr Maidment, who held the same office; Erwin, a carpenter; and three Cornish fishermen, named Badcock, Bryant, and Pearce. The Ocean Queen, the ship in which they took their passage, proceeded on her passage to the Pacific, after landing them at Banner Cove in Picton Island, which will be found near the entrance of Beagle Channel, about half way between the Straits of Le Maire and Cape Horn. They had with them two large boats, called the Pioneer and Speedwell, and two small punts, with tents and stores; but their supply of provisions appears to have been very scanty. Scarcely had they pitched their tents when the natives collected in considerable numbers, and threatened to attack them. To avoid collision, they ultimately took to their boats, intending to seek another spot where they might form their station. They put to sea; but in going out of the harbour the Speedwell, under charge of Dr Williams, got entangled among the rocks, and was nearly lost. All hands on board suffered much. Captain Gardiner had in the meantime found Bloomfield Harbour, which he thought would suit them, but during his cruise had lost the punts he had in tow. He at last returned to Banner Cove; but on sailing again his boat got on shore. Then it was discovered that all their powder had been left on board the ship, and so they had no means of killing the wild-fowl on which they depended chiefly for their support. Some of their provisions they buried here as a reserve. Again they put to sea; but their boats, which they clearly had not strength to manage, were beached on their way to Bloomfield Harbour. After a fortnight’s delay, they got afloat and sailed on to a spot about forty miles along that iron-bound coast, called Spaniards’ Harbour, which, after much consultation, they agreed would be the fittest place for their location. Here they arrived at the end of January 1851; but the Pioneer was driven on shore, and irretrievably wrecked. So they collected what stores they could save, and dragged them into a cave near the spot—her remains being hauled up on the beach. Dr Williams, meantime, carried the Speedwell further up the harbour, and anchored her there. Disasters followed them. A tide higher than usual washed into the cave, and swept away a large portion of their stores; then a hut they had built under the rook caught fire; and Captain Gardiner barely escaped with his life; lastly, scurvy broke out. Their provisions were running very short, so they sailed back to Banner Cove, to procure those they had left there. The provisions were found; but the scanty store could only last them a few months. They seemed to have a foreboding of the fate which awaited them. On conspicuous places on the rocks they wrote in large letters, “Go to Spaniards’ Harbour. Hasten! hasten! We are suffering from sickness—we are nearly starving!” Words of the same signification were written on paper, and buried in bottles where they might most likely be found.
They reached Spaniards’ Harbour by the end of March. Captain Gardiner took up his habitation at the cave, in the place he called Earnest Cove, to watch for those who, it was hoped, would come to their relief; while Dr Williams went to a more sheltered spot, up the harbour, at the mouth of Cook’s River, with the Speedwell. The months passed slowly by. Their food was all gone. They caught and ate mice, a fox, a fish half devoured, a penguin and shag—most unwholesome food—and then mussels and other shell-fish; and then the Antarctic winter set in; and lastly, through disease and starvation, one by one they died. They had kept a daily record of their proceedings—of their sufferings. While they had strength, they occasionally assisted each other. The last effort of the two survivors was to go on crutches to Cook’s River, to learn the state of Dr Williams, who had for long not come to them; but their weak state compelled them to abandon the attempt, and they returned to die in Earnest Cove. Maidment had been sleeping in the cave—he died there; Captain Gardiner near the remains of the Pioneer, which had been hauled up on the beach, and with which he had formed a slight shelter for himself from the weather. They had kept their journals to the last; and wonderful as it may seem, though storms had raged and rains had fallen, those journals had been preserved. Captain Gardiner’s last written words were addressed to Dr Williams, of whose death he was not aware:—
“Dear Dr Williams,—The Lord has seen fit to call home another of our little company. Our dear departed brother left the boat on Tuesday afternoon, and has not since returned. Doubtless he is in the presence of his Redeemer, whom he served faithfully. Yet a little while, and though ... the Almighty, to sing praises ... throne. I neither hunger nor thirst, though ... days ... without food ... Maidment’s kindness to me ... heaven.”
In October a schooner was despatched from Monte Video with provisions, under the charge of a Captain Smyley. Too late he reached Spaniards’ Harbour, and having just time to visit the Speedwell in Cook’s River, a gale springing up, he was compelled to put to sea without ever landing at Earnest Cove. In the meantime, Captain Morshead, in the Dido frigate, having sailed from England, was ordered to call at Picton Island with relief for the party. After continuing the search for some time, they were about to abandon it, when the inscriptions on the rocks were discovered, calling on them to go to Spaniards’ Harbour. There the Dido proceeded. Maidment’s body was found in the cave, Captain Gardiner’s by the side of the boat, with their journals and books scattered around. Their remains, with those found at Cook’s River, were carefully interred in a grave on the beach—the funeral service being read by one of the lieutenants. The colours of the ship and boats were struck half-mast, and three volleys of musketry fired over the graves. The journals—not a word of which was, as I have said, rendered illegible—were carefully forwarded to England, and, like voices from the grave, have undoubtedly instigated many to aid those who seek to spread the truth of the gospel among the savage inhabitants of those wild regions.
“Those noble Christian men have not suffered in vain; and yet they met the just doom of those who neglect to take those precautions which are necessary for the preservation of life. God has, in his infinite wisdom, given us reason and forethought; and that reason and forethought we ought to employ as much when engaged in his service, as when occupied about the ordinary affairs of life.” This remark was made by Captain Frankland, and I have often since reflected on it; and I trust that by repeating it, it may tend to guide the plans of those labouring in objects for the spread of God’s great name and glory, and all the blessings of the gospel throughout the world. The particulars of the narrative I have thus briefly given had just reached Stanley, and were the subject of conversation among all those who had any idea above that of the price of seal-skins and the profits of the last wreck on their shores.
With a fair wind and fine weather we sailed to double Cape Horn, intending to pass through the Straits of Le Maire. Often on the passage did Gerard and I and Cousin Silas talk of the fate of Captain Gardiner, and long to visit the spot where he and his brave companions died, and to see the strange wild natives it had been his ardent desire to bring to a knowledge of the truth. The favourable breeze carried us through the straits, and as the well-defined outline of the rocky shores of Terra del Fuego rose before us, we gazed with deep interest on a land which had been the scene of the sad catastrophe now occupying our thoughts.
To the west and north of us were numerous islands clustering together, of various sizes, with deep channels between them, most of them consisting of rocky mountains, often rising in perpendicular precipices from the ocean, and shooting upwards to a vast height in towering peaks and rugged crags, untrod by the feet of man or beast. Along the shores of these numerous isles and islets are gulfs and bays, and coves and creeks without number, often with level ground in their neighbourhood producing a somewhat rich vegetation, and forming a great contrast to the terrifically wild and barren tracts which are the chief characteristics of the region. Bold, precipitous headlands, with dark barren elevations behind them, appeared on our right as we skirted the northern shores of the straits. We made Cape Good Success, and a little way beyond it, crossed abreast of the mouth of Spaniards’ Harbour, into which rolls the whole set of the South Atlantic. Then standing on till near the entrance of the Beagle Channel, up which a little way lies Picton Island, we stood away towards Cape Horn, so as to steer close round it into the Pacific. Captain Frankland had often been here, and had once brought up in a harbour for many days from bad weather, when he had surveyed many of the passages in his boats. I was below; Gerard rushed into the cabin.
“We are off the Cape! we are off the Cape!” he exclaimed; “it is a sight worth seeing.” I hurried on deck, and thence I beheld rising not a mile from us, in all its solitary grandeur, that far-famed promontory Cape Horn,—a lofty pyramid frowning bold defiance towards the storm-tossed confines of those two mighty oceans which circle the earth. Dark clouds rested on its summit, foam-crested waves with ceaseless roar dashed furiously at its base, the sea-fowl flew shrieking round it; and as I gazed at it, I could not help thinking how an old heathen would have believed it the very throne of the god of storms. Well has it earned its fame. Scarcely were we round the Cape, when the wind, which had hitherto been favourable, shifted suddenly to the westward and southward, and dark clouds came rushing up from that quarter in hot haste, like a stampede of wild animals on the prairies of America. The long swell which had been rolling up from the east was met by a succession of heavy waves torn up by the fierce gale blowing along the whole course of the Southern Pacific, creating the wildest confusion on the world of waters. A few minutes before it seemed we were gliding smoothly on before a favourable breeze, under topsails and top-gallant-sails; now the ship was madly plunging into the foam-covered tossing seas.
“All hands shorten sail!” cried Mr Renshaw, the first officer.
“All hands shorten sail!” was repeated along the decks.