Running to Port Angosto in a snow-storm--A defective sheetrope places
the _Spray_ in peril--The _Spray_ as a target for a Fuegian arrow--The
island of Alan Erric--Again in the open Pacific--The run to the island
of Juan Fernandez--An absentee king--At Robinson Crusoe's anchorage.
Another gale had then sprung up, but the wind was still fair, and I
had only twenty-six miles to run for Port Angosto, a dreary enough
place, where, however, I would find a safe harbor in which to refit
and stow cargo. I carried on sail to make the harbor before dark, and
she fairly flew along, all covered with snow, which fell thick and
fast, till she looked like a white winter bird. Between the
storm-bursts I saw the headland of my port, and was steering for it
when a flaw of wind caught the mainsail by the lee, jibed it over, and
dear! dear! how nearly was this the cause of disaster; for the sheet
parted and the boom unshipped, and it was then close upon night. I
worked till the perspiration poured from my body to get things
adjusted and in working order before dark, and, above all, to get it
done before the sloop drove to leeward of the port of refuge. Even
then I did not get the boom shipped in its saddle. I was at the
entrance of the harbor before I could get this done, and it was time
to haul her to or lose the port; but in that condition, like a bird
with a broken wing, she made the haven. The accident which so
jeopardized my vessel and cargo came of a defective sheet-rope, one
made from sisal, a treacherous fiber which has caused a deal of strong
language among sailors.
I did not run the _Spray_ into the inner harbor of Port Angosto, but
came to inside a bed of kelp under a steep bluff on the port hand
going in. It was an exceedingly snug nook, and to make doubly sure of
holding on here against all williwaws I moored her with two anchors
and secured her besides, by cables to trees. However, no wind ever
reached there except back flaws from the mountains on the opposite
side of the harbor. There, as elsewhere in that region, the country
was made up of mountains. This was the place where I was to refit and
whence I was to sail direct, once more, for Cape Pillar and the
Pacific.
I remained at Port Angosto some days, busily employed about the sloop.
I stowed the tallow from the deck to the hold, arranged my cabin in
better order, and took in a good supply of wood and water. I also
mended the sloop's sails and rigging, and fitted a jigger, which
changed the rig to a yawl, though I called the boat a sloop just the
same, the jigger being merely a temporary affair.
I never forgot, even at the busiest time of my work there, to have my
rifle by me ready for instant use; for I was of necessity within range
of savages, and I had seen Fuegian canoes at this place when I
anchored in the port, farther down the reach, on the first trip
through the strait. I think it was on the second day, while I was
busily employed about decks, that I heard the swish of something
through the air close by my ear, and heard a "zip"-like sound in the
water, but saw nothing. Presently, however, I suspected that it was an
arrow of some sort, for just then one passing not far from me struck
the mainmast, where it stuck fast, vibrating from the shock--a Fuegian
autograph. A savage was somewhere near, there could be no doubt about
that. I did not know but he might be shooting at me, with a view to
getting my sloop and her cargo; and so I threw up my old
Martini-Henry, the rifle that kept on shooting, and the first shot
uncovered three Fuegians, who scampered from a clump of bushes where
they had been concealed, and made over the hills. I fired away a good
many cartridges, aiming under their feet to encourage their climbing.
My dear old gun woke up the hills, and at every report all three of
the savages jumped as if shot; but they kept on, and put Fuego real
estate between themselves and the _Spray_ as fast as their legs could
carry them. I took care then, more than ever before, that all my
firearms should be in order and that a supply of ammunition should
always be ready at hand. But the savages did not return, and although
I put tacks on deck every night, I never discovered that any more
visitors came, and I had only to sweep the deck of tacks carefully
every morning after.
[Illustration: "The first shot uncovered three Fuegians."]
As the days went by, the season became more favorable for a chance to
clear the strait with a fair wind, and so I made up my mind after six
attempts, being driven back each, time, to be in no further haste to
sail. The bad weather on my last return to Port Angosto for shelter
brought the Chilean gunboat _Condor_ and the Argentine cruiser
_Azopardo_ into port. As soon as the latter came to anchor, Captain
Mascarella, the commander, sent a boat to the _Spray_ with the message
that he would take me in tow for Sandy Point if I would give up the
voyage and return--the thing farthest from my mind. The officers of
the _Azopardo_ told me that, coming up the strait after the _Spray_ on
her first passage through, they saw Black Pedro and learned that he
had visited me. The _Azopardo_, being a foreign man-of-war, had no
right to arrest the Fuegian outlaw, but her captain blamed me for not
shooting the rascal when he came to my sloop.
I procured some cordage and other small supplies from these vessels,
and the officers of each of them mustered a supply of warm flannels,
of which I was most in need. With these additions to my outfit, and
with the vessel in good trim, though somewhat deeply laden, I was well
prepared for another bout with the Southern, misnamed Pacific, Ocean.
In the first week in April southeast winds, such as appear about Cape
Horn in the fall and winter seasons, bringing better weather than that
experienced in the summer, began to disturb the upper clouds; a little
more patience, and the time would come for sailing with a fair wind.
At Port Angosto I met Professor Dusen of the Swedish scientific
expedition to South America and the Pacific Islands. The professor was
camped by the side of a brook at the head of the harbor, where there
were many varieties of moss, in which he was interested, and where the
water was, as his Argentine cook said, "muy rico." The professor had
three well-armed Argentines along in his camp to fight savages. They
seemed disgusted when I filled water at a small stream near the
vessel, slighting their advice to go farther up to the greater brook,
where it was "muy rico." But they were all fine fellows, though it was
a wonder that they did not all die of rheumatic pains from living on
wet ground.
Of all the little haps and mishaps to the _Spray_ at Port Angosto, of
the many attempts to put to sea, and of each return for shelter, it is
not my purpose to speak. Of hindrances there were many to keep her
back, but on the thirteenth day of April, and for the seventh and last
time, she weighed anchor from that port. Difficulties, however,
multiplied all about in so strange a manner that had I been given to
superstitious fears I should not have persisted in sailing on a
thirteenth day, notwithstanding that a fair wind blew in the offing.
Many of the incidents were ludicrous. When I found myself, for
instance, disentangling the sloop's mast from the branches of a tree
after she had drifted three times around a small island, against my
will, it seemed more than one's nerves could bear, and I had to speak
about it, so I thought, or die of lockjaw, and I apostrophized the
_Spray_ as an impatient farmer might his horse or his ox. "Didn't you
know," cried I--"didn't you know that you couldn't climb a tree!" But
the poor old _Spray_ had essayed, and successfully too, nearly
everything else in the Strait of Magellan, and my heart softened
toward her when I thought of what she had gone through. Moreover, she
had discovered an island. On the charts this one that she had sailed
around was traced as a point of land. I named it Alan Erric Island,
after a worthy literary friend whom I had met in strange by-places,
and I put up a sign, "Keep off the grass," which, as discoverer, was
within my rights.
Now at last the _Spray_ carried me free of Tierra del Fuego. If by a
close shave only, still she carried me clear, though her boom actually
hit the beacon rocks to leeward as she lugged on sail to clear the
point. The thing was done on the 13th of April, 1896. But a close
shave and a narrow escape were nothing new to the _Spray_.
The waves doffed their white caps beautifully to her in the strait
that day before the southeast wind, the first true winter breeze of
the season from that quarter, and here she was out on the first of it,
with every prospect of clearing Cape Pillar before it should shift. So
it turned out; the wind blew hard, as it always blows about Cape Horn,
but she had cleared the great tide-race off Cape Pillar and the
Evangelistas, the outermost rocks of all, before the change came. I
remained at the helm, humoring my vessel in the cross seas, for it was
rough, and I did not dare to let her take a straight course. It was
necessary to change her course in the combing seas, to meet them with
what skill I could when they rolled up ahead, and to keep off when
they came up abeam.
On the following morning, April 14, only the tops of the highest
mountains were in sight, and the _Spray_, making good headway on a
northwest course, soon sank these out of sight. "Hurrah for the
_Spray_!" I shouted to seals, sea-gulls, and penguins; for there were
no other living creatures about, and she had weathered all the dangers
of Cape Horn. Moreover, she had on her voyage round the Horn salved a
cargo of which she had not jettisoned a pound. And why should not one
rejoice also in the main chance coming so of itself?
I shook out a reef, and set the whole jib, for, having sea-room, I
could square away two points. This brought the sea more on her
quarter, and she was the wholesomer under a press of sail.
Occasionally an old southwest sea, rolling up, combed athwart her, but
did no harm. The wind freshened as the sun rose half-mast or more, and
the air, a bit chilly in the morning, softened later in the day; but I
gave little thought to such things as these.
One wave, in the evening, larger than others that had threatened all
day,--one such as sailors call "fine-weather seas,"-broke over the
sloop fore and aft. It washed over me at the helm, the last that swept
over the _Spray_ off Cape Horn. It seemed to wash away old regrets.
All my troubles were now astern; summer was ahead; all the world was
again before me. The wind was even literally fair. My "trick" at the
wheel was now up, and it was 5 p.m. I had stood at the helm since
eleven o'clock the morning before, or thirty hours.
Then was the time to uncover my head, for I sailed alone with God. The
vast ocean was again around me, and the horizon was unbroken by land.
A few days later the _Spray_ was under full sail, and I saw her for
the first time with a jigger spread, This was indeed a small incident,
but it was the incident following a triumph. The wind was still
southwest, but it had moderated, and roaring seas had turned to
gossiping waves that rippled and pattered against her sides as she
rolled among them, delighted with their story. Rapid changes went on,
those days, in things all about while she headed for the tropics. New
species of birds came around; albatrosses fell back and became scarcer
and scarcer; lighter gulls came in their stead, and pecked for crumbs
in the sloop's wake.
On the tenth day from Cape Pillar a shark came along, the first of its
kind on this part of the voyage to get into trouble. I harpooned him
and took out his ugly jaws. I had not till then felt inclined to take
the life of any animal, but when John Shark hove in sight my sympathy
flew to the winds. It is a fact that in Magellan I let pass many ducks
that would have made a good stew, for I had no mind in the lonesome
strait to take the life of any living thing.
From Cape Pillar I steered for Juan Fernandez, and on the 26th of
April, fifteen days out, made that historic island right ahead.
The blue hills of Juan Fernandez, high among the clouds, could be seen
about thirty miles off. A thousand emotions thrilled me when I saw the
island, and I bowed my head to the deck. We may mock the Oriental
salaam, but for my part I could find no other way of expressing
myself.
The wind being light through the day, the _Spray_ did not reach the
island till night. With what wind there was to fill her sails she
stood close in to shore on the northeast side, where it fell calm and
remained so all night. I saw the twinkling of a small light farther
along in a cove, and fired a gun, but got no answer, and soon the
light disappeared altogether. I heard the sea booming against the
cliffs all night, and realized that the ocean swell was still great,
although from the deck of my little ship it was apparently small. From
the cry of animals in the hills, which sounded fainter and fainter
through the night, I judged that a light current was drifting the
sloop from the land, though she seemed all night dangerously near the
shore, for, the land being very high, appearances were deceptive.
[Illustration: The _Spray_ approaching Juan Fernandez, Robinson
Crusoe's Island.]
Soon after daylight I saw a boat putting out toward me. As it pulled
near, it so happened that I picked up my gun, which was on the deck,
meaning only to put it below; but the people in the boat, seeing the
piece in my hands, quickly turned and pulled back for shore, which was
about four miles distant. There were six rowers in her, and I observed
that they pulled with oars in oar-locks, after the manner of trained
seamen, and so I knew they belonged to a civilized race; but their
opinion of me must have been anything but flattering when they mistook
my purpose with the gun and pulled away with all their might. I made
them understand by signs, but not without difficulty, that I did not
intend to shoot, that I was simply putting the piece in the cabin, and
that I wished them to return. When they understood my meaning they
came back and were soon on board.
One of the party, whom the rest called "king," spoke English; the
others spoke Spanish. They had all heard of the voyage of the _Spray_
through the papers of Valparaiso, and were hungry for news concerning
it. They told me of a war between Chile and the Argentine, which I had
not heard of when I was there. I had just visited both countries, and
I told them that according to the latest reports, while I was in
Chile, their own island was sunk. (This same report that Juan
Fernandez had sunk was current in Australia when I arrived there three
months later.)
I had already prepared a pot of coffee and a plate of doughnuts,
which, after some words of civility, the islanders stood up to and
discussed with a will, after which they took the _Spray_ in tow of
their boat and made toward the island with her at the rate of a good
three knots. The man they called king took the helm, and with whirling
it up and down he so rattled the _Spray_ that I thought she would
never carry herself straight again. The others pulled away lustily
with their oars. The king, I soon learned, was king only by courtesy.
Having lived longer on the island than any other man in the
world,--thirty years,--he was so dubbed. Juan Fernandez was then under
the administration of a governor of Swedish nobility, so I was told. I
was also told that his daughter could ride the wildest goat on the
island. The governor, at the time of my visit, was away at Valparaiso
with his family, to place his children at school. The king had been
away once for a year or two, and in Rio de Janeiro had married a
Brazilian woman who followed his fortunes to the far-off island. He
was himself a Portuguese and a native of the Azores. He had sailed in
New Bedford whale-ships and had steered a boat. All this I learned,
and more too, before we reached the anchorage. The sea-breeze, coming
in before long, filled the _Spray's_ sails, and the experienced
Portuguese mariner piloted her to a safe berth in the bay, where she
was moored to a buoy abreast the settlement.