entrance to the Straits of Magellan, distant about seventy-five miles,
and at eleven this morning Mr. Rarx saw the land on the weather-bow,
and presently the lonely, barren shores of Tierra del Fuego rose
faintly out of the sea and appeared also on the port bow, as though
we were sailing into the heart of a deep bight, as indeed we were.
Before long great ice-covered peaks began to appear, and I asked the
skipper if he was going to keep away for the Straits of Le Maire. “No,”
he replied, “I’m not going through now for several reasons; in the
first place, I think the wind will head us in the straits, and in the
second place, as long as this wind keeps on I’m going to heave to under
the land when we get farther down. What’s the good of going through?
As soon as we showed ourselves outside Staten Land there’d be this
westerly gale, with who knows how much sea; then there’s a two-knot
current settin’ to the eastward, and this, with three points of leeway,
would send us to leeward like a cask. Better lie snug inside than go
smashin’ into those seas. In a day or two perhaps we can go through the
Straits of Le Mar.” It is odd that every ship-master whom I have ever
heard mention these straits should call it Le Mar instead of Le Maire.
Captain Scruggs added that we would have fine views of Tierra del
Fuego later on, as he was going to run down to within ten miles of the
land; we are therefore anticipating a very great treat.
It is utterly impossible to fitly describe these sunsets or to do
justice to the wild grandeur of the scene as the orb slowly and
majestically settles into the sea among the far-away, golden-cushioned
clouds. In the tropics the sun seems to drop suddenly behind the
horizon; but in these high latitudes, he sinks so hesitatingly that it
appears as though he were loath to bid us good-night. The air at this
time of day is most wonderfully transparent here, with a sparkle of
frost in the atmosphere; while the clouds, being almost exclusively
of the stratus variety, stretch across the horizon in layers of fiery
embers, with sometimes a gorgeous fringe of cloud-fleece crowning the
scene with a coronet of dazzling splendor; while if a heavy bar of
dark cloud extends almost to the sky-line, the sun will be observed
glittering beneath it upon the crests of the far-distant seas, with the
appearance as of a phalanx of golden breakers.
The heavens on this side of the Cape seem to be always clear with a
westerly wind, even when blowing a gale; and as the twilights are
exceedingly long, the days so far are anything but disagreeable. The
dismal, rainy weather will come when we get over beyond the longitude
of the Horn. Gradually the sun is getting lower at noon, the altitude
to-day being but 14°, while the orb rises at a point about northeast
by north and sets in the west-northwest. It is a significant fact that
at twelve o’clock to-day we were exactly abreast of the southernmost
extremity of the mainland of the world. Cape Horn is generally
regarded as this point, but the Horn itself is naught but an island,
the farthest south of the great archipelago of Tierra del Fuego; the
culminating promontory of South America being Cape Froward in the
middle of the Straits of Magellan, one hundred and twenty-two miles
north of the Horn. Latitude, 53° 54′ south; longitude, 66° 6′ west.
+July 10+
All night we have been lying off and on under shelter of the coast,
waiting for a favorable slant. Under easy sail, the lower topsails and
foresail, we approach to within six or eight miles of the land; and
then wearing round, stand to the northward for twenty miles or so,
repeating the manœuvre slowly, never making more than two miles an
hour. The wind still holds to the westward, blowing a moderate gale,
but with perfectly smooth water here where we are. On the other hand,
outside it is doubtless blowing a hard gale with a heavy sea; as the
skipper put it, “Outside it’s a regular Cape Horn snorter. I lay in
here six days with a westerly gale three years ago. All ships, you
know, lie in here when the wind is like this till they get a slant. You
see, if we went outside now, while we could get to the s’uth’ard all
right, to-morrow at noon we’d likely be a hundred miles to the east’ard
of where we are now. As for goin’ through Le Mar, I wouldn’t try it
with the wind to the north’ard of nor’west.”
So here we are in water as free from swell as a Central Park lake,
taking things very comfortably indeed. But if the sea is free from
swell, it is continuously whipped into foam by the succession of
tearing snow-squalls which strike us with seemingly cyclonic fury. At
eleven o’clock, for instance, it will calm down to a royal breeze;
at 11.10 it will be blowing a full gale, accompanied with a driving
snow-storm, which whirls the flakes along in a horizontal tempest;
and as the temperature was at 33° all day, the drifts lay in the
scuppers until shovelled overboard. How cosy and cheerful it is to
come down to the great, glowing stove from one of these black squalls
and the roaring wind and the sleet and hail, which feel as though
they were drawing blood as they sting the face with a fury which is
simply resistless! For below everything is delightfully comfortable
at a temperature of 65°, and we draw near to the red coals and shiver
composedly as we listen to the watch hauling around the yards to the
cry of “wear ship.”
We will never forget the spectacle which met our eyes this morning
half an hour after daybreak. Right before us lay the bleak shores of
Tierra del Fuego, stretching from east to west as far as the eye could
see, the wildest, grandest coast which the mind can conceive. Sheer
down into the sea fell its almost vertical walls of rock and steep,
rugged hills, with their black gorges and frowning chasms filled with
the snow which had fallen heavily during the night. Farther inland
extended a broad expanse of rolling plateau covered with small knolls;
and then in all their desolate sublimity rose the magnificent range
of snowy mountains, thousands of feet above the sea, clad in their
eternal mantle of dazzling white. I have never before seen such a
picture as that presented by this deserted, volcanic land. The gray,
mournful hills and snow-clad Alpine peaks, now buried in a raging
snow-squall, now rearing their ice-crowned summits far above the
mists which shrouded their less exalted companions, filled the mind
with the idea that their Maker, displeased at His own handiwork, had
abandoned forever these lonely shores to the gloomy pall of cloud
which usually enfolds the land in its cold, clammy embrace, and to the
fierce, wild gales which sweep everlastingly through its gaunt and
spectral mountains. What eerie fancies the dark and powerful genius
of Edgar Allan Poe could wreathe about this fantastic, uncouth land!
Oh, for a day’s wandering through those valleys and ravines, as cold
and cheerless as the moon itself! And how I envied the “Beagle’s” men
their months of sojourn amidst the grandeur of these fascinating hills!
Some curious forms are to be seen in connection with many of these
peaks. The most conspicuous landmark consists of three hills called
the Three Brothers, from twelve to sixteen hundred feet in height;
ship-masters always look for them, as they can then tell exactly where
they are. One of the loftiest of the ice-peaks, a mountain fully five
thousand feet high, bears a strong resemblance to the Matterhorn when
the shadows of evening fall across its great snow-cliffs; another
looks singularly like the rounded cone of Cotopaxi. And so it goes,
one peak apparently more beautiful than its neighbor, till the eye is
bewildered gazing upon such wonderful Antarctic scenery. How intensely
interesting it must be to pass through the famous Straits of Magellan
and look upon the wonderful panorama which is revealed at every turn
of the rudder! Steamers are the only vessels that go through now in
either direction, as the channel is very tortuous and the currents are
powerful and treacherous. The experiment was at one time considered by
the Chileans of maintaining a fleet of large tow-boats at Cape Virgins
to tow vessels through the straits; but it was concluded that the ships
would have to be taken so far out into the Pacific beyond Cape Pillar
to get an offing, which would frequently be impossible on account of
westerly gales, that the project was abandoned. The expense of towing,
too, would be very great, as four hundred miles separate Capes Virgins
and Pillar, and no ship-master, of course, would tow to the eastward,
as there is nearly always a fair wind coming around this way, so that
the tug-boats would have to return empty-handed.
The climate of this country is as equable as that of the Falklands,
though even more humid. The temperature seldom falls below 30° even in
July; but, on the other hand, it seldom rises above 50° in midsummer,
and the wind at all times is extraordinarily cold and penetrating.
In spite of this, however, the natives pass their lives in absolute
nakedness, their sole protection against the rigors of the inhospitable
climate being a smearing of oil upon their bodies, and in this state
they go out to meet vessels passing through the straits. It seems
almost inconceivable that human beings can live thus in such severe
weather, for their exposure is infinitely greater than that of the
Esquimo even in his temperature of minus 70°, for the latter is warmly
clad and housed. The Yahgans, as the inhabitants of the lower portion
of the archipelago are called, are of particularly low intelligence,
and, according to Dr. Fenton, they not infrequently kill and eat the
old and useless women of the tribe. Their language comprises about
thirty thousand words, but, strangely enough, only five numerals.
Since 1881 the eastern portion of Tierra del Fuego, together with
Staten Island (usually called by sailors Staten Land), has belonged to
the Argentine, and the western end to Chile, the boundary-line being
supposed to run from Cape Espiritu Santo due south to Beagle Channel,
the only settlement within hundreds of miles being Punta Arenas (Sandy
Point) on the Patagonia side of the straits, where the Chileans have a
convict and coaling station. The Straits of Magellan were discovered by
the celebrated Portuguese of that name, though he spelled it Magalhães,
who sailed through them in 1520. If any one wishes to look at a
remarkable sight, let him possess himself of one of Imray’s charts of
Tierra del Fuego and examine the prodigious number of channels, fjords,
and inlets in this remote and vast archipelago which forms the abode
of eight thousand people as low in the gauge of civilization as can be
found upon the earth.
I wonder how many persons are aware of the fact that the famous old
“Dreadnaught” laid her bones upon the bleak rocks of Tierra del Fuego
as her final resting place! She drifted ashore near the Straits of
Magellan, while on a voyage to San Francisco, during a heavy swell
in a dead calm, with her main-sky-sail set. What a sorrowful end for
that grand old ship, the “Wild Boat of the Atlantic,” the queen of the
clippers, the fastest of all the great fleet which sailed the ocean
from Sandy Hook to Queenstown! Peace to her remains in her grave by
these iron-bound shores! Latitude, 54° 19′ south; longitude, 65° 45′
west.
+July 11+
Late yesterday afternoon the sun astonished us by bursting out in
glorious splendor, and for the two remaining hours of daylight we
sailed along parallel with the land distant only eight miles, in plain
view of the Three Brothers, past Cape St. Vincent and Thetis Bay.
Truly, the days are none too long now, for the sun rises at 8.30 and
sets at 3.30, so that on dark days--and there are plenty of them here
now--we have not more than six hours of what can be called daylight.
Last night was very fine, too, with an almost full moon soaring
through a cloudless sky. Throughout the earlier part of the evening we
continued to hold an easterly course, for the captain wanted to have
a look at the Straits of Le Maire to consider the chances of going
through at daybreak. Some little time after we had finished supper,
about seven o’clock, I think, we caught sight of the huge, snow-bound
cliffs of Cape San Diego, the southeasternmost extremity of Tierra
del Fuego, lying calm and cold in the white moonlight, and a little
later we opened out the clear water of the Le Maire Straits. Then we
saw outside a thick bank of woolly cloud low down in the southwest,
and the skipper concluded that he wouldn’t risk going through the next
day, as that bank was the infallible indicator of a heavy blow. Added
to this, too, was the long, heaving swell of the Southern Ocean piling
in through the fourteen miles of open water in the straits, so we wore
round and stood to the northward again. It was very pleasant last night
on deck, for though it was blowing hard the lee side of the wheel-house
made a delightfully snug retreat, and, enveloped in mountains of
rugs and shawls, we sat there in the deck-chairs till nearly eleven,
discussing the voyage and enjoying the clear, soft moonlight.
We awoke this morning to the howling of the wind and Captain Scruggs’s
voice raised in furious anger, the helmsman sustaining the full shock
of the vocal hurricane. It was the unhappy Brün, who throughout the
voyage has suffered more than any one else from the temper and violence
of both captain and mates. “Hey you, what the blank’s the matter with
yer? Put yer wheel hard down there and let her come up to the wind. The
other way, the other way. Don’t yer know the difference yet between up
and down, eh? What the blank did yer come to sea for anyway? You’re
a haymaker, that’s what you are. Look at the ship now; d’ye want to
get her aback? Hard up yer wheel; hard up, you blank-blanked farmer’s
hound! How yer headin’ now?”
“Nor’west by south, sir,” answered the poor devil, nearly out of his
head. “Now, by the jumpin’----” Here the wind cut off the rest, but
there was a tumultuous scuffle of feet, and I could very well imagine
the scene which was being enacted overhead; so as quickly as possible
we dressed and went on deck to find a fresh gale blowing from the
westward, with a very steep, quick sea. It was just daybreak and both
sky and sea had a very ferocious aspect, the atmosphere being charged
now and then with long spears of sleet. After looking at the weather
for a few minutes I happened to glance to leeward, and was almost
stunned to behold the ponderous headland of Cape St. Anthony, at the
western end of Staten Land, towering into the sky, not more than
three miles away! No wonder the old man was almost in convulsions.
“We must be in the Straits of Le Maire,” said I to my wife. And so
we were. It appears that Captain Scruggs had determined to try it,
and had gone half-way through, when, at the eleventh hour, he decided
that he couldn’t fetch by the land; and as the wind came on to blow a
gale which the woolly bank had foretold, he wore ship to stand to the
northward once more. He probably miscalculated the strength of the
current, which runs through the straits with astonishing velocity,
often reaching five knots an hour, for all at once the mate, whose
sight in semi-darkness is better than the skipper’s, called out, “Land
on the lee, sir.” Our position was really one of great peril, for we
were on a dead lee shore and unable to carry sail enough to double
the point with any degree of certainty. If we didn’t weather it, it
was good-by for all hands, for even now we could see the great surges
seething against that terrible coast, where the land is so bold that a
ship may lay her jib-boom end head on against the cliffs and still have
fathoms of water beneath her keel. With the canvas which was on her at
the moment, lower topsails and foresail, it was an impossibility for
the ship to hold her own, and as quickly as possible a double-reefed
maintop-sail was set, the difference in going to windward being felt
at once. But could she carry it? She _must_, for the lives of
twenty-seven persons depended upon the ship’s weathering Cape St.
Anthony. No one thought of breakfast, and at half-past eight it was
blowing harder than ever, and in the heavy, windward rolls it seemed
as though the masts themselves would succumb to the terrific puffs.
From the shore we must have presented a magnificent spectacle indeed,
had any one been there to witness the struggle going on between man’s
skill and Nature’s power. Slowly we forged ahead; but slowly and far
more certainly we drove down toward the foaming rocks; and all hands
by this time, even the most callous of the sailors, realized that we
were fighting in earnest now, fighting to save the ship. Not a word
was spoken by any one; the men were collected at the weather-rail in
the waist watching the land draw nearer and nearer, while the captain
stood on the cabin-house motionless, except when he slightly revolved
his arm as a signal to the helmsman to hold her up all he could between
the puffs. Oh, how deserted and bleak the immense gray-brown cliffs
and snow-streaked hills of Staten Land appeared, broken now and then
by gigantic fissures which extended far inland between vertical walls,
against which the sea broke furiously, throwing cascades of spray high
into the air! Astern, too, the view was equally rugged and grand, for
across the Straits of Le Maire we could see the ragged coast of Tierra
del Fuego and the massive white cone of the Bell Mountain rising up
beyond the Bay of Good Success.
All at once it became apparent to us that we were holding a better
wind, the land no longer seemed to advance upon us, and at the end of
another half-hour, during which no one seemed to scarcely breathe, to
our unspeakable joy it was plain that the worst was over and that, bar
accident, we would fetch by without further anxiety; and presently the
skipper turned to Louis, the Frenchman (for this splendid seaman had
steered the ship beautifully since eight o’clock), and said, “Now give
her a good rap-full”; in thirty minutes more all danger was over and we
stowed that upper maintop-sail which had done such noble work.
One +P.M.+ The wind has risen to a full gale with puffs of
almost hurricane force; and though we are still protected by the land,
the sea is running high, probably thirty feet from crest to trough,
and breaking in an ugly manner. At noon the order was passed, “All
hands haul up the foresail.” This was the first occasion on which it
was blowing too hard to carry that sail; and when it has to be stowed
it is blowing what sailors call a heavy gale. The wind, indeed, almost
blew the breath back into one’s throat; but the brave old ship behaved
finely, and after the foresail was hauled up, no matter how high or
fast the advancing wave was or how suddenly it broke, the back-wash
would rush out from the vessel’s side, and, meeting the on-rushing sea,
they would shoot far up into the air, to be blown in drift all over
the ship, while she rode calmly and safely over the crest. We have not
set the spencer lately, as we have been wearing every few hours, which
would necessitate brailing it up every time; I was surprised that the
captain didn’t set it this morning, but he seemed to depend more upon
the maintop-sail.
There are two vessels to windward knocking about under easy sail
as we are,--one a small bark, the other a large four-masted ship,
square-rigged all over,--waiting for a slant. My wife has recovered
her equanimity now (about three in the afternoon), for she was
not unnaturally upset by the events of this morning. She behaved
astonishingly well, though, during that crucial hour, and her courage
and fortitude cannot be too highly commended. Latitude, 54° 20′ south;
longitude, 64° 30′ west.
+July 12+
It came on to blow so hard yesterday afternoon that tackles were put on
the tiller, and a little before four o’clock the ship was hove to, so
that when we went on deck at eight bells, after writing up yesterday’s
journal, the ship was riding the seas smoothly and dryly. Perhaps it
wasn’t absolutely necessary to heave the ship to, though she was far
more comfortable that way, the difference being quite remarkable. The
first object which attracted us as we went on deck was a three-masted
ship head-reaching past us on the starboard tack under lower topsails
and foretop-mast stay-sail, distant about half a mile. When yachts pass
each other on opposite tacks they lie so close to the wind that they
cross at right angles to each other, thus: But when two square-riggers
pass each other, close-hauled, they are so far off the wind, especially
in a high sea, that they run past each other parallel. This shows how
the stranger and ourselves passed by: It did not require much of an
eye to discern that this was the Frenchman, the “La Pallice,” which
we spoke about ten days ago bound round the Horn from Hamburg; and
I must say that she commanded admiration as she slowly ran by us in
the gathering dusk, a beautiful specimen of the iron ship-builder’s
art. As previously mentioned, the relieving tackles were put on the
tiller at about four o’clock, after the wheel had thrown the helmsman
completely over itself and through the lee wheel-house door, for he
clung heroically to the spokes.
[Illustration]
When the “La Pallice” was about half a mile astern, she put her helm
up to wear round on the same tack which we were on. At that moment the
whole spectacle was a most thrilling one, ourselves plunging into a
fierce head-sea, the flocks of sea-fowl whirling through the gale, and
the angry sky, each contributed its part to the sombre picture; while
a great rent in the western clouds cast a broad shaft of light through
the gloom full upon the big Frenchman, now in the act of wearing. Even
Captain Scruggs and the second mate were impressed with the solemnity
of the scene until they were attracted by the actions of the stranger.
She had now worn completely around on the port tack, and as she had
passed us so close to windward, we all thought that she would come
up on our lee-quarter. But what is this? Can it be possible that her
captain is going to try to put himself on our weather to show how his
ship can hold a wind? He can scarcely be so mad as that. On comes the
ship, however, nearer and nearer; fathom by fathom she hauls up on
us till she is not more than a quarter of a mile astern and not two
hundred yards to windward, and we can plainly see the whole of her
forefoot, as her great bows, shearing through a sea, are flung high
up, and then come crushing down in a smother of foam. All of our men
have crowded to the side, for here is a spectacle indeed: a vessel
bearing down upon another hove to and without steerage-way! However,
she has still time to put her wheel up and pass under our stern; but
no such notion is entertained by the maniac in command of her, and he
is pinching her till her weather-leeches shiver in his mad endeavor
to pass us to windward; and as the ship rises to a sea and pauses for
an instant on its crest, it seems as though she would topple right
down upon us. At this juncture Captain Scruggs begins to grow anxious,
as well he might, and mutters, “Is that d---- fool really going to
try it?” Five minutes more pass, and it becomes evident that we must
get out of her way or be cut down by that sharp iron stem. Now this
is quite a long job, being hove to, for it would be at least several
minutes before we could gather headway. But we must do something, so
the skipper sings out, “Cast off those tackles,” and two men are sent
to the wheel. Anxiously we watch to see her head fall off, but she
stubbornly hangs. “Square that crojjick-yard.” This is done; and then
very heavily and clumsily we fall off and begin to gather way. So
close are we to the Frenchman now that we could talk to those on board
if the wind were not so strong. But we are not out of danger yet, for
the French skipper seems possessed of a devil, and follows us up, as
his vessel appears to handle like a yacht. It is but a few minutes
more, though, until we have put half a mile of clear water between
ourselves and M. Crapeau, and the danger is, for the time being, a
thing of the past.