Beagle sails with Paz and Liebre--Part company--Beagle visits
Buenos Ayres--Nautical remarks on the Plata--Sail from Monte Video
for San Blas--Lieut. Wickham and tenders--Butterflies--Sail for
Tierra del Fuego--White water--Icebergs--Rocks--Cape San
Sebastian--Oens men--Cape San Diego--Good Success Bay--Natives
--Guanacoes--Cape Horn--St. Martin Cove--Gales--Heavy Seas--Nassau
Bay--Goree Road--Prepare to land Matthews and the Fuegians.
18th October. No person who had only seen the Paz and Liebre in their
former wretched condition, would easily have recognised them after
being refitted, and having indeed almost a new equipment. Spars
altered, and improved rigging, well-cut sails, fresh paint,[1] and
thorough cleanliness, had transformed the dirty sealing craft into
smart little cock-boats: and as they sailed out of Port Belgrano
with the Beagle, their appearance and behaviour were by no means
discouraging.
At dusk, Lieutenant Wickham and his small party of venturous
associates separated from us, and steered into False Bay.[2] The
Beagle anchored for the night, and next day pursued her route towards
Monte Video, where she arrived on the 26th.
Desirous of communicating with the Government at Buenos Ayres, and
measuring the difference of meridians between that city and Monte
Video, we weighed anchor on the 31st, proceeded up the river, and
remained in the outer roadstead, off Buenos Ayres, until the 10th
of November. We then employed three days in verifying the positions
of some banks,[3] as laid down in Heywood’s and other charts, and
returned to Monte Video on the 14th.
It is not prudent for any vessel drawing more than ten feet water to
remain under sail in this part of the river, while it is dark, unless
a good pilot is on board; and even the best practical experience
is not always a sure guide, so uncertain and fluctuating are the
currents and depths of water. There are a few simple precautions,
useful in such circumstances, of which I may be excused for reminding
young sailors. A ground-log ought to be hove frequently, and compared
with a common log; there should be a leadsman in each chains, one, at
least, of whom should sound constantly: the deep-sea lead[4] ought
to be used now and then, even in shallow water, as a check upon the
hand-lead: from the vessel’s draught of water to two fathoms more
than that depth, the hand-line should be marked to feet, by alternate
marks of dark-coloured hair and small line: strong lanterns should
be suspended under the chain-wales, near the water, but close to
the ship’s side; while a careful person ought to superintend the
leadsman, and occasionally take a line into his own hand, so that by
‘plumbing’ the bottom himself he may ascertain how far reliance is to
be placed upon the leadsman’s opinion.
In the Plata, as well as in many other pilot-waters, to feel the
ground thus is often more useful than knowing the precise depth of
water, or even the colour, or nature, of the bottom.
27th Nov. Our arrangements and observations being satisfactorily
completed, a sufficient quantity of provision on board to last eight
months, at full allowance, and an extra supply of iron and coals
for the forge, in case of any serious accident, the Beagle sailed
from Monte Video; and, after filling water near Cape Jesu Maria,[5]
hastened to look after her little assistants, left near Bahia Blanco.
In this trip we benefitted by the assistance of Mr. Robert N. Hamond,
an early and much esteemed friend of mine, who was lent to the Beagle
from H.M.S. Druid, of which he was then a mate.
December 3d. Soon after daylight we saw the very low islands, just to
the northward of San Blas. I wished to have made Point Rubia, but was
set twenty miles northward, during the night, by the flood tide. We
stood directly towards the shore, but when eight miles from it found
a wide breadth of discoloured water, and the depth shoaled suddenly
from ten to three fathoms in a few casts of the lead. Hauling off,
we steered southward, with the ebb tide. There was no ripple on the
banks, but the water was quite yellow, and at the time we altered our
course, in consequence of such shallow water, the nearest land was,
at least, eight miles distant.
While tracing the outer edge of this bank we descried our cock-boats
coming out to meet us, and soon afterwards Mr. Wickham came on
board. He gave us gratifying news with little drawback; but had he
been half-roasted his own appearance could hardly have been more
changed. Notwithstanding the protection of a huge beard, every part
of his face was so scorched and blistered by the sun that he could
hardly speak, much less join in the irresistible laugh at his own
expense. His companions were similarly sun-burned, though not to
such a degree. They had been much occupied in sounding extensive
banks and harbours, under a hot sun, and while a fresh wind kept them
constantly wet with spray. But this inconvenience was trifling; one
of more importance was excessive sea-sickness, in consequence of the
short and violent movements of such small craft under sail among the
tide-races and eddies so numerous on that coast.
In other respects all had prospered so well, that I determined to
give Mr. Wickham fresh orders,[6] enlarging considerably his share of
surveying operations. He was desired to continue exploring the coast,
even as far as Port Desire, until the Beagle’s return from her visit
to Tierra del Fuego and the Falkland Islands.
As the weather promised well, an anchor was dropped where we were,
outside the banks, but the schooners sought shelter in the harbour of
San Blas. Next day they came out and anchored close to us, in order
to receive stores and various supplies which we had brought for them
from Buenos Ayres and Monte Video. I was a little uneasy when I saw
that the pilot of the Liebre, Mr. Roberts, was one of the largest of
men, and that his little vessel looked, by comparison, no bigger than
a coffin; but Mr. Wickham allayed my doubts by assuring me that his
moveable weight answered admirably in trimming the craft; and that,
when she got aground, Mr. Roberts stepped overboard, and heaved her
afloat. “Certainly,” said Mr. Wickham, “he did harm on one day, by
going up to look-out, and breaking the mast.”
In the afternoon of this day (4th) we weighed anchor and parted
company from the Paz and Liebre. They returned to San Blas, and the
Beagle steered southward. Secure and capacious as is the port just
mentioned, it is one of the most difficult and dangerous to enter
on this coast. The best, indeed only approach to it, is called by
those sealers and sea-elephant fishers who have hitherto frequented
it,--‘Hell-gate.’
At about four the weather was very hot, the sky cloudless, and
varying flaws of wind drove quantities of gossamer, and numbers of
insects off from the land. The horizon was strangely distorted by
refraction, and I anticipated some violent change. Suddenly myriads
of white butterflies surrounded the ship, in such multitudes, that
the men exclaimed, “it is snowing butterflies.” They were driven
before a gust from the north-west, which soon increased to a
double-reefed topsail breeze, and were as numerous as flakes of snow
in the thickest shower. The space they occupied could not have been
less than two hundred yards in height, a mile in width, and several
miles in length.
Our next object was to visit Tierra del Fuego, examine some portions
of that country--yet unexplored--and restore the Fuegians to their
native places; but in our passage, strong southerly winds, severe
squalls, and cold weather, though it was near midsummer in that
hemisphere, caused delay and discomfort, as they must always in a
small and deeply-laden vessel, where little can be done except in
fine weather.
We passed through a space of sea,[7] many miles in extent, where
the water was of a very much lighter colour than usual; not of a
light-green or muddy hue, such as one sees near land, but of a
milky white tint. Being in soundings, one naturally attributed such
a change of colour to some peculiarity in the ground; but I have
since thought differently, and am now inclined to believe that the
light-coloured water came from a distance, in one of those great,
though slow-moving currents, which sweep past the Falkland Islands,
and thence northwards: but to what cause its unusual whiteness is to
be attributed, I know not. The dissolution of a huge iceberg, or of
many icebergs, might alter the colour, and certainly would change
the temperature of a considerable body of water; but in this case, a
thermometer immersed in the sea did not indicate a degree lower than
that of the previous or following day. During the three days, our
soundings varied only from fifty to sixty fathoms. The lead certainly
brought up fine grey sand while the water was light-coloured, and
dark sand at other times; but I can hardly think that so decided
a change--different from any I noticed elsewhere--could have been
caused in fifty fathoms water by so small an alteration in the
quality of the bottom.
Icebergs have been seen in latitude 40° S., and near the longitude of
50° W.; perhaps they are sometimes carried nearer the coast, in which
case they would ground, and melt away.
I suspect that some of the rocks, so often, yet so fruitlessly,
sought for--and instead of which many persons have supposed dead
whales, wrecks, or large trees, were seen--may have been icebergs,
against and upon which sea-weed, drift-wood, or other substances,
may have lodged temporarily, causing a rock-like appearance. In this
way, perhaps, arose the report of a rock said to have been seen by
Lieutenant Burdwood; of the Aigle and Ariel rocks--and even of those
islets sought for ineffectually by Weddell, a few degrees eastward of
the Falkland Islands.[8]
In the first volume some notice was taken of the supposed Ariel
Rocks, and I will avail myself of this opportunity to say that
at various times the Beagle passed over and near their asserted
position; and that she likewise searched for the reported Aigle shoal
or rock, without ever finding the slightest indication of either.
On the 15th, we saw the land off Tierra del Fuego, near Cape San
Sebastian, and next day closed the shore about Cape Sunday, ran along
it past Cape Peñas, and anchored off Santa Inez. A group of Indians
was collected near Cape Peñas, who watched our motions attentively.
They were too far off for us to make out more than that they were
tall men, on foot, nearly naked, and accompanied by several large
dogs. To those who had never seen man in his savage state--one of
the most painfully interesting sights to his civilized brother--even
this distant glimpse of the aborigines was deeply engaging; but York
Minster and Jemmy Button asked me to fire at them, saying that they
were “Oens-men--very bad men.”
Our Fuegian companions seemed to be much elated at the certainty
of being so near their own country; and the boy was never tired of
telling us how excellent his land was--how glad his friends would
be to see him--and how well they would treat us in return for our
kindness to him.
We remained but a few hours at anchor under Cape Santa Inez, for so
heavy a swell set in, directly towards the shore, caused probably by
a northerly gale at a distance, that our situation was dangerous as
well as disagreeable. Our only chance of saving the anchor and chain
was by weighing immediately; yet if we did so, there would be a risk
of drifting ashore: however, we did weigh, and drifted some distance,
rolling our nettings in; but a breeze sprung up, freshened rapidly,
and soon carried us out of danger. This happened at three in the
morning, so my hopes of observations and angles were frustrated, and
I had no choice but to run for the strait of Le Maire.
At noon, very high breakers were reported by the mast-head man, off
Cape San Diego; at that time the flood-tide was setting strongly
against a northerly wind and high swell; but when the tide was slack,
at one, the breakers disappeared; and when we passed close to the
cape, at two, the water was comparatively smooth.
There is a ledge extending from Cape San Diego, over which the
flood-tide, coming from the southward, sometimes breaks with such
violence, that a small vessel might be swamped by the ‘bore’ which it
occasions.
As we sailed into Good Success Bay, a Fuegian yell echoed among
the woody heights, and shout after shout succeeded from a party of
natives, posted on a projecting woody eminence, at the north head of
the bay, who were seen waving skins, and beckoning to us with extreme
eagerness. Finding that we did not notice them, they lighted a fire,
which instantly sent up a volume of thick white smoke. I have often
been astonished at the rapidity with which the Fuegians produce this
effect (meant by them as a signal) in their wet climate, where I have
been, at times, more than two hours attempting to kindle a fire.
Scarcely was our ship secured, when the wind shifted to south-west,
and blew strongly, bringing much rain with it; and we had indeed
reason to rejoice at having attained so secure an anchorage. During
the night, heavy squalls (williwaws) disturbed our rest very often,
but did no injury, the water being quite smooth.
18th. Mr. Darwin, Mr. Hamond and others, went with me to the natives
who had so vociferously greeted our arrival; and deeply indeed was
I interested by witnessing the effect caused in their minds by this
first meeting with man in such a totally savage state.
There were five or six stout men, half-clothed in guanaco-skins,
almost like the Patagonians in aspect and stature, being near six
feet high, and confident in demeanour. They scarcely bore resemblance
to the Fuegians, except in colour and class of features. I can never
forget Mr. Hamond’s earnest expression, “What a pity such fine
fellows should be left in such a barbarous state!” It told me that a
desire to benefit these ignorant, though by no means contemptible
human beings, was a natural emotion, and not the effect of individual
caprice or erroneous enthusiasm; and that his feelings were exactly
in unison with those I had experienced on former occasions, which
had led to my undertaking the heavy charge of those Fuegians whom I
brought to England.
Disagreeable, indeed painful, as is even the mental contemplation
of a savage, and unwilling as we may be to consider ourselves even
remotely descended from human beings in such a state, the reflection
that Cæsar found the Britons painted and clothed in skins, like
these Fuegians, cannot fail to augment an interest excited by their
childish ignorance of matters familiar to civilized man, and by
their healthy, independent state of existence. One of these men was
just six feet high, and stout in proportion; the others were rather
shorter: their legs were straight and well formed, not cramped and
misshapen, like those of the natives who go about in canoes; and
their bodies were rounded and smooth. They expressed satisfaction or
good will by rubbing or patting their own, and then our bodies; and
were highly pleased by the antics of a man belonging to the boat’s
crew, who danced well and was a good mimic. One of the Fuegians
was so like York Minster, that he might well have passed for his
brother. He asked eagerly for “cuchillo.” About his eyes were circles
of white paint, and his upper lip was daubed with red ochre and
oil. Another man was rubbed over with black. They were (apparently)
very good-humoured, talked and played with the younger ones of our
party, danced, stood up back to back with our tallest men to compare
heights, and began to try their strength in wrestling--but this I
stopped. It was amusing and interesting to see their meeting with
York and Jemmy, who would not acknowledge them as countrymen, but
laughed at and mocked them. It was evident that both of our Fuegians
understood much of the language in which the others talked; but they
would not try to interpret, alleging that they did not know enough.
York betrayed this by bursting into an immoderate fit of laughter at
something the oldest man told him, which he could not resist telling
us was, that the old man said he was dirty, and ought to pull out
his beard. Now, if their language differed much from that of York
Minster, or was indeed other than a dialect of the same original, it
is not probable that York could have understood the old man’s meaning
so readily when he spoke quietly, without signs.
Richard Matthews was with us, but did not appear to be at all
discouraged by a close inspection of these natives. He remarked to
me, that “they were no worse than he had supposed them to be.”
20th. Soon after day-light this morning, some very large guanacoes
were seen near the top of Banks Hill.[9] They walked slowly and
heavily, and their tails hung down to their hocks. To me their size
seemed double that of the guanacoes about Port Desire. Mr. Darwin and
a party set off to ascend the heights, anxious to get a shot at the
guanacoes and obtain an extended view, besides making observations.
They reached the summit, and saw several large animals, whose long
woolly coats and tails added to their real bulk, and gave them an
appearance quite distinct from that of the Patagonian animal; but
they could not succeed in shooting one.
21st. Sailed from Good Success Bay. On the 22d we saw Cape Horn, and
being favoured with northerly winds, passed close to the southward
of it before three o’clock. The wind then shifted to north-west,
and began to blow strong. Squalls came over the heights of Hermite
Island, and a very violent one, with thick weather, decided my
standing out to sea for the night under close-reefed topsails. The
weather continued bad and very cold during that night and next day.
On the morning of the 24th, being off Cape Spencer, with threatening
weather, a high sea, the barometer low, and great heavy-looking white
clouds rising in the south-west, indicative of a gale from that
quarter, I determined to seek for an anchorage, and stood into (the
so-called[10]) St. Francis Bay. In passing Cape Spencer we were
assailed by such a furious hail-squall, that for many minutes it was
quite impossible to look to windward, or even to see what was a-head
of us. We could not venture to wear round, or even heave to, for fear
of getting so far to leeward as to lose our chance of obtaining an
anchorage; however, we stood on at hazard, and the squall passed away
soon enough to admit of our anchoring in seventeen-fathoms water,
quite close to a steep promontory at the south side of St. Martin
Cove.
After being for some time accustomed to the low barren shores and
shallow harbours of the Pampa and Patagonian coasts, our position
almost under this black precipice was singularly striking. The
decided contrast of abrupt, high, and woody mountains, rising from
deep water, had been much remarked in Good Success Bay; but here it
was so great that I could hardly persuade myself that the ship was in
security--sufficiently far from the cliff.[11]
25th. Notwithstanding violent squalls, and cold damp weather, we kept
our Christmas merrily; certainly, not the less so, in consequence of
feeling that we were in a secure position, instead of being exposed
to the effects of a high sea and heavy gale.
At sunset, there was a reddish appearance all over the sky--clouds
shot over the summits of the mountains in ragged detached masses--and
there was a lurid haze around, which showed a coming storm as surely
as a fall of the barometer. The gale increased, and at midnight such
furious squalls came down from the heights, that the water was swept
up, and clouds of foam were driven along the sea. Although we were
close to a weather shore, with our top-gallant masts down and yards
braced sharp up, we hardly thought ourselves in security with three
anchors down and plenty of chain cable out.[12]
Dec. 31. Tired and impatient at the delay caused by bad weather,
we put to sea again the first day there was a hope of not being
driven eastward; and during a fortnight we tried hard to work our
way towards Christmas Sound. My purpose was to land York Minster and
Fuegia Basket among their own people, near March Harbour, and return
eastward through the Beagle Channel, landing Jemmy Button also with
his tribe, the Tekeenica. Part of Whale-boat Sound and the western
arms of the Beagle Channel were to be surveyed: and by this scheme I
proposed to combine both objects.
Jan. 2d. We were rather too near the Diego Ramirez Islands, during a
fresh gale of wind, with much sea; but by carrying a heavy press of
sail, our good little ship weathered them cleverly, going from seven
and a half to eight knots an hour, under close-reefed topsails and
double-reefed courses--the top-gallant-masts being on deck.
On the 5th, the same islands were again under our lee--a sufficient
evidence that we did not make westing. In fact, no sooner did we get
a few reefs out, than we began taking them in again; and although
every change of wind was turned to account, as far as possible, but
little ground was gained.
On the 11th we saw that wild-looking height, called York Minster,
‘looming’ among driving clouds, and I flattered myself we should
reach an anchorage; but after tearing through heavy seas, under
all the sail we could carry, darkness and a succession of violent
squalls, accompanied by hail and rain, obliged me to stand to
seaward, after being within a mile of our port. All the next day we
were lying-to in a heavy gale--wearing occasionally.
At three in the morning of the 13th, the vessel lurched so deeply,
and the main-mast bent and quivered so much, that I reluctantly took
in the main-topsail (small as it was when close-reefed), leaving
set only the storm-trysails (close-reefed) and fore-staysail.[13]
At ten, there was so continued and heavy a rush of wind, that even
the diminutive trysails oppressed the vessel too much, and they
were still farther reduced. Soon after one, the sea had risen to a
great height, and I was anxiously watching the successive waves,
when three huge rollers approached, whose size and steepness at once
told me that our sea-boat, good as she was, would be sorely tried.
Having steerage way, the vessel met and rose over the first unharmed,
but, of course, her way was checked; the second deadened her way
completely, throwing her off the wind; and the third great sea,
taking her right a-beam, turned her so far over, that all the lee
bulwark, from the cat-head to the stern davit, was two or three feet
under water.
For a moment, our position was critical; but, like a cask, she rolled
back again, though with some feet of water over the whole deck. Had
another sea then struck her, the little ship might have been numbered
among the many of her class which have disappeared: but the crisis
was past--she shook the sea off her through the ports, and was none
the worse--excepting the loss of a lee-quarter boat, which, although
carried three feet higher than in the former voyage (1826-1830), was
dipped under water, and torn away.[14]
From that time the wind abated, and the sea became less high.[15]
The main-topsail was again set, though with difficulty, and at four
o’clock the fore-topsail and double-reefed foresail were helping us
towards False Cape Horn, my intention being to anchor in Nassau Bay.
When the quarter-boat was torn away, we were between the Ildefonsos
and Diego Ramirez: the wind varying from W.S.W. to S.W.
This gale was severely felt on all parts of the coast, south of 48°,
as I afterwards ascertained from sealing vessels: and at the Falkland
Islands, a French whaler, called Le Magellan, was driven from her
anchors and totally wrecked in that land-locked and excellent port,
Berkeley Sound.
Some persons are disposed to form a very premature opinion of the
wind or weather to be met with in particular regions, judging only
from what they may themselves have experienced. Happily, extreme
cases are not often met with; but one cannot help regretting the
haste with which some men (who have sailed round Cape Horn with
royals set) incline to cavil at and doubt the description of Anson
and other navigators, who were not only far less fortunate as to
weather, but had to deal with crazy ships, inefficient crews, and
unknown shores; besides hunger, thirst, and disease.
Before midnight we anchored under shelter of the land near False
Cape Horn; and next morning (14th) crossed Nassau Bay in search of
a convenient harbour near the Beagle Channel. Having found so much
difficulty in getting to the westward by the open sea, I decided to
employ boats in the interior passages, and leave the Beagle at a
secure anchorage.
Furious squalls prevented our effecting this purpose; and we anchored
for the night in Windhond Bay.[16] The following day (15th) we again
tried to get to the head or north-west corner of Nassau Bay, but
ineffectually, for repeated squalls opposed us, and at last obliged
me to bear up for Goree Road; one of the most spacious, accessible,
and safe anchorages in these regions. Here, to my surprise, York
Minster told me that he would rather live with Jemmy Button in the
Tekeenica country than go to his own people. This was a complete
change in his ideas, and I was very glad of it; because it might be
far better that the three, York, Jemmy, and Fuegia, should settle
together. I little thought how deep a scheme master York had in
contemplation.
18th. Having moored the Beagle in security, and made arrangements for
the occupation of those who were to remain on board, I set out with
four boats (yawl and three whale-boats), carrying Matthews and the
Fuegians, with all the stock of useful things which had been given
to them in England.[17] A temporary deck having been put upon the
yawl, she carried a large cargo, and was towed by the other boats
when the wind was adverse. Matthews showed no sign of hesitation or
reluctance; on the contrary, he was eager to begin the trial to which
he had been so long looking forward. Messrs. Darwin, Bynoe, Hamond,
Stewart, and Johnson, with twenty-four seamen and marines, completed
the party.
My intention was to go round the north-east part of Navarin Island,
along the eastern arm of the Beagle Channel, through Murray Narrow,
to the spot which Jemmy called his country: there establish the
Fuegians, with Matthews:--leave them for a time, while I continued my
route westward to explore the western arms of the channel, and part
of Whale-boat Sound: and at my return thence decide whether Matthews
should be left among the natives for a longer period, or return with
me to the Beagle.
But before I briefly relate this attempt to form a temporary
settlement among the Fuegians, it may be advisable to give a general
sketch of the aborigines who thinly people the southernmost regions
of South America: including not only the various tribes of Fuegians
(as far as we know them), but the Patagonians, and those natives
of Western Patagonia who are supposed to be a remnant of the tribe
called Chonos.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Or rather red-ochre, coal-tar, and white-wash.
[2] See orders to Lieut. Wickham, in the Appendix.
[3] Ortiz, Chico, and Ensenada.
[4] Massey’s is preferable.
[5] Above Monte Video, on the north shore.
[6] See Appendix.
[7] Lat. 46° S. Long. 63° W.
[8] On this subject there are a few more remarks, under the
head--Currents of the ocean,--in the last chapter but one.
[9] So named in remembrance of Sir Joseph Banks’s excursion.
[10] In the first volume doubts are expressed (in a note to page
199) respecting the place named by D’Arquistade, St. Francis Bay;
or rather, I said, that “I do not think the bay adjacent to Cape
Horn is that which was named by D’Arquistade, ‘St. Francis,’ and, if
my supposition is correct, Port Maxwell is not the place which was
called ‘St. Bernard’s Cove.’”
If the modern chart be compared with that issued by the Admiralty a
few years ago, published by Faden in 1818, it will be seen that the
particular plan of St. Francis Bay, given in Faden’s chart, agrees
much better with the west side of Nassau Bay than with any other
place; and that the “remarkable island, like a castle,” noticed in
the plan, is evidently “Packsaddle Island,” of the modern chart.
The rough sketch of land towards the north and east, as far as Cape
Horn, on that plan, I take to be the random outline of land seen at a
distance by the person who drew the plan, and the name “Cape Horn,”
affixed to the southernmost land then in sight; which must have been
Cape Spencer. But it is now too late to remedy the mistake, which is
indeed of no consequence.
[11] As the shores of Tierra del Fuego are so much spoken of in other
places, I say no more of them here.
[12] During such sudden, and at times tremendous squalls as these, it
is absolutely necessary to have a long scope of cable out, although
the vessel may be in smooth water, in order that the first fury
of the blast may be over before the cable is strained tight; for
otherwise, the chain or anchor might snap. When the violence of the
squall is past, the weight of a chain cable sinking down, draws the
ship a-head, so far as to admit of her recoiling again at the next
williwaw; thus, a kind of elasticity may be given to a chain, in some
degree equivalent to that always possessed by a hemp cable.
[13] I have always succeeded in carrying a close-reefed main-topsail
(five reefs) in the Beagle, excepting on this and two other
occasions; but were I again under similar circumstances, I think I
should try to carry it--even then--for some time longer.
[14] It was well that all our hatchways were thoroughly secured, and
that nothing heavy could break adrift. But little water found its way
to the lower deck, though Mr. Darwin’s collections, in the poop and
forecastle cabins on deck, were much injured. Next to keeping a sharp
look-out upon the sky, the water, and the barometer, we were always
anxious to batten down our hatches in time--especially at night,
during a gale, or in very squally weather.
[15] The roller which hove us almost on our beam ends, was the
highest and most hollow that I have seen, excepting one in the Bay of
Biscay, and one in the Southern Atlantic; yet so easy was our little
vessel that nothing was injured besides the boat, the netting (washed
away), and one chronometer.
[16] So named by the Dutch in 1624, after one of their ships, the
Windhond.
[17] By far the larger part of their property, including Matthews’s
outfit, was sent by Mr. Coates, Secretary of the Church Missionary
Society.