Paz and Liebre begin work--Chronometers--Fish--Animals--San Blas
--Wrecks--River Negro--Del Carmen--Inhabitants--Indians--Trade
--Williams drowned--Port Desire--Gale--Salinas--Lightning--Bones
in Tomb--Trees--Dangers--New Bay--Cattle--Seal--Soil--River Chupat
--Drift Timber--Fertility--Wild Cattle--Valdes Creek--Imminent
danger--Tide Races--Bar of the Negro--Hunting--Attack of Indians
--Villarino--Falkner.
The Paz and Liebre parted company with the Beagle on the 18th
of October 1832, and commenced their undertaking by a cursory
examination of the entrance to False Bay, Green Bay, and Brightman
Inlet. Lieut. Wickham and Mr. King, with Roberts and four men, were
in the Liebre.[1] Messrs. Stokes, Mellersh, and Forsyth, with Harris
and five men, were on board the Paz.[2] While they were northward of
the Colorado, true bearings of the Ventana Mountain, and observed
latitudes, made them independent of their five chronometers; but
it was soon found that the rates of those useful machines were not
injured even by the continual as well as sudden motions of so small
a vessel. They were bedded in sawdust, wool, and sand,[3] within a
large tub, which was secured to the deck under the cabin table of the
Paz, not far from the centre of least motion.
In Brightman Inlet great quantities of fish were caught, by stopping
up the mouths of small creeks with a net at high water, and when the
tide ebbed many more were left ashore than were wanted. On Green
Island they found good water by digging wells seven or eight feet
deep. The island itself was overrun by deer and cavies: and on the
main land the wild pig of the country (javali) was seen. On the 23d
they entered the river Colorado, but had much trouble in warping
to a safe berth, on account of the water being very shoal at the
entrance which they had chosen. The principal mouth was a quarter
of it mile further south, the stream being there “broad and rapid,”
with two fathoms water when the tide was out; but beset, to seaward,
by sand-banks, which shift with every south-east gale. Quantities
of drift-wood, a kind of willow (sauci), lay about every where,
indicating that the river sometimes overflowed its banks to a great
distance, and brought down these trees from the interior country, as
none grow within three leagues of the mouth. The river hereabouts is
divided into many streams, forming a great number of small islands,
which are nearly all of clay covered with rushes. From one of these
streams or channels, the Cañada, there are creeks communicating at
high-water with Union Bay. Here Lieut. Wickham’s party saw a wolf.
On the 27th they met a whale-boat (at Creek Island in Anegada Bay)
from the River Negro, in search of sea-elephants. Next day they
reached a snug creek in San Blas Bay, where they heard that the
Indians had lately driven off all the cattle from the San Blas
Estancia, had destroyed the houses, dismounted the guns, and broken
the carriages. They were accompanied by a number of desperate
criminals who had fled from justice at Buenos Ayres, and idle
gauchos, who preferred robbery to work, and were unquestionably the
most savage of the troop. On the 29th the Liebre was hauled ashore,
to extract a piece of sauci wood that had run through her bottom:
and a party was afterwards employed in erecting a conspicuous mark
upon Hog Island; a very difficult task, because the loose sand, of
which that island wholly consists, flies in clouds at every gust, and
nowhere affords a solid foundation. By the help of casks filled with
it, and spare anchors, they at length succeeded in securing an old
spar upright, which was large enough to be seen ten miles round, in
that low half-drowned country.
Deer were very numerous on Javali Island; but on the place called
Deer Island, there was not one, though they were so plentiful there
a few years before. Some dogs had been left there by a whale-ship,
which have increased very much in numbers and are very savage: these
dogs have exterminated the deer.
Any quantity of fresh water may be obtained in San Blas Bay, by
digging wells six or eight feet deep; and fish are abundant: but it
is no place for a ship to enter unless under favourable circumstances
of weather, wind, and tide; and decidedly dangerous with a
south-easter, because there is then a sea on the banks outside which
confuses the pilot’s eye, and prevents his distinguishing the proper
channel; besides which, thick weather, if not rain, is the general
accompaniment to that wind.
On the 3d of December the Beagle anchored off San Blas (as formerly
mentioned). Both schooners went out to her, and in returning at night
into San Blas Bay, working to windward with a strong flood tide,
they passed close to an unknown rock which would have made an end of
their cruise had they touched it. The least water they had, however,
was eight feet;[4] but both vessels were close to it, while the tide
was running four or five knots. This rock is in the middle of the
entrance to San Blas Bay. At midnight they reached their anchorage,
without a dry article in either vessel.
On the 6th, Lieutenant Wickham remarked, while at anchor between
San Blas and the River Negro, off Point Rasa, that the stream of
tide began to set northward at half flood, and continued to run
in that direction until half ebb, by the shore. “It is not at all
uncommon on this coast,” he says, “to see wrecks of vessels above
high-water mark, and spars strewed along the beach where the sea
does not touch them.” These wrecks took place during south-east
gales, when the sea was raised above its usual level in fine weather:
and were the vessels spoken of in the previous chapter, as having
been entrusted to ignorant or careless prize-masters, who ran for
San Blas or the River Negro, not then knowing that so fine a port
as Blanco Bay existed. Strong tides, shoals, a low coast, and bad
weather would have perplexed professed seamen; but those difficulties
were insurmountable to such unpractised craftsmen as those who were
in charge of them, and most of the prizes were lost. One large
ship of four or five hundred tons was taken, by a wiser master,
to Port Melo, and there her cargo was discharged into small craft,
which landed it safely in the River Negro. Many of these ill-fated
vessels were never afterwards heard of; but from the numerous wrecks
seen along the coast between the Colorado and the Negro, it may be
inferred that they and their unfortunate crews perished in the surf
occasioned by south-east gales, or were capsized by sudden pamperoes.
Running up the River Negro (on the 7th December), Lieut. Wickham
found the ‘freshes’[5] strongly against him. The banks of the river
afforded a pleasing contrast, by their verdure, to the arid desert
around Anegada Bay. Most part of these banks was cultivated, and
great quantities of fine corn was seen growing. Here and there were
country houses (quintas) surrounded by gardens, in which apple, fig,
walnut, cherry, quince, and peach trees, vines, and vegetables of
most kinds were abundantly plentiful.
Although the banks of the river are so fit for cultivation, it is
only in consequence of floods, which take place twice a-year--once
during the rainy season of the interior, and once at the time when
the snow melts on the Cordillera. These floods swell the river
several feet above its banks, bringing a deposit of mud and decayed
vegetable matter, which enriches the soil and keeps it moist even
during the long droughts of that climate.
The plough used there is wooden, and generally worked by oxen, but it
does not cut deeply. Manure is never used, the soil being so fattened
by alluvial deposits.
The town of Nuestra Señora del Carmen, is about six leagues up the
river, on its northern bank, upon a slightly-rising ground about
forty feet above the water. It is irregularly built: the houses are
small, one only having two stories; and glass windows are seldom
seen: each house has a large oven. A square enclosure of some extent,
formed by walls of unbaked bricks (adobes), is called the fort, and
within it are the church, the governor’s house, lodgings for the
officers, and public stores. This fort commands the neighbourhood, as
well as the houses (or cottages) surrounding it; and of the hundred
buildings which compose the town of Carmen, exclusive of about thirty
huts on the south bank of the river, the fort is the oldest. It was
built about 1763. Some houses, forty years old, are as fresh in
outward appearance, as if built only a few years ago. In a population
of 1,400, there are about 500 negroes. Altogether there may be in
the town about two thousand inhabitants, but many of the poorer
families and negroes live in caves, which were dug out of cliffs on
the river’s bank by the first Spanish settlers. It is said that they
served the Spaniards as a secure refuge from the Indians, who could
only approach them by one path, easily secured. These caves, dug out
of earthy clay, are not despicable dwellings, while there is a fire
in them to expel damp.
About a league from the entrance of the river are the ruins of a
large house, which was the “Estancia del Rey.” In former days 100,000
head of cattle were attached to that establishment, now there is not
even a calf.
Some of the first settlers were living at Carmen in 1833, staunch
royalists, every one looking back with regret to former times. One of
them belonged to the crew of the Spanish launch that first entered
the river. He said, that the Indians were then living in detached
tribes along both banks of the river, and were very friendly to the
Spaniards. This same old man afterwards made one of the exploring
party, under Villarino, in 1786, when the natives were not only
inoffensive, but gave them assistance. How different from the present
day! when if a Christian is seen by the natives, he is immediately
hunted, and his safety depends upon the fleetness of his horse. It
has sometimes happened, that persons riding along near this river,
have been surprized by a marauding party of Indians, and obliged, as
their only resource, to leap off the banks (barrancas), whether high
or low, and swim across to the other side. The Indians have never
followed; hence this, though requiring resolution, is a sure mode of
escape.
Prior to the conclusion of the war between Brazil and Buenos Ayres
(1828), the settlers at Carmen lived tranquilly--undisturbed by
Indian aggression (retaliation?) but since that time, they have been
kept in continual alarm. Prisoners are often brought to Carmen to
be ransomed, whom the Indians have taken from other places. They
are generally women or children; and as the Indians often find
out who their prisoners are, the ransoms asked are proportionably
exorbitant. Men are usually put to death, if they do not die of
their wounds. There is a tribe of friendly Indians living near
Carmen, at the outskirts of the town, who do much hard work for the
inhabitants for very trifling remuneration; but they are shamefully
abused, cheated in every way by shopkeepers and liquor-venders, and
harshly treated by other persons, who seem to consider them inferior
beings--unworthy of any kind or humane consideration. Should one of
these poor creatures fall by the knife of a passionate white man,
no notice is taken of it by the authorities; the murderer boasts of
his deed, and the poor relations suffer patiently the loss and the
insult, which they dare not avenge. Having quitted the free tribes,
seduced by promises never fulfilled, they would not be received among
them again; and their own numbers, originally small, are reduced
daily by disease and abominable drugs, which the publicans sell
them in what is said to be spirituous liquor (agua ardiente). Mr.
Wickham saw a poor Indian woman, between forty and fifty years of
age, almost killed by a blow on the head from an ox’s skull (with the
horns), given by a wretch, who had drawn his knife upon her husband
for preventing his kissing a pretty girl, their daughter, who was
walking with her. This scoundrel was seen by Mr. Wickham, a few days
afterwards, betting at the race-course with the principal people of
the place.
Thanks to the influence of Harris and Roberts, and their connections
(both being married to daughters of Spanish settlers), our officers
and men were exceedingly well treated. Every door was open to them;
and the fruit in every garden was freely, as well as sincerely
offered. Letters had been forwarded to the commandant or governor,
from Buenos Ayres, desiring that we might have every facility and
freedom in our operations; but the disposition towards us was such,
that those letters were not required.
From the remains of former buildings, and accounts of the old men,
Lieutenant Wickham thought that the Spanish settlers must have been
far more industrious and ingenious than their creole descendants, who
are idle, indolent, and ignorant. The height of their ambition is to
make a show at the Sunday races, where they deceive, drink, wrangle,
gamble, and quarrel. These Sabbath occupations are always attended
by the female part of the population, who take that opportunity of
displaying their finery; and though seated upon handkerchiefs on the
sandy ground, without any defence from sun, wind, dust, or rain,
every damsel displays silk stockings and a gaudy dress upon these
occasions. The men do not go near them, notwithstanding their attire:
they can beat a poor woman almost to death, upon occasion; but they
cannot defer a bet, or risk losing a dollar, for the sake of female
society.
The climate is so healthy, that illness of any kind is scarcely
known; and the inhabitants, in general, live to a good old age. There
is a stirring trade carried on in small vessels, between Buenos Ayres
and this place. Salt, of excellent quality, hides, peltry, seal or
sea-elephant oil, and skins, are the principal exports, in return for
which are received manufactures, sugar, spirits, tobacco, &c.
The Indians, who live at the outskirts of the town in ‘toldos,’ which
are neither wind nor water-tight, load vessels with salt; but the
price of their labour is usually spent in some kind of spirituous
liquor, which is made and drugged expressly for them--the publicans
often saying, “that it is a sin to give an Indian good spirits.” When
drunk, the howling of these poor wretches is quite frightful. Some of
them are almost skeletons--the result, probably, of drinking.
Some leagues up the river coal is obtained, I was informed, but I did
not see a specimen myself. Probably Mr. Darwin had an opportunity of
examining its quality.
On the 12th, Lieutenant Wickham sailed for Blanco Bay, to deliver
some letters from me (which I had received from Buenos Ayres) to the
commandant Rodriguez.
13th. Off the banks in Anegada Bay there was too much sea (during a
S.W. gale) for the Liebre to keep on her course any longer, having
run as long as was prudent, and already shipped several seas. When
hove-to, under a balance-reefed foresail, with the tiller unshipped,
she was dry and easy, and lay about five points from the wind.
Mr. Wickham arrived at Argentina on the 16th, and left it on the
following day. In sailing out of Blanco Bay, along the south shore,
while it was dark, the Liebre grounded frequently; but her crew got
overboard, and hauled her over the banks as often as she was stopped
by them, and at midnight she was at sea. A south-east gale on the
18th drove her into the Colorado, where Lieutenant Wickham found a
strong-outset, owing to the ‘freshes,’ even during the flood-tide.
On the 22d, the Liebre entered the river again, and anchored near
Carmen.
At daylight on the 24th, Corporal Williams was missed, supposed
to have fallen overboard in the night, while asleep. He slept on
deck sometimes, when tormented by musquitoes; and as the Liebre’s
weather-cloth rail was but a few inches above the deck, he might
possibly have rolled overboard into the stream, which would
immediately have carried him away. His body was found, about three
miles down the river, at sunset the next evening (Christmas day). The
governor (though a Roman catholic) allowed the burial to take place
in the consecrated ground of the church, and the curate himself was
present.
While the Liebre was absent, Mr. Stokes, in the Paz, surveyed many
miles of the river, as well as the bar. No vessel drawing more than
eleven feet water can enter without much danger: if at a favourable
time any person should be induced to risk crossing the bar with a
ship of greater draught, he should bear in mind that it is much more
difficult to get to sea than it is to enter, because wind which is
fair for approaching, raises the water; and the reverse. Although
ships drawing fourteen feet have passed the bar, at unusually
favourable times, others of only ten feet draught have been detained
forty days in the river.
29th. Both our little vessels sailed, and on the 4th of January they
anchored safely in Port Desire:--this was a bold stroke, but success
attended it. They were thus placed at the southernmost point of the
coast they were to survey, while the sun was farthest south; and as
the days shortened, they would work along the coast northward. Recent
traces of Indians were found; and the master of an American sealer
told Mr. Wickham that they had been there in considerable numbers,
about two months previously. The wells were all full; therefore much
rain must have fallen during October, November, or December. I have
mentioned elsewhere that although the eastern coast of Patagonia
is usually an arid desert, there are periodical times, of short
duration, at which rain falls abundantly.
11th. Having rated their chronometers, the little vessels stood
out to sea, in company with the North American sealer; but they
had not sailed many miles before the wind increased to a gale, and
still becoming stronger, bringing clouds of dust and sand off the
land, they were reduced to bare poles, and drifted fast off-shore,
as well as northward. When the fury of the gale was over, their
balance-reefed foresails were set, and with their tillers unshipped
they made very good weather, until they were driven near the
tide-races off Cape Blanco, where some anxious hours were passed,
half-buried in foam, and the wind again almost a hurricane. Towards
evening, the storm abated; our water-soaked explorers succeeded in
regaining a position under shelter of the land; and anchored next
morning under Cape Blanco, to dry themselves and take observations.
In this severe gale, the North American schooner split two
close-reefed foresails, lost a boat, and was otherwise damaged.
Lieutenant Wickham and Mr. Mellersh walked a long way from Cape
Blanco, to trace the coast, and look out for shoals in the offing; in
doing which, they found numerous ‘salinas’ (extensive hollow places
filled with salt), where the solid mass of very white and good salt
was several feet in thickness. Guanacoes were numerous, but shy. On
the rocks some fur-seal were seen; too few, however, to be worth
a sealer’s notice. The following week was passed in examining St.
George Bay. Scarcely any stream of tide was found in its western
part, though the rise amounted to nearly twenty feet. About Tilly
road, where they landed, the mass or principal part of the soil,
where visible in cliffs or ravines, is loose sandy clay (diluvium),
with immense quantities of large fossil oyster shells imbedded in it.
These shells were found every where, even on summits seven or eight
hundred feet above the sea, and some of them weighed eight pounds.
A place honoured by the Spaniards with the name of Malaspina, and
described as a port, was found to be a wretched cove, full of rocks,
hardly safe even for the Liebre. While moored there, our party
witnessed lightning set fire to bushes and grass. The flames spread
rapidly, and for two days, the face of the country continued to
blaze. Near Port Arredondo, Mr. Wickham went to the tops of several
hills; he found the country unproductive, except of a few bushes, and
yellow wiry grass. There were no traces of natives. Very heavy rain
fell during the night of the 28th. I mention it thus particularly,
because some persons have said that rain never falls on the east
coast of Patagonia, in any quantity.
The cove called ‘Oven’ is a singular place, being a parting (as it
were) in the solid rock, nearly a mile in length, but very narrow,
with four fathoms water in it at low tide. Surrounded on all sides by
precipitous hills, it is, indeed, an oven; and would injure a ship
seriously, even more than other ports on this arid coast, if she
were to lie long in it; as her seams would all be opened, and her
planks split by the heat and drought. The water found here was so
strongly impregnated with salt-petre, that it was not drinkable; but
probably better might have been procured had they dug fresh wells.
On the summit of South Cape an Indian tomb was found. The stones had
been displaced, and some bones were lying about, a few of which were
taken on board, but none could be got in a perfect state. Mr. Bynoe
afterwards examined them, and informed me that they had belonged to a
female of small stature.[6]
Off Ship Island, and thence to Cape Dos Bahias, the tide-stream
was again felt strongly, running two, three, or, in some places,
four knots an hour. At a little creek, in Camarones Bay, near Cape
Dos Bahias, abundance of small wood, fit for fuel, was found; and
plenty of fresh water in hollows of the rocks. A guanaco was shot,
which weighed upwards of two hundred pounds. Not only is small wood
plentiful about Camarones Bay, but the country is sufficiently
covered with grass of good quality. Several Indian tombs were seen on
the hills, whence it may be inferred that natives at times frequent
the neighbourhood, although no recent traces were met with by our
party. Unfortunately, not one of these tombs, simply irregular piles
of stones, was found in an undisturbed state, neither were any more
bones discovered: they are all similarly situated upon the most
conspicuous, smooth, and round-topped hills.
At Port Santa Elena many tons of excellent water were procured from
hollows in the rocks. (7th Feb.) Approaches to trees were found at
this place, which though stunted as to height, much like thorn-trees
in exposed situations, were of respectable dimensions. One measured
more than three feet round the trunk, but its fellow was not seen.
After dusk, on the 10th, while endeavouring to enter New Bay, with
a fresh wind and strong flood-tide, the Liebre got into a ‘race,’
and was hustled within a fathom of a rock, over which the tide was
boiling furiously. Fortunately, the Paz saw the Liebre alter course
and make more sail, and by immediately following her example,
avoided the danger. They then hauled off, and passed the night at sea.
Next day (11th), they stood towards the bay again, the wind
increasing fast, till it blew a gale from W.S.W., which being against
a flood-tide stream, running at the rate of four knots through the
entrance, raised a short hollow sea, dangerous for small craft.
Battening down the hatches securely, and close-reefing, the little
vessels worked through gallantly, though frequently obliged to lower
their sails in squalls, or as they dived into a sea heavier than
usual. The tide soon swept them beyond the narrow part, and then they
were comparatively in safety.
Part of the west shores of New Bay seemed to be fit for cultivation,
being covered with a fine dark soil; and there is abundance of
fire-wood. Some small ponds of excellent water were found, over a
clayey bed, in which were tracks of cattle. A guanaco shot here was
superior to any killed elsewhere, as to condition. Many thousand
seals were seen on the rocks, which did not take to the water as soon
as disturbed--therefore they could not have been much molested by man.
On the 24th, Lieutenant Wickham discovered the river Chupat, and
after waiting for the tide, anchored half a mile within the entrance.
Next day he went a few miles up it in a boat, and found that, though
free from drift-timber, it was shoal and narrow, few places being
deeper than six feet at low-water, or wider than a hundred yards. The
stream ran down two or three knots an hour. Many tracks of cattle
were seen, but none of natives. As the river seemed to be free from
sunken trees, and to have but few banks in it, Mr. Wickham decided
to move the Liebre as far up as he could, and then make another
excursion in his little two-oared skiff. Between pulling[7] and
sailing, the Liebre was moved twelve miles up in one day, and was
moored in the middle of the stream, lest Indians should be near.
Next morning, Mr. Wickham went in his boat, about eight miles
further; but in a direct line he was then not more than twelve miles
from the entrance. Along the banks on each side, as he had advanced,
both he and those with him, were much struck by the richness of the
alluvial land (caused doubtless by the river overflowing its low
banks), and by the quantities of drift-timber, which actually looked
like the stores in immense timber-yards. Among the drift-wood there
were many large and sound trees left several hundred yards from the
banks, therefore the periodical floods must be great.
At Mr. Wickham’s westernmost point “the river and the country round
had a beautiful appearance, as seen from a rising ground on the south
side--an excellent position for a settlement.” From this elevation
the stream was traced to the westward, running with a very serpentine
course, through level meadow land, covered with rich herbage. Several
herds of wild cattle were seen, and their traces were observed every
where in such numbers as to indicate a great abundance of animals.
Mr. Wickham returned on the 26th to the entrance, and found that
a store of fish had been salted by the cook, while Mr. Stokes and
others were going about, surveying the neighbourhood. These fish were
a kind of bass, nearly as good as salmon.
I have no doubt that this is a river whose existence has been
many years known by Spaniards, but of which the situation was
intentionally concealed, on account of the lucrative trade some
individuals hoped to carry on by means of hides and tallow obtained
from the herds of wild cattle. The Spaniards used to anchor their
vessels in Port San José, and thence ride in large parties to the
Chupat; there they surrounded numbers of cattle, and drove them
across the peninsula between San José and New Bay, where they
slaughtered them at leisure. Numbers were probably killed nearer the
river; but all that could be driven, had doubtless the privilege of
conveying their own hides to the neighbourhood of their hunters’
ships. There was still living at the River Negro (in 1833) an old
man, who was one of the few individuals that escaped during a
dreadful massacre of Spanish settlers at Port San José. He said
that the Indians were jealous of their encroachments, and seized an
opportunity, while the Spaniards were attending the performance of
mass, to fall upon them, and indiscriminately slay all, except three
or four who were taken alive and kept as slaves.
That the Spaniards should have chosen San José for the place of
their settlement instead of New Bay, or the Chupat itself, is easily
accounted for, by mentioning that small vessels can generally run
from the River Negro to Port San José without much risk and in a
short time, whereas there are strong tides and dangerous ‘races’
off the peninsula of San José, and the entrance of the Chupat will
not admit a vessel drawing more than seven feet: even this only
at high-water. I think that the Chupat is the river alluded to by
Falkner, as being in the “country of Chulilaw.”[8] He was told that
it traversed the continent as far as the Andes, and judging from the
drift-timber, as well as volcanic scoriæ brought down by it, there
is ground for thinking that the Chupat[9] rises in the Cordillera.
There is also reason to suppose that the river described and placed
variously by different geographers, under the name of Camarones, is
this Chupat, chiefly because the Indians who frequent the country
bordering upon the south bank of the Negro, say that there is no
river of consequence between that and the Santa Cruz, excepting the
Chupat.
With this river so near at hand, the west side of New Bay would be
an excellent situation for a settlement. There ships of any burthen
might anchor in safety, and a communication be carried on with the
interior by means of flat-bottomed boats, or barges, so constructed
as to admit of being towed, or tracked, in the river, and capable of
running up to New Bay before a fair wind. In the River Negro similar
boats go a long way up the river for salt; they are towed by horses
or oxen; and such vessels, even of thirty tons burthen, might enter
the Chupat, if constructed so as to draw but little water. I need
not dwell upon the possible advantages to be derived from opening
a communication across the continent with Chilóe, which might be
a means of diffusing Christianity, civilization, and commercial
intercourse.
On the 3d, Lieut. Wickham and his party left the Chupat. Early on the
5th they entered Valdes Creek (by the Spaniards styled ‘port’), with
the flood tide running nearly six knots into the narrow entrance:
and on its shores found heaps of horns and bones, besides the wreck
of a vessel.[10] These were indications of one of the temporary
settlements maintained on the peninsula of San José for the purpose
of obtaining hides. The carcases of the animals were invariably left
to decay; a few delicate portions only being selected for food.
Until the 12th our little vessels were unable to quit this singular
place, for the ebb tide set so strongly against the swell outside,
raised by a S.E. gale, that they could not attempt to cross the bar.
Sometimes the very narrow entrance of Valdes Creek is almost stopped
up for a time by shingle and sand, after a S.E. gale has been blowing
for a few days, therefore at such a time no vessel ought to run for
it.
During the war between Brazil and Buenos Ayres (1825-9), Mr. Adams,
of Carmen, was master of a merchant vessel hired by Vernet to convey
settlers to the Falkland Islands. In returning thence, short of water
and provisions, he thought to put into Valdes Creek, knowing that
some people were there employed in collecting hides. He ran in for
the land, with a fresh S.E. wind, and did not discover, until almost
too late, that the bar was not passable. When close in he perceived a
heavy sea breaking at the entrance, where he expected smooth water,
and directly hauled off; but it was only by carrying a heavy press of
sail that he cleared the land; and at the expense of passing through
‘races,’ which tore off the vessel’s bulwarks and otherwise damaged
her materially. As our cock-boats crossed this bar, they had ten feet
water, but on each side of it there were five fathoms. The Liebre,
sharp built, plunged into each short swell; while the Paz, with her
bluff bow, did not take in a single sea. The bar is a continuation
of the long shingle spit, or bank, which forms the seaward side of
the harbour; and is about nine miles long, though in some places not
a hundred yards broad.
Towards noon the wind fell light, and the vessels were swept by a
strong tide-stream towards a ‘race,’ whose noise might have appalled
the crews of much larger and stouter barks. No bottom could be struck
with the deep-sea lead, and no efforts of the crews at the oars had
much effect in arresting their progress towards apparently inevitable
destruction. Even at this awful time, habitual familiarity with
danger, and zeal for the service, shewed their effects strongly in
Mr. Stokes, who eagerly watched for the sun’s meridian altitude, with
his sextant to his eye, while every now and then he caught a hasty
glimpse of the foaming and roaring race towards which the little
craft were fast approaching. At this crisis a breeze sprung up which
just enabled them to pass clear; but no one who was in those vessels
can ever forget that day, neither do I think they attribute their
preservation to blind chance. Sailors see too many of these ‘chances’
to think of or reflect upon them lightly, and those who have had
experience are not wont to forget, that to direct and to preserve
are among the least efforts of Omnipotence--so far, at least, as our
limited intelligence enables us to discern.
At five that afternoon the Paz and Liebre were about eighteen miles
off shore, out of soundings with their lead-lines, and yet were
only a mile and half from the eastern part of the race; therefore
they still stood to seaward, to get as far as possible from a
neighbourhood so dangerous at any time, but especially so at night.
For two hours they passed through a rippling, but could strike no
soundings with sixty fathoms of line.
In 1830 Mr. Harris (owner of the Paz) sailed from the River Negro in
a vessel of about ninety tons, with some horses on board, which he
had engaged to convey to a party of gauchoes who were employed on the
peninsula of San José, in killing cattle for their hides. Within the
Bay of San Matias, about six leagues N.W. of the port (San José), he
got into one of these races,[11] and could not extricate his vessel.
No soundings could be obtained: the sails were useless in consequence
of the violent motion and want of wind, where the water was breaking
so furiously, though elsewhere a fresh breeze was blowing; and
nothing could be done. The crew took to the rigging, to avoid being
washed overboard; and for almost three hours they were tossed about,
like an empty bottle in a ripple, before the race abated, with the
turn of tide, so as to admit of their sails acting enough to draw
them a-head out of the commotion. The vessel, though a strong one,
was so much shaken and damaged, the horses so much injured, and all
hands so much ‘scared,’ as Harris honestly told me, that he steered
back direct for the Negro, forfeited his agreement, and refused to go
again.
On the 14th March the Paz and Liebre again crossed the bar of
the River Negro, and next day they anchored a-breast of the town
(Carmen). Lieut. Wickham found that an expedition had been sent from
Buenos Ayres for the purpose of obliging the Indians to retire beyond
(southward of) the Negro; and, if possible, deprive them of their
horses. Bad weather and a heavy sea on the bar, caused by south-east
gales, prevented the Paz and Liebre from sailing again until the 11th
of April, when they went to Port San Antonio, and afterwards into
Port San José. Plenty of firewood, and abundance of fish, were found
at San Antonio; but no fresh water, except by digging wells. The
tide-stream rushes into and out of Port San José in a violent manner,
especially when opposed by wind; but after the narrow part of the
entrance is passed, all agitation of the water ceases, except what
may be caused by wind. It is a barren and desolate place, without
wood or fresh water, and too large for a harbour. Our party saw proof
of this assertion in the wreck of a small vessel at the north-east
part of the port, which had been driven from her anchors and totally
lost, though she was lying in a land-locked bay, or rather gulf.
On the 6th of May, while returning from San José to the River Negro,
our little vessels got into a ripple, which did not break, but had
almost the appearance of a whirlpool. There was a hollow short
swell, and an irregular motion in every direction, exactly like the
boiling of a pot, on a great scale. Here again they could touch no
bottom with fifty fathoms of line and a heavy lead. These races and
ripplings in such deep water, about the peninsula of San José, are
very remarkable; chiefly because there are none such on any other
part of the coast. They will be recurred to in a future page of this
volume.
May 7th. The Paz and Liebre returned to the Negro, but could not
reach an anchorage off Carmen until late the next day, owing to
the ‘freshes.’[12] The next occupation for our party was examining
and sounding the entrance and bar of the Negro, a task purposely
deferred, as being of minor consequence. The mouth of a rapid river
like this, subject to floods, and disemboguing at a place exposed to
the full force of such a heavy sea as is raised on that coast by a
south-east gale, must be frequently changed, as to the detail of its
shoals and channels; therefore no plan, however exact at one time,
can be depended upon after the lapse of a few years; and no vessel
larger than a boat would be justified in attempting to enter without
a local pilot, if one can be obtained. In one spot, near Main Point,
where a small battery stood in 1826, there were two fathoms water in
1833; and within the same period the deepest water for a few miles
within the entrance, changed gradually from the south side to the
north. Mr. Darwin was told that the river was called Negro after a
cacique of that name; but Falkner asserts that it was so called by
the Spaniards, because the aborigines knew it by the name of ‘Cusu
Leuvu,’ which means black river.[13]
In May, June, July, and August, the neighbourhood of this river
swarms with wild fowl, which migrate from the south, for the winter,
and return there to breed about September. The old people foretell
a severe winter when they arrive early, and in greater numbers than
usual. In 1833-4 they formed the staple article of food for the
inhabitants of Carmen during the winter, as the Indians had deprived
them of their cattle; in the summer cavies and ostriches supplied
their tables. Hunting is a favourite amusement of the Carmenites.
They sally forth in large parties on horseback, attended by a motley
crowd of dogs, inclose a large extent of country, contract the circle
gradually,[14] and at last drive a great number of ostriches, wolves,
cavies, deer, foxes, and pumas, into a comparatively small space,
when the indiscriminate attack commences--balls and lassoes flying
in every direction. Many accidents happen to the horses in these
hunts, owing to the ground being so undermined, in some places, by
the ‘tucu-tucu,’[15] a little animal like a small rabbit; but the
riders are so skilful, that they generally save themselves, however
awkwardly their horses may fall. Pumas are an especial object of
attack, not only for the risk attached to encountering them, but
because they do so much damage to the young animals of all kinds:
they have a peculiar method of instantly killing a young colt by
breaking its neck with an adroit blow of one paw, while the poor
creature is held fast between the other and a most formidably armed
mouth. In 1779 there were numerous herds of cattle and horses near
the town of Carmen, but incursions of the Indians have diminished
them to but few.
During the time of the old Spaniards, after 1783, more than a
thousand Indians attacked the settlement at one time. The inhabitants
retreated to their caves,[16] where, defended by strong doors, with
loop-holes for musketry, they were safe; but their houses were
ransacked and burned, and all their animals driven away. Since
that time the frequent predatory excursions of minor parties of
Indians have prevented the settlers from again attempting to collect
animals in large numbers, seeing that they would assuredly tempt the
aborigines to repeat their attacks on a greater scale than ever.
The old man, who was one of Villarino’s party,[17] gave Mr. Darwin
some information about that expedition, which entirely corroborates
the interesting account of Basilio Villarino himself, who made his
way, by excellent management, and extreme perseverance, to the foot
of the Cordillera, though surrounded by Indians suspicious of his
intentions. He managed so dexterously as to make one tribe become
his firm friends and assistants; and behaved so well himself, in his
own enterprises, as well as in his conduct to those under him, as to
have obtained their hearty co-operation during eight long months.
But he was soon afterwards savagely murdered by the natives during
another exploring expedition.[18] The old man said that Villarino was
much guided by the account of an Englishman,[19] whose description
of the river and Indian country was found to be very accurate. Mr.
Darwin heard several anecdotes of the Indians, and their attacks
upon the Christians (so they term all white men) which interested me
very much; but as I suppose they will be found in his volume, it is
unnecessary here to do more than allude to them.
On the 12th May Mr. Usborne, in the Constitucion, anchored in the
river, and next day put himself under Mr. Stokes’s orders; to whom
Lieut. Wickham gave up the charge of this branch of the survey, and
then went on board the Constitucion to hasten towards Maldonado. On
the 17th all three little vessels sailed, Lieut. Wickham steering for
the Plata, and Mr. Stokes for San Blas.
From this time till the Paz and Liebre were discharged, in
August,[20] Mr. Stokes and his party were most zealously occupied
between the Negro and Blanco Bay; but time was too fully occupied
in the uninteresting, though useful works, of sounding, measuring,
observing, and chart-making, to admit of many notices of the country
being obtained in addition to those already mentioned; indeed the
nature of the coast, almost flat, uninhabited, without trees, and
fronted by extensive sand-banks, precluded the possibility of
acquiring much information not of a technical nature.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Nine tons burthen.
[2] Fifteen tons.
[3] Sawdust alone would have been better.
[4] The Paz drew five feet and a half, the Liebre four feet.
[5] Showing that this was the period of one of the two floods to
which the Negro is annually subject.
[6] I gave them to Sir Francis Chantrey, by whom they were shown to
several persons.
[7] Both the vessels had oars.
[8] Falkner, p. 87.
[9] Chupat is the Indian name.
[10] Of about two hundred tons burthen.
[11] The tide-races within the bay are less formidable than those off
Point Norte, near which our vessels were.
[12] There are two floods annually: one about December or January,
caused by snow melted on the Cordillera; and the other about May
or June, occasioned by heavy rains in the interior country. These
inundations are very variable.
[13] Falkner, p. 79.
[14] As in eastern countries.
[15] This Indian name, gutturally pronounced, expresses the curious
sound made by these creatures while under ground--a noise somewhat
like the blow of a distant hammer.
[16] Mentioned in p. 299.
[17] Bowman of his boat (lancha).
[18] Sir Woodbine Parish has given an abridged translation of
Villarino’s Diary in the Journal of the R. Geogr. Society for 1836,
vol. vi, part ii, pp. 136-167.
[19] Falkner evidently.
[20] Already mentioned, p. 288.