The great continent of South America, tapering like a tongue to the
southward, ends abruptly on the Straits of Magellan. These straits may
be regarded as a sort of natural canal, connecting the Atlantic with the
Pacific Ocean, winding between high rocky shores, and indented with
numerous bays and inlets. Though the water is of great depth, the
Straits themselves are so narrow that a ship passing through need never
lose sight of land on either side; and in many places a shell, projected
from an ordinary howitzer, would pitch clear across them from shore to
shore! The country extending northward from these straits is, as
already seen, called _Patagonia_; that which lies on their southern side
is the famed "land of fire," _Tierra del Fuego_.
The canal, or channel, of the Straits of Magellan does not run in a
direct line from the Atlantic to the Pacific. On the contrary, a ship
entering from the former, instead of passing due west, must first run in
a south-west direction,--rather more south than west. This course will
continue, until the ship is about halfway between the two oceans. She
will then head almost at a right angle to her former course; and keep
this direction--which is nearly due north-west--until she emerges into
the Pacific.
It will thus be seen, that the Straits form an angle near their middle;
and the point of land which projects into the vertex of this angle, and
known to navigators as Cape Forward, is the most southern land of the
American _continent_. Of course this is not meant to apply to the most
southern point of American land,--since Tierra del Fuego must be
considered as part of South America. The far-famed "Cape Horn" is the
part of America nearest to the South Pole; and this is a promontory on
one of the small elevated islands lying off the southern coast of Tierra
del Fuego itself. Tierra del Fuego was for a long time regarded as a
single island; though, even in the voyage of Magellan, several large
inlets, that resembled channels, were observed running into the land;
and it was suspected by that navigator, that these inlets might be
passages leading through to the ocean. Later surveys have proved that
the conjectures of the Spano-Portuguese voyager were well founded; and
it is now known that instead of a single island, the country called
Tierra del Fuego is a congeries of many islands, of different shapes and
sizes,--separated from one another by deep and narrow channels, or arms
of the sea, with an endless ramification of sounds and inlets. In the
western part--and occupying more than three fourths of their whole
territory--these close-lying islands are nothing else than mountains,--
several of them rising five thousand feet above the level of the water;
and stepping directly down to it, without any foothills intervening!
Some of them have their lower declivities covered with sombre forests;
while, farther up, nothing appears but the bare brown rocks, varied with
blue glaciers, or mottled with masses of snow. The more elevated peaks
are covered with snow that never melts; since their summits rise
considerably above the snow-line of this cold region.
These mountain islands of Tierra del Fuego continue on to Cape Horn, and
eastward to the Straits of Le Maire, and the bleak islet of Staaten
Land. They may, in fact, be considered as the continuation of the great
chain of the Andes, if we regard the intersecting channels--including
that of Magellan itself--as mere clefts or ravines, the bottoms of
which, lying below the level of the sea, have been filled with
sea-water. Indeed, we may rationally take this view of the case: since
these channels bear a very great resemblance to the stupendous ravines
termed "barrancas" and "quebradas," which intersect the Cordilleras of
the Andes in other parts of South America,--as also in the northern
division of the American continent.
Regarding the Straits of Magellan, then, and the other channels of
Tierra del Fuego, as great _water-barrancas_, we may consider the Andes
as terminating at Cape Horn itself, or rather at Staaten Land: since
that island is a still more distant extension of this, the longest chain
of mountains on the globe.
Another point may be here adduced, in proof of the rationality of this
theory. The western, or mountainous part of Tierra del Fuego bears a
strong resemblance to the western section of the continent,--that is,
the part occupied by the Andes. For a considerable distance to the
north of the Magellan Straits, nearly one half of the continental land
is of a mountainous character. It is also indented by numerous sounds
and inlets, resembling those of Tierra del Fuego; while the mountains
that hang over these deep-water ravines are either timbered, or bare of
trees and snow-covered, exhibiting glacier valleys, like those farther
south. The whole physical character is similar; and, what is a still
more singular fact, we find that in the western, or mountainous part of
Patagonia, there are no true Patagonians; but that there, the
water-Indians, or Fuegians, frequent the creeks and inlets.
Again, upon the east,--or rather north-east of Tierra del Fuego,--that
angular division of it, which lies to the north of the Sebastian channel
presents us with physical features that correspond more nearly with
those of the plains of Patagonia; and upon this part we find tribes of
Indians that beyond doubt are true Patagonians,--and not Fuegians, as
they have been described. This will account for the fact that some
navigators have seen people on the Fuegian side that were large-bodied
men, clothed in guanaco skins, and exhibiting none of those wretched
traits which characterise the Fuegians; while, on the other hand,
miserable, stunted men are known to occupy the mountainous western part
of Patagonia. It amounts to this,--that the Patagonians _have_ crossed
the Straits of Magellan; and it is this people, and not Fuegians, who
are usually seen upon the champaign lands north of the Sebastian
channel. Even the guanaco has crossed at the same place,--for this
quadruped, as well as a species of deer, is found in the eastern
division of Tierra del Fuego. Perhaps it was the camel-sheep--which
appears to be almost a necessity of the Patagonian's existence--that
first induced these water-hating giants to make so extensive a voyage as
that of crossing the Straits at Cape Orange!
At Cape Orange the channel is so narrow, one might fancy that the
Patagonians, if they possessed one half the pedestrian stretch
attributed to the giants of old, might have stepped from shore to shore
without wetting their great feet!
Perhaps there are no two people on earth, living so near each other as
the Patagonians and Fuegians, who are more unlike. Except in the colour
of the skin and hair, there is hardly a point of resemblance between
them. The former seems to hate the sea: at all events he never goes out
upon, nor even approaches its shore, except in pursuit of such game as
may wander that way. He neither dwells near, nor does he draw any
portion of his subsistence from the waters of the great deep,--fish
constituting no part of his food.
All this is directly the reverse with the Fuegian. The beach is the
situation _he_ chooses for his dwelling-place, and the sea or its shore
is his proper element. He is more than half his time, either on it, or
_in_ it,--on it in his canoe, and in it, while wading among the tidal
shoals in search of fish, mussels, and limpets, which constitute very
nearly the whole of his subsistence.
It is very curious, therefore, while noting the difference between these
two tribes of Indians, to observe how each confines its range to that
part of the Magellanic land that appears best adapted to their own
peculiar habits,--those of the Patagonian being altogether
_terrestrial_, while those of the Fuegian are essentially _aquatic_.
We have stated elsewhere the limits of the Patagonian territory; and
shown that, ethnologically speaking they do not occupy the whole
northern shore of the Magellan Straits, but only the eastern half of it.
Westward towards the Pacific the aspect of the land, on both sides of
this famous channel, may be regarded as of the same character, though
altogether different from that which is seen at the entrance, or eastern
end.
West of Cape Negro on one side, and the Sebastian passage on the other,
bleak mountain summits, with narrow wooded valleys intervening, become
the characteristic features. There we behold an incongruous labyrinth
of peaks and ridges, of singular and fantastic forms,--many of them
reaching above the limits of perpetual snow,--which, in this cold
climate descends to the height of four thousand feet. We have seen that
these mountains are separated from each other,--not by plains, nor even
valleys, in the ordinary understanding of the term; but by _ravines_,
the steep sides of which are covered with sombre forests up to a height
of one thousand five hundred feet above the level of the sea: at which
point vegetation terminates with a uniformity as exact as that of the
snow-line itself! These forests grow out of a wet, peaty soil,--in many
places impassable on account of its boggy nature; and of this character
is almost the whole surface of the different islands. The trees
composing the forests are few in species,--those of the greatest size
and numbers being the "winter's bark" (_drymys_), of the order
_magnoliacae_, a birch, and, more abundantly, a species of beech-tree,
the _fagus betuloides_. These last-named trees are many of them of
great size; and might almost be called evergreens: since they retain
part of their foliage throughout the whole year; but it would be more
appropriate to style them _ever-yellows_: since at no period do they
exhibit a verdure, anything like the forests of other countries. They
are always clad in the same sombre livery of dull yellow, rendering the
mountain landscape around them, if possible, more dreary and desolate.
The forests of Tierra del Fuego are essentially worthless forests; their
timber offering but a limited contribution to the necessities of man,
and producing scarce any food for his subsistence.
Many of the ravines are so deep as to end, as already stated, in
becoming arms or inlets of the sea; while others again are filled up
with stupendous glaciers, that appear like cataracts suddenly arrested
in their fall, by being frozen into solid ice! Most of these inlets are
of great depth,--so deep that the largest ship may plough through them
with safety. They intersect the islands in every direction,--cutting
them up into numerous peninsulas of the most fantastic forms; while some
of the channels are narrow _sounds_, and stretch across the land of
Tierra del Fuego from ocean to ocean.
The "Land of Fire" is therefore not an island,--as it was long
regarded,--but rather a collection of islands, terminated by precipitous
cliffs that frown within gunshot of each other. Ofttimes vast masses of
rock, or still larger masses of glacier ice, fall from these cliffs into
the profound abysses of the inlets below; the concussion, as they strike
the water, reverberating to the distance of miles; while the water
itself, stirred to its lowest depths, rises in grand surging waves, that
often engulf the canoe of the unwary savage.
"Tierra del Fuego" is simply the Spanish phrase for "Land of Fire." It
was so called by Magellan on account of the numerous fires seen at night
upon its shores,--while he and his people were passing through the
Straits. These were signal fires, kindled by the natives,--no doubt to
telegraph to one another the arrival of those strange leviathans, the
Spanish ships, then seen by them for the first time.
The name is inappropriate. A more fit appellation would be the "land of
water;" for, certainly, in no part of the earth is water more abundant:
both rain and snow supplying it almost continually. Water is the very
plague of the island; it lies stagnant or runs everywhere,--forming
swamps, wherever there is a spot of level ground, and rendering even the
declivities of the mountains as spongy as a peat-bog.
The climate throughout the whole year is excessively cold; for, though
the winter is perhaps not more rigorous than in the same latitude of a
northern land, yet the summer is almost as severe as the winter; and it
would be a misnomer to call it summer at all. Snow falls throughout the
whole year; and even in the midsummer of Tierra del Fuego men have
actually perished from cold, at no great elevation above the level of
the sea!
Under these circumstances, it would scarce be expected that Tierra del
Fuego should be inhabited,--either by men or animals of any kind; but no
country has yet been reached, too cold for the existence of both. No
part of the earth seems to have been created in vain; and both men and
beasts are found dwelling under the chill skies of Tierra del Fuego.
The land-animals, as well as the birds, are few in species, as in
numbers. The _guanaco_ is found upon the islands; but whether
indigenous, or carried across from the Patagonian shore, can never be
determined: since it was an inhabitant of the islands long anterior to
the arrival of Magellan. It frequents only the eastern side of the
cluster,--where the ground is firmer, and a few level spots appear that
might be termed plains or meadows. A species of deer inhabits the same
districts; and besides these, there are two kinds of fox-wolves (_canis
Magellanicus_ and _canis Azarae_), three or four kinds of mice, and a
species of bat.
Of water-mammalia there is a greater abundance: these comprising the
whale, seals, sea-lions, and the sea-otter.
But few birds have been observed; only the white-tufted flycatcher, a
large black woodpecker with scarlet crest, a creeper, a wren, a thrush,
a starling, hawks, owls, and four or five kinds of finches.
The water-birds, like the water-mammalia, muster in greater numbers. Of
these there are ducks of various kinds, sea-divers, and penguins, the
albatross, and sheer-water, and, more beautiful than all, the "painted"
or "Magellan goose."
Reptiles do not exist, and insects are exceedingly rare. A few flies
and butterflies are seen; but the mosquito--the plague of other parts of
South America--does not venture into the cold, humid atmosphere of the
Land of Fire.
We now arrive at the _human_ inhabitants of this desolate region.
As might be expected, these exhibit no very high condition of either
physical or mental development, but the contrary. The character of
their civilisation is in complete correspondence with that of their
dreary dwelling-place,--at the very bottom of the scale. Yes, at the
very bottom, according to most ethnologists; even lower down than that
of the Digger Indian, the Andaman islander, the Bushman of Africa, or
the Esquimaux of the Arctic Ocean: in fact, any comparison of a Fuegian
with the last-mentioned would be ridiculous, as regards either their
moral or physical condition. Below the Esquimaux, the Fuegian certainly
is, and by many a long degree.
In height, the tallest Fuegian stands about five feet,--not in his
boots, for he wears none; but on his naked soles. His wife is just six
inches shorter than himself--a difference which is not a bad proportion
between the sexes, but in other respects they are much alike. Both have
small, misshapen limbs, with large knee-caps, and but little calf; both
have long masses of coarse tangled hair, hanging like bunches of black
snakes over their shoulders; and both are as naked as the hour in which
they were born,--unless we call _that_ a dress,--that bit of stinking
sealskin which is slung at the back, and covers about a fifth part of
the whole body! Hairy side turned inward, it extends only from the nape
of the neck to a few inches below the hollow of the back; and is
fastened in front by means of a thong or skewer passing over the breast.
It is rarely so ample as to admit of being "skewered;" and with this
scanty covering, in rain and snow, frost and blow,--some one of which is
continuously going on,--the shivering wretch is contented. Nay, more;
if there should happen an interval of mild weather, or the wearer be at
work in paddling his canoe, he flings this unique garment aside, as if
its warmth were an incumbrance! When the weather is particularly cold,
he shifts the sealskin to that side of his body which may chance to be
exposed to the blast!
The Fuegian wears neither hat, nor shirt, waistcoat, nor breeches,--no
shoes, no stockings,--nothing intended for clothing but the bit of
stinking skin. His vanity, however, is exhibited, not in his dress, to
some extent in his adornments. Like all savages and many civilised
people, he _paints_ certain portions of his person; and his "escutcheon"
is peculiar. It would be difficult to detail its complicated labyrinth
of "crossings" and "quarterings." We shall content ourselves by stating
that black lines and blotches upon a white ground constitute its chief
characteristic. Red, too, is sometimes seen, of a dark or "bricky"
colour. The black is simply charcoal; while the white-ground coat is
obtained from a species of infusorial clay, which he finds at the bottom
of the peaty streams, that pour down the ravines of the mountains. As
additional ornaments, he wears strings of fish-teeth, or pieces of bone,
about his wrists and ankles. His wife carries the same upon her neck;
and both, when they can procure it, tie a plain band around the head, of
a reddish-brown colour,--the material of which is the long hair of the
guanaco. The "cloak," already described, is sometimes of sea-otter
instead of sealskin; and on some of the islands, where the deer dwells,
the hide of that animal affords a more ample covering. In most cases,
however, the size of the garment is that of a pocket handkerchief; and
affords about as much protection against the weather as a kerchief
would.
Though the Fuegian has abundance of hair upon his head, there is none,
or almost none on any part of his body. He is beardless and whiskerless
as an Esquimaux; though his features,--without the adornment of hair,--
are sufficiently fierce in their expression.
He not only looks ferocious, but in reality is so,--deformed in mind, as
he is hideous in person. He is not only ungrateful for kindness done,
but unwilling to remember it; and he is cruel and vindictive in the
extreme. Beyond a doubt he is a _cannibal_; not habitually perhaps, but
in times of scarcity and famine,--a true cannibal, for he does not
confine himself to eating his _enemies_, but his _friends_ if need be,--
and especially the old women of his tribe, who fall the first victims,
in those crises produced by the terrible requirements of an impending
starvation. Unfortunately the fact is too well authenticated to admit
of either doubt or denial; and, even while we write, the account of a
massacre of a ship's crew by these hostile savages is going the rounds
of the press,--that ship, too, a missionary vessel, that had landed on
their shores with the humane object of ameliorating their condition.
Of course such unnatural food is only partaken of at long and rare
intervals,--by many communities never,--and there is no proof that the
wretched Fuegian has acquired an appetite for it: like the Feegee and
some other savage tribes. It is to be hoped that he indulges in the
horrid habit, only when forced to it by the necessities of extreme
hunger.
His ordinary subsistence is shell-fish; though he eats also the flesh of
the seal and sea-otter; of birds, especially the penguin and Magellanic
goose, when he can capture them. His stomach will not "turn" at the
blubber of a whale,--when by good chance one of these leviathans gets
stranded on his coast,--even though the great carcass be far gone in the
stages of decomposition! The only vegetable diet in which he indulges
is the berry of a shrub--a species of arbutus--which grows abundantly on
the peaty soil; and a fungus of a very curious kind, that is produced
upon the trunks of the beech-tree. This fungus is of a globular form,
and pale-yellow colour. When young, it is elastic and turgid, with a
smooth surface; but as it matures it becomes shrunken, grows tougher in
its texture, and presents the pitted appearance of a honeycomb. When
fully ripe, the Fuegians collect it in large quantities, eating it
without cooking or other preparation. It is tough between the teeth;
but soon changes into pulp, with a sweetish taste and flavour,--somewhat
resembling that of our common mushroom.
These two vegetables--a berry and a cryptogamic plant--are almost the
only ones eaten by the natives of Tierra del Fuego. There are others
upon the island that might enable them to eke out their miserable
existence: there are two especially sought after by such Europeans as
visit this dreary land,--the "wild celery" (_opium antarcticum_), and
the "scurvy grass" (_cardamine antiscorbutica_); but for these the
Fuegian cares not. He even knows not their uses.
In speaking of other "odd people," I have usually described the mode of
building their house; but about the house of the Fuegian I have almost
"no story to tell." It would be idle to call that a house, which far
more resembles the lair of a wild beast; and is, in reality, little
better than the den made by the orang-outang in the forests of Borneo.
Such as it is, however, I shall describe it.
Having procured a number of long saplings or branches,--not always
straight ones,--the Fuegian sharpens them at one end by means of his
mussel-shell knife; and then sticking the sharpened ends into the ground
in a kind of circle, he brings the tops all together, and ties them in a
bunch,--so as to form a rude hemispherical frame. Upon this he lays
some smaller branches; and over these a few armfuls of long coarse
grass, and the house is "built". One side--that to leeward of the
prevailing wind--is left open, to allow for an entrance and the escape
of smoke. As this opening is usually about an eighth part of the whole
circumference, the house is, in reality, nothing more than a shed or
lair. Its furniture does not contradict the idea; but, on the contrary,
only strengthens the comparison. There is no table, no chair, no
bedstead: a "shake-down" of damp grass answers for all. There are no
implements or utensils,--if we except a rude basket used for holding the
arbutus berries, and a sealskin bag, in which the shell-fish are
collected. A bladder, filled with water, hangs upon some forking stuck
against the side: in the top of this bladder is a hole, from which each
member of the family takes a "suck," when thirst inclines them to drink!
The "tools" observable are a bow and arrow, the latter headed with
flint; a fish spear with a forked point, made from a bone of the
sea-lion; a short stick,--a woman's implement for knocking the limpets
from the rocks; and some knives, the blades of which are sharpened
shells of the mussel,--a very large species of which is found along the
coast. These knives are simply manufactured. The brittle edge of the
shell--which is five or six inches in length--is first chipped off, and
a new edge formed by grinding the shell upon the rocks. When thus
prepared, it will cut not only the hardest wood, but even the bones of
fish; and serves the Fuegian for all purposes.
Outside the hut, you may see the canoe,--near at hand too,--for the
shieling of the Fuegian universally stands upon the beach. He never
dwells in the interior of his island; and but rarely roams there,--the
women only making such excursions as are necessary to procure the berry
and the mushroom. The woods have no charms for him, except to afford
him a little fuel; they are difficult to be traversed on account of the
miry soil out of which the trees grow; and, otherwise, there is
absolutely nothing to be found amidst their gloomy depths, that would in
any way contribute to his comfort or sustenance. He is therefore
essentially a dweller on the shore; and even there he is not free to
come and go as he might choose. From the bold character of his coast,
there are here and there long reaches, where the beach cannot be
followed by land,--places where the water's edge can only be reached,
and the shell-fish collected, by means of some sort of navigable craft.
For this purpose the Fuegian requires a canoe; and the necessity of his
life makes him a waterman. His skill, however, both in the construction
of his craft, and the management of it, is of a very inferior order,--
infinitely inferior to that exhibited either by the Esquimaux or the
Water-Indians of the North.
His canoe is usually made of the bark of a tree,--the birch already
mentioned. Sometimes it is so rudely shaped, as to be merely a large
piece of bark shelled from a single trunk, closed at each end, and tied
tightly with thong of sealskin. A few cross-sticks prevent the sides
from pressing inward; while as many stays of thong keep them from
"bulging" in the contrary direction. If there are cracks in the bark,
these are caulked with rushes and a species of resin, which the woods
furnish.
With this rude vessel the Fuegian ventures forth, upon the numerous
straits and inlets that intersect his land; but he rarely trusts himself
to a tempestuous sea.
If rich or industrious, he sometimes becomes the possessor of a craft
superior to this. It is also a bark canoe, but not made of a single
"flitch." On the contrary, there are many choice pieces used in its
construction: for it is fifteen feet in length and three in width
amidships. Its "build" also is better,--with a high prow and stern, and
cross-pieces regularly set and secured at the ends. The pieces of bark
are united by a stitching of thongs; and the seams carefully caulked so
that no water can enter. In this vessel, the Fuegian may embark with
his whole family,--and his whole furniture to boot,--and voyage to any
part of his coast. And this in reality he does; for the "shanty" above
described, is to him only a temporary home. The necessities of his life
require him to be continually changing it; and a "removal," with the
building of a new domicile, is a circumstance of frequent recurrence.
Not unfrequently, in removing from one part of the coast to another, he
finds it safer making a land journey, to avoid the dangers of the deep.
In times of high wind, it is necessary for him to adopt this course,--
else his frail bark might be dashed against the rocks and riven to
pieces. In the land journey he carries the canoe along with him; and in
order to do this with convenience, he has so contrived it, that the
planks composing the little vessel can be taken apart, and put together
again without much difficulty,--the seams only requiring to be freshly
caulked. In the transport across land, each member of the family
carries a part of the canoe: the stronger individuals taking the heavier
pieces,--as the side and bottom planks,--while the ribs and light beams
are borne by the younger and weaker.
The necessity of removal arises from a very natural cause. A few days
spent at a particular place,--on a creek or bay,--even though the
community be a small one, soon exhausts the chief store of food,--the
mussel-bank upon the beach,--and, of course, another must be sought for.
This may lie at some distance; perhaps can only be reached by a
tedious, and sometimes perilous water-journey; and under these
circumstances the Fuegian deems it less trouble to carry the mountain to
Mahomet, than carry Mahomet so often to the mountain. The transporting
his whole menage, is just as easy as bringing home a load of limpets;
and as to the building of a new house, that is a mere bagatelle, which
takes little labour, and no more time than the erection of a tent. Some
Fuegians actually possess a tent, covered with the skins of animals; but
this a rare and exceptional advantage; and the tent itself of the rudest
kind. The Fuegian has his own mode of procuring fire. He is provided
with a piece of "mundic," or iron pyrites, which he finds high up upon
the sides of his mountains. This struck by a pebble will produce
sparks. These he catches upon a tinder of moss, or the "punk" of a dead
tree, which he knows how to prepare. The tinder once ignited, is placed
within a roundish ball of dry grass; and, this being waved about in
circles, sets the grass in a blaze. It is then only necessary to
communicate the flame to a bundle of sticks; and the work is complete.
The process, though easy enough in a climate where "punk" is plenty, and
dry grass and sticks can be readily procured, is nevertheless difficult
enough in the humid atmosphere of Tierra del Fuego,--where moss is like
a wet sponge, and grass, sticks, and logs, can hardly be found dry
enough to burn. Well knowing this, the Fuegian is habitually careful of
his fire: scarce ever permitting it to go out; and even while travelling
in his canoe, in search of a "new home," side by side with his other
"penates" he carries the fire along with him.
Notwithstanding the abundance of fuel with which his country provides
him, he seems never to be thoroughly warm. Having no close walls to
surround him, and no clothing to cover his body, he suffers almost
incessantly from cold. Wherever met, he presents himself with a
shivering aspect, like one undergoing a severe fit of the ague!
The Fuegians live in small communities, which scarce deserve the name of
"tribes," since they have no political leader, nor chief of any
description. The conjuror--and they have him--is the only individual
that differs in any degree from the other members of the community; but
his power is very slight and limited; nor does it extend to the exercise
of any physical force. Religion they have none,--at least, none more
sacred or sanctified than a vague belief in devils and other evil
spirits.
Although without leaders, they are far from being a peaceful people.
The various communities often quarrel and wage cruel and vindictive war
against one another; and were it not that the boundaries of each
association are well-defined, by deep ravines and inlets of the sea, as
well as by the impassable barriers of snow-covered mountains, these
warlike dwarfs would thin one another's numbers to a far greater extent
than they now do,--perhaps to a mutual extermination. Fortunately the
peculiar nature of their country hinders them from coming very often
within fighting distance.
Their whole system of life is abject in the extreme. Although provided
with fires, their food is eaten raw; and a fish taken from the water
will be swallowed upon the instant--almost before the life is gone out
of it. Seal and penguin flesh are devoured in the same manner; and the
blubber of the whale is also a raw repast. When one of these is found
dead upon the beach,--for they have neither the skill nor courage to
capture the whale,--the lucky accident brings a season of rejoicing. A
fleet of canoes--if it is to be reached only by water--at once paddle
towards the place; or, if it be an overland journey, the whole
community--man, woman, and child--start forth on foot. In an hour or
two they may be seen returning to their hut village, each with a large
"flitch" of blubber flapping over the shoulders, and the head just
appearing above, through a hole cut in the centre of the piece,--just as
a Mexican ranchero wears his "serape," or a denizen of the Pampas his
woollen "poncho." A feast follows this singular procession.
Like the Esquimaux of the north, the Fuegian is very skilful in
capturing the seal. His mode of capturing this creature, however, is
very different from that employed by the "sealer" of the Arctic Seas;
and consists simply in stealing as near as possible in his canoe, when
he sees the animal asleep upon the surface, and striking it with a
javelin,--which he throws with an unerring aim.
We have already observed that the principal subsistence of the Fuegian
is supplied by the sea; and shell-fish forms the most important item of
his food. These are mussels, limpets, oysters, and other kinds of
shell-fish, and so many are annually consumed by a single family, that
an immense heap of the shells may be seen not only in front of every
hut, but all along the coast of the islands, above high-water mark,--
wherever a tribe has made its temporary sojourn.
There is a singular fact connected with these conglomerations of shells,
which appears to have escaped the observations of the Magellanic
voyagers. It is not by mere accident they are thus collected in piles.
There is a certain amount of superstition in the matter. The Fuegian
believes that, were the shells scattered negligently about, ill-luck
would follow; and, above all, if the emptied ones were thrown back into
the sea: since this would be a warning of destruction that would
frighten the living bivalves in their "beds," and drive them away from
the coast! Hence it is that the shell-heaps are so carefully kept
together.
In collecting these shell-fish, the women are the chief labourers. They
do not always gather them from the rocks, after the tide has gone out;
though that is the usual time. But there are some species not found in
shallow water, and therefore only to be obtained by diving to the bottom
after them. Of this kind is a species of _echinus_, or "sea-urchin," of
the shape of an orange, and about twice the bulk of one,--the whole
outside surface being thickly set with spines, or protuberances. These
curious shell-fish are called "sea-eggs" by the sailor navigators; and
constitute an important article of the food of the Fuegian. It is often
necessary to dive for them to a great depth; and this is done by the
Fuegian women, who are as expert in plunging as the pearl-divers of
California or the Indian seas.
Fish is another article of Fuegian diet; and many kinds are captured
upon their coasts, some of excellent quality. They sometimes obtain the
fish by shooting them with their arrows, or striking them with a dart;
but they have a mode of catching the finny creatures, which is
altogether peculiar: that is to say, _hunting them with dogs_! The
Fuegians possess a breed of small fox-like dogs, mean, wretched-looking
curs, usually on the very verge of starvation,--since their owners take
not the slightest care of them, and hardly ever trouble themselves about
feeding them. Notwithstanding this neglect, the Fuegian dogs are not
without certain good qualities; and become important auxiliaries to the
Fuegian fisherman. They are trained to pursue the fish through the
water, and drive them into a net, or some enclosed creek or inlet,
shallow enough for them to be shot with the arrow. In doing this the
dogs dive to the bottom; and follow the fish to and fro, as if they were
amphibious carnivora, like the seals and otters. For this useful
service the poor brutes receive a very inadequate reward,--getting only
the bones as their portion. They would undoubtedly starve, were it not
that, being left to shift for themselves, they have learnt how to
procure their own food; and understand how to catch a fish now and then
_on their own account_. Their principal food, however, consists in
shell-fish, which they find along the shores, with polypi, and such
other animal substances as the sea leaves uncovered upon the beach after
the tide has retired. A certain kind of sea-weed also furnishes them
with an occasional meal, as it does their masters,--often as hungry and
starving as themselves.
In his personal habits no human being is more filthy than the Fuegian.
He never uses water for washing purposes; nor cleans the dirt from his
skin in any way. He has no more idea of putting water to such use, than
he has of drowning himself in it; and in respect to cleanliness, he is
not only below most other savages, but below the brutes themselves:
since even these are taught cleanliness by instinct. But no such
instinct exists in the mind of the Fuegian; and he lives in the midst of
filth. The smell of his body can be perceived at a considerable
distance; and Hotspur's fop might have had reasonable grounds of
complaint, had it been a Fuegian who came between the "wind and his
nobility." To use the pithy language of one of the old navigators, "The
Fuegian stinks like a fox."
Fairly examined, then, in all his bearings,--fairly judged by his habits
and actions,--the Fuegian may claim the credit of being the most
wretched of our race.
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