CAMP LIFE.
_Jan. 15._ The rain continued all last night and till late this
morning, when the clouds cleared away and the sun came forth to cheer
us again, but the wind is still strong and piercing. Mr. Arms and
myself are indisposed, so that we have kept our tent closed and have
done little during the day. This may be occasioned in part by the
excitement arising from the arrival of the Sappho with the connected
events, together with the drenching storm which rendered our dwelling
wet and uncomfortable. All is quiet again and we return to our normal
Patagonian life, which, for the most part, is monotonous.
_Jan. 16._ By the aid of Santa Rio we have endeavored to get the census
of the whole Santa Cruz tribe, and have, as we suppose, succeeded
approximately. He makes the number to be about 700, but this estimate
cannot be wholly reliable, owing to his ignorance and our want of
ability to communicate satisfactorily with him. We think, however,
that the number will not exceed 1000.
The tribe on the northern pampas is undoubtedly much larger, while
it is, as we are situated, utterly impossible for us to estimate the
Port Famine tribe, including the Fuegians and a few miserable Indians
scattered along the western coast.
We perceive an ill feeling between the two large clans that have lately
met. Captain Congo says that Santa Maria is “much malo,” and he labors
to excite our prejudice against her. And Maria says that Congo is a
great liar, which is undoubtedly true not of him alone but of most of
the tribe as well. These mutual jealousies and envyings between the
leaders of the clans may lead to open rupture and the separation of the
parties.
As among all the races of men, so among these dark-souled savages, envy
and ambition are ruling passions. Those who seem to hold a “little
brief authority” strive hard to show their importance and to persuade
all around them to acknowledge their superiority.
Congo now appears to be an artful and insinuating flatterer, and his
influence is on the increase, while that of Maria is waning. Doubtless
this arises, in part at least, from the fact that he is young and
vigorous and active, with a fine figure and a bold bearing, while, on
the other hand, Santa Maria is advanced in life, of less fascinating
address, and less activity and prowess.
As for the multitude of the Indians, their minds are fickle and
inconstant as the winds, and he whom their capricious dotage exalts
to-day may be execrated and abandoned to-morrow.
I went to-day to a tent and found a company playing cards. They had
a full pack of English cards and appeared to play a regular game.
This diversion was introduced among them by sailors together with
other kinds of gambling. They swear, too; and we often hear shocking
imprecations of damnation upon the head of some one. The first English
sentence which I heard one of these savages utter was an oath, and I
blush for my country and for the Christian name that through them this
people have, first of all, been taught to blaspheme the Christian’s God.
_Jan. 17._ We have conversed freely of late about leaving the country
so soon as a suitable opportunity shall offer. The object for which we
came hither has, so far as we can see, been accomplished, and should
the Lord open the way, we are prepared to return and report to the
Prudential Committee of the A. B. C. F. M. on the state of Patagonia,
the supposed number, character, habits, and modes of life of the
inhabitants, and whatever may influence the determination of the Board
as to endeavoring to establish a Christian mission in this country or
the contrary.
Most of the strong Indians went off this morning on a grand hunt,
accompanied as usual by many women and children, who carry the small
tents and take care of the game.
We went out to see the process of weaving among this people. We saw
in the loom a piece designed for a blanket, and the weaver plying her
trade. The loom is constructed by setting two upright posts in the
ground, and fastening two horizontal poles on these posts, one above
the other, at a distance equal to the intended length of the blanket,
which in this case was four feet and a half. To these poles the warp
is tied at each end. The process of weaving is slow and tedious. The
weft is wound on a smooth pin or stick for a bobbin. The weaver seats
herself on the ground in front of the loom, and with another stick
separates the threads of the warp for about six inches, and then,
with the filling tied to an ostrich-quill as a shuttle, she passes it
through the opened space. The stick is then drawn out, after serving
the purpose of a lathe, and the warp is again separated as before. This
process is continued until the blanket is completed, which is not until
after many long and weary days, the artisan finishing fewer inches in a
day than a hand-weaver would yards with the modern shuttle.
But, although the process is slow, the workmanship is marvellous. Many
tints and a great variety of figures are wrought into the texture.
These figures are often tasteful, and show much native genius in the
operator. Where and how did these savages get this skill and taste?
The yarn of which these blankets are made is spun from the wool of the
guanaco. The fibre is long and soft. It is drawn out by the fingers,
and twisted by means of a reed held in one hand. It is colored with
various kinds of ochre procured back in the country. With these ochres
the squaws also paint the guanaco robes, often with tasteful figures.
Queen Maria made us a long visit to-day. We feel grieved at the
quarrel between her and Captain Congo. The enmity still continues.
When she left, she went into a tent quite near us, and we soon heard
loud talk there among the women. This attracted attention, and the
women came rushing in from all quarters of the camp, either to look
and listen or to take part in the strife. Loud and angry words were
uttered, which were soon followed by the tug of war, if we might judge
from the reeling and rocking of the tent. As the rear of the wigwam was
towards us, and as we did not feel disposed to witness the spectacle,
we do not know who were the combatants or what was the occasion of the
quarrel.
Three pleasant-looking boys have for several days supplied us with
two kinds of dry mountain berries, which they call “yanker” and
“porton.” With these little presents they plead eloquently, and almost
irresistibly, to be admitted into our tent, a privilege which we long
to grant them freely, but are often unable to on account of the great
crowd of the older folks who press in upon us. We feel sorrowful to
think that these bright-eyed and smiling boys and girls must grow up
to manhood and womanhood in darkness. In darkness they live, and in
darkness they must die.
_Jan. 18._ The great hunting-party returned late last evening with much
game, and most of the night was spent in roasting, eating, singing,
shouting, and carousal.
We retired late, and were just falling into sleep when a large body
of the savages came like a rushing tempest, with what seemed like a
war-whoop, and surrounded our tent in a close circle. They stood silent
for a moment, and then began to talk in an undertone around the circle.
The moon was then in her first quarter, and it was so light that we
could see the circle and the forms of the savages. We arose and looked
out of our tent-door through a crevice, watching them from within,
while they could not see us. Their low talk, sometimes sinking to a
whisper, continued ten or fifteen minutes, and then suddenly, with
another whoop, the ring broke and they all scattered.
What their object was in paying us this nocturnal visit we cannot now
understand--whether in their glee to honor us in a savage serenade, or
to kill and rob us in their savage cupidity, we know not.
The movement was mysterious, and at first startling, but it passed off
quietly, and we returned to our pallet and slept peacefully until
morning.
The Indians have kept us busy as artisans much of the day, in making
spurs and _hodles_ for them and in sharpening their knives.
_Jan. 19._ This has been one of our most quiet Sundays. Our tent has
been left partly open, so that the natives could look in upon us, but
we have admitted none of them within, not feeling able to converse with
them intelligently on the all-important theme, and choosing therefore
to attend to our devotions in a quiet manner.
Several of the Indians brought us little jobs of work, but we satisfied
them by telling them that we would attend to their requests to-morrow.
Some have been engaged in hunting, some in gormandizing and sleeping,
and some in gambling. They play for wagers, and the other day I saw a
good pair of shoes staked against three plugs of tobacco. The Indian
doctor has been engaged most of the day in different parts of the camp,
moaning, screaming, blowing, shaking his rattle-bags, and going through
all his incantations. Much confidence seems to be placed in his round
of ceremonies; for he is employed by all who are ill, from the chief
captain down to the meanest individual. They not only believe that his
rattling incantations can drive possession from the human body, but
also from dumb animals. He was engaged to-day at the tent of Congo in
exorcising evil spirits from a sick horse. The usual process was gone
through with, excepting the rattles, which were omitted, doubtless
wisely, as they might have been received with less patience by a dumb
beast than by a savage.
Every day gives us fresh illustrations of the dark character of this
people, but our pain is that we cannot appeal to their understanding
and their hearts.
_Jan. 20._ Several of the clan have taken their all to-day and gone
northward, and Captain Congo informs us that he and most of the camp
will remove to-morrow, a small party only remaining on the ground.
They invite us to go with them, but as we have decided to leave the
country by the first opportunity we choose to remain with our steadfast
friend Louis and a hundred, more or less, of the Indians, in order to
be within reach of the Strait should a vessel come that might take
us off. Should we now retire far into the interior there would be no
hope of our getting away, however many vessels might pass through the
Strait. It affords us pleasure to find that Louis and a small party
will remain to feed and protect us, while the great body of the tribe
go north. In fact we had nearly resolved to stay, even if left alone
and with means of subsistence only for a short period, as the object
of our visit to Patagonia is accomplished, and we wait only for some
conveyance to another field if it be the will of the Lord.
_Jan. 21._ Our sleep was interrupted again last night by the tremendous
racket of the old doctor, who continued his medicinal noises until near
morning, breaking out, from time to time, in strains of unusual energy
and fierceness, as if he had really got the devil by his horns at last.
Early this morning the Indians prepared to decamp. Captain Congo bade
us good-bye and led off a host on horseback. Queen Maria and Louis
remain, and we are told that only eighteen horses are left to our party.
An Indian whom we call Captain John handed us an English Testament
to-day. It is probably one left behind by one of the American sailors,
who considered it a burden. Probably there are few dark places of the
earth where copies of the sacred Scriptures are not scattered, but
where they shed no light for want of readers.
We had a conversation with Santa Maria on the subject of a Christian
mission here. She seemed pleased with the idea of Americans coming to
live with the Indians to teach them good things, but did not favor
their building a house and remaining stationary. She thought they
should travel over the country with the clans and thus instruct them.
In the afternoon a thunder-shower swept over us. This is the first we
have seen in this land. We have heard light and distant thunder before,
but have had nothing like a regular shower until to-day.
The thunder caused a great barking and howling among the dogs, but
there was no unusual excitement among the Indians. After the shower
the savages killed a horse and distributed it among all the tents.
All then fell to roasting and eating, attended with much apparent joy
and hilarity. Was it a marriage-feast, or was it an offering to the
“unknown God” of thunder? We could not know.
_Jan. 22._ Several more families have left us to-day, and followed the
party that went north yesterday.
Those who remain have spent the day in feats of gormandizing beyond
anything we have before seen. Large pots have been kept on fires
from morning till night, and the Indians have gathered around them,
feeding the fires with fagots and dry grass, and constantly consuming
and renewing the contents. Scarcely a piece of the horse slaughtered
yesterday remains in the camp.
Intelligence was brought us to-day from the Lorice party. This is the
first news we have had from them since they left us. The report says
that two of their number have died since they parted from us, and that
two others are sick.
We were also informed that the three sailors who left Maria’s clan some
time ago--viz., an Englishman, an American, and a Portuguese--are with
this clan. As Captain Congo has left, and as our party is now small, we
are told that Lorice and his Jezebel will soon pay us another visit. It
is said that they are not far off. Well, let them come if they must,
but we have no desire to see that Amazon again.
We had another thunder-storm this afternoon, with a fall of large
hailstones.
_Jan. 23._ The Indians returned from their hunt to-day with very little
game. So the gluttony of yesterday is succeeded by fasting and hunger.
Checks, balances, and compensations seem to act in savage as in
civilized lands.
About noon we were told that a vessel was coming up from the west,
and shortly after a sturdy Indian came to our tent bringing a pale
and sick white man behind him. This young man introduced himself as
William Marshall Thornham, of Hull, England, aged twenty years. He
said that he ran away from his vessel with two other sailors about a
year ago, and that they all vowed to keep together and never forsake
one another, come what would. Since then they had roamed with the
Indians continually, suffering hunger and hardships almost unto death,
being obliged to tramp on foot, without shoes, often over dry stubble,
sometimes among flinty pebbles, then over sand-hills, and again among
thistles. His feet were badly cracked, lacerated, and swollen; his hair
was dishevelled, his face begrimed, and he had no clothing except an
old, tattered, dirty, and cast-off skin mantle. A few weeks ago, coming
in the proximity of the Strait, he and his two companions, in a fit of
desperation, ran away from the clan with which they had travelled. They
then wandered along the shore of the Strait, living upon mussels and
watching for a vessel in which to get away. Soon afterward, falling
in with a clan of the Port Famine tribe, they were made captives and
treated with cruelty. William stated that if they attempted to get
away from the clan, they were threatened with death by having arrows
pointed at them. At length a vessel had anchored near them, and his two
companions by a dexterous effort had eluded their captors and succeeded
in getting on board the schooner, leaving him in his enfeebled state to
the mercy of the savages.
The exasperated Indians then kept up a sharper watch over him than
before. If he went a little distance from the camp, they would suspect
him of designing to run away; when they would bring him back, and pass
their knives across his throat as a sign of his fate should he attempt
to get away. They next stopped his rations in order to weaken him so
that he could not run, and he told us that for four days he had eaten
nothing except a few watery and insipid berries which he found near the
camp. Once or twice when Indians were all out of the tent, and when
they supposed him to be asleep, he crawled around the tent and found
a small piece of meat which he attempted to eat, but before he had
swallowed a mite in came a savage and tore it from his teeth, and with
a dark frown drew his knife across his throat. Soon a painful bowel
complaint came on, and the poor man was unable to walk, and came near
death. In this state some of our tribe found him, took him from the
Yammerschooners (beggars), as this mongrel tribe is called by sailors,
and brought him on horseback to us.
His appearance is truly distressing: emaciated and heart-broken,
forsaken by the companions who had vowed to stand by him in weal or
woe, to live or die with him, he is an object to excite our deepest
sympathy and compassion. Even our Indians seem to pity him, and they
delivered him up to us without remonstrance. We immediately took him
into our tent, prepared the best we had--warm broth--for him, then
bathed him in warm water, and dressed him in a suit of clothes, while
Mr. Arms took him as his patient, administering carefully to his case.
We endeavor to cheer him by assuring him that we will do all in our
power to help him and to get him out of the country, should we find an
opportunity to go ourselves.
He says it is true that a schooner named the Macdonald, Captain Clift,
brother to the captain William Clift with whom we came out in the Mary
Jane, anchored far west of Gregory’s Bay; that his companions got on
board of her, and that he had heard that Captain Clift would anchor
in Gregory’s Bay and take us off. This was joyful tidings, and we
determined at once that Mr. Arms should go down to the bay and learn
what were the facts in the case. Accordingly he went, but returned with
the report that no sail was in sight. This was a damper; for our hopes
had been raised to a high point, and the disappointment was not small.
William felt it even more keenly than we did, for he had a desperate
desire to get out of the reach of those by whom he had suffered so
much, and now the poor youth almost sank in despair.
But we are more accustomed to these alternations of hope and
disappointment. We are in the Lord’s hands, and there is nothing better
than to wait his will.
Mr. Arms said that on reaching the bay he found the wind and current
favorable, and there was no doubt that Captain Clift had gone on
without stopping for us.
Young Thornham tells us that he left parents in Hull, and that he has
now been absent from England four years, having left at the age of
sixteen.
He says he was persuaded to run away in Patagonia by older companions
who told him that he would have plenty to eat, a good horse to ride,
no work to do, and every indulgence the heart desired; that he would,
in fact, be a chief, and live as he pleased. Thus the poor fellow was
beguiled to his cost, and his experience has been bitter. He seems a
pleasant and amiable young man. He is modest and respectful and uses no
profane or vile language. The contrast between him and other sailors
whom we have met here is very striking.
_Jan. 24._ Several of our Indians went down to the shore early this
morning to see if the schooner reported yesterday had not come in
during the night, but they returned with the word that she had gone on
without anchoring.
Yesterday the Indians said that the whole camp would go down to the
Strait to-day, and their horses were brought up this morning for
the purpose; but on hearing that the vessel had gone on they seemed
disappointed and displeased, and determined to stay at home. So all was
quiet again, and we retired to our little tabernacle to read and write.
While thus busied in our work the Indians had, unconsciously to us,
taken their horses and moved off stealthily. Some time in the afternoon
we were surprised, on looking out over the camp, to find nearly all of
the vigorous men and women gone, including our trusty friend Louis.
On inquiring what this meant, we were told that the Indians had gone
off on a hunt. This seemed incredible, especially as they always told
us when they were going hunting. Looking all around, we noticed a few
of the last stragglers of the camp moving towards the sea, but no
one going north in the direction of the hunting-grounds. As we shook
our heads and looked incredulous, the savages then said that their
companions had not gone for guanacos, but that they had seen a drove
of ostriches among the sand-dunes, lying between us and the Strait,
and had gone in pursuit of them. Neither could we credit this; and as
their movements and language indicated duplicity, we began to suspect
that they had seen a vessel, and knowing, for we had told them, our
intention to leave them by the first opportunity, they had slipped off
thus slyly, intending to deceive us and keep us with them.
While we were thus conversing and looking towards the Strait--not,
however, expecting to see a vessel, as we could not see the water
without ascending a hill in our rear--all at once I descried the
topgallant sail of a schooner through a small notch in the table-land
lying between us and the sea! The riddle was now solved; our suspicions
were true. The troop had gone off secretly, having seen the vessel, not
intending to let us know it or to give us a chance to reach the shore.
We asked at once for a horse, but for the first time were met with a
flat denial. One and another replied to our repeated calls, “_No hos
you_.” But we were determined one of us should go down even if he went
on foot. At last an old woman, who had always been kind to us, brought
us her horse, for which we had promised a liberal compensation. We had
never before been obliged to hire a horse. Mr. Arms mounted and set
off, while I remained to make any preparations that could be made in
anticipation of leaving. In the evening he returned with the report
that the schooner Antarctic, of New York, Captain James S. Nash, of
Rhode Island, had anchored in the bay, and that the captain would take
us on board to-morrow, requesting us to be down at the sea at 9 +A.M.+
Mr. Arms found Louis on the shore; he had used the same deceit as the
other Indians. By urging, however, he persuaded him and a few others
to return to the camp with him, and to furnish us with horses in the
morning.
Things, however, still look dark and suspicious; the faces of some whom
we have esteemed our most tried friends are changed, and we are not
without apprehensions that trials await us before we can get out of the
country.
William Thornham is exceedingly anxious lest we shall get off and leave
him. He begs us not to forsake him, as this would blot out his last
ray of hope for escaping from this terrible land, and leave him to die
without a friend. We assure him we will not leave him behind if it is
possible for us to take him with us, and that we will do for him as for
ourselves.