it was with the understanding that they were to be relieved on the 21st
of December, and they were given food enough to last until that time.
After the captain and crew had gone, and the two men were alone on the
ship, the Indians made their appearance nearly every day, and bits of
food were thrown over the side of the vessel into their canoes. Taylor
and his companion each carried two revolvers, and were not at all
alarmed, as the vessel lay very high on the sand, and it did not seem
possible that the Indians could climb up its iron sides. Although
several canoes hovered around the place daily, the savages made no
unfriendly demonstrations, and no notice was taken of them further than
to exchange salutations, and give them meat and bread now and then. One
day the Indians traded them a string of fresh fish for a plug of
tobacco, and at other times gave them furs for the same consideration.
About noon on the 15th of December, while the sailor was cooking dinner
in the galley, Taylor, who was at work below, heard several shots fired
from a revolver on deck, with shrieks and other sounds, which proved
that a fight was going on there. He drew both of his pistols, and
rushing up-stairs, saw the bleeding body of his companion lying upon the
deck, and one of the savages hacking at it with the cook’s knife. About
twenty or twenty-five others were performing a war-dance around one of
their number who lay dead, and a single glance at the scene convinced
Mr. Taylor that he could find no pleasure in attending the
[Illustration: PORT FAMINE.]
circus. The Indians did not see him, and he crept quickly below and
stowed himself in a large coil of rope in the forward part of the hold.
The space in the centre of the coil was large enough to contain his body
in a stooping position, and making the hatchway as fast as he could, he
piled bags of beans around the sides and on the top of the rope, so as
to entirely conceal it. For two days he hid himself here, feeding upon
dry uncooked beans and a box of sea-biscuits, which he fortunately found
in the hold; but he was entirely without water. The third day, fearing
that he would die of thirst, he crept out and drew a bucket of water
from a cask on the second deck, which he carried back to his place of
concealment. On this excursion he neither heard nor saw signs of the
Indians, and after two days more had passed, screwed his courage up to
the point of making an exploration. Arranging everything so that he
could make a hasty retreat if necessary, and using bean-bags to make a
rifle-pit from which he could defend himself if pursued, he crept
quietly into the saloon of the vessel, where he found that the Indians
had been indulging in “a high old time.” Glasses and crockery were
smashed, mattresses were dragged from the cabin, and everything that
was movable lay scattered helter-skelter over the dining-tables and
floor. It was evident that a search had been made for him, as doors
which were locked had been broken open, although no attempt had been
made to remove the coverings from the hatchways which led into the hold.
Only one deck presented signs of a search, and above all was perfectly
quiet. Going up-stairs, Taylor found human bones, picked clean,
scattered around the galley. He did not touch them, because to look at
them gave him the “shivers,” he said, but he saw enough to convince him
that not only had the body of his companion been eaten, but also that of
the savage who had been killed in the fray. It was evident that the
savages had enjoyed a long and lively picnic, for there were several
places on the deck where fires had been built. It was a wonder to him
that the vessel had not been burned to the water’s edge. While hunting
around for food, he found the head of his companion with the neck
chopped off close to the jaws, the eyes punched out, and the fleshy part
of the cheeks cut off. The sight of this was so horrible that he
abandoned further exploration, and returned to his place of confinement
so faint and bewildered that he could scarcely find his way. That night
he crept out again, and finding some canned meat and fruit, lowered
himself overboard and swam ashore, concluding that the Indians would
return to the vessel, and that he would be safer in the rocks and
bushes. Here he concealed himself for several days, awaiting the vessel
that was to arrive from Valparaiso on the 21st of the month. The 25th
passed without any sign of relief, and on the morning of the 26th he
started on foot for Punta Arenas, where he arrived two days after. Here
he told his story, and instead of being welcomed with hospitality, was
arrested and thrown into jail, charged with the murder of his companion.
A boat was sent down to the wreck, and such evidence was found there as
to convince every one of the truth of his statement; whereupon he was
released, and is now at Punta Arenas, in the employment of the Steamship
Company, on an old hulk which lies in the harbor and is used for the
storage of coal.
I have not told the story in as graphic a manner as it was related to me
by William Taylor that night under the antarctic stars, but have given
only the facts of his narrative, without embellishment of sailors’ slang
and oaths. He lives in the hope of “steering within hailing distance of
some of the savages, when he proposes to give them something worse than
a rope’s-end.”
It is believed there is much gold in Terra del Fuego, as nuggets have
been discovered by the missionaries in the streams. The Argentine
Government proposes to make an exploration soon, and sanguine people
think the time is not far distant when the islands of the archipelago
will be filled with successful prospectors. Seals and other fur-bearing
animals are plenty, but many skins are not sent to market for the reason
that supplies can be obtained cheaper elsewhere.
There used to be a State called Patagonia, and one can still find it
referred to in old geographies, but by the combined efforts of Chili and
the Argentine Republic it has been wiped off the modern maps of the
world. The United States ministers at the capitals of the two republics
named assisted in dissecting the territory, and were presented with
beautiful and costly testimonials as tokens of the artistic manner in
which it was done. It was agreed that the boundary-line of Chili should
be extended down the coast and then run eastward, just north of the
Strait of Magellan, so that the Argentines should have the pampas, or
prairies, and Chili the strait and the islands. The map of Chili now
looks like the leg of a tall man, long and lean, with a very high instep
and several conspicuous bunions.
It was a diplomatic stroke on the part of Chili to get control of the
Strait of Magellan, that great international highway through which all
steamers must go; and the archipelago along the western coast,
comprising thousands of islands which have never been explored, and
which are believed to be rich in what the world holds valuable, also
fell to her share; but the Argentines got the best of the bargain in
broad plains, rich in agricultural resources, rising in regular terraces
from the Atlantic seaboard to the summits of the Cordilleras, whose
snowy crests stand like an army of silent sentinels, marking the line
upon which the two republics divide--plains as broad and useful as those
which stretch between the Mississippi River and the ranges of Colorado,
and as good for cattle as they are for corn.
[Illustration: STARVATION BEACH.]
It was a rather unusual proceeding, this partition of the Patagonian
estates. It is commonly the custom to divide property after the owner’s
death; but in this instance the inheritance was first shared by the
heirs, and then the owner was mercilessly slaughtered. They called it a
grand triumph of the genius of civilization over the barbarians, and the
success of the scheme certainly deserved such a designation; but in this
case as in many others the impediment to civilization was swept away in
a cataract of blood. General Roca, the recent President of the Argentine
Republic, was the author and executor of the plan of civilizing
Patagonia, and he did it as the early Spanish Conquistadors introduced
Christianity into America, with the keen edge of a sword. His success
won him military glory and political honors, and made him what he is
to-day, the greatest of the Argentinians.
There were originally two great nations of Indians in what was known as
Patagonia, but the Spaniards called them all Patagonians, because of the
enormous footprints they found upon the sand. The early explorers
reported them to be a race of giants. The first white man that
interviewed these people was Magellan, the great navigator who
discovered the strait which bears his name, and who was the first to
enter the Pacific Ocean. He had with him a romancer by the name of
Pigafetta, who gave the world a great amount of interesting information
without regard to accuracy. All the navigators who followed Magellan
felt in duty bound to see and describe as amazing things as their
predecessor had witnessed, and even went much further in their endeavors
to keep up the European interest in the New World. Hence, in the
sixteenth century, fables which are still repeated, but have no more
foundation than the tales of the warrior woman who gave a name to the
greatest stream on earth, found their way into history.
This man Pigafetta, for example, says that the Patagonia Indians “were
of that biggeness that our menne of meane stature could reach up to
their waysts, and they had bigg voyces, so that their talk seemed lyke
unto the roar of a beaste.” In order to secure credit for courage, the
early navigators told astonishing yarns about the fierceness of these
Indians, who still have a reputation for fighting which, no doubt, is
well founded. Rum and disease have, however, made sad work among the
race, which is in its decadence; and the ambition of the Patagonian now
is only equal to that of the North American Indian--that is, to get
enough to eat with the least possible labor. They hang around the
ranches to pick up what is thrown to them in the way of food, stealing
and begging, and occasionally they bring in skins to the settlements to
exchange for fire-water.
[Illustration: USE OF LASSO AND BOLAS.]
Later explorers discovered that there were two distinct races among the
aborigines: first, the canoe Indians of the coast; and, second, the
hunters of the interior, who are expert horsemen, raise cattle, and
resemble the Sioux of the United States or the Apaches of the Mexican
border. The two nations spoke languages entirely different, and had no
resemblance in their manner or habits of life. Those of the south, who
extended over into the curious islands of Terra del Fuego, are uglier in
appearance, fiercer in disposition, and are believed to be cannibals. In
fact, there is a recent instance of man-eating in the Strait of Magellan
which appears to be authentically reported. The canoe Indians are called
_Tehueiche_, and the horsemen of the north--the plains or pampa
Indians--are called _Chenna_. The latter appear to be closely allied to
the Araucanians of Chili, a race which the Spaniards were never able to
subdue, but with which they have intermarried extensively, and produced
the present peon of Chili, who has all the vivacity and impulsiveness of
the Spaniard united with the muscular development, the courage, and the
endurance of the Indian. The frontier of the Argentine Republic, until a
few years since, was constantly harassed by the Chennas--murder, arson,
and pillage were the rule--and the development of the nation was
seriously checked, until General Roca was sent out with an army to
exterminate them.
[Illustration: IN THEIR OSTRICH ROBES.]
The dividing line between the Argentine Republic and what was known as
Patagonia was the river Negro, which flows along the forty-first
parallel, about nine hundred miles north of the Strait of Magellan. The
greater portion of this country is well-watered pampas, or prairies,
that extend in plainly marked terraces, rising one after the other from
the Atlantic to the Andes; but towards the south the land becomes more
bleak and barren, the soil being a bed of shale, with thorny shrubs and
tufts of coarse grass, upon which nothing but the ostrich can exist. The
winters are very severe, fierce winds sweeping from the mountains to the
sea, with nothing to obstruct their course. These winds are called
_pamperos_, and are the dread of those who navigate the South Atlantic.
During the winter months the Indians were in the habit of driving their
cattle northward into the foot-hills of the Andes for protection; and,
leaving them there, they made raids upon the settlements on the
Argentine frontier, killing, burning, and stealing cattle and horses.
Terror-stricken, the ranchmen fled to the cities for protection; so that
year by year the frontier line receded towards Buenos Ayres, instead of
extending farther upon the plains.
[Illustration: A PATAGONIAN BELLE.]
President Roca was then a general of cavalry, and had won renown in the
war against Lopez, the tyrant of Paraguay. He was sent with two or three
regiments to discipline the Indians, and he did it in a way that was as
effective as it was novel. While the Indians were in the mountains with
their cattle he set his soldiers at work, several thousands of them, and
dug a great ditch, twelve feet wide and fifteen feet deep, from the
mountains to the Rio Negro, scattering the earth from the excavation
over the ground with such care as to leave nothing to excite the
savages’ suspicions. Then, when the ditch was completed, he flanked the
Indians with his cavalry and drove them southward on the run. Being
ignorant of the trap set for them, the savages galloped carelessly along
until thousands of them were piled into the ditch, one on top of the
other--a maimed, struggling, screaming mass of men, women, children, and
horses. Many were killed by the fall, others were crushed by those who
fell upon them, while those who crawled out were despatched by the
sabres of the cavalrymen.
Those who were not driven into the ditch fled to the eastward hunting
for a crossing, which the soldiers allowed them no time to make, even if
they had had the tools. Shovels and picks and spades were unknown among
the Patagonians, and as they are the wards of no nation, muskets and
ammunition had never been furnished them to do their fighting with. It
was very much such a chase as Chief Joseph of the Nez Perces gave
General Howard in the North-west a few years ago, and finally ended in
General Roca’s driving the Indians into a corner, with the impassable
Rio Negro behind them, where the slaughter was continued until most of
the warriors fell. The remainder were made prisoners and distributed
around among the several regiments of the Argentine army, in which they
have proven excellent soldiers. The women and children were sent to the
Argentine cities, where they have since been held in a state of
semi-slavery by families of officials and men of influence. The dead
were never counted, but were buried in the ditch which encompassed their
destruction.
Northern Patagonia was thus cleared of savages, and civilization
stretched out its arms to embrace the pampas, which are now being
rapidly populated with ranchmen. The grass is very similar to that of
our own great plains, but water is more plentiful and regular than in
the South-west Territories of the United States. Towards the Andes there
is some timber, and the foot-hills are well wooded. Grazing land in this
country is sold at a nominal price by the Argentine Government, or is
leased to tenants for a term of eight years, in lots of six thousand
acres, at a rental of one hundred dollars per year. Locations nearer the
cities, of course, cost more money, and are hard to get, as they are
already occupied by people who secured titles to the land years ago by
“concessions” from Congress or other means.
Not long ago the United States Consul at Buenos Ayres received a letter
from a New York capitalist, in which the latter proposed that they
should pool their issues and secure a “concession” from the Argentine
Government to gather up the wild cattle on the pampas. The capitalist,
who had been overhauling his geography, discovered that “immense herds
of wild horses and cattle are roaming ownerless upon the pampas of the
Argentine Republic and Patagonia,” and thought it would be a good scheme
to take a lot of Texas cow-boys down and corral them, if the permission
of the Government could be obtained. He proposed that the consul should
obtain such permission, while he would furnish the cow-boys and the
necessary capital, and the two would become partners in the Patagonia
cattle trade on an extensive scale.
The astonished consul did not answer the letter. It was a tempting
scheme, but there were several obstacles in the way of its success, the
first being that there were no wild cattle on the pampas, and never had
been. The Indians had large herds, which were “absorbed” by prominent
officials when General Roca concluded his scheme of extermination; but
it would be quite as reasonable to make such a proposition to the
Governor of Colorado. There are about thirty million cows, five million
horses, and one hundred million sheep grazing on the pampas of the
Argentine Republic and Patagonia, but they are all properly branded, and
valued at something like four hundred millions of dollars. The annual
number of beeves slaughtered reaches nearly four millions, and about ten
million sheep are turned into mutton each year.
The Argentinians think that their country is to be the greatest of all
the world in cattle and wool production, and the figures loom up very
much like it, as the increase within the last twenty years has been
about four hundred per cent. At present the Argentine Republic has more
sheep than any other nation, but the value of the wool product is less
by one-third than that of Australia, because the fleece is so much
lighter. The clip per animal in Australia is worth about one dollar,
while in the Argentine Republic it sells for about fifty cents.
The capital of Patagonia, if the territory of that name may be said to
have a capital, as there is only one town within its limits, is Punta
Arenas, or Sandy Point, located about one-third of the distance from the
Atlantic to the Pacific, in the Strait of Magellan. It belongs to Chili,
and was formerly a penal colony; but one look at it is enough to
convince the most incredulous that whoever located it did not intend the
convict’s life to be a happy one. It lies on a long spit which stretches
out into the strait, and the English call it Sandy Point, but a better
name would be Cape Desolation. Convicts are sent there no longer, but
some of those who were sent thither when Chili kept the seeds and
harvests of her revolutions still remain there. There used to be a
military guard, but that was withdrawn during the war with Peru, and all
the prisoners who would consent to enter the army got a ticket of leave.
The Governor resides in what was once the barracks, and horses are kept
in what was used as a stockade. Hunger, decay, and dreariness are
inscribed upon everything--on the faces of the men as well as on the
houses they live in--and the people look as discouraging as the mud.
They say it rains in Punta Arenas every day. That is a
mistake--sometimes it snows. Another misrepresentation is the published
announcement that ships passing the strait always touch there. Doubtless
they desire to, and it is one of the delusions of the owners that they
do; but as the wind never ceases except for a few hours at a time, and
the bay on which the place is located is shallow, it is only about once
a week or so that a boat can land, because of the violent surf. Our
arrival happened to be opportune, for the water was smooth, and we
landed without great difficulty, the only drawbacks being a pouring rain
and mud that seemed bottomless.
The town is interesting, because it is the only settlement in Patagonia,
and of course the only one in the strait. It is about four thousand
miles from the southernmost town on the west coast of South America to
the first port on the eastern coast--a voyage which ordinarily requires
fifteen days; and as Punta Arenas is in about the middle of the way, it
possesses some attractions. Spread out in the mud are two hundred and
fifty houses, more or less, which shelter from the ceaseless storms a
community of eight hundred or one thousand people, representing all
sorts and conditions of men, from the primeval Indian type to the pure
Caucasian--convicts, traders, fugitives, wrecked seamen, deserters from
all the navies in the world, Chinamen, negroes, Poles, Italians,
Sandwich Islanders, wandering Jews, and human drift-wood of every tongue
and clime cast up by the sea and absorbed in a community scarcely one of
which would be willing to tell why he came there, or would stay if he
could get away. It is said that in Punta Arenas an interpreter for every
language known to the modern world can be found, but although the place
belongs to Chili, English is most generally spoken. There are a few
women in the settlement, some of them faithful mothers and wives, no
doubt, but the most of them have defective antecedents, and are noted
for a disregard of matrimonial obligations.
There are some decent people here--ship agents and traders who came for
business reasons, a consul or two, and among others an Irish physician,
Dr. Fenton, who is the host and oracle sought for by every stranger who
arrives. Occasionally some yachting party stops here on a voyage around
the world, or a man-of-war cruising from one ocean to the other, and
steamers bound from Europe to the South Pacific ports, or returning
thence, pass every day or two; so that communication is kept up with the
rest of the universe, and the people who live at this antipodes, where
the sun is seen in the north, and the Fourth of July comes in the depth
of winter, are pretty well informed as to affairs at the other end of
the globe. The latitude corresponds to about that of Greenland, and if
you tip the globe over you will see that it is the southernmost town in
the world, farther south than the Cape of Good Hope or any of the
inhabited islands. The emotions that come with the contemplation of the
fact that you are about as far away from anywhere as one can go are
quite novel; but in the midst of them you are summoned to confront the
fact that the world is not as large as it looks to be, for here is a man
who used to live where you came from, and another who once worked in an
office where you are employed. There is a news-stand where you can
purchase London and New York papers, often three or four months old, but
still fresh to the long voyager, and shops at which Paris confectionery
and the luxuries of life can be had at Patagonia prices.
There is a curiosity-shop near the landing, which is kept by an old
fellow who was once a sailor in the United States navy, and fought under
Admiral Farragut at Mobile--at least he says he did, and he speaks like
a truthful man. Here are to be purchased many interesting relics; and
passengers who are fortunate enough to get ashore, go back to their ship
loaded down with Indian trifles, shells and flying fish, tusks of
sea-lions, serpent-skins, agates from Cape Horn, turtle-shells, and the
curious tails of the armadillo, in which the Indians carry their
war-paint. But the prettiest things to be bought at Punta Arenas are the
ostrich rugs, which are made of the breasts of the young birds, and are
as soft as down and as beautiful as plumage can be.
The plumes of the ostrich are plucked from the wings and tail while the
bird is alive, but to make a rug the little ones are killed and skinned,
and the soft fluffy breasts are sewed together until they reach the size
of a blanket. Those of a brown color and those of the purest white are
alternated, and the combination produces a very fine artistic effect.
They are too dainty and beautiful to be spread upon the floor, but can
be used as carriage robes, or to throw over the back of a couch or
chair. Sometimes ladies use them as panels for the front of dress
skirts, and thus they are more striking than any fabric a loom can
produce. Opera cloaks have been made of them also, to the gratification
of the æsthetic. They are too rare to be common, and too beautiful to
ever tire the eye.
This town of Sandy Point is quite a market for other sorts of furs,
which are brought in by the Indians of Patagonia from the mountains.
Several large houses in Valparaiso and Buenos Ayres have agents there,
and the shipments to Europe are quite large. The chief articles of
export in this line are ostrich feathers and guanaco (pronounced
_wanacko_) skins.
[Illustration: THE GUANACO.]