SANDY POINT TO LOTA BAY.
_And far abroad the canvas wings extend,_
_Along the glassy plain the vessel glides,_
_While azure radiance trembles on her sides._
_The lunar rays in long reflection gleam,_
_With silver deluging the fluid stream._
_Sunday, October 8th_.--At 6 a.m. we weighed anchor, and proceeded on
our voyage. At first there was not much to admire in the way of
scenery, the shores being low and sandy, with occasional patches of
scrubby brushwood, and a background of granite rocks and mountains.
Soon after passing Port Famine we saw the bold outline of Cape
Froward, the southernmost point of South America, stretching into the
Straits. It is a fine headland, and Tom ordered the engines to be
stopped in order to enable Mr. Bingham to sketch, and me to
photograph, both it and the splendid view back through the channel we
had just traversed to the snowy range of mountains in the distance,
crowned by Mount Sarmiento, not unlike the Matterhorn in appearance.
At this point the weather generally changes, and I suppose we must
look forward to living in mackintoshes for some little time to come.
In the afternoon, when in English Reach, where many vessels have been
lost, great excitement was caused on board by the appearance of a
canoe on our port bow. She was stealing out from the Barbara Channel,
and as she appeared to be making direct for us, Tom ordered the
engines to be slowed. Her occupants thereupon redoubled their
efforts, and came paddling towards us, shouting and making the most
frantic gesticulations, one man waving a skin round his head with an
amount of energy that threatened to upset the canoe. This frail craft,
upon a nearer inspection, proved to be made only of rough planks,
rudely tied together with the sinews of animals; in fact, one of the
party had to bale constantly, in order to keep her afloat. We flung
them a rope, and they came alongside, shouting 'Tabáco, galléta'
(biscuit), a supply of which we threw down to them, in exchange for
the skins they had been waving; whereupon the two men stripped
themselves of the skin mantles they were wearing, made of eight or ten
sea-otter skins sewed together with finer sinews than those used for
the boat, and handed them up, clamouring for more tobacco, which we
gave them, together with some beads and knives.[4] Finally, the woman,
influenced by this example, parted with her sole garment, in return
for a little more tobacco, some beads, and some looking-glasses I had
thrown into the canoe.
[Illustration: Bartering with Fuegians]
[Footnote 4: These skins proved to be the very finest quality ever
plucked, and each separate skin was valued in England at from 4_l_. to
5_l_.]
The party consisted of a man, a woman, and a lad; and I think I never
saw delight more strongly depicted than it was on the faces of the two
latter, when they handled, for the first time in their lives probably,
some strings of blue, red, and green glass beads. They had two rough
pots, made of bark, in the boat, which they also sold, after which
they reluctantly departed, quite naked but very happy, shouting and
jabbering away in the most inarticulate language imaginable. It was
with great difficulty we could make them let go the rope, when we went
ahead, and I was quite afraid they would be upset. They were all fat
and healthy-looking, and, though not handsome, their appearance was by
no means repulsive; the countenance of the woman, especially, wore
quite a pleasing expression, when lighted up with smiles at the sight
of the beads and looking-glasses. The bottom of their canoe was
covered with branches, amongst which the ashes of a recent fire were
distinguishable. Their paddles were of the very roughest description,
consisting simply of split branches of trees, with wider pieces tied
on at one end with the sinews of birds or beasts.
Steaming ahead, past Port Gallant, we had a glorious view over Carlos
III. Island and Thornton Peaks, until, at about seven o clock, we
anchored in the little harbour of Borja Bay. This place is encircled
by luxuriant vegetation, overhanging the water, and is set like a gem
amid the granite rocks close at hand, and the far-distant snowy
mountains.
[Illustration: Thornton Peaks]
Our carpenter had prepared a board, on which the name of the yacht and
the date had been painted, to be fixed on shore, as a record of our
visit; and as soon as the anchor was down we all landed, the gentlemen
with their guns, and the crew fully armed with pistols and rifles, in
case of accident. The water was quite deep close to the shore, and we
had no difficulty in landing, near a small waterfall. To penetrate far
inland, however, was not so easy, owing to the denseness of the
vegetation. Large trees had fallen, and, rotting where they lay, under
the influence of the humid atmosphere, had become the birthplace of
thousands of other trees, shrubs, plants, ferns, mosses, and lichens.
In fact, in some places we might almost be said to be walking on the
tops of the trees, and first one and then another of the party found
his feet suddenly slipping through into unknown depths below. Under
these circumstances we were contented with a very short ramble, and
having filled our baskets with a varied collection of mosses and
ferns, we returned to the shore, where we found many curious shells
and some excellent mussels. While we had been thus engaged, the
carpenter and some of the crew were employed in nailing up our board
on a tree we had selected for the purpose. It was in company with the
names of many good ships, a portion of which only were still legible,
many of the boards having fallen to the ground and become quite
rotten.
Near the beach we found the remains of a recent fire, and in the
course of the night the watch on deck, which was doubled and
well-armed, heard shouts and hoots proceeding from the neighbourhood
of the shore. Towards morning, too, the fire was relighted, from which
it was evident that the natives were not far off, though they did not
actually put in an appearance. I suppose they think there is a
probability of making something out of us by fair means, and that,
unlike a sealing schooner, with only four or five hands on board, and
no motive power but her sails, we are rather too formidable to attack.
_Monday, October 9th_.--We are indeed most fortunate in having another
fine day. At 6 a.m. the anchor was weighed, and we resumed our
journey. It was very cold; but that was not to be wondered at,
surrounded as we are on every side by magnificent snow-clad mountains
and superb glaciers. First we passed Snowy Sound, in Tierra del Fuego,
at the head of which is an immense blue glacier. Then came Cape Notch,
so called from its looking as if it had had a piece chopped out of it.
Within a few yards of the surrounding glaciers, and close to the sea,
the vegetation is abundant, and in many places semi-tropical, a fact
which is due to the comparatively mild winters, the temperate summers,
the moist climate, and the rich soil of these parts. Passing up
English Reach, we now caught our first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean,
between Cape Pillar on one side, and Westminster Hall, Shell Bay, and
Lecky Point, on the other. Steering to the north, and leaving these on
our left hand, we issued from the Straits of Magellan, and entered
Smyth's Channel, first passing Glacier Bay and Ice Sound, names which
speak for themselves. Mount Joy, Mount Burney, with its round
snow-covered summit, rising six thousand feet from the water, and
several unnamed peaks, were gradually left behind; until, at last,
after threading a labyrinth of small islands, we anchored for the
night in Otter Bay, a snug little cove, at the entrance to the
intricacies of the Mayne Channel.
[Illustration: Glaciers. Snowy Sound.]
It was almost dark when we arrived, but the children, Captain Brown,
and I, went on shore for a short time, and gathered a few ferns and
mosses. We also found the embers of a fire, which showed that the
natives were not far off, and we therefore thought it prudent to hurry
on board again before nightfall. No names of ships were to be seen;
but, in our search for ferns, we may possibly have overlooked them. We
have not come across any Fuegians to-day, though in two of the places
we have passed--Shell Bay and Deep Harbour, where a few wigwams are
left standing as a sort of head-quarters--they are generally to be met
with. During the night the watch again heard the natives shouting; but
no attempt was made to re-light the fire we had noticed, until we were
steaming out of the bay the next morning.
_Tuesday, October 10th_.--In the early morning, when we resumed our
voyage, the weather was still fine; but a few light clouds were here
and there visible, and an icy wind, sweeping down from the mountains,
made it appear very cold, though the thermometer--which averages, I
think, 40° to 50° all the year round--was not really low. The line of
perpetual snow commences here at an elevation of from 2,500 to 3,500
feet only, which adds greatly to the beauty of the scene; and as it is
now early spring the snow is still unmelted, 500 feet, and even less,
from the shore. The stupendous glaciers run right down into the sea,
and immense masses of ice, sometimes larger than a ship, are
continually breaking off, with a noise like thunder, and falling into
the water, sending huge waves across to the opposite shore, and
sometimes completely blocking up the channels. Some of these glaciers,
composed entirely of blue and green ice and the purest snow, are
fifteen and twenty miles in length. They are by far the finest we
have, any of us, ever seen; and even those of Norway and Switzerland
sink into comparative insignificance beside them. The mountains here
are not so high as those of Europe, but they really appear more lofty,
as their entire surface, from the water's edge to the extreme summit,
is clearly visible. At this end of the Straits they terminate in
peaks, resembling Gothic spires, carved in the purest snow; truly
'virgin peaks,' on which the eye of man has but seldom rested, and
which his foot has never touched. They are generally veiled in clouds
of snow, mist, and driving rain, and it is quite the exception to see
them as distinctly as we now do.
After leaving Mayne's Channel, and passing through Union and
Collingwood Sounds, we found ourselves beneath the shadow of the
splendid Cordilleras of Sarmiento--quite distinct from Mount
Sarmiento, already referred to--along the foot of which extended the
largest glacier we have yet seen.[5] With Tarleton Pass on our right
hand, and Childer's Pass on the left, we came in sight of Owen's
Island, one extremity of which is called Mayne Head, and the other
Cape Brassey, these places having all been so named by Captain Mayne,
during his survey in the 'Nassau,' in 1869. Near the island of
Esperanza, the clouds having by that time completely cleared away, and
the sun shining brightly, we had a splendid view of another range of
snowy mountains, with Stoke's Monument towering high in their midst.
The numerous floating icebergs added greatly to the exquisite beauty
of the scene. Some loomed high as mountains, while others had melted
into the most fanciful and fairy-like shapes--huge swans, full-rigged
ships, schooners under full sail, and a hundred other fantastic forms
and devices. The children were in ecstasies at the sight of them.
[Footnote 5: I should explain that the names of places in these
Straits frequently occur in duplicate, and even triplicate, which is
rather confusing.]
As we gradually opened out our anchorage--Puerto Bueno--we found a
steamer already lying there, which proved to be the 'Dacia,' telegraph
ship, just in from the Pacific coast. Having dropped our anchor at
about 5 p.m., we all went on shore, armed as before, some of the
gentlemen hoping to find a stray duck or two, at a fresh-water lake,
a little way inland. We met several of the officers of the 'Dacia,'
who, being the first comers, did the honours of the place, and told us
all they knew about it. The vegetation was as luxuriant and beautiful
as usual--in fact, rather more so; for we are now advancing northwards
at the rate of about a hundred miles a day. There were no ducks in the
lake, but we enjoyed the scramble alongside it, to the point where it
falls over some rocks into the sea. The gig was drawn under this
waterfall, and having been loaded to her thwarts, with about three
tons and a half of excellent water, she was then towed off to the
yacht, where the water was emptied into our tanks, which were thus
filled to the brim. A small iceberg, also towed alongside, afforded us
a supply of ice; and we were thus cheaply provided with a portion of
the requisite supplies for our voyage. The 'Dacia' had an iceberg half
as big as herself lying alongside her, and all hands were at work
until late at night, aided by the light of lanterns and torches,
chopping the ice up and stowing it away.
Our boat being thus engaged, we were obliged to wait on shore until
long past dark; but as we were a large and strong party, it did not
much matter. Our men amused themselves by collecting a number of large
and excellent mussels, some of which, distinguishable by the peculiar
appearance of their shells, arising from a diseased condition of the
fish, contained from ten to thirty very small seed pearls. The captain
of the 'Dacia' came to dinner, and the officers in the evening; and
they gave us much valuable information about the anchorages further up
the Straits, and many other things. The captain kindly gave Tom all
his Chilian charts of the Darien Channel, which has not yet been fully
surveyed by the English Government, though the 'Nassau' passed through
in 1869.
_Wednesday, October 11th_.--I never in my life saw anything so
beautiful as the view when I came on deck this morning, at a quarter
to five. The moon was shining, large and golden, high in the heavens;
the rosy streaks of dawn were just tinging the virgin snow on the
highest peaks with faint but ever-deepening colour; whilst all around,
the foliage, rocks, and icebergs were still wrapped in the deepest
shade. As the sun rose, the pink summits of the mountains changed to
gold and yellow, and then to dazzling white, as the light crept down
into the valleys, illuminating all the dark places, and bringing out
the shades of olive-greens, greys, and purples, in the most wonderful
contrasts and combinations of colour. The grandeur of the scene
increased with every revolution of the screw, and when fairly in the
Guia narrows we were able to stop and admire it a little more at our
leisure, Mr. Bingham making some sketches, while I took some
photographs. To describe the prospect in detail is quite impossible.
Imagine the grandest Alpine scene you ever saw, with tall snowy peaks
and pinnacles rising from huge domed tops, and vast fields of unbroken
snow; glaciers, running down _into_ the sea, at the heads of the
various bays; each bank and promontory richly clothed with vegetation
of every shade of green; bold rocks and noble cliffs, covered with
many-hued lichens; the floating icebergs; the narrow channel itself,
blue as the sky above, dotted with small islands, each a mass of
verdure, and reflecting on its glassy surface every object with such
distinctness that it was difficult to say where the reality ended and
the image began. I have seen a photograph of the Mirror Lake, in
California, which, as far as I know, is the only thing that could
possibly give one an idea of the marvellous effect of these
reflections. Unfit Bay, on Chatham Island, looking towards the
mountains near Pill Channel, and Ladder Hill, which looks as if a
flight of steps had been cut upon its face, were perhaps two of the
most striking points amid all this loveliness.
All too soon came the inevitable order to steam ahead; and once more
resuming our course, we passed through Innocents and Conception
Channels, and entered Wide Channel, which is frequently blocked up
with ice at this time of year, though to-day we only met with a few
icebergs on their way down from Eyre Sound.
[Illustration: Unfit Bay]
I have already referred to the extraordinary shapes assumed by some of
the mountain peaks. That appropriately called Singular Peak--on
Chatham Island--and Two-peak Mountain and Cathedral Mountain--both on
Wellington Island--specially attracted our attention to-day. The
first-named presents a wonderful appearance, from whichever side you
view it; the second reminds one of the beautiful double spires at
Tours; while the last resembles the tapering spire of a cathedral,
rising from a long roof, covered with delicate towers, fret-work, and
angles. In Wide Channel we felt really compelled to stop again to
admire some of the unnamed mountains. One we christened Spire
Mountain, to distinguish it from the rest; it consisted of a single
needle-like point, piercing deep into the blue vault of heaven, and
surrounded by a cluster of less lofty but equally sharp pinnacles.
This group rose from a vast chain of exquisitely tinted snow-peaks,
that looked almost as if they rested on the vast glacier beneath,
seamed with dark blue and green crevasses and fissures.
[Illustration: Two-peaked Mountain.]
All this time the weather continued perfect. Not a cloud was to be
seen, the sun was hot and bright, and the sky was blue enough to rival
that of classic Italy. If we could but be sure that this delightful
state of things would continue, how pleasant it would be, to stop and
explore some of these places. We have, however, been so frequently
warned of the possibility of detention for days and even weeks at
anchor, owing to bad weather, that we are hurrying on as fast as we
can, expecting that every day will bring the much-dreaded deluge,
gale, or fog. In thick weather it is simply impossible to proceed; and
if it comes on suddenly, as it generally does, and finds you far from
an anchorage, there is nothing to be done but to heave-to and wait
till it clears, sending a party ashore if possible to light a fire, to
serve as a landmark, and so enable you to maintain your position. How
thankful I am that we have been hitherto able to make the passage
under such favourable circumstances! It has been a vision of beauty
and variety, the recollection of which can never be effaced.
Europe Inlet, on our right, going up Wide Channel, was full of ice.
Husband's Inlet looked as if it was frozen over at the farther end,
and Penguin Inlet seemed quite choked up with huge hummocks and blocks
of ice. Tom therefore decided not to attempt the passage of Icy Reach,
for fear of being stopped, but to go round Saumarez Island to Port
Grappler by way of Chasm Reach, rather a longer route. It was a happy
decision; for nothing could exceed the weird impressive splendour of
this portion of the Straits. We were passing through a deep gloomy
mountain gorge, with high perpendicular cliffs on either side. Below,
all was wrapped in the deepest shade. Far above, the sun gilded the
snowy peaks and many-tinted foliage with his departing light, that
slowly turned to rose-colour ere the shades of evening crept over all,
and the stars began to peep out, one by one. We could trace from the
summit to the base of a lofty mountain the course of a stupendous
avalanche, which had recently rushed down into the sea, crushing and
destroying everything in its way, and leaving a broad track of
desolation behind it. It must for a time have completely filled up the
narrow channel; and woe to any unfortunate vessel that might happen to
be there at such a moment!
Port Grappler is rather a difficult place to make in the dark; but
Tom managed it with much dexterity, and by eight o'clock we were
safely anchored for the night. We all wanted Tom to stay here
to-morrow to get some rest, which he much needs, but he has determined
to start at five o'clock in the morning as usual, for fear of being
caught by bad weather. Even I, who have of course had no anxiety as to
the navigation, felt so fatigued from having been on the bridge the
whole day since very early this morning, that I went straight to bed
before dinner, in order to be ready for to-morrow.
[Illustration: Indian Reach]
_Thursday, October 12th_.--A day as perfect as yesterday succeeded a
clear cold night. We weighed anchor at 5.15 a.m., and, retracing our
course for a few miles, passed round the end of Saumarez Island, and
entered the narrow channel leading to Indian Reach. The greatest care
is here necessary, to avoid several sunken rocks, which have already
proved fatal to many ships, a large German steamer having been wrecked
as recently as last year. The smooth but treacherous surface of the
channel reflected sharply the cliffs and foliage, and its mirror-like
stillness was only broken at rare intervals, by the sudden appearance
of a seal in search of a fresh supply of air, or by the efforts,
delayed until the very last moment, of a few steamer-ducks, gannets,
or cormorants, to get out of our way.
Having accomplished the passage of Indian Reach in safety, we were
just passing Eden Harbour, when the cry of 'Canoe ahead!' was raised.
A boat was seen paddling out towards us from behind Moreton Island,
containing about half-a-dozen people, apparently armed with bows and
arrows and spears, and provided with fishing-rods, which projected on
either side. One man was standing up and waving, in a very excited
manner, something which turned out ultimately to be a piece of
cotton-waste. Our engines having been stopped, the canoe came
alongside, and we beheld six wild-looking half-naked creatures--two
men, three women, and a very small boy, who was crouching over a fire
at the bottom of the boat. There were also four sharp, cheery-looking
little dogs, rather like Esquimaux dogs, only smaller, with prick ears
and curly tails, who were looking over the side and barking vigorously
in response to the salutations of our pugs. One man had on a square
robe of sea-otter skins, thrown over his shoulders, and laced together
in front, two of the women wore sheepskins, and the rest of the party
were absolutely naked. Their black hair was long and shaggy, and they
all clamoured loudly in harsh guttural tones, accompanied by violent
gesticulations, for 'tabáco' and 'galléta.' We got some ready for
them, and also some beads, knives, and looking-glasses, but through
some mistake they did not manage to get hold of our rope in time, and
as our way carried us ahead they were left behind. The passage was
narrow, and the current strong, and Tom was anxious to save the tide
in the dangerous English Narrows. We could not, therefore, give them
another chance of communicating with us, and accordingly we went on
our way, followed by what were, I have no doubt, the curses--not only
deep, but loud--of the whole party, who indulged at the same time in
the most furious and threatening gestures. I was quite sorry for their
disappointment at losing their hoped-for luxuries, to say nothing of
our own at missing the opportunity of bargaining for some more furs
and curiosities.
Shortly afterwards there were seen from the masthead crowds of natives
among the trees armed with long spears, bows, and arrows, busily
engaged pushing off their canoes from their hiding-places in creeks
and hollows; so perhaps it was just as well we did not stop, or we
might have been surrounded. Not far from here are the English Narrows,
a passage which is a ticklish but interesting piece of navigation. A
strong current prevails, and, to avoid a shoal, it is necessary at one
point to steer so close to the western shore that the bowsprit almost
projects over the land, the branches of the trees almost sweep the
rigging, and the rocks almost scrape the side of the vessel. Two men
were placed at the wheel, as a matter of precaution, and we appeared
to be steering straight for the shore, at full speed, till Tom
suddenly gave the order 'Hard a-port!' and the 'Sunbeam' instantly
flew round and rushed swiftly past the dangerous spot into wider
waters. It is just here that Captain Trivett was knocked off the
bridge of his vessel by the boughs--a mishap he warned Tom against
before we left England.
Whilst in the Narrows we looked back, to see everything bright and
cheerful, but ahead all was black and dismal: the sky and sun were
obscured, the tops of the mountains hidden, and the valleys filled up
with thick fog and clouds--all which seemed to indicate the approach
of a storm of rain, although the glass was still very high. We went up
South Reach and North Reach, in the Messier Channel, till, just as we
were off Liberta Bay, in lat. 48° 50' S., long. 74° 25' W., the
blackest of the black clouds came suddenly down upon us, and descended
upon the deck in a tremendous shower--not of rain, but of _dust_ and
_ashes_. Windows, hatches, and doors were shut as soon as we
discovered the nature of this strange visitation, and in about half
an hour we were through the worst of it: whereupon dustpans, brooms,
and dusters came into great requisition. It took us completely by
surprise, for we had no reason to expect anything of the sort.
Assuming the dust to be of volcanic origin, it must have travelled an
immense distance; the nearest volcano, as far as we know, being that
of Corcovado, in the island of Chiloe, nearly 300 miles off. We had
heard from Sir Woodbine Parish, and others at Buenos Ayres, of the
terrible blinding dust-storms which occur _there_, causing utter
darkness for a space of ten or fifteen minutes; but Buenos Ayres is on
the edge of a river, with hundreds and thousands of leagues of sandy
plains behind it, the soil of which is only kept together by the roots
of the wiry pampas grass. For this dust to reach the Messier Channel,
where we now are, it would have to surmount two chains of snowy
mountains, six or seven thousand feet in height, and in many places
hundreds of miles in width, and traverse a vast extent of country
besides.
The weather was still so fine, and the barometer so high--30.52
inches--that Tom determined to go to sea to-day, instead of stopping
at Hale Cove for the night, as we had originally intended. Directly we
got through the English Narrows, therefore, all hands were busily
engaged in once more sending up the square-yards, top-masts, &c., and
in making ready for sea. Just before sunset, as we were quitting the
narrow channels, the sun pierced through the clouds and lightened up
the lonely landscape as well as the broad waters of the Pacific Ocean.
Its surface was scarcely rippled by the gentle breeze that wafted us
on our course; the light of the setting sun rested, in soft and varied
tints, on the fast-fading mountains and peaks; and thus, under the
most favourable and encouraging circumstances, we have fairly entered
upon a new and important section of our long voyage.
Although perhaps I ought not to say so, I cannot help admiring the
manner in which Tom has piloted his yacht through the Straits, for it
would do credit, not only to any amateur, but to a professional
seaman. He has never hesitated or been at a loss for a moment, however
intricate the part or complicated the directions; but having
thoroughly studied and mastered the subject beforehand, he has been
able to go steadily on at full speed the whole way. It has, however,
been very fatiguing work for him, as he hardly ever left the bridge
whilst we were under way.
We steamed the whole distance from Cape Virgins to the Gulf of Peñas,
659 knots, in 76 hours, anchoring six times. This gives seven days'
steaming, of an average length of eleven hours each; and as we stopped
two or three hours, at different times, for Fuegians, photographs, and
sketches, our average speed was nine and a half knots, though
sometimes, when going with strong currents, it was twelve or fourteen,
and, when going against them, barely six knots.
Just at dark, we passed between Wager Island and Cheape Channel, where
H.M.S. 'Wager,' commanded by Captain Cheape, was wrecked, and we spent
the night in the Gulf of Peñas, almost becalmed.
_Friday, October 13th_.--We ceased steaming at 7.30 a.m., and made
every effort throughout the rest of the day, by endless changes of
sail, to catch each fleeting breath of wind. We did not, however, make
much progress, owing to the extreme lightness of the breeze.
Sorry as we are to lose the scenery of the Straits, it is pleasant to
find the weather getting gradually warmer, day by day, and to be able
to regard the morning bath once more as a luxury instead of a terror.
The change is also thoroughly appreciated by the various animals we
have on board, especially the monkeys and parrots, who may now be seen
sunning themselves in every warm corner of the deck. In the Straits,
though the sun was hot, there was always an icy feeling in the wind,
owing to the presence of enormous masses of snow and ice on every
side.
_Saturday, October 14th_.--Light winds and calms prevailed the whole
day. About 2 p.m. we were off the island of Socorro. In the afternoon
a large shoal of whales came round the yacht. I was below when they
first made their appearance, and when I came on deck they were
spouting up great jets of water in all directions, suggestive of the
fountains at the Crystal Palace. We were lying so still that they did
not seem to be in the least afraid of us, and came quite close,
swimming alongside, round us, across our bows, and even diving down
under our keel. There was a shoal of small fish about, and the whales,
most of which were about fifty or sixty feet in length, constantly
opened their huge pink whalebone-fringed mouths so wide that we could
see right down their capacious throats. The children were especially
delighted with this performance, and baby has learned quite a new
trick. When asked, 'What do the whales do?' she opens her mouth as
wide as she can, stretches out her arms to their fullest extent, then
blows, and finishes up with a look round for applause.
Soon after 8 p.m. the wind completely died away, and, fearing further
detention, we once more got up steam.
_Sunday, October 15th_.--Still calm. We had the litany and hymns at 11
a.m.; prayers and hymns and a sermon at 5 p.m. In the course of the
afternoon we were again surrounded by a shoal of whales. We passed the
island of Chiloe to-day, where it always rains, and where the
vegetation is proportionately dense and luxuriant. It is inhabited by
a tribe of peculiarly gentle Indians, who till the ground, and who are
said to be kind to strangers thrown amongst them. Darwin and Byron
speak well of the island and its inhabitants, who are probably more
civilised since their time, for a steamer now runs regularly once a
week from Valparaiso to San Carlos and back for garden produce. The
potato is indigenous to the island.
[Illustration: Catching Cape Pigeons in the Gulf of Peñas]
_Tuesday, October 17th_.--At 6 a.m., there being still no wind, Tom,
in despair of ever reaching our destination under sail alone, again
ordered steam to be raised. Two hours later a nice sailing breeze
sprang up; but we had been so often disappointed that we determined to
continue steaming. Just before sunset we saw the island of Mocha in
the distance. It is said to have been inhabited at one time by herds
of wild horses and hogs, but I think they have now become extinct.
One of our principal amusements during the calm weather has been to
fish for cape-pigeons, cape-hens, gulls, and albatrosses, with a hook
and line. We have caught a good many in this way, and several
entangled themselves in the threads left floating for the purpose over
the stern. The cape-pigeons were so tame that they came almost on
board, and numbers of them were caught in butterfly-nets. Their
plumage is not unlike grebe, and I mean to have some muffs and
trimmings for the children made out of it. Allen, the coxswain of the
gig, skins them very well, having had some lessons from Ward before we
left England. I want very much to catch an albatross, in order to have
it skinned, and to make tobacco-pouches of its feet and pipe-stems of
the wing-bones, for presents.