City of Rosario.--Its Population.--A Pretentious
Church.--Ocean Experiences.--Morbid Fancies.--Strait of
Magellan.--A Great Discoverer.--Local
Characteristics.--Patagonians and Fuegians.--Giant
Kelp.--Unique Mail Box.--Punta Arenas.--An Ex-Penal
Colony.--The Albatross.--Natives.--A Naked
People.--Whales.--Sea-Birds.--Glaciers.--Mount Sarmiento.--A
Singular Story.
The route to Rosario is rather monotonous by railway, taking the
traveler through a very flat but fertile region, over prairies which are
virtually treeless, not unlike long reaches of country through which the
Canadian Pacific Railroad passes between Banff, in the Rocky Mountains,
and Port Arthur, on Lake Superior. The monotonous scenery is varied only
by a sight of occasional herds of cattle, feeding upon the rich grass,
with here and there a mounted herdsman, and the numberless telegraph
poles which line the track. It is at least a seven hours' journey from
Buenos Ayres to Rosario. Occasionally a marshy reach of soil is
encountered where large aquatic birds are seen, such as flamingoes,
storks, cranes, herons, and the like.
Rosario, in the province of Santa Fe, is the second city in point of
population and importance in the Argentine Republic. It is a young and
promising capital, hardly yet fairly launched upon its voyage of
prosperity, but so far it has been singularly favored by various
circumstances. The place is arranged in the usual crisscross manner as
regards the streets of this country, which, unfortunately, are too
narrow for even its present limited business. In place of twenty-four
feet they should have been laid out at least double that width, in the
light of all experience has developed in these South American cities.
This new town is situated a little less than three hundred miles by
water from Buenos Ayres, and about two hundred by land, railroad and
steamboat connection being regularly maintained between them. The site
is admirably chosen on the banks of the Parana River, fifty or sixty
feet above its level, and it is destined to become, eventually, a great
commercial centre. In 1854 it was only a large village, containing some
four thousand people. It is the natural seaport, not only of the rich
province of Cordova, but also of the more inland districts, Mendoza, San
Luis, Tucuman, Salta, and Jujuy, the first named having a population of
half a million. Owing to the height of the river's banks, merchandise is
loaded by "shutes," being thus conducted at once from the warehouses to
the hatches of the vessels. Already a number of foreign steamships may
be seen almost any day lying at anchor opposite the town, while the
railway communications in various directions have all of their
transportation capacity fully employed. One of these lines reaches
almost across the continent to Mendoza, at the eastern slope of the
Andes, west from Rosario. Other roads run both north and south from
here. The foreign and domestic trade of the place is second only to that
of Buenos Ayres. Vessels drawing fifteen feet of water ascend the river
to this point. As a shipping port, Rosario has to a certain extent
special advantages even over the larger city, being two or three hundred
miles nearer the merchandise producing points.
There is already a population of some seventy-five thousand here, and,
as we have intimated, the city is growing rapidly. Wharves, docks, and
warehouses are in course of construction, and can hardly be finished
fast enough to meet the demand for their use. There are a few
substantial and handsome dwellings being erected, and many of a more
ordinary class, in the finishing of which many a cargo of New England
lumber is consumed. Some of the public buildings are imposing in size
and architectural design, wisely constructed in anticipation of the
future size of the city, whose rapid growth is only equaled by St. Paul
in Brazil. The tramway, gas, and telephone have been successfully
introduced. There is certainly no lack of enterprise evinced in all
legitimate business directions, while attention is being very properly
and promptly turned towards perfecting a carefully devised educational
system of free schools, primary and progressive. When the founders of a
new city begin in this intelligent fashion, we may be very sure that
they are moving in the right direction, and that permanency, together
with abundant present success, is sure to be the sequence.
On one side of the Plaza Mayor of Rosario stands a very pretentious
church, not yet quite completed, but as the towers and dome are finished
it makes a prominent feature from a long way off, as one approaches the
town. In the centre of this square is a marble shaft surmounted by a
figure representing Victory, and at the base are four statues of
Argentine historic characters. This square is adorned with a double row
of handsome acacias. As regards amusements, so far as is visible,
theatricals seem to take the lead, the place having two theatres, both
of which appear to be enjoying a thriving business.
When a new city is started in South America upon a site so well
selected, and after so thoroughly substantial a plan, the result is no
problem. The influx of European immigrants promptly supplies the
necessary laborers and artisans, quite as fast, indeed, as they are
required, while the ordinary growth and development of inland resources
tax the local business capacity, enterprise, and capital to their
utmost. Rosario needs to perfect a careful and thorough system of
drainage. Fevers are at present alarmingly prevalent, arising from
causes which judicious attention and sanitary means would easily
obviate.
We will not weary the reader by protracted delay at this point, having
still a long voyage before us.
Embarking at Montevideo, our way is southward over a broad and lonely
track of ocean. If we can summon a degree of philosophy to our aid, it
is fortunate. Without genial companions, surrounded by strangers, and
thrown entirely upon ourselves, mental resort often fails us, life
appears sombre, the wide, wide ocean almost appalling. One of the
inevitable trials of a long sea voyage is the wakeful hours which will
occasionally visit the most experienced traveler,--midnight hours, when
the weary brain becomes preternaturally active, the imagination
oversensitive and weird in its erratic conceptions, while forebodings of
evil which never happens are apt to fill the mind with morbid anxieties.
The very silence of the surroundings is impressive, interrupted only by
the regular throbbing of the great, tireless engine, and the dashing
waters chafing along the iron hull close beside the wakeful dreamer.
Separated by thousands of miles from home, all communication cut off
with friends and the world at large, while watching the dreary ocean,
day after day, week after week, we imagine endless misfortunes that may
have come to dear ones on shore. However limited may be the world of
reality, that of the imagination is boundless, and sometimes one
realizes years of wretched anxiety in the space of a few overwrought
hours. It is such moments of passive misery which beget wrinkles and
white hairs. Action is the only relief, and one hastens to the deck for
a change of scene and thoughts. After experiencing such a night, how
glad and glorious seems the sun rising out of the wide waste of waters,
how bright and glowing the smile he casts upon the long lazy swell of
the South Atlantic, as if pointedly to rebuke the overwrought fancy, and
reassure the aching heart!
Be we never so dreary, the great ship speeds on its course, heeding us
not; its busy motor, like heart-beats, throbs with undisturbed
uniformity, forcing the vessel onward despite the joy or sorrow of those
it carries within its capacious hull.
The Strait of Magellan, which divides South America from the mysterious
island group which is known as Terra del Fuego, and connects the
Atlantic with the Pacific Ocean by a most intricate water-way, is
considerably less than four hundred miles in length, and of various
widths. De Lesseps, with his successful Suez Canal and his deplorable
Panama failure, is quite distanced by the hand of Nature in this line of
business. It would require about ten thousand Suez Canals to make a
Magellan Strait, and then it would be but a very sorry imitation. It
will be remembered that the Portuguese navigator who discovered this
remarkable passage, and for whom it is justly named, first passed
through it in November, 1520, finally emerging into the waters of the
new sea, upon which he was the first to sail, and which he named Mar
Pacifico. Doubtless it seemed "pacific" to him after his rude experience
in the South Atlantic, but the author has known as rough weather in this
misnamed ocean as he has ever encountered in any part of the globe.
One can well conceive of the elation and surprise of Magellan, upon
emerging from the intricate passage through which he had been struggling
to make his way for so many weary days. What a sensation of satisfaction
and triumph must the courageous and persevering navigator have
experienced at the discovery he had made! What mattered all his weary
hours of watching, of self-abnegation, of cold and hunger, of incessant
battling with the raging sea? Henceforth to him royal censure or royal
largess mattered little. His name would descend to all future
generations as the great discoverer of this almost limitless ocean.
The passage leading to the strait on the Atlantic or eastern end is
about twenty miles across, Cape Vergens being on the starboard side, and
Cape Espiritu Santo--or Cape Holy Ghost--on the port. The entrance on
the western or Pacific end is marked by Cape Pillar, Desolation Land,
where the scenery is far more rugged and mountainous, the cape
terminating in two cliffs, shaped so much like artificial towers as to
be quite deceptive at a short distance. The narrowest part of the strait
is about one mile in width, known to mariners as Crooked Reach. A
passage through this great natural canal is an experience similar, in
some respects, to that of sailing in the inland sea of Alaska, between
Victoria and Glacier Bay, bringing into view dense forests, immense
glaciers, abrupt mountain peaks, and snow-covered summits, the whole
shrouded in the same solitude and silence, varied by the occasional
flight of sea-birds or the appearance of seals and porpoises from below
the deep waters. So irregular in its course is this passage between the
two great oceans, so changeable are its currents, so impeded by
dangerous rocks and hidden shoals, so beset with squalls and sudden
storms, that sailing vessels are forced to double the ever-dreaded Cape
Horn rather than take the Magellan route. A United States man-of-war, a
sailing ship, was once over two months in making the passage through the
strait, and Magellan tells us that he was thirty-seven days in passing
from ocean to ocean, though using all ordinary dispatch. Within a
fortnight of the writing of these notes, a European mail steamship was
lost here by striking upon a sunken rock. Fortunately, owing to the
proximity of the shore and moderate weather prevailing, the crew and
passengers were all saved.
Winter lingers, and the days are short in this latitude. A sailing ship
would be compelled to find anchorage nightly, and some days would
perhaps be driven back in a few hours a distance which it had required a
week to make in her proper direction. Steamships usually accomplish the
run in from thirty to forty hours, there being many reaches where it is
necessary to run only at half speed. If heavy fogs and bad weather
prevail, they often lay by during the night, and also in snow-storms,
which occur not infrequently. The sky is seldom clear for many hours
together, and the sun's warmth is rarely felt, the rain falling almost
daily. Even in the summer of this high southern latitude the nights are
cold and gloomy, ice nearly always forming. It must be admitted that
this region, of itself, is not calculated to attract the most inveterate
wanderer. One is not surprised when reading the rather startling
narrations of the old navigators who made the passage of the strait,
encountering the constantly varying winds, and having canvas only to
depend upon. The marvel is that, with their primitive means, they should
have accomplished so much. There are no lighthouses in this passage from
ocean to ocean, though it has been pretty well surveyed and buoyed in
late years, thanks to the liberality of the English naval service, by
whom this was done. There is, in fact, a dearth of lighthouses on the
entire coast of South America, especially on the west side of the
continent. We can recall but three between Montevideo and Valparaiso, a
distance, by way of the strait, of fully two thousand miles. The
lighthouses we refer to are at Punta Arenas, Punta Galesa, near
Valdivia, and that which marks the port of Concepcion, at Talcahuano.
The Strait of Magellan is only fit as an abiding-place for seals,
waterfowl, and otters; humanity can hardly find congenial foothold here.
The natives of Patagonia, who live on the northern side of the strait,
are called horse Indians, because they make such constant use of the
wild horses; they do not move in any direction without them. Those on
the Fuegian side are called canoe Indians, as the canoe forms their
universal and indeed only mode of transportation. The former are a
rather large, tall race of people, the men averaging about six feet in
height; the latter are smaller in physical development, and are less
civilized than the Indians of Patagonia, which, to be sure, is saying
very little for the latter, who are really a low type of nomads. The
Fuegians are believed to still practice cannibalism. One writer tells us
that criminals and prisoners of war are thus disposed of, and that the
last crew of shipwrecked seamen who fell into their hands were roasted
and eaten by them. Their hostile purposes are well understood, for
whenever they dare to exercise such a spirit they are sure to do so.
They cautiously send out a boat or two to passing vessels, with whom a
little trading is attempted, the main body of natives keeping well out
of sight; but in case of any mishap to a ship, or if a small party land
and are unable to defend themselves, they will appear in swarms from
various hiding-places, swooping down upon their victims like vultures in
the desert. The officers of the yacht Sunbeam, as recounted by Lady
Brassey, found it necessary to turn her steam-pipes full force upon the
swarming natives, who were doubtless preparing to make an effort to
capture the yacht and her crew, hoping to overcome them by mere force of
numbers. They were, however, so frightened and utterly astonished by the
means of defense adopted by Lord Brassey that they threw themselves, one
and all, into the sea, and sought the shore pell-mell. Humboldt, in his
day, ranked these Fuegians among the lowest specimens of humanity he had
ever met, and they certainly do not seem to have improved much in the
mean time. One is at a loss to understand why the Patagonians should
have impressed the early navigators with the idea that they were a
people of gigantic size. There is no evidence to-day of their being, or
ever having been, taller or larger than the average New Englander.
Half-naked savages, standing six feet high, naturally impress one as
being taller than Europeans clad in the conventional style of civilized
people.
The waters of Magellan are very dark, deep, and sullen in aspect, with
insufficient room in many places to manage a ship properly under canvas
alone. In their depth and darkness these waters also resemble those of
Alaska's inland sea. The shores are quite bold, and the rocks below the
surface are mostly indicated by giant kelp--_Fucus giganteus_--growing
over them, a kind provision of nature in behalf of safe navigation. It
will not answer, however, to depend solely upon this indication; the
many rocks in the strait are by no means all so designated, nor are they
all buoyed. Sea-kelp is very plentiful in this region, and serves many
useful purposes. It forms a nourishing food for the Fuegians under
certain circumstances, when their usual supply is scarce. They dry it
and prepare it in a rude way suited to their unsophisticated palates. It
also forms a portion of the support of the seals and sea-otters; these
creatures feed freely upon its more delicate and tender shoots. It is
wonderful how it can exist and thrive among such breakers as it
constantly encounters in these restless waters, which are churned into
mounds of foam in squally weather; but it does grow in great luxuriance,
rising oftentimes two hundred feet and more from the bottom of the sea.
It is curious to watch its abundant growth and its peculiar habits. If
the wind and tide are in the same direction, the plant lies smooth upon
the water; but if the wind is against the tide, the leaves curl up,
causing a ripple on the surface, like a school of small fish. A specimen
of giant kelp was secured from alongside of the ship, broken off at
arm's length below the surface of the water. It was heavy and full of
parasites. Upon shaking it, myriads of marine insects, shells, tiny
crabs, sea-eggs, and star-fish fell upon the deck. All of these were of
the smallest species, some almost invisible to the naked eye, but how
wonderful they appeared under the microscope, which developed hundreds
of forms of life infinitesimal in size!
At a prominent point of the main channel is a strong box made fast by a
chain, which always used to be opened by the masters of passing ships,
either to deposit or to take away letters, as the case might be, each
shipmaster undertaking the free delivery of all letters whose address
was within the line of his subsequent course. In the whaleship service,
especially during times now long past, this arrangement has been of
great service, and there is no instance on record where the purpose of
this self-sustaining post-office was disregarded. In these days of fast
and regular post-office service, the "Magellan mail," as it was called,
is of no practical account.
There are several fairly good harbors in the strait, but the only white
settlement was originally a penal colony founded by the Chilian
government, though it no longer serves for that purpose, the convicts
having risen some years since, and overpowered the garrison. A large
portion of the Patagonian shore is well wooded, besides which an
available coal deposit has been found and worked to fair advantage.
Steamships, which were formerly obliged to go to the Falkland Islands,
in the Atlantic, five hundred miles from the mouth of the strait, when
running short of fuel, can now get their supply in an exigency at Punta
Arenas--"Sandy Point." It is situated in the eastern section of the
strait, about a hundred and twenty-five miles from the entrance. We do
not mean to convey the idea that this is a regular coaling station,
though it may some time become so. The town consists of straggling,
low-built log-houses, and a few framed ones, reminding one of Port Said
at the Mediterranean end of the Suez Canal, with its heterogeneous
population. That of Sandy Point is made up of all nationalities,
strongly tinctured with ex-convicts, and deserters from the Chilian army
and navy. English is the language most commonly spoken, though the place
is Chilian territory. It contains some twelve or fifteen hundred
inhabitants, and is the most southerly town on the globe, as well as the
most undesirable one in which to live, if one may express an opinion
upon such brief acquaintance.
We made no attempt to go on shore at Punta Arenas. A rain-storm was at
its height while the ship lay off the town, and when it rains in these
latitudes, it attends exclusively to the business in hand. The water
comes down like Niagara, until finally, when the clouds have entirely
emptied themselves, it stops. Jupiter Pluvius is master of the
situation, when he asserts himself, and there is no one who can dispute
his authority. Umbrellas and waterproofs are of no more use as a
protection during the downpour, than they would be to a person who had
fallen overboard in water forty fathoms deep. One of our passengers came
on deck with a life preserver about his body, solemnly declaring that if
this sort of thing continued much longer, the article would be
absolutely necessary in order to keep afloat.
During the season the Patagonians bring into Punta Arenas the result of
their hunting in the shape of seal and otter skins, together with
guanaco, and silver-fox skins, which are gathered by local traders and
shipped to Europe. Occasionally a few sea-otter skins of rare value are
obtained from here, fully equal, we were told, to anything taken in
Alaskan waters. We have said that Punta Arenas is the most southerly
town on the globe. The next nearest town to the Antarctic circle is the
Bluff, so called,--also known as Campbelltown,--in the extreme south of
New Zealand, where the author has eaten of the famous oysters indigenous
there.
Two sorts of supplies are to be obtained by navigators of the strait,
namely, fuel and good drinking water. Sometimes a valuable skin robe may
be purchased of the Patagonian Indians. It is called a guanaco-skin
cloak, and made from the skin of the young deer. To obtain these skins
of a uniform fineness of texture, the fawns are killed when but eight or
ten days old; the available product got from each one is so small as
hardly to exceed twice the size of one's hand. These are sewn together
with infinite care and neatness by the Indian women, who use the fine
sinews taken from ostriches' legs for thread. One of these guanaco-skin
cloaks represents a vast amount of labor, and a hundred fawns must die
to supply the raw material. Only chiefs of tribes can afford to wear
them. Strangers who are willing to pay a price commensurate with their
real cost and value may occasionally buy such an article as we describe,
but these cloaks are rare. One was brought on board ship and shown to
us, the price of which was twelve hundred dollars, nor do we think it
was an excessive valuation. It was worth the amount as a rare curiosity
for some art museum.
That monarch bird of Antarctic regions, the albatross, frequents both
ends of the strait, and sometimes accompanies steamships during the
passage, together with cape-pigeons, gulls, and other marine birds,
though as a rule the albatross is little seen except on the broad
expanse of the ocean. A bird called the steamer-duck, also nicknamed by
sailors the paddle-wheel duck, was pointed out to us by our captain. It
is so called from its mode of propelling itself through the water,
scooting over the surface of the strait while using both wings and legs,
and creating considerable disturbance of the water, like a side-wheeler.
The wings are too small to give it power of flight through the air. The
steamer-duck is a large bird, nearly the size of the domestic goose;
after its fashion, it moves with astonishing velocity, considerably
faster than the average speed of a steamship. But we were speaking a
moment since of the albatross, which is a feathered cannibal, and shows
some truly wolfish traits. When one of its own species, a member of the
same flock even, is wounded and drops helpless to the surface of the
sea, its comrades swoop down upon it, and tearing the body to pieces
with their powerful bills, devour the flesh ravenously. This was
witnessed near the Arctic circle, between Hobart, in Tasmania, and the
Bluff, in New Zealand, a few years ago, when some English sportsmen
succeeded in wounding one of these mammoth birds from the deck of the
steamship Zealandia. The only other known bird of our day which measures
from eleven to twelve feet between the tips of the extended wings is the
South American condor.
The sea hereabouts abounds in fish, which constitute the largest portion
of the food supply of the few Indians who live near the coast of either
shore. The Fuegians dwell in the rudest shelters possible, nothing
approaching the form of a house. The frailest shelter, covered with
sea-lion's skins, suffices to keep them from the inclemencies of the
weather. With the exception of an animal skin of some sort, having the
fur on, secured over one shoulder on the side exposed to the wind, the
canoe Indians wear no clothing. We were told that several of these
natives, while quite young, were taken to England by advice of the
missionaries and taught to read and write, being also kindly instructed
in civilized manners and customs, which they gladly adopted for the time
being; but upon returning to their native land, in every instance they
rapidly lapsed into a condition of semi-savagery. It had been hoped they
would act as a civilizing medium with their former friends, after
returning among them, but this proved fallacious, and was a great
disappointment to the well-meaning philanthropists. This same
experience, as is well known, has been the result of similar experiments
with natives of Africa and the South Sea Islands. The author is
conversant with a striking illustration of this character in connection
with an Australian Indian youth, which occurred in Queensland, and which
was both interesting and very romantic in its development. It simply
went to prove that hereditary instincts cannot be easily eradicated, and
that not one, but many generations are necessary to banish savage
proclivities which are inherited from a long line of ancestors.
Gold is found to some extent in the beds of the streams in
Patagonia,--free gold, washed from the disintegrated rocks. Natives
sometimes bring small quantities of the gold dust into Punta Arenas,
with which to purchase tobacco and other articles. Many heedless and
unprincipled individuals sell them intoxicants, to obtain which these
Indians will part with anything they possess, after they have once
become familiar with the taste and effect of the captivating poison.
Not far from Cape Forward, near the middle of the strait, which is the
most southerly portion of the American continent, three native boats
were seen during our passage. The steamer was slowed for a few moments
to give us a brief opportunity to see the savage occupants. These three
frail, ill-built canoes were tossed high and low by the swell of the
Pacific, which set to the eastward through the strait. Each boat
contained a man, a couple of women, and one or two children, the latter
entirely naked, the others nearly so. They were Fuegians, raising their
hands and voices to attract our attention, asking for food and tobacco,
to which appeal a generous response was made. Their broad faces, high
cheek-bones, low foreheads, and flat noses, their faces and necks
screened by coarse black hair, did not challenge our admiration, however
much we were exercised by pity for human beings in so desolate a
condition. They certainly possessed two redeeming features,--brilliant
eyes and teeth of dazzling whiteness. The fruit thrown to them seemed
best to suit the ideas and palates of the children, who devoured
oranges, skin and all; but the gift of clothing which was made to the
parents was laid aside for future consideration, though there are
probably no "ole clo'" merchants in Terra del Fuego. The men ate hard
sea biscuit and slices of cold corned beef ravenously. The plump,
well-rounded shoulders and limbs of the women showed them to be in far
better physical condition than the men, whose bodies consisted of little
besides skin and bones. They were copper colored, and the skin of the
women shone in the bright sunlight which prevailed for the moment, as
though they had been varnished. If their faces had been as well formed
as their bodies, they would have been models of natural beauty. How
these people could remain so nearly naked with apparent comfort, while
we found overcoats quite necessary, was a problem difficult to solve
satisfactorily.
"They were born so," said our first officer. "As you go through life
with your face and hands exposed, so they go with their entire bodies.
It is a mere matter of habit,--habit from babyhood to maturity."
All of which is perfectly reasonable. It was observed that on the bottom
of their boats was a layer of flat stones, and on these, just amidship,
was spread a low, smouldering fire of dried vines and small twigs,
designed to temper the atmosphere about them. So frail were the boats
that one of the occupants was kept constantly baling out water.
It is impossible to form any intelligent estimate as to how many of
these aborigines there are in and about the strait. They find food, like
the canvas-back ducks, in the wild celery, adding shell-fish and dried
berberries, and are a strictly nomadic people. After exhausting the
products of one vicinity, for the time being, they move on, but return
to the locality at a proper time, when nature has recuperated herself
and furnished a fresh supply of vegetable growth and edible shell-fish.
A stranded whale is a godsend to these savages, upon the putrid flesh of
which they live and fatten until all has disappeared. In their primitive
way they hunt this leviathan, but want of proper facilities renders them
rarely successful. Occasionally they manage to plant a spear in some
vital spot, deep enough to be effectual, so that the whale, after diving
to the depths of the sea, finally comes to the surface, near the place
where he was wounded, to thrash about and to die. Even then, unless it
is at a favorable point, the large body is liable to be swept away by
the strong tide setting through the strait, so that the natives seldom
secure a carcass by these means.
Not long since one of the European mail steamers, on approaching the
Atlantic end of the strait, sighted an object which was at first thought
to be a sunken rock. If this was its character, it was all important to
obtain the exact location. A boat was lowered and pulled to the object,
when it was found to be the carcass of a dead whale, in which was a
stout wooden spear which had fatally wounded the creature. Securely
attached to the spear, by means of a rope made of animal sinews, there
were a couple of inflated bladders. The spear was evidently a Fuegian
weapon, and though it had finally cost the whale his life, the dead body
had been carried by the current far beyond the reach of those who had
caused the fatal wound. The discovery showed the crude manner in which
these savages seek to possess themselves of a whale occasionally and
thus to appease their barbaric appetites. They could not pursue one in
their frail boats, but the creature is sometimes found sleeping on the
surface of the sea, which is the Fuegian opportunity for approaching it
noiselessly, and for planting a spear in some vital part of the huge
body. Whales, when thus attacked, do not show fight, but their instinct
leads them to dive at once.
A few whales were observed within the strait during our passage, some so
near as to show that they had no fear of the ship. It was curious to
watch them. There was a baby whale among the rest, five or six feet in
length, which kept very close to its dam; it suddenly disappeared once
while we were watching the school, though only to rise again to the
surface of the sea and emit a tiny fountain of spray from its diminutive
blow-hole. In passing a small inlet which formed a calm, sheltered piece
of water, still as an inland lake, there were seen upon its tranquil
bosom a few white geese, quietly floating, while close at hand upon some
rocks, a half score of awkward penguins were also observed, with their
ludicrous dummy wings, and their bodies supported in a half standing,
half sitting position.
Ducks seem to be very abundant in the strait, but geese are scarce. An
occasional cormorant is caught sight of, with its distended pouch
bearing witness to its proverbial voracity. All the birds one sees in
these far away regions have each some peculiar adaptability to the
climate, the locality, or to both. The penguin never makes the mistake
of seeking our northern shores, nor is the albatross often seen north of
the fortieth degree of south latitude. True, were the former to
emigrate, he would have to swim the whole distance, but the latter is so
marvelously strong of wing that it has been said of him, he might
breakfast, if he chose, at the Cape of Good Hope, and dine on the coast
of Newfoundland.
Terra del Fuego,--"Land of Fire,"--which makes the southern side of the
strait, opposite Patagonia, is composed of a very large group of islands
washed by the Atlantic on the east side and the Pacific on the west,
trending towards the southeast for about two hundred miles from the
strait, and terminating at Cape Horn. The largest of these islands is
East Terra del Fuego, which measures from east to west between three and
four hundred miles. One can only speak vaguely of detail, as this is
still a _terra incognita_. These islands do indeed form "a land of
desolation," as Captain Cook appropriately named them, sparsely
inhabited to be sure, but hardly fit for human beings. They are deeply
indented and cut up by arms of the sea, and composed mostly of sterile
mountains, whose tops are covered with perpetual snow. When the
mountains are not too much exposed to the ocean storms on the west
coast, they are scantily covered with a species of hardy, wind-distorted
trees from the water's edge upward to the snow line, which is here about
two thousand feet above the sea. In sheltered areas this growth is dense
and forest-like, especially nearest to the sea; in others it is
interspersed by bald and blanched patches of barren rocks. In some open
places, where they have worn themselves a broad path, the glaciers come
down to the water, discharging sections of ice constantly into the deep
sea, crowded forward and downward by the immense but slow-moving mass
behind,--a frozen river,--thus illustrating the habit of the
iceberg-producing glaciers of the far north.
One never approaches this subject without recalling the lamented Agassiz
and his absorbing theories relating to it.
The author has seen huge glaciers in Scandinavia and in Switzerland,
forming natural exhibitions of great interest; each country has
peculiarities in this respect. In the last-named country, for instance,
there is no example where a glacier descends lower than thirty-five
hundred feet above the sea level, while in Norway the only one of which
he can speak from personal observation has before it a large terminal
moraine, thus losing the capacity for that most striking performance,
the discharge of icebergs. The best example of this interesting
operation of nature which we have ever witnessed, and probably the most
effective in the world, is that of the Muir glacier in Alaska, where an
immense frozen river comes boldly down from the Arctic regions to the
sea level, with a sheer height at its terminus of over two hundred feet.
From this unique facade, nearly two miles in width, the constant
tumbling of icebergs into the sea is accompanied by a noise like a salvo
of cannon. This glacier, it should be remembered, also extends to the
bottom of the bay, where it enters it two hundred feet below the surface
of the water, thus giving it a height, or perhaps we should say a depth
and height combined, of fully four hundred feet. Icebergs are discharged
from the submerged portion continually, and float to the surface, thus
repeating the process below the water which is all the while going on
above it, and visible upon the perpendicular surface. Nothing which we
have seen in the Canadian Selkirks, in Switzerland, Norway, or
elsewhere, equals in size, grandeur, or clearly defined glacial action,
the famous Muir glacier of Alaska.
The most remarkable peak to be seen in passing through the Strait of
Magellan is Mount Sarmiento, which is inexpressibly grand in its
proportions, dominating the borders of Cockburn's Channel near the
Pacific end of the great water-way. It is about seven thousand feet in
height, a spotless cone of snow, being in form extremely abrupt and
pointed. This frosty monarch sends down from its upper regions a score
or more of narrow, sky-blue glaciers to the sea through openings in the
dusky forest. Darwin was especially impressed by the sight of these when
he explored this region, and speaks of them as looking like so many
Niagaras, but they are only miniature glaciers after all. One sees in
the Pyrenees and the St. Gothard Pass similar cascades flowing down from
the mountains towards the valleys, except that in the one instance the
crystal waters are liquid, in the other they are quite congealed. The
group or range of which Sarmiento is the apex is very generally shrouded
in mist, and is visited by frequent rain, snow, and hail storms. We were
fortunate to see it under a momentary glow of warm sunshine, when the
sky was deepest blue, and the ermine cloak of the mountain was spangled
with frost gems.
It would seem that such exposure to the elements in a frigid climate,
and such deprivations as must be constantly endured by the barbarous
natives who inhabit these bleak regions, must surely shorten their
lives, and perhaps it does so, though "the survival of the fittest," who
grow up to maturity, is in such numbers that one is a little puzzled in
considering the matter. A singular instance touching upon this point
came indirectly to the writer's knowledge.
It appears that four Fuegian women, one of whom was about forty years of
age, and the others respectively about twenty, twenty-five, and thirty,
were picked up adrift in the strait a few years ago. It was believed
that they had escaped from some threatened tribal cruelty, but upon this
subject they would reveal nothing. These fugitives were kindly taken in
hand by philanthropic people at Sandy Point, and entertained with true
Christian hospitality. When first discovered they were, as usual, quite
naked, but were promptly clothed and properly housed. No more work was
required of them than they chose voluntarily to perform; in short, they
were most kindly treated, and though the best of care was taken of them
in a hygienic sense, they all gradually faded, and died of consumption
in less than two years. They seemed to be contented, were grateful and
cheerful, but clothing and a warm house to live in, odd as it may seem,
killed them! They were born to a free, open air and exposed daily life,
and their apparently sturdy constitutions required such a mode of
living. Civilized habits, strange to say, proved fatal to these wild
children of the rough Fuegian coast.