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WANDERINGS IN PATAGONIA.
* * * * *
Crown 8vo., cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each. THE WANDERER'S LIBRARY.
=The World Behind the Scenes.= By PERCY FITZGERALD.
=Merrie England in the Olden Time.= By GEORGE DANIEL. With Illustrations
by Robert Cruikshank.
=The Old Showmen and the Old London Fairs.= By THOMAS FROST.
=The Wilds of London.= By JAMES GREENWOOD.
=Tavern Anecdotes and Sayings=; including the Origin of Signs, and
Reminiscences connected with Taverns, Coffee Houses, Clubs, etc. By
CHARLES HINDLEY. With Illustrations.
=Circus Life and Circus Celebrities.= By THOMAS FROST.
=The Story of the London Parks.= By JACOB LARWOOD. With Illustrations.
=The Lives of the Conjurers.= By THOMAS FROST.
=The Life and Adventures of a Cheap Jack.= By One of the Fraternity.
Edited by CHARLES HINDLEY.
=Low-Life Deeps.= An Account of the Strange Fish to be found there. By
JAMES GREENWOOD.
=Seven Generations of Executioners.= Memoirs of the Sansons (1688-1847).
Edited by HENRY SANSON, late Executioner of the Court of Justice of
Paris.
=London Characters=: Illustrations of the Humour, Pathos, and
Peculiarities of London Life. By HENRY MAYHEW. With Illustrations by
W. S. GILBERT, and others.
=The Genial Showman=: Adventures with Artemus Ward, and the Story of his
Life. By E. P. HINGSTON. Illustrated.
=Wanderings in Patagonia=: or, Life among the Ostrich-Hunters. By JULIUS
BEERBOHM. Illustrated.
⁂ _Other Volumes are in preparation._
CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY, W.
* * * * *
[Illustration: AN INDIAN CAMP. p.96.]
[Illustration: AN INDIAN CAMP. p.96.]
WANDERINGS IN PATAGONIA
Or
Life Among the Ostrich-Hunters
by
JULIUS BEERBOHM
[Illustration]
A New Edition, with Illustrations
London
Chatto and Windus, Piccadilly
1881
WANDERINGS IN PATAGONIA.
CHAPTER I.
In the month of August, 1877, I found myself on board ship, bound from
Buenos Ayres for the coast of Patagonia, in company with a party of
engineers, who were going to survey that portion of the country which
lies between Port Desire and Santa Cruz.
After leaving the River Plate we encountered adverse winds and heavy
weather, which kept us tossing about for three weeks, without making
any material progress on our course. At last we got a fair wind,
however, which soon brought us close to our destination, the port of
St. Julian (lat. 49° 20' S.); and one morning, together with my five
o'clock coffee, the cabin-boy brought me the welcome news that land
was in sight. I jumped out of bed and ran on deck, careless of the
hail and rain which were falling in blinding showers, and of the wind
which blew off the land, far colder and sharper than we had hitherto
experienced. On looking to leeward, I could at first see nothing but
a thick bank of clouds; but presently the horizon got clearer, and I
descried a dark, lowering line of coast, of fierce and inhospitable
aspect, rising abruptly from the sea to a considerable height.
I had not long to examine it, for a sudden shift of the wind shrouded
the whole coast in mist, and it did not become visible again till the
afternoon, when the weather cleared up, and the sun shone out
brightly. The wind, however, slowly increased in violence; by the time
St. Julian came in sight we were plunging along under reefed topsails,
and the captain began to think that we should have to stand off the
port till the force of the storm had abated--a prospect which threw us
all into dismay, as we had already been looking forward with vivid
expectations to the pleasure of stretching our legs on _terra firma_
the next morning--a luxury which those who have made a long sea voyage
can fully appreciate.
While the captain was yet doubtful what course to take, the matter was
summarily decided by the weather itself. The wind, which had hitherto
been blowing from the north-east, shifted to the south-east, and
redoubled its fury; and rather than run the risk of standing off the
port for the night, under a lee shore and with a strong current
setting in to the land, the captain elected to face the lesser danger,
and enter the port.
The necessary orders were accordingly given; a man was sent aloft to
look out for banks or rocks, and all preparations were made for any
emergency. An anxious time ensued for all on board, as we steered
slowly in under the northern headland of St. Julian, menaced on either
side by steep and rugged cliffs, falling vertically down to the
water's edge; the sea dashing at their base with an angry roar, and
hurling the white spray almost to their very summits. The gale howled
through the rigging, and a thousand sea-birds, startled at such an
unusual apparition, circled round the ship, white and silent, seeming
to eye us with an unpleasant curiosity.
Suddenly we heard a shout, "Breakers ahead!" and everyone turned pale
and looked anxiously forward. Right in front of us, and forming a belt
across the entrance of the port, stretched a line of breakers, boiling
and foaming like a cauldron; while to the left a long ledge of black,
jagged rocks pierced through the waters, promising certain
destruction, should we drift upon them. For a moment the captain was
irresolute; but it was too late to go back; in any attempt to put the
ship round we should have gone on the rocks, and there was, therefore,
no alternative but to continue our course and dash through the
breakers, leaving the rest to fate. On we went, with beating hearts
and strained nerves, as the threatening roar of the foaming rollers
became louder and louder. In another second we were in their midst,
and everyone held his breath in suspense. Suddenly there was a shock;
the ship quivered, and I was thrown violently on my face. By the time
I got to my feet again, all danger was over. We had crossed the
harbour bar, and were now sailing slowly up the bay, in comparatively
smooth water, and congratulating ourselves on our escape from what had
looked a most serious peril. The wind, too, had lulled, and by the
time we let go the anchor all was still and calm. The sun was just
setting; one by one the gulls, albatrosses, and other sea-birds, which
had hitherto been continuously sweeping round the ship, disappeared;
and not a sound was heard from either side of the broad bay.
On arriving in port, after a long sea voyage, the sudden change of
scene and associations, the bustle and the noise of commercial
activity--the steamers, lighters, and other small craft, plying from
shore to shore; the ships moored alongside the wharves, taking in or
discharging cargo, the busy hum arising from the distant town, the
sight of new faces, and the sound of strange voices--all combine to
excite and bewilder one, contrasting forcibly with the dull, quiet,
and drowsy sameness of the life one has just been leading during
several weeks of dreary navigation.
But none of these accustomed sights and sounds gladdened our hearts in
the desert harbour where we had just safely come to anchor, after our
stormy passage. The silence of death reigned everywhere, and its
mysterious effect, joined to the wild character of the surrounding
country, whose bold, bare hills were now looming gigantic and black in
the gathering dusk, impressed me with a vague sense of awe and wonder.
And not out of harmony with the gloomy spirit of solitude which broods
over St. Julian, are the tragic memories connected with the three
famous nautical expeditions which have visited its inhospitable
shores.
We were anchored between two islands--Justice and Execution Islands.
These names were given to them by Sir Francis Drake, who visited St.
Julian in 1578. On the former he caused one of his party, a Master
Doughty, to be put to death for alleged insubordination. Sir Francis
found a gibbet already erected on one of these islands, which had been
left there by Magellan, who passed the winter of 1520 at St. Julian,
and who, during his stay, had also to quell a formidable mutiny which
broke out amongst his little fleet; and which, but for his timely
energy, foresight, and courage, might have ended fatally for him. The
ringleaders were executed. In more modern times, another fatality
occurred during the expedition of the _Adventure_ and _Beagle_, 1832.
A Lieutenant Sholl, a young officer of much promise, died there, and
was buried on a point overlooking the bay which now bears his name.
The spot is marked by a small cairn, bearing an inscription recording
the date, etc.
As I looked over the bay, for all the change that has happened there
since, either in the rugged outlines of its shores or in the spirit of
silence and desolation that hangs over them, it seemed that it might
have been but yesterday that Magellan dropped anchor there, with his
quaint, high-pooped craft:
'The first who ever burst into that silent sea.'
Peering into the darkness till a mist rose into my eyes, I gradually
fell into a half-dreaming, half-waking state, and presently I seemed
to behold some strangely rigged vessels lying close to me in the bay.
Magellan's own ships! There was the tall, spare figure of the intrepid
commander himself, standing on the poop of the largest vessel, dressed
in a brown leather jerkin, the cross-hilted sword at his side; and I
could plainly mark the expression of dauntless enterprise on his
weather-worn brow, and the determined gleam of his sharp grey eyes,
whose glance now wandered over the far shore and now rested
reverentially on the high cross fixed on the poop. I could see the
quaintly-costumed sailors busy at work on deck, repairing rigging,
mending boats, or making sails, talking and shouting the while in a
strange tongue. Hardy, noble figures these men, who, in the frailest
of craft, braved a thousand dangers in the wildest countries, and
fearlessly carried the symbol of their religion to lands which
mariners of today with all the advantages of modern instruments and
superior vessels, approach with the utmost mistrust and dread. Soon a
bell rang, and all was silence; the men left their work and gathered
round the commander, who, I thought, seemed to be addressing them. And
then floating over the waters came the sound of the 'Ave Maria!'
weirdly sweet and plaintive.
But at this juncture somebody shook me, and I woke up, to find it was
all a dream, and to remember that Magellan had been dead and buried
for centuries, and that I, a son of the nineteenth century, had come
to that spot, not to plant the true Cross, but to find what the
country was capable of--and that, finally, it was time for supper.