STEAMSHIP WINFIELD SCOTT, PACIFIC COAST, _March 17, 1852_.
When I last wrote you I think I was returning from Monte Video to Rio
Janeiro, to obtain a passage in a new steamer which was expected out
from England, designing to continue my voyage through the Straits of
Magellan, and up to Chili, but I found myself disappointed. Soon after
this, the arrival of the noble ship from which I now write gave me
an excellent opportunity to do so, being well commanded, and having
accommodations for six hundred California passengers, while we are but
two in number. The detention at Rio, on my second visit, gave me the
advantages, or rather the annoyances, of the Carnival season, as it
is there conducted. For three days from twelve at noon until night,
it was unsafe to appear in the streets, where you ran the risk of
being drenched with water, the contents of colored wax balls of the
appearance of lemons, thrown by ladies, gentlemen, and children; in
fact, all classes entered into the sport, from the doors and balconies
across the streets. The Carnival commenced on Sunday, Washington’s
birthday, and for three days business was mostly suspended. I had taken
a social and quiet dinner in the suburbs with our minister, under the
protection of a large and magnificent star-spangled banner, recently
received, and floating in remembrance of the Father of his Country, to
whom we are so much indebted for gifts possessed by no other people. In
returning my vehicle had to run the gauntlet amid the showers of lemon
balls. Theatres were crowded with masquerades, which I did not attend;
having looked in upon them, however, the evening previous, which was
the commencement, I found thousands of spectators occupying the boxes,
and a multitude dancing with a violence that I had scarcely ever seen
in cold latitudes. Prior to the Carnival they had an annual ball
for charitable purposes, to which I was invited. It was given in an
immense building in the centre of a long inclosure called the Garden of
Paradise, but it appeared to me more like a Purgatory. Several thousand
persons were present, to whom every variety of iced refreshments were
offered; the extreme heat of the saloon, which was nearly one hundred
degrees, and the ridiculous costume of the gentlemen (black coats and
pants) oppressed me so much that I was induced to leave at an early
hour. The ladies wore more dresses of rose and pink than of white,
which appeared to add to the heat, and were sparkling with diamonds
more attractive than their persons, but less diversified in complexion,
the Portuguese race not being remarkable for beauty, while the color
here is much mixed.
Our ship, which is about twelve hundred tons burden, took in eight
hundred tons of coal and put to sea, and at the expiration of four days
and a half we found ourselves at the mouth of the Rio de la Plata, with
muddy water and no soundings, two hundred miles from shore, which shows
the force of this river. We saw nothing of interest along the coast,
except immense flocks of aquatic birds, opposite the Guano Islands. At
the termination of nine days and a half we were in Lat. 52° south, at
the entrance of the Straits, Cape Virgin at the north, and forty miles
wide. The cold having increased gradually, we had made accession of
clothing, and put up a stove two days before. Our steamer hove to off
the cape, and we entered by daylight, with a cold, strong head-wind;
the banks were from one hundred and sixty to two hundred and fifty feet
in height; large numbers of walruses or sea-cows basked in the sun, and
many birds of large size flew foolishly in and through the rigging.
Guanacoes and ostriches are seen on the Patagonia shores, and the
country appears dreary and barren.
I became interested as the scenery improved in grandeur and majesty,
and occupied a place in the pilot-house, being well muffled up in
overcoat and cloak; still it was cold and cheerless, and I could not
avoid reflecting upon the inconveniences of a shipwreck. The first
narrows dividing the Patagonian coast from Terra del Fuego are about
nine miles long, and one mile and a half wide, with strong tide
ripples, and we can see distinctly the two shores; the water is of a
greenish river color, but quite salt. The Indians, of whom some few are
seen, trade for beads, petty trinkets, liquor, ammunition and lead, of
which they make balls, and with which, attached to the ends of cords,
they entangle the legs of the ostriches. In the afternoon of the day
we entered we had passed the second narrows, with Elizabeth Island in
view, in an open bay, when we espied the first small sail, and supposed
it to be some man of war’s boat, cruizing with the French flag, bearing
down for us. We were heading off and should have passed her, had we
not accidentally observed the tri-colored flag half-mast, when we
altered our course and came up. We discovered a French lieutenant
clapping his hands with joy, and crying out in his native tongue, “We
are shipwrecked!” When shall I forget the scene of excitement and
ecstasy manifested by himself and his six men composing the crew, as
well as ourselves, on learning their condition, and being the means of
saving them? His launch was twenty-one feet in length, and six feet
wide, with mainsail and jib; it contained his supplies of red wine,
salt-beef, and biscuit, but was leaky, and kept two men bailing; they
could not have lived twenty-four hours longer. The facts are these: The
French brig of war, Entreprenant, coming from the Pacific on her way to
the Falkland islands, had entered a false bay, of which there are many,
and the constant westerly winds resisted every effort of her crew of
one hundred and thirty-five men to get her out; they were surrounded
by mountains of snow and ice, without any chance of escape. At the
expiration of eleven days, the launch started in pursuit of relief to
Port Famine, a penal settlement, and the only habitable neighborhood
along the straits. On arriving there they found that the convicts had
risen and massacred the governor and other officers, and escaped, after
hanging and burning the captain and owner of an English brig and an
American three-masted schooner, taking possession of the vessels and
all the treasure obtainable. The only recourse for the launch was to
continue with the wind towards the Atlantic, when fortunately we met
and saved them from a frightful death. The lieutenant explained to me
the position of his ship, which I interpreted to our commander, who
readily consented to go in pursuit of her. The next day we discovered
a sail, and heard the discharge of guns, and found it to be the brig
of war, which had just emerged from the bay, after an imprisonment of
eighteen days. A perfect calm had enabled them, a desperate effort of
their oarsmen, to tow her eight miles out into the strait, when the
commander, Count Pouget, espied us, and expressed his obligations,
sending a letter to the French Commodore at Valparaiso, requesting
me to call upon him personally with the Captain, and to receive his
thanks. The two ships parted amid the general rejoicing of all parties.
We had a cold but beautiful sail through scenery of the most majestic
and romantic character, mountains rising from two thousand five hundred
to three thousand feet in height, with jagged forms and snow-clad, with
the gilding of the sun’s rays upon them.
There are various kinds of scenery as you pass west. Sometimes the
peaks resemble those about Rio, high and conical; I almost imagined
myself among the ice-mountains of Switzerland, and then again, in the
scanty undergrowth of some localities, in Norway. With the strong
westerly winds in some parts, the stunted trees rise from the sheltered
side of rocks to a level with the summit, and seem as if cut and
trimmed off at the top, and all the branches extend towards the east.
The mountains rise in succession, retreating as you approach the
ocean, the influence of the salt-air melting the snow and bringing
down avalanches, while those in the rear are constantly white, and
those on the margin are of grey granite in layers. On the shores of
South Desolation we descried the smoke and fire of the Fuegean Indians,
who came off in bark canoes, making signals with seal skins; the men,
women, and children, notwithstanding the severe atmosphere about us,
were nearly in a state of nature. The distance through the straits from
Cape Virgin to Cape Pillar is two hundred and seventy miles, the most
southern point being Cape Froward, in Latitude fifty-four south; our
distance from Rio Janeiro to Valparaiso will be three thousand and six
hundred miles, and the views through the passage are certainly among
the most rough, wild, desolate, and exciting in the world. When the
California trade first opened, many small vessels passed through, but
now the clippers have replaced them, and a sail is rarely seen.
We had fine weather until we approached the Pacific entrance at Cape
Pillar, which is a singular rock or column, five hundred feet high,
when a heavy gale of wind, with a strong current from the west, set
in, bringing in tremendous seas, which nothing but the immense power
of steam could resist; the smallest accident in the machinery must
have dashed the vessel on the rocks. The qualities of the ship have
now been fully tried, and nobly has she conducted herself for three
boisterous days, with but slight damage to the wood-work about the
guards. She rode the billows handsomely, through a perfect white sea of
foam, and rarely have I seen or enjoyed more grand and majestic waves.
During the squalls we had some magnificent rainbows, which appeared
to approach the ship in circular form, like colossal wheels, until
almost within grasp. We also saw large numbers of albatross, with wings
measuring from eight to ten feet from tip to tip, and with two joints,
which gives them the most graceful motion as they skim over the waves.
My travelling companion from the Bay State is making his first voyage,
and has suffered intense agony of mind for fear we should be lost. He
says he has already seen the tusks of the “elephant” off Cape Pillar,
and for two nights he did not close his eyes in sleep, as he thought
every moment we should be capsized by the heavy roll of the waves; I,
however, had full confidence in the ship and officers. My friend says
he must try to get home by land, as the value of the ship and cargo
would be no inducement to him to pass through the same scenes again.
The weather is now clear, the winds are hushed, the sea is smooth, the
nights are brilliant, with the white Magellan cloud in the heavens,
as an index for the mariner, and the weather is becoming warm and
pleasant. We have passed Ascension, and are now approaching Valparaiso,
where I shall leave the steamer and proceed after a few days to
Santiago, the capital of Chili, ninety miles in the interior.