THROUGH THE STRAIT OF MAGELLAN.
The joy on board was general, when Paganel's resolution was known.
Young Robert threw himself on his neck with very demonstrative
delight. The worthy geographer almost fell backwards. "A rough little
gentleman," said he; "I will teach him geography." As Captain Mangles
had engaged to make him a sailor, Glenarvan a man of honor, the major a
boy of coolness, Lady Helena a noble and generous being, and Mary Grant
a pupil grateful towards such patrons, Robert was evidently to become
one day an accomplished gentleman.
The Duncan soon finished shipping her coal, and then leaving these
gloomy regions she gained the current from the southeast coast of
Brazil, and, after crossing the equator with a fine breeze from the
north, she entered the southern hemisphere. The passage was effected
without difficulty, and every one had good hopes. On this voyage in
search of Captain Grant, the probabilities increased every day. Their
captain was one of the most confident on board; but his confidence
proceeded especially from the desire that he cherished so strongly at
heart, of seeing Miss Mary happy and consoled. He was particularly
interested in this young girl; and this feeling he concealed so well,
that, except Miss Grant and himself, no one on board the Duncan had
perceived it.
As for the learned geographer, he was probably the happiest man in the
southern hemisphere. He passed his time in studying the maps with which
he covered the cabin-table; and then followed daily discussions with
Mr. Olbinett, so that he could scarcely set the table.
But Paganel had all the passengers on his side except the major,
who was very indifferent to geographical questions, especially at
dinner-time. Having discovered a whole cargo of odd books in the mate's
chests, and among them a number of Cervantes' works, the Frenchman
resolved to learn Spanish, which nobody on board knew, and which would
facilitate his search on the shores of Chili. Thanks to his love for
philology, he did not despair of speaking this new tongue fluently on
arriving at Concepcion. He therefore studied assiduously, and was heard
incessantly muttering heterogeneous syllables. During his leisure hours
he did not fail to give young Robert practical instruction, and taught
him the history of the country they were rapidly approaching.
In the meantime the Duncan was proceeding at a remarkable rate. She
cut the Tropic of Capricorn, and her prow was headed toward the strait
of the celebrated geographer. Now and then the low shores of Patagonia
were seen, but like an almost invisible line on the horizon. They
sailed along the coast for more than ten miles, but Paganel's famous
telescope gave him only a vague idea of these American shores.
The vessel soon found herself at the head of the strait, and entered
without hesitation. This way is generally preferred by steam-vessels
bound for the Pacific. Its exact length is three hundred and
seventy-six miles. Ships of the greatest tonnage can always find deep
water, even near its shores, an excellent bottom, and many springs of
water. The rivers abound in fish, the forest in game, there are safe
and easy landings at twenty places, and, in short, a thousand resources
that are wanting in the Strait of Lemaire, and off the terrible rocks
of Cape Horn, which are continually visited by storms and tempests.
[Illustration: Sometimes the tips of her yards would graze the branches
of the beeches that hung over the waves.]
During the first hours of the passage, till you reach Cape Gregory,
the shores are low and sandy. The entire passage lasted scarcely
thirty-six hours, and this moving panorama of the two shores well
rewarded the pains the geographer took to admire it under the radiant
beams of the southern sun. No inhabitant appeared on the shores of the
continent; and only a few Fuegians wandered along the barren rocks of
Terra del Fuego.
At one moment the Duncan rounded the peninsula of Brunswick between
two magnificent sights. Just here the strait cuts between stupendous
masses of granite. The base of the mountains was hidden in the heart
of immense forests, while their summits, whitened with eternal snow,
were lost in the clouds. Towards the southeast Mount Taru towered
six thousand five hundred feet aloft. Night came, preceded by a long
twilight, the light melting away insensibly by gentle degrees, while
the sky was studded with brilliant stars.
In the midst of this partial obscurity, the yacht boldly continued on
her course, without casting anchor in the safe bays with which the
shores abound. Sometimes the tips of her yards would graze the branches
of the beeches that hung over the waves. At others her propeller would
beat the waters of the great rivers, starting geese, ducks, snipe,
teal, and all the feathered tribes of the marshes. Soon deserted ruins
appeared, and fallen monuments, to which the night lent a grand aspect;
these were the mournful remains of an abandoned colony, whose name
will be an eternal contradiction to the fertility of the coasts and
the rich game of the forests. It was Port Famine, the place that the
Spaniard Sarmiento colonized in 1581 with four hundred emigrants. Here
he founded the city of San Felipe. But the extreme severity of the cold
weakened the colony; famine devoured those whom the winter had spared,
and in 1587 the explorer Cavendish found the last of these four hundred
unfortunates dying of hunger amid the ruins of a city only six years in
existence.
[Sidenote: CHEERLESS MEMORIES.]
The vessel coasted along these deserted shores. At daybreak she sailed
in the midst of the narrow passes, between beeches, ash-trees, and
birches, from the bosom of which emerged ivy-clad domes, cupolas
tapestried with the hardy holly, and lofty spires, among which the
obelisk of Buckland rose to a great height. Far out in the sea sported
droves of seals and whales of great size, judging by their spouting,
which could be seen at a distance of four miles. At last they doubled
Cape Froward, still bristling with the ices of winter. On the other
side of the strait, on Terra del Fuego, rose Mount Sarmiento to the
height of six thousand feet, an enormous mass of rock broken by bands
of clouds which formed as it were an aerial archipelago in the sky.
[Illustration: Port Famine.]
Cape Froward is the real end of the American continent, for Cape Horn
is only a lone rock in the sea. Passing this point the strait narrowed
between Brunswick Peninsula, and Desolation Island. Then to fertile
shores succeeded a line of wild barren coast, cut by a thousand inlets
of this tortuous labyrinth.
The Duncan unerringly and unhesitatingly pursued its capricious
windings, mingling her columns of smoke with the mists on the rocks.
Without lessening her speed, she passed several Spanish factories
established on these deserted shores. At Cape Tamar the strait widened.
The yacht rounded the Narborough Islands, and approached the southern
shores. At last, thirty-six hours after entering the strait, the rocks
of Cape Pilares were discerned at the extreme point of Desolation
Island. An immense open glittering sea extended before her prow, and
Jacques Paganel, hailing it with an enthusiastic gesture, felt moved
like Ferdinand Magellan himself, when the sails of the Trinidad swelled
before the breezes of the Pacific.