THE MYSTERY OF
EASTER ISLAND
[Illustration]
THE MYSTERY OF EASTER ISLAND
THE STORY OF AN EXPEDITION
BY
MRS. SCORESBY ROUTLEDGE
HONOURS MOD. HIST. OXFORD; M.A. DUBLIN
JOINT AUTHOR OF
“WITH A PREHISTORIC PEOPLE: THE AKIKUYU OF BRITISH EAST AFRICA”
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR BY HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.
LONDON AND AYLESBURY
AND SOLD BY
SIFTON, PRAED & CO. LTD., 67 ST. JAMES’S ST.
LONDON, S.W.1
TO THE MEMORY
OF
MY MOTHER
TO WHOM THE LETTERS WERE WRITTEN WHICH
HAVE FORMED A LARGE PORTION OF THE
MATERIAL FOR THIS BOOK, BUT WHO
WAS NO LONGER HERE TO
WELCOME OUR RETURN
PREFACE
As I sit down to write this preface there rises before me, not the other
side of this London street, but the beautiful view over the harbour of
St. Vincent, Cape Verde Islands, as seen from the British Consulate. It
was a hot afternoon, but in that shady room I had found a fellow-woman
and sympathetic listener. To her I had been recounting, rather
mercilessly as it seemed, the story of our experiences in the yacht,
including the drowning of the tea in Las Palmas Harbour. When I had
finished, she said quietly, “You are going to publish all this I
suppose?” I hesitated, for the idea was new. “No,” I replied, “we had
not thought of doing so; of course, if we have any success at Easter
Island we shall make it known, but this is all in the day’s work.” “I
think,” she said, “that there are many who lead quiet stay-at-home lives
who would be interested.” Times have changed since 1913, there are now
few who have not had adventures, either in their own persons, or through
those dear to them, compared with which ours were but pleasant play; but
I still find that many of those who are good enough to care to hear what
we did in those three years ask for personal details. After a lecture
given to a learned society, which it had been an honour to be asked to
address, I was accosted by a lady, invited for the occasion, with the
remark, “I was disappointed in what you told us. You never said what you
had to eat.” This, and many similar experiences, are the apology for the
trivialities of this work.
No attempt has been made to write any sort of a guide book to the varied
places touched at by the yacht, neither space nor knowledge permitted;
all that has been done either by pen or pencil is to try to give the
main impression left on the mind of a passing dweller in their harbours
and anchorages. It has, however, been found by experience that, in
accounts of travel, the general reader loses much of the pleasure which
has been experienced by the writer, through knowledge being assumed of
the history of the places visited; a knowledge which the traveller
himself has absorbed almost unconsciously. Without some acquaintance
with past events the present cannot be understood; at the risk,
therefore, of interrupting the narrative, a few notes of such history
have been included.
In dealing with the main topic of the work, an endeavour has been made
to give some idea of the problem of Easter Island as the Expedition
found it, and also of its work there. With regard to this part, some
appeal is necessary to the understanding kindness of the reader, for it
has not been an easy tale to tell, nor one which could be
straightforwardly recounted. The story of Easter is as yet a tangled
skein. The dim past, to which the megalithic works bear witness—the
island as the early voyagers found it—its more recent history and
present state, all of these are intermingled threads, none of which can
be followed without reference to the remaining clues.
For those who would have preferred more scientific and fewer personal
details, I can only humbly say wait, there is another volume in prospect
with descriptions and dimensions of some two hundred and sixty
burial-places on the island, thousands of measurements of statues, and
other really absorbing matter. The numerical statements in the present
book, dealing with archæological remains, must be considered approximate
till it has been possible to go again through the large collection of
notes.
It is fairly obvious why the writing of this story has fallen to the
share of the sole feminine member of the Expedition. I had also, what
was, in spite of all things, the good fortune to be fourteen weeks
longer on the island than my husband. They were fat weeks too, when the
first lean ones, with their inevitable difficulties, were past; and the
unsettlement towards the end had not arrived. He has, I need hardly say,
given me every assistance with this work. Generally speaking, all things
which it is possible to touch and handle, buildings, weapons, and
ornaments, were in his department; while things of a less tangible
description, such as religion, history, and folk lore fell to my lot.
Those who know him will recognise his touches throughout, and the
account of the last part of the voyage, after my return to England, has
been written by him.
The photographs, when not otherwise stated, are by members of the
Expedition. The drawings are from sketches made by the Author; those of
the burial-places are from note-book outlines made in the course of
work. The diagrams of the houses and burial-places are by my husband.
We are deeply grateful, both personally and on behalf of the Expedition,
for all the aid, both public and private, extended to our work in the
interests of science. We hesitate to allude to it in detail in
connection with what may, it is to be feared, seem an unworthy book, but
we cannot refrain from taking this, the earliest, opportunity of
acknowledging our obligations. The Admiralty lent the Expedition a
Lieutenant on full pay for navigation and survey. The Royal Society
honoured it by bestowing a grant of £100, and the British Association by
appointing a committee to further its interests accompanied by a small
gift. Valuable scientific instruments were lent by both the Admiralty
and Royal Geographical Society.
We are indebted to Sir Hercules Read and Captain T. A. Joyce, of the
Ethnological Department of the British Museum, for the initial
suggestion and much personal help. In our own University of Oxford the
practical sympathy of Dr. Marett has been fully given from the time the
project was first mooted till he read the proofs of the scientific part
of this work; we owe more to such encouragement for any success attained
than perhaps he himself realises. Mr. Henry Balfour has placed us, and
all who are interested in the subject, under the greatest obligation for
his work on our results which has thrown a flood of light on the culture
of Easter Island, and has, in perhaps greater degree than anything else,
made the Expedition seem “worth while.” Dr. Rivers, of Cambridge, kindly
undertook the position of Correspondent in connection with the committee
of the British Association, and has put at our disposal his great
knowledge of the Pacific. Dr. Haddon has also been good enough to allow
us to avail ourselves of his intimate acquaintance with its problems.
Dr. Corney has rendered constant and unique assistance with regard to
the accounts of Easter Island as given by the early voyagers, a line of
research most important in its bearings. Our thanks are due to Dr.
Seligman for kind interest, to Professor Keith for his report on the two
Pitcairn Islanders who returned with the yacht, and his examination of
our osteological collection; to Dr. Thomas of the Geological Survey for
his report of the rocks brought back; and not least to Mr. Sydney Ray,
who has given most valuable time to our vocabularies of the language.
With regard to our journeyings and labours in the field, we are under
great obligation to Mr. Edwards, the Chilean Minister in London, through
whose representations his Government were good enough to grant us
special facilities in their ports. The Expedition owes much to Messrs.
Balfour & Williamson of London, and the firms connected with them in
Chile, California, and New York; most especially to Messrs. Williamson &
Balfour of Valparaiso for their permission to visit Easter Island and
help throughout. We are also very grateful to the manager of the ranch,
Mr. Percy Edmunds, for his practical aid on the island; since we left he
has obtained for us a skin of the sacred bird which we had been unable
to procure, and forwarded with it the negative of fig. 65, taken at our
request.
It has been impossible in the compass of this book to express our
gratitude to all those who gave help and hospitality on both the outward
and homeward voyage. We can only ask them to believe that we do not
forget, and that the friendship of many is, we trust, a permanent
possession.
For professional help in the production of this book it is a pleasure to
acknowledge the skill and patience of Miss A. Hunter, who has assisted
in preparing the sketches, and of Mr. Gear, President of the Royal
Photographic Society, who has worked up the negatives; also of Mr. F.
Batchelor, of the Royal Geographical Society, who has drawn all the
maps.
It has not, as will be readily understood, been always an easy matter to
write of such different interests amidst the urgent claims and
stupendous events since the time of our return; but if any soul rendered
sad by the war, or anxiously facing the problems of a new world, finds a
few hours’ rest surrounded by the blue of the sea or face to face with
the everlasting calm of the great statues, then it will give very real
happiness to
THE STEWARDESS OF THE _MANA_.
_February 1919._
[Illustration: Katherine Routledge]
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
The second edition of a book affords opportunity to tender grateful
thanks for the interest which has made it necessary. It is also one of
the occasions when fate allows, in some measure at any rate, a chance to
repair shortcomings.
It was felt in writing this volume that it was best to leave the work of
the Expedition to tell as far as possible its own tale. Life, however,
is short and books are many. Outside the circle of those with special
scientific knowledge, this method seems, in spite of Chapter XIX, to
have led too often, with even the kindest of readers and reviewers, to a
certain vagueness as to what has, after all, really been accomplished.
Some express disappointment that the problem is “unsolved if not
insoluble”; others state, not without lingering regret, that “there is
no longer any mystery.” Neither view is, of course, correct. It is,
therefore, perhaps worth while, even at the cost of repeating what may
be implicit elsewhere, to add a few more definite words.
It was never anticipated that any Expedition could settle once and for
all the past history of Easter Island. In dealing with any scientific
problem, the first step naturally is to find out all that can be
discovered about the material in question; while the second is to
co-ordinate that material with similar examples elsewhere, so that
knowledge which may fail from one source, can be supplied from another.
The Expedition, therefore, as one of its primary undertakings, made an
archæological survey of the island. It was a lengthy work, for not only
are the figures and ruins very numerous, but it was found that not till
after some six months’ study could they even be seen with intelligent
eyes. We believe the survey to be, however, as far as possible accurate
and complete. It is illustrated by some hundreds of sketches and
negatives.
The only account of this kind which has so far been available is the
rough, and naturally often erroneous, description given by the United
States ship _Mohican_ after a thirteen days’ examination in 1886.
Speaking of this part of our labours, a high authority has been good
enough to say, “We now know for the first time in what the remains on
the island really consist; its photographs alone would justify the
Expedition.” This record will, we venture to think, hold increased value
in the future, as there is a constant tendency for the remains to suffer
deterioration at the hands of nature and man.
The Expedition, however, found other and unexpected matter to secure
from oblivion—work which was of even greater, because of more pressing,
importance. We had been informed that not only had all knowledge of the
origin of the great works disappeared from the island, but that all
memory of the early native culture before the advent of Christianity,
which might possibly have thrown light upon them, was also gone. Happily
this proved to be not altogether the case. When we arrived, such
knowledge and tradition were expiring, but they were not altogether
dead. It was our good fortune, in spite of language and other
difficulties, to be able with patience to rescue at the eleventh hour
much of high value, more especially that which points to a connection
between the only recently expired bird cult and that of the images.
The facts now before us make clear that the present inhabitants of the
island are derived from a union of the two great stocks of the Pacific,
the Melanesian and Polynesian races, and that the Melanesian element has
played a large part in its development. All the evidence gathered,
whether derived from the stone remains, through the surviving natives,
or in other ways, points to the conclusion that these people are
connected by blood with the makers of the statues; this is, of course,
the crucial point.
Now that this stage is reached, the problem at once falls into its right
category; and we enter on the second phase of scientific quest. Easter
Island is no longer an isolated mystery, there is no need to indulge in
surmises as to sunken continents, it becomes part of the whole question
of the culture of the Pacific and of the successive waves of migration
which have passed through it.
On this large and difficult subject many able minds are at work, and
some striking results, already drawn from the labours of the Expedition,
are included in this volume. When we have more definite knowledge as to
the nature and date of these migrations which have come from the west by
such stepping-stones as Pitcairn Island, or by the Marquesas and Paumotu
groups, then we shall be able to deduce still further information about
Easter Island. When more is ascertained of the stone works scattered
throughout other islands, we shall speak with greater certainty as to
whether a first or second wave of immigrants, or both combined, are
responsible for its monoliths. We have a very fair idea now, when, and
perhaps why, the cult of the statues ended; even if there are no further
discoveries on the island, we hope in these ways to learn when and how
it began.
There is much we shall never know—the thoughts which passed through the
minds of those old image-makers as they worked at their craft, the
scenes enacted as their humbler neighbours toilsomely moved the great
figures to their place, the weird ceremonies which doubtless marked
their erection, not least the story of the persistence which erected and
re-erected the burying-places after again and yet again they had been
destroyed—such things are gone for ever. But the broad outlines and
events of the story, with their approximate dates, to these there is
every prospect we shall attain with reasonable certainty, and that
before very many years have elapsed.
K. R.
_April 1920._
CONTENTS
PART I
_THE VOYAGE TO EASTER ISLAND_
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE START 3
Why we went to Easter Island—The Building and Equipping of
the Yacht—The Start from Southampton—Dartmouth—Falmouth.
CHAPTER II
THE VOYAGE TO SOUTH AMERICA 14
A Gale at Sea—Madeira—Canary Islands—Cape Verde
Islands—Across the Atlantic.
CHAPTER III
BRAZIL 34
Pernambuco—Bahia—Cabral Bay—Cape Frio—Rio de Janeiro—Porto
Bello—A Pampero.
CHAPTER IV
ARGENTINA 52
The River Plate—Buenos Aires, its Trade and People.
CHAPTER V
PATAGONIA 65
Port Desire—Eastern Magellan Straits—Punta Arenas—Western
Magellan Straits—Patagonian Channels.
CHAPTER VI
CHILE 99
Refitting at Talcahuano—Trip to Santiago and across the
Summit of the Andes—Valparaiso—To Juan Fernandez—Typhoid
on Board—Back to Chile—Juan Fernandez again.
CHAPTER VII
JUAN FERNANDEZ 111
The Island—Selkirk—Anson—Fate of the _Dresden_.
CHAPTER VIII
LIFE ON BOARD 115
PART II
_EASTER ISLAND_
CHAPTER IX
ARRIVAL AT EASTER ISLAND 124
First Impressions—The Story of the El Dorado—_Mana_
despatched.
CHAPTER X
CONDITIONS OF LIFE ON THE ISLAND 131
Description of the Island—Accommodation—Climate—Food—Labour.
CHAPTER XI
A NATIVE RISING 140
A Declaration of Independence—Cattle-raiding—A Mission which
failed—Bad to Worse—Arrival of a Chilean Warship.
CHAPTER XII
A GERMAN BASE 150
A Visit from Von Spee—First news of the War—S. R. goes to
Chile—The _Prinz Eitel Friedrich_—Return of
_Mana_—Departure of the Expedition.
CHAPTER XIII
PREHISTORIC REMAINS
AHU OR BURIAL-PLACES 165
Form of the Easter Island Image—Position and Number of the
Ahu—Design and Construction of the Image
Ahu—Reconstruction and Transformation—The Semi-pyramid
Ahu—The Overthrow of the Images and Destruction of the
Ahu.
CHAPTER XIV
PREHISTORIC REMAINS (_continued_)
STATUES AND CROWNS 175
Rano Raraku, its Quarries and Standing Statues—The
South-east Face of the Mountain—Isolated
Statues—Roads—Stone Crowns of the Images.
CHAPTER XV
NATIVE CULTURE IN PRE-CHRISTIAN TIMES 200
_Sources of Information_: History, Recent Remains, Living
Memory—_Mode of Life_: Habitations, Food, Dress and
Ornament—_Social Life_: Divisions, Wars, Marriages, Burial
Customs, Social Functions.
CHAPTER XVI
NATIVE CULTURE IN PRE-CHRISTIAN TIMES (_continued_) 236
Religion—Position of the Miru Clan—The Script—The Bird
Cult—Wooden Carvings.
CHAPTER XVII
CAVES AND CAVE-HUNTING 272
Residential Caves—Caves as Hiding-Places for Treasure—Burial
Caves.
CHAPTER XVIII
LEGENDS 277
First Arrival on the Island—The Long Ears exterminated by
the Short Ears—The Struggle between Kotuu and Hotu Iti.
CHAPTER XIX
THE PRESENT POSITION OF THE PROBLEM 290
PART III
_THE HOMEWARD VOYAGE_
_EASTER ISLAND TO SAN FRANCISCO_
CHAPTER XX
PITCAIRN ISLAND 305
A Kind Welcome—Religion—Administration—Economic
Problems—Physique—Native Remains—A Glimpse of Rapa.
CHAPTER XXI
TAHITI, HAWAIIAN ISLANDS, SAN FRANCISCO 316
Tahiti—Voyage to Hawaiian Islands—Oahu, with its capital
Honolulu—Visit to Island of Hawaii—San Francisco—The
Author returns to England.
PART IV
_THE HOMEWARD VOYAGE_—Continued
_SAN FRANCISCO TO SOUTHAMPTON_
BY S. R.
CHAPTER XXII
SAN FRANCISCO TO PANAMA 335
Catching Turtle—The Island of Socorro and what we found
there—The tale of a Russian Finn—Quibo Island—Suffering of
the Natives from Elephantiasis—A Haul with the Seine.
CHAPTER XXIII
PANAMA TO JAMAICA 359
Navigation of the Gulf of Panama—Balboa and the City of
Panama—Through the Canal—Cristobal—An Incapable Pilot—The
Education of a Cook—A Waterspout—A Further Exciting
Experience.
CHAPTER XXIV
JAMAICA TO SOUTHAMPTON 373
Jamaica, and the Bahamas—Bermudas—Azores—Preparing for
Submarines—Southampton once more.
EPILOGUE 389
ITINERARY OF THE EXPEDITION 392
INDEX 395
ILLUSTRATIONS
AN EASTER ISLAND IMAGE (_Photogravure_) _Frontispiece_
PAGE
PORTRAIT OF AUTHOR (_Photogravure_) x
PART I
FIG. PAGE
1. _MANA_ 3
1A. _MANA_, SECTION OF DECKHOUSE AND SALOON 6
2. PORTO SANTO 18
3. LAS PALMAS, GRAND CANARY 22
4. PORTO GRANDE, ST. VINCENT, CAPE VERDE ISLANDS 27
5. A GROUP ON DECK 32
6. BAHIA DE TODOS OS SANTOS 38
7. THE NATIVE CART, ACO COVE, PORTO BELLO 49
8. S. AND AN OSTRICH 71
9. PUNTA ARENAS 74
10. RIVER SCENE, ST. NICHOLAS BAY 79
11. CAPE FROWARD, MAGELLAN STRAITS 80
12. THE GLACIER GORGE, PORT CHURRUCA 81
13. MAP OF MANA INLET 85
14. CANOE CORDUROY PORTAGE 86
15. PATAGONIAN WATERWAYS 87
16. ENCAMPMENT OF PATAGONIAN INDIANS 90
17. INDIANS OF BRASSEY PASS 91
18. CANOE IN INDIAN REACH 91
19. HALE COVE 96
20. JUAN FERNANDEZ: AN IMPRESSION 111
21. CUMBERLAND BAY, JUAN FERNANDEZ 112
22. SELKIRK’S CAVE, JUAN FERNANDEZ 113
PART II
23. EASTER ISLAND FROM THE SOUTH (PANORAMIC VIEW) 122
24. EASTER ISLAND FROM RANO KAO (PANORAMIC VIEW) 123
25. MANAGER’S HOUSE, MATAVERI 128
26. A GROUP OF EASTER ISLANDERS 140
27. HANGA ROA VILLAGE 141
28. BAILEY, THE COOK, ON GUARD 144
29. EASTER ISLAND WOMEN 144
30. ANGATA, THE PROPHETESS 145
31. STATUE AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM 165
32. AKAHANGA COVE AND NEIGHBOURING AHU (PANORAMIC VIEW) 166
33. AHU TONGARIKI, SEAWARD SIDE (PANORAMIC VIEW) 166A
34. AHU TONGARIKI, LANDWARD SIDE (PANORAMIC VIEW) 166B
35. AHU VINAPU (PANORAMIC VIEW) 167
36. DIAGRAM OF IMAGE AHU 169
37. AHU TEPEU 170
38. METHOD OF EXPOSING THE DEAD 171
39. A SEMI-PYRAMID AHU 172
40. DIAGRAM OF SEMI-PYRAMID AHU 172
41. AHU MAHATUA, SEAWARD SIDE 173
42. AHU MAITAKI-TE-MOA, SEAWARD SIDE 174
43. AHU RUNGA-VAE 174A
44. PLAN OF RANO RARAKU 174C
45. RANO RARAKU FROM THE SEA 174D
46. „ „ FROM THE SOUTH-WEST .... 174E
47. „ „ INTERIOR OF CRATER (_line engraving_) 175
48. DIAGRAM OF RANO RARAKU 177
49. STATUE IN QUARRY, PARTIALLY SCULPTURED 178
50. STATUE IN QUARRY ATTACHED BY KEEL 179
51. „ „ „ READY TO BE LAUNCHED 179
52. STONE TOOL 180
53. „ „ 180
54. HEAD OF A STATUE AT MOUTH OF QUARRY 180
55. LARGEST IMAGE IN QUARRY 181
56. STATUE CARVED ON EDGE OF PRECIPICE 182
57. STANDING STATUES 183
58. STATUE SHOWING LOBE OF EAR AS A ROPE 184
59. „ „ „ „ „ CONTAINING A DISC 184
60. EXTERIOR OF RANO RARAKU (DIAGRAMMATIC SKETCH) 184B
60A. „ „ „ „ (KEY TO ABOVE) 184A
61. DIGGING OUT A STATUE 185
62. EXCAVATED IMAGE, PEG-SHAPED BASE 186
63. „ „ SHOWING SCAMPED WORK 186
64. BACK OF AN EXCAVATED STATUE 187
65. BACK OF STATUE AT ANAKENA 187
66. STATUE WITH UNMODELLED BACK 188
67. „ „ MODELLED BACK 188
68. „ „ BACK IN PROCESS OF BEING MODELLED 189
69. STATUE WEDGED BY BOULDERS 189
70. TWO IMAGES ERECTED IN QUARRY (FRONT VIEW) 190
71. „ „ „ „ „ (BACK VIEW) 191
72. STATUE SHOWING FORM OF HANDS 192
73. PROSTRATE STATUES, SOUTH-EAST SIDE, RANO RARAKU 193
74. MAP OF ANCIENT ROADS 194
75. STATUE ON SOUTH ROAD (UNBROKEN) 195
76. „ „ „ „ (BROKEN) 195
77. DIAGRAM OF CEREMONIAL AVENUE, HANGA PAUKURA 196
78. AHU PARO 197
79. CRATER FROM WHICH HATS OF IMAGES WERE HEWN 198
80. AN UNFINISHED HAT 199
81. A FINISHED HAT 199
82. MONUMENTS IN EASTER ISLAND—CAPTAIN COOK 204
83. PORTRAITS OF EASTER ISLANDERS 212
84. CANOE-SHAPED HOUSES, STONE FOUNDATIONS 215
84A. „ „ „ ENTRANCE AND PAVED AREA 215
85. „ „ „ DIAGRAM 217
86. HOUSE FOR CHICKENS 218
87. TOWER USED BY FISHERMEN 218
88. DESIGN USED IN TATTOOING 219
89. PORTRAIT OF MAHANGA OF PAUMOTU 220
90. AN OLD WOMAN, WITH DILATED EAR-LOBE 220
91. MAP OF EASTER ISLAND (POLITICAL) 222
92. OBSIDIAN SPEAR-HEADS 224
93. AHU, HANGA MAIHIKO, WITH PAVED APPROACH 229
94. DIAGRAM OF AHU POE-POE (CANOE-SHAPE) 230
95. AN AHU POE-POE (WEDGE SHAPE) 232
96. MIRU SKULL, WITH INCISED DESIGN 240
97. ANAKENA COVE 241
98. INCISED TABLET 244
99. tomenika’s script 252
100. CRATER LAKE, RANO KAO (PANORAMIC VIEW) 254
101. ANA KAI-TANGATA (CANNIBAL CAVE) 254A
102. PAINTINGS ON ROOF OF ANA KAI-TANGATA 254B
103. ORONGO, END HOUSES AND CARVED ROCKS 255
104. CENTRAL PORTION OF ORONGO VILLAGE 256
105. PAINTED SLABS FROM HOUSES AT ORONGO 257
106. BACK OF STATUE FROM ORONGO, AT BRITISH MUSEUM 258
107. CARVED DOOR-POST, ORONGO 259
108. RANO KAO FROM MOTU NUI 260
109. MOTU NUI AND MOTU ITI 261
110. ROCK AT ORONGO, WITH FIGURES OF BIRD-MEN 262
111. BOUNDARY STATUE FROM MOTU NUI 263
112. STONE, WITH FIGURE OF BIRD-MAN HOLDING EGG 263
113. POROTU 266
114. BIRD-CHILD IN CEREMONIAL DRESS 267
115. OBJECTS CARVED IN WOOD, “REI-MIRO” 268
116. „ „ „ „ “RAPA AND UA” 268
117. „ „ „ „ “MOKO-MIRO” 268
118. „ „ „ „ “AO” 268
119. WOODEN IMAGES (FRONT) 269
120. „ „ (BACK) 270
121. BIRD DESIGN ON WOODEN IMAGE 271
122. AHU OROI, FORMED OF OUTCROP OF ROCK 277
123. EASTERN HEADLAND AND ISLAND OF MAROTIRI 284
124. ANA HAVEA 285
125. BIRD AND HUMAN FIGURES IN THE SOLOMON ISLANDS AND
EASTER ISLAND 297
PART III
126. PITCAIRN ISLAND FROM THE SEA 306
127. „ „ CHURCH AND RESIDENCE OF MISSIONARIES 306
128. „ „ BOUNTY BAY 307
129. RAPA 315
130. A TAHITIAN PICTURE POST-CARD 319
131. MARAE MAHAIATEA, TAHITI 320
132. CHARLES AND EDWIN YOUNG 321
133. HEIAU PUUKOHOLA, HAWAII 327
134. SAN FRANCISCO 331
MAPS AND PLANS
MAGELLAN STRAITS AND PATAGONIAN CHANNELS 65
MANA INLET (FIG. 13) 85
EASTER ISLAND (PHYSICAL) 120A
PLAN OF RANO RARAKU (FIG. 44) 174C
EASTER ISLAND, ANCIENT ROADS (FIG. 74) 194
EASTER ISLAND (POLITICAL) (FIG. 91) 222
THE PACIFIC OCEAN 293
PANAMA 359
JAMAICA; CUBA AND BAHAMA ISLANDS 372
BERMUDA ISLANDS 378
PART I
_THE VOYAGE TO EASTER ISLAND_
[Illustration:
FIG. 1.
_MANA._
Charrua Bay, Patagonian Channels.
]
CHAPTER I
THE START
Why we went to Easter Island—The Building and Equipping of the Yacht—The
Start from Southampton—Dartmouth—Falmouth.
“All the seashore is lined with numbers of stone idols, with their backs
turned towards the sea, which caused us no little wonder, because we saw
no tool of any kind for working these figures.” So wrote, a century and
a half ago, one of the earliest navigators to visit the Island of Easter
in the South-east Pacific. Ever since that day passing ships have found
it incomprehensible that a few hundred natives should have been able to
make, move, and erect numbers of great stone monuments, some of which
are over thirty feet in height; they have marvelled and passed on. As
the world’s traffic has increased Easter Island has still stood outside
its routes, quiet and remote, with its story undeciphered. What were
these statues of which the present inhabitants know nothing? Were they
made by their ancestors in forgotten times or by an earlier race? Whence
came the people who reached this remote spot? Did they arrive from South
America, 2,000 miles to the eastward? Or did they sail against the
prevailing wind from the distant islands to the west? It has even been
conjectured that Easter Island is all that remains of a sunken
continent. Fifty years ago the problem was increased by the discovery on
this mysterious land of wooden tablets bearing an unknown script; they
too have refused to yield their secret.
When, therefore, we decided to see the Pacific before we died, and asked
the anthropological authorities at the British Museum what work there
remained to be done, the answer was, “Easter Island.” It was a much
larger undertaking than had been contemplated; we had doubts of our
capacity for so important a venture; and at first the decision was
against it, but we hesitated and were lost. Then followed the problem
how to reach the goal. The island belongs to Chile, and the only regular
communication, if regular it can be called, was a small sailing vessel
sent out by the Chilean Company, who use the island as a ranch; she went
sometimes once a year, sometimes not so often, and only remained there
sufficient time to bring off the wool crop. We felt that the work on
Easter ought to be accompanied with the possibility of following up
clues elsewhere in the islands, and that to charter any such vessel as
could be obtained on the Pacific coast, for the length of time we
required her, would be unsatisfactory, both from the pecuniary
standpoint and from that of comfort. It was therefore decided, as
Scoresby is a keen yachtsman, that it was worth while to procure in
England a little ship of our own, adapted to the purpose, and to sail
out in her. As the Panama Canal was not open, and the route by Suez
would be longer, the way would lie through the Magellan Straits.
Search for a suitable vessel in England was fruitless, and it became
clear that to get what we wanted we must build. The question of general
size and arrangement had first to be settled, and then matters of
detail. It is unfortunate that the precise knowledge which was acquired
of the exact number of inches necessary to sleep on, to sit on, and to
walk along is not again likely to be useful. The winter of 1910–11 was
spent over this work, but the professional assistance obtained proved to
be incompetent, and we had to begin again; the final architect of the
little yacht was Mr. Charles Nicholson, of Gosport, and the plans were
completed the following summer. They were for a vessel of schooner rig
and auxiliary motor power. The length over all was 90 feet, and the
water-line 72 feet; her beam was 20 feet. The gross tonnage was 91 and
the yacht tonnage was 126.
The vessel was designed in four compartments, with a steel bulkhead
between each of the divisions, so that in case of accident it would be
possible to keep her afloat. Aft was the little chart-room, which was
the pride of the ship. When we went on board magnificent yachts which
could have carried our little vessel as a lifeboat, and found the
navigation being done in the public rooms, we smiled with superiority.
Out of the chart-room were the navigator’s sleeping quarters, and in the
overhang of the stern the sail-locker. The next compartment was given to
the engines, and made into a galvanised iron box in case of fire. It
contained a motor engine for such work as navigation in and out of
harbour and traversing belts of calm. This was of 38 h.p. and run on
paraffin, as petrol was disallowed by the insurance; it gave her 5½
knots. In the same compartment was the engine for the electric light: in
addition the yacht had steam heating. The spaces between the walls of
the engine-box and those of the ship were given to lamps, and to
boatswain’s stores.
Then came the centre of the ship, containing the quarters of our
scientific party. The middle portion of this was raised three or four
feet for the whole length, securing first a deck-house and then a
heightened roof for the saloon below, an arrangement which was
particularly advantageous, as no port-holes were allowed below decks,
leaving us dependent on skylights and ventilators. Entering from
without, two or three steps led down into the deck-house, which formed
part of the saloon, but at a higher level; it was my chief resort
throughout the voyage. On each side was a settee, which was on the level
of the deck, and thus commanded a view through port-holes and door of
what was passing outside; one of these settees served as a berth in hot
weather. A small companion connected the deck-house with the saloon
below: the latter ran across the width of the ship; it also had
full-length settees both sides, and at the end of each was a chiffonier.
On the port side was the dinner-table, which swung so beautifully that
the fiddles were seldom used, and the thermos for the navigating officer
could be left happily on it all night. Starboard was a smaller table,
fitted for writing; and a long bookshelf ran along the top of the
for’ardside (fig. 1^A).
On the afterside of the saloon a double cabin opened out of it, and a
passage led to two single cabins and the bathroom. The cabins were
rather larger than the ordinary staterooms of a mail steamer, and the
arrangements of course more ample; every available cranny was utilised
for drawers and lockers, and in going ashore it was positive pain to see
the waste of room under beds and sofas and behind washing-stands. My
personal accommodation was a chest of drawers and hanging wardrobe,
besides the drawers under the berth and various lockers. Returning to
the saloon, a door for’ard opened into the pantry, which communicated
with the galley above, situated on deck for the sake of coolness.
For’ard again was a whole section given to stores, and beyond, in the
bows, a roomy forecastle. The yacht had three boats—a lifeboat which
contained a small motor engine, a cutter, and a dinghy; when we were at
sea the two former were placed on deck, but the dinghy, except on one
occasion only, was always carried in the davits, where she triumphantly
survived all eventualities, a visible witness to the buoyancy of the
ship.
While the plans were being completed, search was being made for a place
where the vessel should be built; for though nominally a yacht, the
finish and build of the Solent would have been out of place. It had been
decided that she should be of wood, as easier to repair in case of
accident where coral reefs and other unseen dangers abound; but the
building of wooden ships is nearly extinct. The west country was
visited, and an expedition made to Dundee and Aberdeen, but even there,
the old home of whalers, ships are now built of steel; finally we fixed
on Whitstable, from which place such vessels still ply round the coast.
The keel was laid in the autumn of 1911; the following spring we took up
our abode there to watch over her, and there in May 1912 she first took
the water, being christened by the writer in approved fashion. “I name
this ship _Mana_, and may the blessing of God go with her and all who
sail in her”—a ceremony not to be performed without a lump in the
throat. The choice of a name had been difficult; we had wished to give
her one borne by some ship of Dr. Scoresby, the Arctic explorer, a
friend of my husband’s family whose name he received, but none of them
proved to be suitable. The object was to find something which was both
simple and uncommon; all appellations that were easy to grasp seemed to
have been already adopted, while those that were unique lent themselves
to error. “How would it do in a cable?” was the regulation test. Finally
we hit on _Mana_, which is a word well known to anthropologists, and has
the advantage of being familiar throughout the South Seas. We generally
translated it somewhat freely as “good luck.” It means, more strictly,
supernatural power: a Polynesian would, for instance, describe the
common idea of the effect of a horseshoe by saying that the shoe had
“mana.” From a scientific standpoint mana is probably the simplest form
of religious conception. The yacht flew the burgee of the Royal Cruising
Club.
[Illustration:
FIG. 1ᴬ.—_MANA._ SECTION OF DECKHOUSE AND SALOON
]
From the time the prospective expedition became public we received a
considerable amount of correspondence from strangers: some of it was
from those who had special knowledge of the subject, and was highly
valued; other letters had a comic element, being from various young men,
who appeared to think that our few berths might be at the disposal of
anyone who wanted to see the world. One letter, dated from a newspaper
office, stated that its writer had no scientific attainments, but would
be glad to get up any subject required in the time before sailing; the
qualification of another for the post of steward was that he would be
able to print the menus and ball programmes. The most quaint experience
was in connection with a correspondent who gave a good name and address,
and offered to put at our disposal some special knowledge on the subject
of native lore, which he had collected as Governor of one of the South
Sea islands. On learning our country address, he wrote that he was about
to become the guest of some of our neighbours and would call upon us. It
subsequently transpired that they knew nothing of him, but that he had
written to them, giving our name. He did, in fact, turn up at our
cottage during our absence, and obtained an excellent tea at the expense
of the caretaker. The next we heard of him was from the keeper of a
small hotel in the neighbourhood of Whitstable, where he had run up a
large bill on the strength of a statement that he was one of our
expedition, and we found later that he had shown a friend over the yacht
while she was building, giving out he was a partner of my husband. We
understand that after we started he appeared in the county court at the
instance of the unfortunate innkeeper.
After much trouble we ultimately selected two colleagues from the older
universities. The arrangement with one of these, an anthropologist, was,
unfortunately, a failure, and ended at the Cape Verde Islands. The
other, a geologist, Mr. Frederick Lowry-Corry, took up intermediate work
in India, and subsequently joined us in South America. The Admiralty was
good enough to place at our disposal a lieutenant on full pay for
navigation, survey, and tidal observation. This post was ultimately
filled by Lieutenant D. R. Ritchie, R.N.
With regard to the important matter of the crew, it was felt that
neither merchant seamen nor yacht hands would be suitable, and a number
of men were chosen from the Lowestoft fishing fleet. Subsequent delays,
however, proved deleterious, the prospective “dangers” grew in size, and
the only one who ultimately sailed with us was a boy, Charles C.
Jeffery, who was throughout a loyal and valued member of the expedition.
The places of the other men were supplied by a similar class from
Brixham, who justified the selection. The mate, Preston, gave much
valuable service, and one burly seaman in particular, Light by name, by
his good humour and intelligent criticism added largely to the amenity
of the voyage. An engineer, who was also a photographer, was obtained
from Glasgow. We were particularly fortunate in our sailing master, Mr.
H. J. Gillam. He had seen, while in Japan, a notice of the expedition in
a paper, and applied with keenness for the post; to his professional
knowledge, loyalty, and pleasant companionship the successful
achievement of the voyage is very largely due. The full complement of
the yacht, in addition to the scientific members, consisted of the
navigator, engineer, cook-steward, under-steward, and three men for each
watch, making ten in all. S. was official master, and I received on the
books the by no means honorary rank of stewardess.
Whitstable proved to be an unsuitable place for painting, so _Mana_ made
her first voyage round to Southampton Water, where she lay for a while
in the Hamble River, and later at a yacht-builder’s in Southampton. The
steward on this trip took to his bed with seasickness; but as he was
subsequently found surreptitiously eating the dinner which S. had been
obliged to cook, we felt that he was not likely to prove a desirable
shipmate, and he did not proceed further. We had hoped to sail in the
autumn, but we had our full share of the troubles and delays which seem
inevitably associated with yacht-building: the engine was months late in
the installation, and then had to be rectified; the painting took twice
as long as had been promised; and when we put out for trial trips there
was trouble with the anchor which necessitated a return to harbour. The
friends who had kindly assembled in July at the Hans Crescent Hotel to
bid us good speed began to ask if we were ever really going to depart.
We spent the winter practically living on board, attending to these
affairs and to the complicated matter of stowage.
The general question of space had of course been very carefully
considered in the original designs. The allowance for water was
unusually large, the tanks containing sufficient for two, or with strict
economy for three months; the object in this was not only safety in long
or delayed passages, but to avoid taking in supplies in doubtful
harbours. Portions of the hold had to be reserved of course for coal,
and also for the welded steel tanks which contained the oil. When these
essentials had been disposed of, still more intricate questions arose
with regard to the allotment of room; it turned out to be greater than
we had ventured to hope, but this in no way helped, as every department
hastened to claim additional accommodation and to add something more to
its stock. Nothing was more surprising all through the voyage than the
yacht’s elasticity: however much we took on board we got everything in,
and however much we took out she was always quite full.
The outfit for the ship had of course been taken into consideration, but
as departure drew near it seemed, from the standpoint of below decks, to
surpass all reason; there were sails for fine weather and sails for
stormy weather, and spare sails, anchors, and sea-anchors, one-third of
a mile of cable, and ropes of every size and description.
As commissariat officer, the Stewardess naturally felt that domestic
stores were of the first importance. Many and intricate calculations had
been made as to the amount a man ate in a month, and the cubic space to
be allowed for the same. It had been also a study in itself to find out
what must come from England and what could be obtained elsewhere; kind
correspondents in Buenos Aires and Valparaiso had helped with advice,
and we arranged for fresh consignments from home to meet us in those
ports, of such articles as were not to be procured there or were
inordinately expensive. The general amount of provisions on board was
calculated for six months, but smaller articles, such as tea, were taken
in sufficient quantities for the two years which it was at the time
assumed would be the duration of the trip. We brought back on our return
a considerable amount of biscuits, for it was found possible to bake on
board much oftener than we had dared to hope. As a yacht we were not
obliged to conform to the merchant service scale of provisions, our
ship’s articles guaranteeing “sufficiency and no waste.” The merchant
scale was constantly referred to, but it is, by universal agreement,
excessive, and leads to much waste, as the men are liable to claim what
they consider their right, whether they consume the ration or not; the
result is that a harbour may not unfrequently be seen covered with
floating pieces of bread, or even whole loaves. The quantity asked for
by our men of any staple foods was always given, and there were the
usual additions, but we subsisted on about three-fourths of the legal
ration. We had only one case of illness requiring a doctor, and then it
was diagnosed as “the result of over-eating.” It was a source of
satisfaction that we never throughout the voyage ran short of any
essential commodity.
There were other matters in the household department for which it was
even more difficult to estimate than for the actual food—how many cups
and saucers, for example, should we break per month, and how many reams
of paper and quarts of ink ought we to take. Our books had of course to
be largely scientific, a sovereign’s worth of cheap novels was a boon,
but we often yearned unutterably for a new book. Will those who have
friends at the ends of the earth remember the godsend to them of a few
shillings so invested, as a means of bringing fresh thoughts and a sense
of civilised companionship? For a library for the crew we were greatly
indebted to the kindness of Lord Radstock and the Passmore Edwards Ocean
Library. We were subsequently met at every available port by a supply of
newspapers, comprising the weekly editions of the _Times_ and _Daily
Graphic_, the _Spectator_; and the papers of two Societies for Women’s
Suffrage.
In addition to the requirements for the voyage the whole equipment for
landing had to be foreseen and stowed, comprising such things as tents,
saddlery, beds, buckets, basins, and cooking-pots. We later regretted
the space given to some of the enamelled iron utensils, as they can be
quite well procured in Chile, while cotton and other goods which we had
counted on procuring there for barter were practically unobtainable.
Some sacks of old clothes which we took out for gifts proved most
valuable. Among late arrivals that clamoured for peculiar consideration
were the scientific outfits, which attained to gigantic proportions. S.,
who had studied at one time at University College Hospital, was our
doctor, and the medical and surgical stores were imposing: judging from
the quantity of bandages, we were each relied on to break a leg once a
month. Everybody had photographic gear; the geologist appeared with a
huge pestle and other goods; there was anthropological material for the
preserving of skulls; the surveying instruments looked as if they would
require a ship to themselves; while cases of alarming size arrived from
the Admiralty and Royal Geographical Society, containing sounding
machines and other mysterious articles. The owners of all these
treasures argued earnestly that they were of the essence of the
expedition, and must be treated with respect accordingly. Then of course
things turned up for which everyone had forgotten to allow room, such as
spare electric lamps, also a trammel and seine, each of fifty fathoms,
to secure fish in port. Before we finally sailed a large consignment
appeared of bonded tobacco for the crew, and the principal hold was
sealed by the Customs, necessitating a temporary sacrifice of the
bathroom for last articles.
This packing of course all took time, especially as nothing could be
allowed to get wet, and a rainy or stormy day hung up all operations.
Finally, however, on the afternoon of February 28th, 1913, the anchor
was weighed, and we went down Southampton Water under power. We were at
last off for Easter Island!
We had a good passage down the Channel, stopped awhile at Dartmouth, for
the Brixham men to say good-bye to their families, and arrived at
Falmouth on March 6th. Here there was experienced a tiresome delay of
nearly three weeks. The wind, which in March might surely have seen its
way to be easterly, and had long been from that direction, turned round
and blew a strong gale from the south-west. The harbour was white with
little waves, and crowded with shipping of every description, from
battleships to fishing craft. Occasionally a vessel would venture out to
try to get round the Lizard, only to return beaten by the weather. We
had while waiting the sad privilege of rendering a last tribute to our
friend Dr. Thomas Hodgkin, the author of _Italy and her Invaders_, who
just before our arrival had passed where “tempests cease and surges
swell no more.” He rests among his own people in the quiet little Quaker
burial-ground.
It was not till Lady Day, Tuesday, March 25th, that the wind changed
sufficiently to allow of departure; then there was a last rush on shore
to obtain sailing supplies of fresh meat, fruit, and vegetables, and to
send off good-bye telegrams. Everything was triumphantly squeezed in
somewhere and carefully secured, so that nothing should shift when the
roll began. The only articles which found no home were two sacks of
potatoes, which had to remain on the cabin floor, because the space
assigned to them below hatches had, in my absence on shore, been
nefariously appropriated by the Sailing-master for an additional supply
of coal.
It was dark before all was ready, and we left Falmouth Harbour with the
motor; then out into the ocean, the sails hoisted, the Lizard Light
sighted, and good-bye to England!
“Two years,” said our friends, “that is a long time to be away.” “Oh
no,” we had replied; “we shall find when we come back that everything is
just the same; it always is. You will still be talking of Militants, and
Labour Troubles, and Home Rule; there will be a few new books to read,
the children will be a little taller—that will be all.” But the result
was otherwise.
CHAPTER II
THE VOYAGE TO SOUTH AMERICA
A Gale at Sea—Madeira—Canary Islands—Cape Verde Islands—Across the
Atlantic.
The first day in open ocean was spent in shaking down; on going on deck
before turning in it was found to be a clear starlight night, and the
man at the wheel prophesied smooth things. It was a case of—
“A little ship was on the sea,
It was a pretty sight,
It sailed along so pleasantly,
And all was calm and bright.”
But, alas! the storm did soon begin to rise; by morning we were in
troubled waters, and by noon we were battened down and hove to. We had
given up all idea of making progress and were riding out the gale as
best we might. All the saloon party were more or less laid low,
including Mr. Ritchie, for the first time in his life. The steward was
not seen for two days; and if it had not been that the under-steward,
who shall be known as “Luke,” rose to the occasion, the state of affairs
would have been somewhat serious. He not only contrived to satisfy the
appetites of the crew, which were subsequently said to have been
abnormally good, but also staggered round, with black hands and a
tousled head, ministering with tea and bovril to our frailer needs. The
engineer, a landsman, was too incapacitated to do any work, and doubt
arose as to whether we should not be left without electric light. More
alarming was the fact that the place smelt badly of paraffin, arousing
anxiety as to the effect the excessive rolling of the ship might have
had on our carefully tested tanks and barrels; happily the odour proved
to be due merely to a temporary overflow in the engine-room.
We now found the disadvantage of having abandoned, owing to our various
delays, the trial runs in home waters which had at one time been
planned. The skylights, which would have been adequate for ordinary
yachting—which has been described as “going round and round the Isle of
Wight”—proved unequal to the work expected of _Mana_, and the truth
appeared of a dark saying of the Board of Trade surveyor that “skylights
were not ventilation.” Not only could they of course not be raised in
bad weather, but those which, like mine, were arranged to open, admitted
the sea to an unpleasant degree; such an amount of water had to be
conveyed by means of dripping towels into canvas baths that it seemed at
one time as if the Atlantic would be perceptibly emptier. When in the
midst of the gale night fell on the lonely ship the sensation was eerie;
every now and then the persistent rolling, which threw from side to side
of the berth those fortunate enough to be below, was interrupted by a
resounding crash in the darkness as a big wave broke against the
vessel’s side, followed by the rushing surge and gurgle of the water as
it poured in a volume over the deck above. Then the hubbub entirely
ceased, and for a perceptible time the vessel lay perfectly still in the
trough of the wave, like a human creature dazed by a sudden blow, after
a second or two to begin again her weary tossing. I wondered, as I lay
there, which was the more weird experience, this night or one spent in
camp in East Africa with no palisade, in a district swarming with lions,
and again recalled the philosophy of one of our Swahili boys.
“Frightened? No, he eats me, he does not eat me; it is all the will of
Allah.”
By morning the worst was over, and it was a comfort to hear Mr. Gillam
singing cheerfully something about “In the Bay of Biscay O,” a
performance he varied with anathemas on the seasick steward. When I was
able to get on deck, the waves were still descending on us—if not the
proverbial mountains; at any rate hills high, looking as if they must
certainly overwhelm us. It was wonderful to see, what later I took for
granted, how the yacht rose to each, taking it as it were in her stride.
It was reported to have been a “full gale, a hurricane, as bad as could
be, with dangerous cross seas”; but the little vessel had proved herself
a splendid sea-going boat, and “had ridden it out like a duck.” For the
next little while I can only say in the words of the poet, “It was not
night, it was not day”; neither the clothes people wore, nor the food
they took, nor their times of downsitting and uprising had anything to
do with the hours of light and darkness. By Saturday, however, the
weather was better, meals were established, and things generally more
civilised. We had another bad gale somewhere in the latitude of
Finisterre, being hove to for thirty hours, but were subsequently very
little troubled with seasickness. The second Sunday out, April 6th, we
experienced a short interlude of calm, and I discovered that not only
does a sailing ship not travel in bad weather, but that when it is
really beautifully smooth she also has a bad habit of declining to go.
Anyway, we held our first service, and “O God, our help” went, if not in
Westminster Abbey form, at any rate quite creditably.
Mr. Ritchie had decided to take two sides of a triangle, first west and
then south, rather than run any risk of being blown on to Ushant or
Finisterre; a precaution which, in view of the proved powers of the boat
to hold her own against a head wind, he subsequently thought to have
been unnecessary. After we left the English shores we only saw two
vessels till we were within sight of Madeira, and some of our Brixham
men, who had never been far from their native shores or away from their
fishing fleet, were much impressed with the size and loneliness of the
ocean. “It was astonishing,” said Light, “that there could be so much
water without any land or ships,” and he expressed an undisguised desire
for “more company.”
Somehow or other we had all come to the conclusion that we would put
into Madeira, instead of going straight through to Las Palmas, for which
we had cleared from Falmouth. The first land which we sighted was the
outlying island of the group, Porto Santo. This was appropriate on a
voyage to the New World, as Columbus resided there with his
father-in-law, who was governor of the place; and it is said that from
his observations there of drift-wood, and other indications, he first
conceived the idea of the land across the waters, to which he made his
famous voyage in 1492. Our mate entertained us with a tale of how he had
been shipwrecked on Porto Santo, the yacht on which he was serving
having overrun her reckonings as she approached it from the west;
happily all on board were able to escape. The wind fell after we made
the group, so that we did not get into the harbour of Funchal for
another thirty-six hours, and then only with the help of the motor. It
was most enjoyable cruising along the coast of Madeira, watching the
great mountains, woods, ravines, and nestling villages, at whose
existence the passengers on the deck of a Union-Castle liner can only
vaguely guess. The day was Sunday, April 13th, and later it became a
matter of remark how frequently we hit off this day of the week for
getting into harbour, a most inconvenient one from the point of view of
making the necessary arrangements. As we entered, a Portuguese liner,
coming out of Funchal, dipped its flag in greeting to our blue ensign;
out came the harbour-master’s tug to show us where to take up our
position, down went the anchor with a comfortable rattle, and so ended
the first stage of our journey.
The voyage had taken eighteen days, and averaged about sixty miles a
day, as against the hundred miles on which we had calculated, and which
later we sometimes exceeded. A man who crosses the ocean in a powerful
steam-vessel, as one who travels by land in an express train,
undoubtedly gains in speed, but he loses much else. He misses a thousand
beauties, he has no contact with Nature, no sense of the exultation
which comes from progress won step by step by putting forth his own
powers to bend hers to his will. The late veteran seaman Lord Brassey is
reported to have said that “when once an engine is put into a ship the
charm of the sea is gone.” All through our voyage also there was a
fascinating sense of having put back the hands of time. This was the
route and these in the main the conditions under which our ancestors,
the early Empire builders, travelled to India; later we were on the
track of Drake, Anson, and others. Some of Drake’s ships were apparently
about the size of _Mana_.[1] The world has been shrinking of late, and
to return to a simpler day is to restore much of its size and dignity.
[Illustration:
FIG. 2.—PORTO SANTO.
]
MADEIRA
Madeira was settled by the Portuguese early in the fifteenth century.
With the exception of an interlude in the Napoleonic wars, when it was
taken by England, it has ever since been a possession of that country.
Funchal, with its sunshine and its smiling houses, is well known to all
travellers to South Africa. The season was just over, but the weather
was still pleasantly cool, and flowers covered the walls with great
masses of colour. We were there three days, and occupied our time in the
usual way by ascending the hill above the town in the funicular railway,
but instead of descending in the picturesque toboggans we came down on
foot. The walk took about two hours down a path which is paved the whole
way, representing a very large amount of labour. We regretted that we
were unable to stay longer and see something of the life in those lonely
cottages among the mountains, which we had seen from the sea, where the
women are said to add considerably to their income by the embroidery for
which the island is famous. Since our visit Funchal, as belonging to one
of the Allies, has suffered in the Great War through enemy action,
having been shelled from the sea and the shipping in the harbour sunk by
a German raid.
GRAND CANARY
The Canary group consists of some nine islands, of which the most
important are Teneriffe and Grand Canary. They have been known from
the earliest times, but European sovereignty did not begin till 1402,
and it was the end of the century before all the islands became
subject to the crown of Castile. This prolonged warfare was due to the
very brave resistance offered by the original inhabitants, known as
Guanches. These very interesting people, who are of Berber extraction,
withstood the Spaniards till 1483, and the name of Grand Canary is
said to have been obtained from their stubborn defence. The final
defeat of the natives was largely due to the terror inspired by their
first sight of a body of cavalry which the Spaniards had landed on the
island. The Guanches of Teneriffe held out till 1496. The Canaries
were thus subdued just in time to become a stepping-stone to the New
World. The horses of the cavalry were carried to America, and formed
part of the stock from which sprang the wild American mustang.
On quitting Madeira we caught the north-east trade wind at once, and had
a capital run to the Grand Canary, doing the 197 miles in 51½ hours.
The aspect of our new harbour, Puerto de la Luz by name, was somewhat
depressing. On its south side is the mainland of the island, which
consists of sandhills, behind which are bleak, arid-looking mountains,
whose summits during the whole of our three weeks’ stay were
continuously veiled in mist. The west side is formed by the promontory
of Isleta, which would be an island save that it is connected with Grand
Canary by a sand isthmus washed up by the sea, much after the manner
that Gibraltar is united to the Spanish mainland. The remainder of the
protection for the harbour consists of artificial breakwaters. The only
spot on which the eye rests with pleasure is a distant view of a cluster
of houses, above which rises a cathedral; this is the capital, Las
Palmas, which lies two or three miles to the south. The effect made on
the new-comer, especially after leaving luxuriant Madeira, is that of
having been transported into the heart of Africa.
The port, if not attractive, is at any rate prosperous. The Canaries are
still a stepping-stone to the New World, and in accordance with modern
requirements have turned into a great coaling station. In Puerto de la
Luz six or seven different firms compete for the work. The British
Consul, Major Swanston, gave us a most interesting account of his duties
during the South African War in revictualling the transports which
called here. Mention should not be omitted of the delightful new
institute of the British and Foreign Sailors’ Society, with
billiard-room, reading-room, and arranged concerts, to which our men
were very glad to resort; but indeed we met similar kind provision in so
many ports that it seems invidious to particularise.
This was my first experience of life in a foreign port as “stewardess,”
for our stay at Madeira was only an interlude. To passengers on a mail
steamer the time so spent is generally concerned with changing into
shore clothes, and making up parties for dinner on land to avoid the
exigencies of coaling. To those in charge of a small boat its aspect is
very different. Much of it is not a time of leisure, but to be an acting
member of a British ship in a foreign port is distinctly exhilarating.
It brings with it a sense both of being a humble representative of one’s
own nationality, and also of belonging to the great busy fraternity of
the sea. First, as land is approached, comes the running up of the
ensign and burgee; then the making of the ship’s number, as the
signal-station is passed, which will in due course be reported to
Lloyds; next follows the entry into port, and the awaiting of the
harbour-master, on whose fiat it hangs where the vessel shall take up
her berth. He is succeeded by doctor and customs officer to examine the
ship’s papers; and all these are matters not for some mysterious
personages with gold braid, but of personal interest.
As soon as the yacht is safely berthed the Master goes on shore to visit
the consul, and obtain the longed-for letters and newspapers. In the
food department the important question of food at once arises. My hope
had always been that we should have found a steward capable of taking
over this responsibility, but though we had various changes, and paid
the highest wages, we were never able to get one sufficiently reliable,
and the work therefore fell on the Stewardess. We at first used to go on
shore and cater personally, which is no doubt the most satisfactory
method, but in view of the time involved we subsequently relied on the
“ships’ chandlers,” who are universal providers, to be found in all
ports of any size, and who will bring fresh stores to the ship daily. A
very careful examination and comparison of prices is necessary, for one
of the annoying parts of owning a boat is that even the smallest
yacht-owner is considered fair game for extortion and dishonest dealing.
The variation in the cost of commodities in different harbours requires
a very elastic mind on the part of the housekeeper, both as to menus in
port and purchases for the next stage of the voyage. It puts an
extremely practical interest into the list of exports, which formed so
dreary a part of geography as taught in one’s own childhood. At Las
Palmas prices were much as in pre-war England; at our next port, in Cape
Verde Islands, the best meat was sixpence a pound, and fish sufficient
for four cost threepence, but the cost of bread was high. At Rio de
Janeiro and elsewhere in South America, though most things were ruinous,
we obtained enough coffee at very reasonable prices to carry us home;
while in Buenos Aires, with mutton at fourpence a pound, it was a matter
of regret that the hold was not twice as large.
On arriving in port after a long voyage, work is generally needed on the
vessel or her engines: if so, the name of the right firm has to be
obtained, the firm found, an estimate obtained and bargain made. Then
the work has to be done and frequently redone, all of which causes delay
it seems impossible to avoid; a fortnight may thus easily be spent in
getting a two days’ job accomplished. In Las Palmas we were fortunate in
finding a capable firm, who took in hand such alterations as our
experience in the Bay had shown to be necessary. The offending skylights
were fastened down, and ventilating shafts substituted, with the result
that we had no more trouble. We had a good deal of extra work on board
to do ourselves from a tiresome mishap. In inspecting the stove
connected with the heating apparatus, it was noticed that there was
water under the grating; this was at first thought to be due to skylight
drip, but on lifting the grating there was seen to be quite deep water
in the hold almost up to the outside sea-level. The pumps were at once
rigged to get it down, but it was found still to be filling; and it was
then discovered that there was a serious leakage, due to the fact that
the pipe through which the water came to cool the engine had been
defectively jointed. It meant days of work to go through the stores
affected. Happily nothing was lost except about twenty pounds of tea,
and some sweets intended for gifts; but if the accident, which was
entirely due to careless workmanship, had happened at sea the results
might have been disastrous.
We were glad when we were at last able to see something of the country.
If the harbour of Luz is not beautiful, the road from it into Las Palmas
is still less so. It runs between the sea and arid sandhills, and
abounds in ruts and dust; as there is also no street lighting, “the
rates,” as S. remarked, “can hardly be high.” Half-way along this road
there stand, for no very obvious reason, the English Church and Club,
also a good hotel, the Santa Catalina, belonging to a steamship company;
otherwise it is bordered by poor and unattractive houses of stucco, the
inhabitants of which seem permanently seated at the windows to watch the
passers-by. Happily the distance is traversed by means of trams, owned
by a company with English capital, which run frequently between the port
and the city and do the journey in twenty minutes.
Las Palmas itself is not unpicturesque. Its main feature is a stony
river-bed, which runs down the centre of the city and is spanned by
various bridges; it was empty when we saw it, but is no doubt at times,
even in this waterless land, filled with a raging, boiling current from
the mountains. In the principal square, opposite the cathedral, is the
museum, which contains an admirable anthropological collection,
concerned mostly with relics of the Guanches. When we were there the
city was gay with bunting and grand stands for a _fiesta_, in
celebration of the anniversary of the union of the islands with the
crown of Castile; a flying man, a carnival, and an outdoor cinema
entertainment were among the chief excitements. At one of the hotels we
discussed politics with the waiter, who was a native of the island. He
had been in England, but never in Spain; nevertheless, he seemed in
touch with the situation in the ruling country. There would, he
declared, be great changes in Spain in the next fifteen years. The King
did his best in difficult circumstances, but anti-clerical feeling was
too strong to allow of the continuation of the present state of things.
In Grand Canary there was, he said, the same feeling as in Spain against
the constant exactions of the Church. The women were still devout, but
you might go into any village and talk against the Church and meet with
sympathy from the men. He himself was a socialist, and as such “had no
country; countries were for rich people who had something belonging to
them, something to lose; for those who had to work all countries were
the same.” He only lived in Canary, he said, because his people were
there. We pointed out that the bond with one’s own people was precisely
what made one country home and not another, but the argument fell flat.
[Illustration:
FIG. 3.
_From a photo._
LAS PALMAS, GRAND CANARY.
]
The great charm of the island lies in the mountainous character of the
interior region. Three roads radiate from the capital, one along the
coast to the north, another to the south, and the third inland. Along
all these it is necessary to travel some distance before points of
interest are reached, and we were at the disadvantage of never being
able to be more than a night or two away from the ship without returning
to see how the work on board was progressing. On all the main routes are
run motor-buses, which are chiefly characterised by indications of
impending dissolution, and inspire awe by the rapidity with which they
turn corners without any preliminary easing down. The natives, however,
appeared to think that the accidents were not unreasonably numerous.
In addition to motors there are local “coaches” drawn by horses, after
the manner of covered wagonettes; they will no doubt be gradually
superseded by the motors, but still command considerable custom. Both
types of vehicles are delightfully vague in the hours which they keep,
being just as likely to start too soon as too late, thus presupposing an
indefinite amount of time for the passengers to spend at the
starting-place.
Our first expedition was by the inland or middle road, which winds up by
the bleak hillside till it reaches a beautiful and attractive country.
To those unaccustomed to such latitudes, it comes as a surprise to see
fertility increasing instead of diminishing with elevation, due to the
more constant rain among the hills. Monte and Santa Brigida may be said
to be residential neighbourhoods and have comfortable hotels and
boarding-houses. There are two principal sights to be visited from
there. One is the village of Atalaya, which consists of a zone of cave
dwellings, almost encircling the summit of a dome-shaped hill. The
eminence falls away on two sides to a deep ravine, over which it
commands magnificent views, and is connected with the adjacent hills by
a narrow coll. The rock is of consolidated volcanic tuff, in which the
dwellings are excavated. The fronts of the houses abut on the pathway,
which is about four feet wide, and are unequally placed, following the
contour of the ground. Each dwelling consists of two apartments, both
about twelve feet square, with rounded angles and a domed roof, the
surface of the walls shows the chisel marks. The front apartment is used
as a bed-sittingroom, the back one as a store; and in some cases a
lean-to outhouse has been built of blocks of the same material, in which
cooking is done and the goats kept. Doors and window-sashes are inserted
into the solid stone. Both dwellings and surroundings are beautifully
clean and neat; the first one exhibited we imagined to be a “show”
apartment, till others proved equally neat and orderly. Flowers were
planted in crannies of the rock and around the doors and windows, being
carefully tended and watered. The industry of the village is making pots
by hand without a wheel, the sand being obtained in one direction and
the clay in another: the shapes coincide in several instances with those
taken from native burial-grounds and now to be seen in the museum at Las
Palmas. The occasion of our visit was unfortunately a _fiesta_, and
regular work was not going on: an old lady, however, made us a model pot
in a few minutes; it was fashioned out of one piece of clay, with the
addition of a little extra material if necessary: the pottery is
unglazed. Various specimens of the art were obtained by the Expedition
and are now in the Pitt Rivers Museum at Oxford.
About half a mile from these troglodyte abodes, and adjoining the coll,
is an extraordinarily fine specimen of an extinct crater or _caldero_.
Its walls are almost vertical and unclad by vegetation: about two-thirds
of the circumference is igneous rock, and the rest black volcanic ash,
which exhibits the stratification in the most marked manner. The crater
is about 1,000 feet deep, the floor is flat and dry, and the visitor
looks down on a house at the bottom and cultivated fields.
We returned to _Mana_ for a night or two, and then made an expedition by
motor along the north road, sleeping at the picturesque village of
Fergas, and from thence by mule over the beautiful mountain-track to
Santa Brigida. We changed animals _en route_, and the price asked for a
fresh beast was outrageous. We were prepared under the circumstances to
pay it, when the portly lady of the inn, who was obviously “a
character,” beckoned us mysteriously round a corner, and, though we had
scarcely two words of any language in common, gave us emphatically to
understand that we were on no account to be so swindled, she would see
we got another. This, however, was not accomplished for another hour,
with the result that the last part of the journey was traversed in total
darkness, and the lights of the hotel were very welcome.
_Mana_ being still in the hands of work-people, we made our next way by
the south road to the town of Telde, near which is a mountain known as
Montana de las Cuatro Puertas, where are a wonderful series of caves
connected with the Guanches. The road from Las Palmas skirts the
sea-coast for a large part of the way, being frequently cut into the
cliff-face and in one place passing through a tunnel: the town lies on
the lowland not far from the sea. We arrived late in the afternoon, and
endeavoured to make a bargain for rooms with the burly landlord of the
rather humble little inn. As difficulties supervened a man who spoke a
little English was called in to act as interpreter. He turned out to be
a vendor of ice-creams who had visited London, and to make the
acquaintance of the exponent of such a trade in his native surroundings
was naturally a most thrilling experience. He expressed a great desire
to return to that land of wealth, England, though his knowledge of our
language was so extremely limited he had obviously, when there,
associated principally with his own countrymen.
We went for a stroll before dark, noticing the system of irrigation: the
water is preserved in large tanks, from which it is distributed in all
directions by small channels, and so valuable is it that these conduits
are in many cases made of stone faced with Portland cement. They are
now, however, in some instances being replaced by iron pipes, which have
naturally the merit of saving loss by evaporation. Canary is a land
where the owner of a spring has literally a gold-mine. This is the most
celebrated district for oranges. After our evening meal we joined the
company in the central _plaza_ of the little town. The moon shone down
through the trees; young men sat and smoked, and young girls, wearing
white mantillas, strolled about in companies of four or five, chatting
gaily. The elders belonged to the village club, which opened on to the
square; it was confined seemingly to one room, of which the whole space
was occupied by a billiard-table; this, however, was immaterial, as the
company spent a large part of the time in the _plaza_, an arrangement
which doubtless had the merit of saving house rent. A little way down a
side street the light streamed from the inn windows. Nearer at hand the
church stood out against the sky; it was May, the month of the Virgin
Mary, and a special service in her honour had just concluded. One felt a
momentary expectation that Faust and Marguérite or other friends from
stage-land would appear on the scene; they may of course have been there
unrecognised by us.
We discovered after much trouble that a motor-bus ran through the
village early next morning, passing close to the mountain which we had
come to visit, and could drop us on the way. We passed a fairly
comfortable night, though not undiversified by suspicions that our beds
were occupied by earlier denizens; and had just begun breakfast when the
bus appeared, some time before the earliest hour specified. We had to
tear down and catch it, leaving the meal barely tasted; the kind
attendant following us and pressing into our hand the deserted fried
fish done up in a piece of newspaper. Such hurry, however, proved to be
quite unnecessary, as we had not got beyond the precincts of the small
town before the vehicle came to an unpremeditated stop, through the fan
which cools the radiator having broken. We waited half an hour or so in
company with our fellow-passengers, who appeared stolidly resigned, and
then, as there seemed no obvious prospect of continuing our journey,
grew restless. Here again the ice-cream man acted as _deus ex machina_:
he was standing about with the crowd which had assembled, blowing a horn
at intervals, and distributing ices not infrequently to small infants,
whose fond mammas provided the requisite penny; he told us he generally
made a sum equal to about one-and-sixpence a day in this manner.
Grasping our difficulty, he delivered an impassioned address on our need
to the assembled multitude, which after further delay resulted in the
appearance of a wagonette and mules. The Montana de las Cuatro Puertas
rises out of comparatively level ground near the coast and commands
magnificent views. The top is honeycombed with caves, and one towards
the north has the four entrances from which the mountain takes its name.
It is said to have been the site of funeral rites of the inhabitants.
The place is both impressive and interesting, and would well repay more
careful study than the superficial view which was all it was possible
for us to give it.
[Illustration:
FIG. 4
PORTO GRANDE, ST. VINCENT, CAPE VERDE ISLANDS.
]
We decided to return to Las Palmas in the local coach, as we had
previously found travelling by this means both cheap and quite
comfortable. This time, however, our luck was otherwise. The vehicle
could have reasonably held eleven, but one passenger after another
joined it along the route, one new-comer was constrained to find a seat
on the pole, another stood on the step, and so forth, till we numbered
twenty, of all ages and sexes. The day was hot, but the good-natured
greeting, almost welcome, which was given to each arrival by the
original passengers made us hesitate to show the feelings which consumed
us. The sentiments of the horses are not recorded, but we gathered that
they were more analogous to our own.
All on _Mana_ was at length ready. There were the usual good-byes and
parting duties: the bank had to be visited, all bills settled, and
letters posted. Last of all a bill of health had to be obtained from the
representative of the country to which the ship was bound, certifying
that she came from a clean port and that all on board were well.
CAPE VERDE ISLANDS
The Cape Verde Islands are a collection of volcanic rocks, rising out
of the Atlantic, some 500 miles from the African mainland. There are
nine islands, with a total population (1911) of 142,000. The group was
first discovered by Europeans in 1446, through the agency of one of
the expeditions sent out by Prince Henry the Navigator. Unlike the
Canaries, the Cape Verde Islands when found were uninhabited; but
there were monolithic remains and other traces of earlier visitors,
all of which have unfortunately now disappeared. The Portuguese
settlers almost immediately imported negro labour, and the present
population is a mixed race. For a long time the Leeward Islands, or
southern portion of the group, attracted the most attention, and one
of them, St. Jago by name, is still the seat of government. St.
Vincent, however, which belongs to the Windward or northern section,
and was at one time a convict settlement, is now the more important
from a commercial point of view, as its magnificent harbour, Porto
Grande, forms a coaling station for steamers bound to South America.
The British consul removed there from St. Jago during the middle of
last century. It is also the centre for the East and West Cable
Company.
The next stage of our outward voyage the conditions were again pleasant
and satisfactory.
We left Las Palmas on Saturday, May 10th; the trade wind was still with
us, the weather delightful, and we did the distance to St. Vincent, Cape
Verde Islands, in seven days. We had heard nothing but evil of it. “An
impossible place;” “another Aden;” “a mere cinder-heap.” It was
therefore a pleasant surprise to find ourselves in a most beautiful
harbour. Rugged mountains of imposing height rise on three sides of the
bay, Porto Grande, and the fourth is protected by the long high
coast-line of the neighbouring island, San Antonio. Standing out in the
entrance of the bay is the conical Birds’ Rock, looking as if designed
by nature for the lighthouse it carries. The colouring is indescribable:
all the nearer mountains are what can only be termed a glowing red,
which, as distance increases, softens into heliotrope. On the edge of
the bay and at the foot of the eastern hills lies the town of Mindello.
A building law, made with the object of avoiding glare, forbids any
house to be painted white, and the resulting colour-washes, red, yellow,
and blue, if sometimes a little crude, tone on the whole well into the
landscape.
If beauty of form and strange weird colouring are the first things which
strike the new-comer to St. Vincent, the next, it must be admitted, is
the marvellous bleakness of the place. Hillsides and mountains stand out
bare and rugged, without showing, on a cursory inspection at any rate,
the least sign of vegetation. One of the characteristics also of the
place is the constant tearing wind. During the whole of our visit of
some ten days we were never able to find a day when it was calm enough
for Mrs. Taylor, the wife of the British Consul, to face the short
passage from the harbour and visit _Mana_. This wind is purely local and
a short distance off dies away. How, one is inclined to ask, can it be
possible for English men and women to endure life in a tropical glare,
with a perpetual wind without any trees, any grass, any green on which
to rest the eye? And yet we found over and over again that, though the
comer from greener worlds is at first unhappy and restless in St.
Vincent, those who had been there some time found life pleasant and
enjoyable and had no desire to exchange it.
There are several coaling and other English firms, and local society
rejoices in as many as thirty English ladies. The cable company has over
a hundred employees, of whom the greater number are English. The
unmarried members of the staff live together in the station, each having
a bed-sitting-room and dining in a common hall. There is an English
chaplain, and also a Baptist minister, who is the proprietor of the
principal shop. The chaplain had the experience, which everyone must
have felt would happen some time to someone, of being carried off
involuntarily on an ocean-going steamer. He was saying good-bye to
friends, missed the warning bell, and before he knew was _en route_ for
a port in South America, to which he had duly to proceed. For recreation
St. Vincent possesses a tennis-court and cricket-field: the last is in a
particularly arid spot some distance from the town, which is however
already planned out on paper by the authorities with streets and houses
for prospective needs; in the design the pitch is left vacant and named
in Portuguese “Game of Cricket,” the remainder of the field being filled
in anticipation with a grove of trees.
Some of the residents have villas among the hills or by one of the
scarce oases. We made an excursion to one of these last resorts which is
a famed beauty-spot, and found it a narrow gulch between two mountains,
with a little stream and a few unhappy vegetables and woebegone trees.
It was difficult to imagine, while traversing the road along one
hillside after another, each covered with nothing but rocks and rubble,
on what the few animals subsisted; it was remarked that the milk could
not need sterilising, as the cows fed only on stones. The rains occur in
August, after which the hills are covered with a small green plant. We
were told that some of the valleys higher up are comparatively fruitful,
and certainly it is possible to obtain vegetables at a not unreasonable
price. The women who live in the hills carry back quite usually, after a
shopping expedition, loads of seventy to eighty pounds for a distance of
perhaps three miles, with a rise of 900 feet, making the whole journey
in two and a half hours.
The British Consul, Captain Taylor, R.N., has with much enterprise
established a body of Boy Scouts among the youthful inhabitants. An
attractive member of the corps, wearing a becoming and sensible uniform,
accompanied us as guide on two occasions, when we made excursions on the
island, giving the whole afternoon to us. He declined to accept any
remuneration, as it was against the principles of his order to be paid
for doing a good turn. Other youthful natives are less useful and more
grasping. One small imp, with a swarthy complexion and head like an
overgrown radish, became our constant follower. The acquaintance began
one day when S. was carrying a large biscuit-tin from the post office,
in which some goods had just arrived from England: he followed him down
the pier, beseeching, “Oh, Captain Biscuit-Tin, give me one penny.”
Every time after this, when S. went on shore for business or pleasure,
“Biscuit-Tin,” as we in our turn named the boy, was there awaiting him.
Once, in stepping out of the boat on to the rusty iron ladder of the
jetty, his toe almost caught on a small round head as it emerged from
the water uttering the cry, “Oh, Captain, where is that penny?” A crowd
had surrounded the landing-stage, so the boy had dived into the water as
the easiest way of approach. He expressed the desire to come with us to
Buenos Aires, undeterred by the information which S. gravely gave him
that “all the boys on board were beaten every day, with an extra beating
on Saturday.” The avocation which he proposed to fill was that of cook’s
boy, as he “would have much to eat.” He followed us for the whole of one
expedition, eventually obtaining “that penny” as we shoved off from the
pier for the last time, an hour before sailing. He clapped it into his
cheek, as a monkey does a nut, and held out his hand to me for another;
but I was already in the boat, and a coin was not forthcoming; so that
the last which we saw of “Biscuit-Tin” he was still demanding “one
penny.”
We brought away from St. Vincent a permanent addition to our party, a
Portuguese negro of fine build, by name Bartolomeo Rosa. The rest of the
crew accepted his companionship without hesitation and naturally
christened him “Tony.” Later we found, with sympathy, that he was
wearing goloshes, in a temperature when most of the party were only too
happy to go shoeless, because Light, who had more particularly taken him
under his wing, said “the sight of his black feet puts me off my food.”
Rosa remained with us to the end of the voyage. He learnt English
slowly, and would never have risen to the rank of A.B., but was always
quiet, steady, and dependable. He drew but little of his wages, and had
therefore a considerable sum standing to his credit when we returned to
Southampton. He proposed, he said, to go back to his old mother at St.
Vincent and there set up with his earnings as a trader. He would get a
shop, stock it, and marry a wife, and she would attend to the customers,
while he would sit outside the door on the head of a barrel and smoke.
When it was suggested that such a course would inevitably end in drink,
he added a boat to the programme, in which he would sometimes go out and
catch fish.
We were detained at St. Vincent awaiting the arrival of a spare piece of
machinery, and occupied the time by watering the yacht at the bay of
Tarafel in the island of San Antonio. A stream from the high ground
there finds its way to the sea, and supplies the water for the town of
Mindello. The lower part of its banks are fertile, forming a beautiful,
if small, spot of verdure amid the arid surroundings. Light, with the
green hills of Devonshire in mind, remarked, “It is very nice, ma’am,
what there is of it—only there is so little.”
When we brought up, the men went into the shallow water and shot the
trammel in order to obtain some fresh fish. This brought on board an
elderly gentleman, Señor Martinez, the official in charge of the place,
who was not unnaturally indignant at what he imagined to be a foreign
fishing vessel at work in territorial waters. We were able to explain
matters, and were much interested in making his acquaintance. He had
never visited England, but spoke English well, kept it up by means of
magazines, and was greatly delighted with the gift of some literature.
He welcomed us as the first English yacht which had been there since the
visit of the _Sunbeam_ in 1876, of which he spoke as if it had been
yesterday.
Having got our package from England, we finally quitted the friendly
harbour of Porto Grande on Thursday afternoon, May 29th, sailing forth
once more, this time to cross the Atlantic, with the little shiver and
thrill which it still gave some of us when we committed our bodies to
the deep for a long and lonely voyage, even with every hope of a
resurrection on the other side of the ocean. After we sighted St. Jago,
the capital of the Cape Verde group, on the following day, we saw no
trace of human life for thirteen days; so that if mischance occurred
there was nothing and no one to help in all the blue sea and sky. The
self-sufficiency needed by those who go down to the sea in ships is
almost appalling.
Instead of making direct for Pernambuco, we steered first of all due
south, carrying with us the north-east trade, in order to cross the
Doldrums to the best advantage, and catch the south-east trade as soon
as possible on the other side. The calm belt may be expected just north
of the Equator, but its position varies with climatic conditions, and it
was therefore a matter of excitement to know how long we should keep the
wind. In the opinion of our authorities it might leave us on Sunday and
could not be with us beyond Tuesday. The engineer, whose duty had so far
been light, had been chaffingly warned by the rest of the crew that his
turn would come in the tropics, when he would have to work below for
twenty-four hours on end.
On Sunday S. gave orders that the engine was to be started by day or
night, whenever the officer in command of the watch thought it
necessary; but still the north-east trade held good. On Monday all hands
were at work stowing the mainsail, for as soon as the calm came the
squalls were expected which are typical of that part of the world. On
Tuesday evening, when according to calculation we should have been out
of its zone, we were still travelling before the wind, and we began to
congratulate ourselves with trembling, that our passage would be more
rapid than we had ventured to hope. All Wednesday, however, the breeze
was very light, and we kept our finger on its pulse as on that of a sick
man. By Thursday it had faded and had died away, the sails hung slack,
the gear rattled noisily, the motor was run. The air was hot, damp, and
sticky, with heavy squalls, and the nights were trying. It is impossible
to sleep on the deck of a small sailing ship, with so many strings about
and someone always pulling at something, so we roamed from our berths to
cabin floors and saloon settees and back again, “seeking rest and
finding none.” The thermometer in the cabin never throughout the voyage
rose to more than eighty-three degrees, but, as is well known, it is
humidity and lack of air rather than the absolute height of temperature
which determine comfort. Friday afternoon increased air roused our
hopes; but, alas! it soon subsided, and during the night we again relied
on the engine. Saturday morning was still squally, with a grey sea and
heavy showers, but there was really a slight breeze. Was it or was it
not, we asked under our breath, the beginning of the new wind? By ten
o’clock there was no longer room for doubt: the south-east trade was
blowing strong and full, and the ship, like some living creature
suddenly let loose, bounding away before it for very joy. It felt like
nothing so much as a wonderful gallop over ridge and furrow after a long
and anxious wait at covert-side.
[Illustration:
FIG. 5.
A GROUP ON DECK.
A. Light; Steward; B. Rosa; Under-Steward; C. Jeffery; W. Marks; F.
Preston (Mate); H. J. Gillam (Sailing-master).
]
We crossed the Equator in glorious weather about 9 p.m. on Monday, June
9th. None of the forecastle had been over before: Father Neptune did not
feel equal to visiting them, but some addition to the fare was much
appreciated. I was the doyen of the party, with now seven crossings to
my credit. Flying-fish came at times on board from the shoals through
which we passed, “Portuguese men-of-war” floated by the ship, and
schools of porpoises played about her bows. The wind on the whole stood
our friend for the rest of the way, and during the last week of the
voyage the average daily run was 147 miles on our course, the highest
record being 179 miles on June 14th. We continued, however, to have
squalls and rain at intervals, as we were running into the rainy season;
and it was through a mist that on Sunday, June 15th, after a passage of
seventeen days, we strained our eyes to see the South American coast. It
dawned at last on our view, a flat and somewhat low land; then came into
sight the towers and coconut palms of Pernambuco, and the passage of the
Atlantic was accomplished.
CHAPTER III
BRAZIL
Pernambuco—Bahia—Cabral Bay—Cape Frio—Rio de Janeiro—Porto Bello—A
Pampero.
After the discovery of the New World its possession was contested by
five sea-going nations of Western Europe—the Spanish, Portuguese,
French, English, and Dutch. Of these the Spanish and Portuguese were
first in the field, and the Portuguese established themselves in that
part of the southern continent now known as Brazil. Their acquisition
of this particular territory was largely due to accident: the
Portuguese navigator Cabral, sailing in 1500 for the East Indies, via
the Cape of Good Hope, shaped his course so far to the west, in order
to avoid the calms off the African continent, that he hit off this
part of the coast. An important Portuguese settlement grew up on the
bay known as Bahia de Todos os Santos (All Saints’ Bay). Further south
French Huguenots were the first to discover and colonise the bay of
Rio de Janeiro, but the Portuguese finally succeeded in expelling them
in 1567, when Rio became the capital of the southern portion of their
territory, Bahia retaining its pre-eminence in the north.
In the seventeenth century Portugal, and consequently her overseas
possessions, fell for a while under the dominion of Spain; with the
result that the settlers acquired a new foe in the young power of the
Dutch, with whom the Spaniards were at war. The Dutch West India
Company was formed with the especial object of capturing Brazil: the
first fleet, which sailed in 1623, gained for a time possession of
Bahia, and in 1629 the Dutch conquered Olinda and the neighbouring
town of Recife, or Pernambuco, where they established themselves under
the able leadership of Prince Mauritz of Nassau. In 1640, however, the
Portuguese threw off the Spanish yoke, and, as the quarrel of Holland
had been with the latter, she allowed herself to be bought out of her
conquests in Brazil; an arrangement due in part to the intervention of
Charles II of England, who had married a Portuguese princess. There
was an old alliance between this country and Portugal, and when in
1739 war broke out between England and Spain, occasioned by the wrongs
of a certain Captain Jenkins whose ear the Spaniards had cut off,
Commodore Anson selected a Brazilian harbour in which to revictual his
ships on his way to harry the Spanish in the Pacific.
During the Napoleonic wars the history of Europe again affected
Brazil. In 1808, when the French were on the point of entering Lisbon,
the royal family escaped overseas, established their court at Rio de
Janeiro, and made Brazil a kingdom. In 1820 King João VI returned to
Portugal, leaving his son Pedro in command, and the mother country
sought to reduce Brazil once more to the provincial status. This was
resisted by the colonists, who had tasted the sweets of authority;
they declared themselves independent, and made Pedro, who was
personally popular, into Emperor of Brazil. Pedro was succeeded by his
son, who reigned till 1889; in that year a revolution occurred, due
partly to defects of government, partly to the discontent caused by
the emancipation of the slaves. Pedro II left for Europe, and Brazil
was declared a republic.
Pernambuco, or Recife, has been built on low land at the junction of two
rivers, and has the advantage of a good harbour, protected by a natural
reef, which has been improved by artificial means. The town has
grandiosely, but not altogether inaptly, been called a “modern Venice”;
the business quarter, or Recife proper, is built on a peninsula formed
by one of the rivers, while the windings of the other divide the
remaining part of the town into sections, which have to be crossed and
recrossed by bridges. Otherwise the place is not attractive, the site
has originally been a quagmire, and the roads have been made by merely
levelling the ground and covering it with rounded stones; they now
consist principally of shallow lakes and crevasses. The streets, with
the exception of a few new thoroughfares, are little more than lanes and
just wide enough for two vehicles to pass. Most of the traffic is done
by mule trams, and any other vehicles, except when they can get on the
tram lines, are obliged to move at a snail’s pace. It is difficult to
understand how the motors contrive to exist, but they are fairly
numerous. The houses are of stucco and outrival those of St. Vincent in
brilliancy of colouring. The authorities at the time of our visit had
been seized with the laudable desire to reconstruct the town on a large
and ambitious plan, the object being to rival the larger towns further
south, and, in view of their growing prosperity, to keep a place also in
the sun for Pernambuco. This form of civic patriotism plays a noticeable
and unexpected part in various South American towns. The result at the
moment was to make the place appear, in certain districts, as if it had
suffered by fire or bombardment.
It is impossible not to be struck when walking the streets with the
great varieties of type, and consequently of colouring, among the
populace. The original races have been the native Indian, the European
who conquered the land, and the Negro imported for his services, and
there are now, in addition to their pure-blooded descendants, every
shade and mixture of the three. The colour of a man’s skin is however of
little or no social concern, and there is an absence of race prejudice
which to the Anglo-Saxon mind is very astonishing. We had the pleasure
of visiting the opera on a gala night at the kind invitation of the
British Consul and his sister, Mr. and Miss Dickie, and saw much mixture
of colouring among the upper classes. The subject of the opera was
romantic and dealt with the early Portuguese era, the heroine being
carried off by Indian raiders. Women of all shades have a very proper
idea of the consideration due to them, though there would seem to be no
reason even to the most advanced of us why, as was said to be the case,
a negress should consider it beneath her dignity to carry a message
across the road.
The political situation is apparently liable to surprises. At the
principal music-hall, just before our visit, an accident occurred to the
driving-chain of the electric light, causing a certain amount of
clatter; the audience immediately sprang to their feet, the women
shrieked, and there was a general stampede. It had been immediately
concluded that the noise was caused by pistol shots and heralded a
revolution.
The economic standing of Pernambuco and the why and wherefore of its
existence are a puzzle to the stranger. There is no appearance of any
considerable quantity of trade or wealth, indeed, to judge by the
notices displayed, the inhabitants live principally on mutual doctoring
and pulling out each other’s teeth. The cost of living is nevertheless
very high, owing largely to the fact that everything seems to be brought
from overseas. Stone for building is conveyed all the way from Northern
Europe, and a Norwegian barque, which lay beside us, was busy unloading
timber at the door of the forests of Brazil. Even the common articles in
use are brought from the Old World, and the tables of the restaurants
are crowded with imported products, in spite of almost prohibitive
tariffs, which raise the price of a ham, for example, to four or five
times its original value. In addition special prices are at times
reserved for strangers: the yacht’s steward was allowed to depart
without purchasing a packet of cigarettes for which eightpence was
asked; Rosa, with his dark skin, got the identical article for a penny.
We followed one of the rivers in the launch almost as far as it is
navigable, a distance of some nine miles. The banks are low, and were at
first covered with mangrove; later the land was cultivated after a
fashion, and there were a certain number of country houses, but in a
state of dilapidation and decay.
Anyone who wishes to leave the prosaic present and be transported back
to the old times of colonisation should visit Olinda, the ancient seat
of government, which lies three miles to the north of Pernambuco. The
remains of it to-day are a little group of houses standing picturesquely
on a wooded promontory, which rises high above the low-lying coast. The
old street, winding up to the top of the semi-deserted city, along which
must have passed gay cavalcades, sober monks, and captured Indians, is
still the high way, but it is now carpeted with grass, kept short, not
by traffic, but by the sheep which browse upon it. From the highest
point, the view extends in one direction to the sea and in the other to
the forests of the interior. The most arresting feature is the number of
churches and religious houses: everywhere the eye turns these great
buildings rise among the luxuriant foliage, from one standpoint we
counted ten such edifices. Some are deserted; some are still inhabited.
The Franciscan establishment, where a fraternity still occupy the
conventual buildings, is said to have been the first of its kind in
Brazil, but we could arrive at nothing more definite as to date from the
brother who acted as guide than that the place was “three hundred years
old.” The church contained some particularly good Dutch tiles
representing scenes from the life of the Virgin and St. Ann; similar
ones are to be seen in the cathedral, which was undergoing repair, and
where no means were being taken to preserve them from injury at the
hands of the workmen. These edifices were presumably rebuilt after the
capture of the place by the Dutch; for Olinda is said to have been so
utterly destroyed by the fighting, of which it was the centre, that
Prince Maurice of Nassau gave his attention instead to the improvement
of Recife.
Our regrets at leaving Pernambuco on Saturday, June 21st, after a stay
of six days, were mitigated by the heat of the docks and by the fact
that for some nights the mosquitoes had been unceasingly active. As soon
as we left S. started an exterminating campaign, and killed sixty
straight away in his own cabin and the saloon. For weeks afterwards, Mr.
Gillam could be seen daily going on his rounds with a bottle of quinine
tabloids, the lambs obediently swallowing the same. His medicinal doses
were under all circumstances magnificently heroic, some of his remedies
being kept in quart bottles, on the principle, as he explained, that it
was “no use spoiling the ship for a halfpennyworth of tar.” It was
doubtful in this case if the enemy were really of the malaria-carrying
type; they did not appear to stand on their heads in the correct
manner—anyway, we all escaped contagion with one slight exception,
though I myself had had a bad attack shortly before leaving England,
brought on by influenza, after six years’ complete immunity.
We had now before us a voyage of some 3,000 miles down the eastern coast
of South America before the Magellan Straits were reached. It was
marvellously impressive sailing day after day along the coast-line of a
great continent, although at the moment the said coast was sandy and
flat, the only diversity being occasional lights at night from some town
on the shore. Bahia de Todos os Santos, more generally known simply as
Bahia, was our next destination. Some fine Portuguese houses are said to
survive from the days when it was the old capital, and it may be
remembered as the locality where Robinson Crusoe was engaged in planting
tobacco, when he was induced to go on the slave-raiding voyage which led
to his best-known adventure. The bay, which runs north and south,
extends for twenty-five miles, and the situation of the town on its east
side is distinctly fine; part of it has been built on the shore, and
part on the top of rising ground immediately above it. The funicular
railway which connects the one with the other is to be seen from the
sea.
[Illustration:
FIG. 6.
BAHIA DE TODOS OS SANTOS.
]
This unfortunately is all that circumstances allow us to record. The
anchor was dropped at midday, Wednesday, June 25th, and orders given for
luncheon to be served at once, so that we might go on shore as soon as
we had got our pratique. The health officer, when he came on board, was
found to speak nothing but Portuguese, which made communication
difficult; the same had been the case with the pilot at Pernambuco; and
as half the vessels visiting those ports are English it might perhaps be
suggested, without insular pride, that a smattering of that language, or
at least of French, might be desirable in such officials. We produced
the bill of health from Pernambuco in ordinary course: this, however,
did not satisfy the doctor. He asked for that from St. Vincent, then
from Las Palmas, and finally from Falmouth, though we pointed out that,
as this had been granted three months ago, it scarcely had a practical
bearing on the case: the virgin health of Bahia must, we felt, indeed be
immaculate to require such protection. Finally the bill was stamped and
passed. Then the officer handed in a marvellous paper of directions
given in English, which stated that “if the captain went on shore all
boats’ crews were to return immediately to the ship; that no one was to
be on shore after 7 p.m.; no fruit was to be bought from hucksters, and
none was to be eaten till it had been in a cool place for three days.”
We felt that it had become our turn to inquire after the health of
Bahia, and it was reluctantly admitted that yellow fever was raging.
Upon hearing this we metaphorically gathered our skirts around us, and,
although greatly disappointed to miss seeing the town, naturally decided
that we would not land. A quaint position then arose, as the doctor,
with an eye probably to the fee involved, stated that the ship could not
leave unless S. went on shore and obtained a new bill of health, a
proceeding at which, as may be supposed, he drew the line. As the
official had no means of enforcing authority, victory remained with
_Mana_, but, even so we were left wondering whether the stain on our
moral character of the Bahia endorsement of our certificate would secure
us quarantine at our next port. We spent the night in the bay some
distance from shore, in order that Mr. Ritchie might test the compass by
swinging the vessel.
After we left Bahia the coast-line was at times broken by islands, and
varied inland by hills which rose behind wooded banks and sandy shores.
We had plenty of time to make notes of any features of interest, for the
landmarks on the shore became quite old friends before we parted
company. The weather became cooler, the cabin thermometer ranging from
75° to 80°; but we met with an unexpected and persistent head wind; long
tacks seemed to bring us but little forward, and _Mana_ presented the
pathetic spectacle of a good ship struggling against adversity. The log
day after day gave the depressing chronicle of only some twenty to
thirty miles of progress, and the 700 miles to Rio de Janeiro began to
appear interminable. After some five days of this weary work, making
eleven since we had left Pernambuco, S. decided that it would be in the
interests of all to obtain a change by making the shore along which we
were sailing. He therefore, after careful study of the Sailing
Directions, selected a spot where health officers would not be
found—Cabral Bay. Our Navigator thought the entrance somewhat risky, and
requested written orders before going in: as, however, rashness is not
one of my husband’s sins I awaited the result with equanimity. It is the
small bay where Cabral landed on April 24th, 1500, two days after
discovering the continent. He erected a cross on the site of the present
village, took possession of the land for the King of Portugal, and
christened it Santa Cruz, a name which was changed in the middle of the
sixteenth century to Brazil, from _brasa_, the term applied by the
Portuguese to the brilliant red wood of its forests. The village and
northern part of the bay continue, however, to bear the name of Santa
Cruz, while the southern portion is called after the great navigator.
The land which forms the bay consists of a low ridge, two miles or so in
length, covered with brushwood and undergrowth; it is arrested suddenly
to the north by the course of a river, which has here made a passage to
the ocean, and ends abruptly in a steep white cliff. Between the cliff
and the river nestles the small village of Santa Cruz, and on the height
stands a church which forms the landmark for ships entering the bay. Up
the hillside winds a little white path where the grass has been worn
away by the feet of worshippers ascending to the house of prayer. At its
southern end the ridge dies gradually away in a little promontory, on
which stands a tall cross of wood with an inscription stating that it
was erected by the Capuchins on the date 22.3.98, but whether that was
yesterday, or one hundred, or two or three hundred years ago, there is
nothing to show. In front of the bay is a coral reef, so that only baby
waves break over the sandy beach, and hard by the cross is a stream,
with low reaches and dark shady pools overhung by mangroves.
Here we spent two days, watered the ship from the stream, bathed,
fished, and revelled in the wind and sunshine, feeling like prehistoric
men, and at one with all creation, from amœbas to angels. The men from
the village, dark and lithe, came to visit us in dug out canoes,
hollowed in true Robinson Crusoe fashion from the trunks of trees, and
lent us a hand in our work, after which we had out the launch and gave
them a tow back to the village. There we found the kindest welcome and
walked up the little white path to the church. It was tattered and
dirty; but old women with interesting faces, who came in to see the
strangers, knelt devoutly at the altar-rails before putting out a hand
to greet us. When we departed the inhabitants came to the river-side,
where also stands a cross, though whether it is that erected by Cabral
or not this history cannot say; they gave us presents, fired rockets,
and waved us adieu to the last. Life might be hard at Santa Cruz, but at
least it seemed quiet and peaceful. As _Mana_ went out of the bay there
was a stormy sunset over the church and a wonderful rainbow in the east;
gradually the cross on the promontory faded away, the breaking waves on
the coral reef could no longer be heard, and so, as John Bunyan would
say, “we went on our way.”
On leaving Cabral Bay we stood out to sea as the best chance of
obtaining a fair wind, and the weather gradually became more favourable.
One particularly clear evening, July 8th, at sunset, we were able to see
a peak on the mainland which is just under 7,000 feet in height at a
distance of ninety-six miles. Altogether it was a pleasant run, occupied
by the Stewardess in reading geology and darning stockings. We had not
been able completely to fill our water-tanks at Santa Cruz, and it was
now decided to procure the remainder at Cape Frio, which was seventy
miles this side of Rio de Janeiro, rather than risk the quality which
might be obtainable in the city. As we returned to the coast we found
that its low character had given way to a region of hills, cliffs, and
islands. Cape Frio itself is a bold rocky promontory, or rather island,
for it is separated from the mainland by a narrow passage, and shelters
behind it a romantic basin consisting of a series of small coves. In
places the surrounding mountains recede sufficiently to allow of little
sandy beaches, elsewhere sheer cliffs covered with verdure come down to
the margin, and trees and ferns overhang the water. We entered by
moonlight, and the dark shadows and sparkling sand made a striking and
effective contrast.
In one cove is a fishing village, with a church and small store. Here
for the first time oranges were valued as a native product, so far they
had been no cheaper than in England, and at threepence a dozen the
forecastle and midships bought them by the bathful. The facilities for
obtaining water next day proved not so good as had been hoped. I left S.
superintending the crew, as they staggered through the surf to the
cutter with bags of water from the village well, and ascended 300 or 400
feet to a signal station on the landward side of the gorge which cuts
off the outlying island. This commanded a magnificent view of a wide
stretch of blue Atlantic and the adjacent coast; in the direction of Rio
was a panorama of low lands and lagoons, bordered by ranges of rugged
mountains which rose tier upon tier as far as the eye could reach. On
the way down I gathered a spray of bougainvillea from a shrub in full
bloom.
S. had meanwhile made acquaintance with the storekeeper and general
village factotum, who we had already found, to our surprise, spoke
English well. He turned out, as might have been expected, to be a
German. The history of his life would probably be interesting. His
experiences included at any rate residence at Bonn University and the
post of steward on the yacht of the late Mr. Pierpont Morgan, but who or
what had brought him to this spot did not transpire. He had at one time
become naturalised as a citizen of Brazil, but had subsequently laid
down his rights, preferring to keep out of public concerns, for, as he
naïvely remarked, “they never talk politics here without killing a man.”
The lore of Frio was as romantic as its appearance, and worthy of the
pen of Stevenson. Not only have traces come to light on a neighbouring
promontory of Indian burials consisting of bones and pottery, but more
valuable treasure finds were of not infrequent occurrence; buried
Spanish coins turned up at intervals, and an ingot of silver had lately
been discovered. There was no doubt, in the opinion of the storekeeper,
that considerable treasure was hidden among the islands along the coast,
but hunting for it was forbidden by the government. Not far from the
village itself there was a cave, which was obviously the work of man,
and said to connect two coves, but no one dared to explore it. Nothing
was known of its history, but, according to tradition, it was the work
of the Jesuits: why a religious order should have made such a resort our
informant was unable to explain, but he evidently considered that it
would be quite in accord with their usual underground and mysterious
methods of procedure. Thirty years ago he himself, with the owner of the
cave and one other, had taken up a barrel of wine and had a drinking
bout at its entrance, a scene which some old painter of the Dutch school
would surely have found congenial: he had then penetrated some twenty or
thirty yards into the interior; it was at first, he said, narrow, then
became wider, but since that time no one had entered it.
S. was naturally fired with a desire to explore this hidden cavern; Mr.
Gillam responded to the call for an assistant, and they set out for the
place, accompanied by our informant. There proved to be some difficulty
in discovering it, even with his assistance, owing to the dense
vegetation which had arisen since it was last visited. Mr. Gillam’s
thoughts not unnaturally turned to snakes, and the information given in
reply to a question on the subject lacked something in reassurance:
there were a great many about, it was said, and of a dangerous kind, but
they only struck when trodden upon, and as it was now getting late in
the day it might be hoped that they had retired to their lairs. When the
cave was at length found, bushes and undergrowth had to be cut down in
order to effect an entrance, and a cloud of bats flew out of the
darkness within. The walls were examined by the light of a ship’s
signalling lantern, and the statement that they had been artificially
made was proved to be true. The party proceeded for ten or twelve yards,
but then found that the way had been blocked by a comparatively recent
fall of débris, and the enterprise had therefore to be abandoned. We
commend it to fellow-voyagers and anthropologists.
We sailed the next morning at daybreak and our navigator, instead of
taking the eastern road, by which we had come in, and going round the
island, decided to attempt as a short cut the much narrower exit on the
west, which lay between the precipitous cliffs that separated the cape
proper from the mainland. By the soundings recorded on the chart there
was everywhere sufficiency of water for our draught, but, while
approaching the coast to take a direct course through the gorge, we were
suddenly aware that the stern of the vessel had taken the ground. There
was a moment of anxiety as to whether she had hit on an outlying rock,
but happily she had only come in contact with a bank of drifted sand. We
were, however, very near a rocky coast, and it was not far from high
water. As much weight as possible was taken into the bows, a kedge was
carried out astern, and she was hove off the way she came on.
The next morning we were at the entrance to Rio de Janeiro. There was,
however, not a breath of wind, and the engine was giving trouble; it
refused to run more than a very short distance without becoming
dangerously heated—a state of things subsequently found to be due
entirely to improper installation. We sat, therefore, for twelve hours
gazing at the tumbled mass of blue mountain-barrier, through the narrow
opening in which the sea has found its way and formed the great sheet of
water within. In front of us was the well-known conical form of the
Sugar-loaf, to the west Corcovado, the Hunchback, with its strange
effect of a peak which is bending forward, and beyond it Gavea with its
table-top. The night fell, lights came out within, we still waited like
a Peri at the gate of Paradise. The evening breeze, however, wafted us
nearer, and at midnight we passed silently between the dark heights
which guarded the entrance and dropped anchor in Botafogo Bay under the
shelter of the Sugar-loaf, there to await the dawn.
It is an entrancing experience to wake on a sunny morning and find
oneself for the first time among the soft and glowing beauty of Rio
Harbour. We went up the bay in the early light, with a man posted at the
flagstaff to exchange greetings with the Brazilian men-of-war which lay
at anchor; it was always our duty to dip first to warships, as it was
the place of merchantmen to take the initiative with us. We finally took
up our position some three miles higher up opposite to the old city.
It is the suicidal fate of each visitor to try to describe Rio de
Janeiro, and fail in the attempt; but with every warning to refrain the
present chronicler must likewise rush on her doom. The first impression
is that there is so much of it. It is not merely an enormous and
beautiful bay, with a city upon it—it is a huge expanse of water, of
which the whole margin, as far as the eye can reach, is used by man for
his dwelling. To compare it with the bays of Naples or Palermo, or with
the cities of Edinburgh or Athens, is, as far as size is concerned, to
speak in the same breath of some picturesque manor-house and of Windsor
Castle. There are many places with wilder charm or more historic
interest; but for what can only be termed “sleek beauty” Rio is
incomparable. Every portion of the scenery is right, there are no parts
of it which the eye consciously or unconsciously omits, and in whichever
direction the gazer looks his æsthetic sense is satisfied. The shore
line disdains monotony and breaks itself into bays and islands. The
great mountains, though they may lose in quiet dignity, range themselves
in weird and striking shapes which attract the eye, while the verdure
fulfils its purpose of showing off their beauty, here clothing a
hillside with forest, there leaving bare a towering cliff. The white
buildings which wander up hill and down dale are clean and prosperous,
neither too new nor too old; they surround bays and stretch out to
islands, not in oppressive continuity, but broken with the surface of
the ground, while the gardens and boulevards with their tropical foliage
know just how to intersperse themselves at the right intervals. The sun
and air also appreciate their share in the situation, and flood mountain
and water, verdure and the work of man, with wonderful transparent
light, till the whole shines pure and soft, blue and green, like an
opal. The night is not less beautiful; then the summits of the mountains
show dark against the sky, myriads of lights outline the near bays,
shine out from the islands and twinkle irregularly up the hillsides,
while from the further shore another galaxy are reflected half-way
across the still dark water. The whole gives the impression of some
magic scene in the _Arabian Nights_ lit up for a great _fiesta_. Rio is
wonderful, marvellous; it leaves one like the Queen of Sheba; and
yet—when I am dead I hope that I may return and visit the little bay of
Santa Cruz, I know I shall pass by Rio de Janeiro.
The old part of the city is composed of narrow and noisy lanes, but the
new boulevards are fine and broad. We did the usual sightseeing, with
the details of which it is not proposed to trouble the reader. We had
the pleasure of enjoying the hospitality of our Minister, Sir W.
Haggard; but to my disappointment, for I had been looking forward for
weeks to some feminine society, Lady Haggard was in England, and
everyone else seemed to be a bachelor. By the most kind care of the
British Consul, Mr. Hamblock, we had a memorable motor drive of some
seventy miles through the mountains to the west of the bay, including
the tract of forest reserved for the public by Dom Pedro. It has left us
with a bewildered impression of roads winding below great crags, amongst
tropical vegetation, and opening at intervals on vistas of rocky coast
and deep blue sea. We visited the botanical gardens, admiring their
marvellous avenue of palms: similar ones, and but little inferior, may
be seen in many directions, rising amongst streets and houses like the
pillars of a Greek temple. We ascended the Sugar-loaf by aerial railway,
and gained a panoramic view of the harbour. Finally, a day was spent at
Petropolis, a small place among the mountains at the head of the bay,
which is reached by a railway with cog-wheel gauge and is the special
resort of the diplomatic colony. We lunched at an inn of which the walls
were adorned impartially with portraits of the Hohenzollerns and French
Presidents, the host turned out to be an Alsatian.
If at Rio every prospect pleases it is not altogether free from
drawbacks: sanitary conditions have improved; but the pride the city
takes in its public gardens and boulevards does not extend to the water
of the harbour, which is repulsively dirty, and ships are warned in the
Sailing Directions against using it even for washing their decks. When
the American fleet visited Rio they consumed so much from the shore for
that purpose, that there is said to have been almost a fresh-water
famine in the city. When we left the bay our bill of health stated that
the previous week there had been two cases of yellow fever, both dead,
and two of bubonic plague, who were still alive. Even with our
experience at Pernambuco the prices charged at Rio left us breathless:
engineering work cost from four to five times as much as in England;
even a poor man on the docks complained to our Sailing-master that he
could not get a meal under 2s. 8d. One Englishman, professionally
employed, calculated that the cost of his passage home every three years
was met through the saving effected on buying his clothes in England.
Finally, the Stewardess of the _Mana_ was of the opinion that the limit
was reached, when one shilling was charged for washing a pair of
stockings.
The Brazilians of Rio appear to have more European blood than those who
live further north, though a mixture of Indian or Negro is viewed with
the same equanimity. The idea of government is democratic, and in theory
at any rate the President will give an audience to the humblest
Brazilian. The senators are paid £7 a day while sitting, so that an easy
way of defraying debt is to prolong the session. The Central Railway
belongs to the Government, and is regarded as giving billets for its
supporters: engine-drivers, for example, are paid at a rate of from £700
per annum, the consequent large deficit on the working of the line being
made good by the Treasury. There had been no political excitement very
recently at Rio, but one old man was pointed out to us who, as governor
of a northern state, had held his position by force and fraud until
about a year previously, when he had been escorted by armed men on board
ship and told that if he returned he would be shot.
We left Rio Harbour at daybreak on Wednesday, July 23rd, after a visit
of nine days, and to our relief found a good sailing breeze outside. As
Buenos Aires, at which we were bound to call for stores and letters, was
still some 1,100 miles distant, it was decided to break the voyage, and
the Sailing Directions were studied for some out-of-the-way
stopping-place _en route_. We had found by experience that little
anchorages were preferable: not only was there more confidence in the
water supply than in the case of big towns, but there was no trouble
with authorities, and bills of health, and the temptations of a big port
were avoided. The smaller places also, if in some ways less interesting,
were more attractive. The little bay of Porto Bello was selected, but
when its neighbourhood was reached the following Sunday the weather had
become rather thick and there was some difficulty in finding our way. At
tea-time our Navigator came down somewhat amused to tell us that, during
our afternoon siestas, _Mana_ had wandered in and out of a wrong bay,
about twenty miles north of our destination; a small steamer in front of
us had also obviously been in need of a signpost or kind policeman.
On Sunday afternoon we dropped anchor safely in a sheltered part of
Porto Bello Bay known as Aco Cove. Our previous halts, the town of
Pernambuco, the coral bay at Santa Cruz, the rocky basin of Cape Frio,
and the world-famed harbour of Rio de Janeiro, bore little resemblance
to each other, but they had one point in common, that they were all
obviously South American. Porto Bello had nothing South American about
it save its very unoriginal Spanish name; it might, as far as general
appearance went, have been a loch imported straight from the west coast
of Scotland: the accent of our Glasgow engineer became unconsciously
more homelike, as he remarked that it was “just like the scenery near
Oban,” and to add to the illusion the weather, though warm, was a “wee
bit saft,” with the nip in the air associated with Scotland in August.
The town of Porto Bello itself lies at the foot of the bay. It will be
found marked in the atlas of the infallible Stieler, but it is nothing
more than a hamlet, consisting of a few small houses, with a church and
one little store; there was no inn visible, but it is apparently
connected with the outside world by telegraph or telephone. Shanties,
surrounded with banana groves, wandered up the hillsides or clustered
round such sandy coves as Aco; some were made of wattle and daub, others
of wooden planks roofed with banana leaves or rough red tiles. We made
friends with a family who occupied a cottage near the stream which
supplied our water, and some of the party, a grandfather, father, and
small daughter, came off on their own initiative to pay us a visit on
board. They brought presents of eggs and molasses, and three special
shells as an offering for me. The gifts which we on our side found were
most appreciated, both here and elsewhere, were tobacco, sweets, and
ships’ biscuits; the last were specially prized, being often preferred
to money. We showed our visitors over the vessel, and expected that such
fittings as electric light would produce a mild sensation, but it was
proved as usual that the eye can only take in what it has sufficient
knowledge to appreciate. The greatest success was achieved by the supply
of carpenters’ tools, which excited much admiration, while the
pier-glass in my cabin came in a poor second. A rather embarrassing
situation arose when the old man, who was getting a little imbecile,
found the yacht so attractive that he sat down in the deck-house and
declined to depart.
The quiet lives of these people, surrounded by agricultural holdings
with tropical produce, reminded us much of the existence of some of the
natives in East Africa. They were apparently not above the belief in
charms, for opposite our friends’ door was a dried bush about four feet
high, which had on the extremity of each bough an eggshell, some fifteen
in number; we never succeeded in finding out its precise meaning, for
unfortunately our ignorance of the Portuguese language made any real
conversation impossible. The appliances of life were simple: an ox-cart
had solid wooden wheels, after the manner of an ancient British chariot,
the noise made by which was portentous; and the anchors of the boats
were of wood, the shank being formed of a frame of sticks, into which
rocks were packed.
[Illustration:
FIG. 7.
THE NATIVE CART, ACO COVE, PORTO BELLO.
]
The business of watering the ship being ended, we tried to continue our
journey, only to find that a dead calm reigned outside, and there was
nothing to do but to return. Two or three days of detention passed very
pleasantly exploring hill-tracks, photographing, and sketching. We were
able to buy poultry, eggs, and oranges, and the men were very successful
with the seine, getting quantities of delightful mullet. One afternoon
we took our tea in the launch to the other side of the bay, but here for
the only time we found the people a little suspicious and not quite
friendly.
Saturday, August 2nd, we again made our way out of Porto Bello. Our
course lay in the direction of the island of Sta. Catharina, some twenty
miles to the southwards, and the whole of the next day we drifted along
in sight of its beautiful mountainous coast-line. This was the
rendezvous appointed by Anson for his fleet on his outward voyage, as it
possessed an excellent reputation for stores. He sailed there direct
from Madeira, arriving in December 1740; his voyage took forty-five
days, as against our forty-eight days at sea to Porto Bello, by Cape
Verde Islands and Pernambuco. Anson was, however, disappointed in his
reception, as the governor proved himself unfriendly, and sent a
messenger to communicate the presence of the squadron to the Spanish
admiral, who lay with his ships in the River Plate. We occupied the time
in endeavouring to check from the yacht the sketches given of the coast
in the contemporary account of his voyage. Later on we more than once
found ourselves on Anson’s track.
The following days afforded great variety of weather, but it grew
rapidly colder, and warm clothes which had been stowed since Madeira had
to be brought out. The wind, which for a time was strong and fair, later
veered round to the south-east and subsequently to the south-west. Our
navigators were early anxious about the indications, fearing a
_pampero_, the name by which the particular gales are known which sweep
down from the Andes over the _pampas_ or great plains of the mainland,
and on Monday, August 4th, the mainsail was stowed. Thursday we had a
strong wind, accompanied by a most extraordinary display of lightning;
from midnight till 5 a.m. the place was lighted up almost without
intermission, and there were reported to be at times as many as five to
eight flashes visible at once; at first there was no thunder, but
subsequently it became audible. The next two days we beat against a head
wind.
On Saturday evening we were placidly seated at dinner when the cry came,
“All hands on deck.” Suddenly, without at the last a moment’s warning,
the _pampero_ was upon us. A half-finished meal was left to hurry up the
companion and join in stowing sails. All night long the gale raged,
straining at the rigging, tossing the ship from side to side, rattling
everything in her above and below. The waves swept over the deck until
it seemed as if their force might at any moment carry away the boats or
burst in the door of the deck-house; notwithstanding the heavy
storm-boards with which it was always barricaded at such times. There
was no sleep for anyone on board. The steward was up all night making
cocoa for those on deck, for it was bitterly cold. As to the watch
below, “a man,” as Mr. Gillam said, “who could care so little what was
going on above as to be able to sleep on such a night, simply because he
was off duty, was no sailor worth the name.” Four a.m. found two of us
engaged in meditating on the “wet sea boy” who managed to have his
eyelids sealed on the giddy mast during “the visitation of the wind,”
wondering whether he was an Elizabethan product or if we only owe his
creation to the fact that Shakespeare was a landsman. I believe, from
continued observation, that a good crew really like a gale, it has the
“joy of battle.” As to the Stewardess, her journal, which is not given
to soliloquising, runs, I find, as follows in connection with the
_pampero_: “It has been made painfully clear to me that my presence on
deck when things are bad is an added anxiety; this is humiliating, and
will not, I trust, apply to the next generation of females.”
When I came up next morning the wind was still raging fiercely, but
there was a pale blue sky flecked with white clouds, and bright sunshine
sparkled on the countless white crests of foam which covered a dark blue
sea. I looked, with an instinct which during all these months had become
second nature, to see who was at the wheel, and found, with a shock,
that it was deserted—the helm was lashed! It felt for a moment as if the
ship were some dead thing, with all power of spontaneous movement, all
volition gone. For the time being she was vanquished by the elements, or
at least reduced to armed truce; we were hove to and drifting slowly
eastward, undoing all the work of the last two days. “Rough on us,
ma’am,” as Light said with a jovial laugh. At noon we had lost ground by
24 miles, and were now 373 miles from Buenos Aires instead of 349.
Monday, 7 a.m., we began to sail, beating against the wind, but by
midday we had lost still further, being now 402 miles away from the
haven where we would be. We envied the cape pigeons, twenty or thirty of
which followed the vessel, as she was towing bags of heavy oil to
windward to prevent the waves from breaking, and the smoother water made
it easier for them to see the small fish below. They seemed to enjoy the
gale, and swept round the yacht gracefully, showing off their white
bodies and dark wings barred with white. They trod the water at
intervals as they ran along it on the tips of their feet, and rode in
the troughs of the waves securely sheltered from the wind. On August
12th we signalised the day by making a bag, one gull, but it came as a
guest and was entitled to hospitality. It was apparently tired out, and
perched on one of the boats; but when S. began throwing some meat
overboard, with the object of attracting and photographing the cape
pigeons, it joined in the scramble. The pigeons, however, would have
none of the stranger, and set upon it, whereupon, worsted in the fray,
the gull again sought refuge on the vessel: there it stayed all night,
sleeping quite low down in the folds of some canvas and allowing itself
to be stroked and fed by any passer-by. With the morning, being rested
and refreshed, it flew away.
CHAPTER IV
ARGENTINA
The River Plate—Buenos Aires, its Trade and People.
The Argentine Republic is the modern representative of the Spanish
colonies on the east coast of South America, as Brazil is that of the
Portuguese. Fifteen years after the landing of Cabral, Spanish sailors
first sighted the entrance to the Rio Plata, and in 1535 Mendoza
established a settlement on the site which later was Buenos Aires. No
gold or silver, however, was to be found, and the Spaniards looked on
their holdings on the South Atlantic merely as a back door to their
richer possessions on the Pacific. Till the eighteenth century all
their South American territories were under the Viceroy of Peru, and
in order to suit the convenience of that colony no ship was allowed to
trade direct with Buenos Aires; all the merchandise from Europe had to
be fetched over the Andes. It was not till the first richness of the
mines was exhausted that attention was drawn to the grass-covered
plains of the east.
The Napoleonic wars, which turned Brazil from a colony to an empire,
ultimately led to the establishment of republican rule in the Spanish
colonies. Pitt, however, made a mistake in judging in 1806 that the
discontent felt by the younger nation with the rule of their
mother-country would make them unite in the war against her. He sent
an armed force to the River Plate, but his full expectation that there
would be a local rising was grievously disappointed; Buenos Aires was
captured, but the British were subsequently heavily defeated and
obliged to return home. The anniversary of the “reconquest” is yearly
celebrated, and the newly arrived Briton, who probably never heard of
the occurrence, finds that in Argentina his country is regarded as a
defeated nation.
The loyalty of the colonists to the Crown of Spain was not, however,
of long duration. Seeing that in the old country all authority was in
the melting-pot, a secret society was formed in Buenos Aires, of which
Belgrano was a leading member, to work for representative government;
popular desire for freedom became too strong to be resisted, and on
May 25th, 1810, the viceroy resigned. From that date the independence
of Argentina is officially reckoned. The Argentines then successfully
assisted the revolutionaries of Chile. Disputes subsequently arose as
to the boundary between the two countries; these differences were
referred, at the beginning of this century, to the Crown of England,
which appointed a commission to deal with the matter, and a treaty was
agreed upon in accordance with its recommendations.
On Friday morning, August 15th, land became visible, and by 2 o’clock we
were off Flores Island, the entrance to Rio Plata, where we took up a
pilot for its navigation. The river is there about a hundred miles
across, but narrows rapidly, and two hours later we were opposite Monte
Video, where it is only half that width. Of Monte Video itself we could
see only the outline. We proposed visiting it later by one of the
steamers which run there every night from Buenos Aires, but were
discouraged from doing so by the report that there was nothing whatever
to see except an inferior Buenos Aires, and that the seaside resorts in
the neighbourhood, which were filled in the summer by the Argentines,
would be closed at that time of year. The Plate River is dull and
dreary, having the charm neither of a river nor of the open sea; it
consists of a vast expanse of turbid yellow water, marked by buoys and
the wrecks of ships which have gone aground on its dangerous shoals. The
western bank only was visible, and that was low-lying, with a
suspicion—was it only a suspicion?—of tall chimneys. We felt that as far
as beauty went we might as well be at the mouth of some English
mercantile river, and certainly, as was remarked, we had much better
have been there from the point of view of getting the needed work done
on the ship. A number of insects of all sorts appeared on the yacht when
we were at least four miles from the shore, suggesting that, if so many
could land on one small ship, many millions must be blown out to sea.
At noon the following day we anchored for a short time, as the current
was too strong for us, and at evening anchored again, apparently in the
middle of nowhere, though with twelve large vessels as neighbours. We
were in reality at the entrance to the Dredged Channel, where artificial
means have had to be employed to make the river navigable for ships of
large draft. Here it is necessary to pass the quarantine authorities and
obtain a fresh pilot, which formalities being duly complied with, we
proceeded next day on our journey. As it nears the city the Dredged
Channel divides into two; one branch leads to the basin at the north end
of the docks, the other to that at the south end. The docks at Buenos
Aires, instead of being stowed away as an undesirable excrescence in
some remote part of the town, as is the case in most large seaports,
form a frontage of some three miles to the most important part of the
city, and appeal strongly to both the eye and the imagination. There, in
ordered sequence, not by units—as, for example, at Southampton or
Marseilles—but by hundreds, lie great vessels of all descriptions from
almost every country in Europe; the outward sign of the great carrying
trade between the old country and the new. They have brought their human
freight and cargo of manufactured goods, and are waiting to return with
a food-supply of livestock and grain. Even these docks are not equal to
cope with the demand for accommodation, for in the grain season as many
as a hundred may be seen in the outer roadstead awaiting admission, and
large extensions were in progress. Argentina is one of those new lands
which stand in the position of rural estate to older and manufacturing
Europe; the supply of food, which in the earliest stages of the world’s
development lay next each man’s dwelling, and then outside the towns, is
now brought across 7,000 miles of ocean.
Little _Mana_ was most kindly welcomed by the port authority, and
awarded a place of honour by the entrance to the North Basin, which is
generally reserved for men-of-war. Here she appeared elegant but minute,
and not being a battleship felt her position somewhat precarious. The
next berth was occupied by a large emigrant ship, which was German,
French, and Italian by turns, and as the yacht was immediately under the
stern it looked as if, with the least motion, she would be crushed out
of existence. Every time a huge ship went out of the entrance to the
harbour, all on board rushed to the yacht’s deck to see if her bowsprit
was about to be carried away. The manœuvring of the big vessels by tugs
in a limited space is, however, wonderful, and though we had one or two
narrow escapes, either the position was not so perilous as appeared, or
we became accustomed to alarms, for we finally lived there quite
comfortably. We landed either by boat across the docks, or by scrambling
up a wharf like a houseside by means of a lengthy and somewhat shaky
ladder. I have a vivid mental picture of His Majesty’s Minister, Sir
Reginald Tower, when he was good enough to come and see us, standing on
the top with a little dog, and not unnaturally wondering how on earth he
was expected to descend.
We lay at Buenos Aires for over a month, refitting and stowing, before
facing the next part of the voyage. We grudged the delay, but even with
the kind help we received there is, as has already been explained, much
time inevitably lost in a new port, and New Spain, like its European
prototype, is essentially a country of _mañana_. In the end we had to
leave without getting the trouble with the engine put right. The stores
sent ahead from England arrived safely, and through the courtesy of the
Legation we received them custom free, but on some articles, which were
unluckily ordered to come by post—a serge suit, linen coat, and two
washing blouses—we had to pay £4 duty. I spent a portion of the time in
luxury at an hotel while _Mana_ had a much-needed spring-cleaning. S.
lived on board, and I found on my return had had a good many visitors,
whom he appeared to have enjoyed showing over the yacht with her hatches
up and the floor covered with packing-cases; maintaining, in reply to my
chagrined comments, that the public were shown over the _Terra Nova_ in
just such a condition.
In such time as could be spared from the work of the Expedition we saw
what we could of the life of the country, and our observations are given
for what they are worth. Unlike Pernambuco there is no doubt as to the
economical _raisons d’être_ of the Argentine; they are, of course, grain
and meat. The area under cultivation, which we did not see, is steadily
increasing, but the grain export is still far below that of the United
States. The greater part of the mutton supplied to Great Britain comes
from Australia and New Zealand, but the Argentine provides 72 per cent.
of the beef which we receive from abroad, and we were much interested in
seeing something of the cattle industry. We visited, by the courtesy of
the owner, Señor Pereyra, an _estancia_ about an hour’s journey from
Buenos Aires. The train traversed first the suburbs of a great town,
then low country often under water, and we alighted at a little railway
station, from which we immediately entered the park of the _estancia_.
The estate was large, though there are others which exceed it; it covers
fifteen square miles, a portion of which is, however, undrained. It has
been in the occupation of the same family for about ninety years, during
which time continual planting has been going on. The road which led
through the park to the house passed under several fine avenues; the
eucalyptus trees of older growth were most beautiful, and a revelation
of what that tree can attain, to those who have only seen it in
temperate climates or in the villages and towns of South Africa.
The dwelling of the owner proved to be a most charming country house.
The dining-room was panelled with oak, displaying the magnificent
collection of silver cups gained by the stock of the _estancia_. Our
host was in the proud position of having just won at the cattle show,
then being held at Buenos Aires, the highest awards for both Herefords
and Shorthorns. The competition for such prizes lies in the Argentine
between a limited number of noted breeders, and it is felt well to bring
in a judge from the outside. That year an English gentleman, well known
in connection with the Royal and other shows, had been requested to act.
Eighty thousand Argentine dollars, or over £7,000 sterling, were paid at
this show for a champion bull, being the highest price yet given for
such an animal. After luncheon we inspected the large farm buildings
where the most valuable of the stock were housed. The remainder of the
cattle, some 7,000 in all, lived in different large enclosures in
various parts of the estate, with a cottage near by for the caretaker.
The owner was assisted by an English and a French manager, and 260
_peons_ or labourers, mostly Italian, were employed on the _estancia_.
They earn £3 10_s._ a month, with practically no expenses, being housed
in a row of buildings with a mess-room in common. There was no lack of
labour, applicants having continually to be turned away.
Our education was continued by a visit to the market at Buenos Aires,
where anything up to 5,000 head of cattle are disposed of daily. These
are brought from all parts of the Argentine, and were formerly driven
across country. Now, however, owing to the prevalence of wire fences,
they are generally brought by train. They are confined in open pens, and
sold by auction or otherwise. The cattle auctioneers are men of high
position, and regard themselves as the aristocracy of the city. The
animation of the scene is increased by the number of roughriders who
career on spirited ponies up and down the alley-ways, looking after the
stock and lassoing refractory beasts. No man connected with the “camp,”
as the open country is termed, ever thinks of walking at any time. The
Argentine saddle has special characteristics, and consists of a pad each
side of the spine of the horse, above and below which rugs are placed,
the whole being covered with a piece of leather and kept in place by
girths, thus forming a most comfortable cushion. The stirrup is so made
that only the toe can go into it, and the whole is calculated to allow a
man to fall clear if he is thrown, a wise precaution in a land of
unbroken mounts. It has also the advantage of providing excellent
bedding, but is of course adapted for a flat country only, and would be
out of place in a mountainous one. A kind acquaintance, seeing the
interest S. took in the saddle, made him a present of one, which proved
invaluable in Easter Island.
The majority of the beasts sold at the cattle markets are for local
consumption: those going to the freezing manufactories are generally
bought by private treaty. We were taken over one of the largest of these
_frigorificos_, as they are called, where some 1,200 cattle and 3,000
sheep are killed daily. Each animal is inspected from a sanitary point
of view on arrival, and every beast is again examined after it has been
killed. It is skinned and cleaned at the same time, and in fifteen
minutes, from the moment of being slain, is ready in two sides to hang
up in the chilling or freezing chamber. Each of the sides is
subsequently enclosed in a muslin covering ready to be shipped. The
hides are, of course, also a most valuable commodity, and the fat is
subjected to pressure, the oil being used for cooking purposes and the
solid residue for candle-making. The unused portion of the beast is
turned into guano. Some of the meat is reserved for canning, and the
tinned goods are particularly attractive. Each tin is closed save for
one small hole at the top, and is then passed into a vacuum pump, which
extracts the air and closes the hole with an electric needle.
A very determined set was being made to bring all the Argentine
_frigorificos_ into the American meat trust; those which, like the one
we visited, are determined to resist have to fight hard to hold their
position. There was a loud outcry with regard to the increase in the
price of meat, which had gone up retail to about sevenpence a pound; but
buying through a ship’s chandler, who could obtain it for wholesale
prices, we were able to purchase at a lower rate. The prices for tinned
meat were much the same as in England. Salt meat we were warned to
avoid, as it could not be guaranteed for more than two months, though
the remainder of our stock that had been put on board in England, ten
months before, was still in excellent condition. Every attempt, we were
told, had been made to discover the reason for this failure, which is
common to all meat south of the Equator; the services of experts from
Europe had been requisitioned, the method, the meat, the salt, and the
water had all been carefully examined, but so far without result.
The city of Buenos Aires itself, of which the docks have already been
described, is simply a glorified port for this trade, and for the
produce of a wealthy hinterland. The old part of the town, in which all
business is transacted and which most impresses itself on the memory, is
a labyrinth, or rather chess-board, of terribly narrow streets. The
thoroughfares are at right angles, and the houses, which are in regular
blocks, are all precisely similar in appearance; nothing, therefore, but
an exact knowledge of the names and orders of the numerous streets as
they lie in each direction of the chess-board can enable a stranger to
find his way. The same street extends for miles, and he who forgets the
number of his destination may as well give up the search. So narrow are
these thoroughfares that two persons can only just pass on the pavement,
and there is imminent danger of being pushed under the trams which run
within fifteen inches of the curb. Traffic is only allowed in one
direction.
In a town which has never been walled, and where space was no object,
such a state of things is surprising; the original construction is said
to have been due to the desire to obtain a maximum of shade, and any
alteration now is of course fraught with much difficulty. Great efforts
are, however, being made to render the Argentine capital worthy of its
wealth and position. An imposing avenue, with the House of Congress at
one end, has been cleared at great cost. The more recent portion of the
town boasts good squares and parks, for the network of streets is but
the hub of a huge and quickly growing city. Underground railways are
being constructed, but so rapid is the extension of Buenos Aires that it
is said they will only relieve the traffic for eleven years. The general
impression of a bustling sea port with a southern element recalls
Marseilles, but it has not the same beauty of situation. Buenos Aires
has been called “a horrible travesty of Paris,” but perhaps the most
correct description is that which styles it “a mixture of Paris and New
York.”
Of what description are the people in whose hands lie the development of
this country, with its growing influence on the destinies of the world?
The new-comer arriving from the north is at once struck with the
distinction between Brazil and the Argentine. Rio, with its strain of
dark descent living in the midst of a dream of sleepy beauty, is still
perhaps partly mediæval and undoubtedly tropical; Buenos Aires, on its
flat plain and dreary river, is awake, twentieth century, and wholly
European; but it is to the south of Europe that the Argentine is akin
and not to the north. A Latin race was the first to colonise the new
land, and successive waves of the same are still reaching its shores. In
1911 the immigrants from Spain, Italy, and France numbered nearly
2,000,000, as against 13,000 from Britain and 7,000 from Germany. Many
Italians, it is true, come only for one harvest, or possibly for two,
returning for the busy season in their own homes. The wages earned are
such that the more idle are in a position to disdain all other work, and
a crowd of loiterers round the docks, who appeared to us to be
unemployed of the usual character, turned out to be agricultural workers
living on their own resources till the next harvest. Many, however, of
these immigrants settle in the new land, by the law of which every child
born in the country becomes _ipso facto_ an Argentine subject. It is
perhaps because of this comparatively uniform origin that an Argentine
type seems to be already developing. It is fundamentally that of
Southern Europe, but it is moulded by a new environment, is wide-awake
and energetic, with an absence of all mystery and tradition, but alive
to the finger-tips. The practical aspect of life is the dominant note,
whether for the native or temporary resident. “We are all here to make
money,” the stranger is frankly informed, “and we talk of nothing else.”
No apology shall therefore be made for once more referring to the
question of pounds, shillings, and pence, for in South America it is
impossible to get away from it.
The cost of living in Buenos Aires is two or three times as high as that
of London in normal times. At the best hotel, usually frequented by
European travellers, the smallest bedroom cannot be obtained under
eighteen shillings a night, and even at the less dear hotels, resorted
to by those to whom expense is an object, the ordinary price for dinner
is five dollars or 8_s._ 9_d._ “One thinks a good deal in England of a
£5 note,” was the remark to us of one Argentine; “here one never goes
out without a fifty-dollar note (between £4 and £5) in one’s pocket.”
Rents are enormous, and a would-be purchaser told us ruefully that he
could not obtain in the suburbs a house with three sitting and four
bedrooms, on a plot of ground some thirty yards square, under £15,000.
All this falls hardly on the visitor or foreign official, but it affects
the resident but little; an 8 per cent. investment is looked upon as
reasonable and cautious, and for the working classes wages are
proportionately high. The temporary immigrant who wishes to go back to
Europe saves most of the money by living under very meagre conditions;
thus two or three Italians frequently join together in one room at about
half the rate paid by less thrifty workmen. Most visitors to Southern
Europe are acquainted with the little mansions, built in the villages of
their birth, by natives who have returned with modest fortunes from the
Argentine, and this is the process by which that wealth is accumulated.
More rapid roads are occasionally found to success. Our Sailing-master
was acquainted with a former gaol-warder who went out as an emigrant
from Southampton; his wife joined him, but came back before long, saying
little but that her husband was also returning. In less than two years
the man was back with a competency for the rest of his days, the source
of which continued to be veiled in mystery.
Science, literature, and art do not as yet thrive very largely in
Argentina, though exception must be made for the very interesting museum
at La Plata, whose director was most kind in affording information to
the Expedition. The great recreation is racing, in addition to which the
inhabitants are all born gamblers. Sir Reginald Tower, to whose kind
arrangements for us we owe much of the interest of our time in Buenos
Aires, was good enough to take us to a race meeting, and we were greatly
impressed with the lavish arrangements for the comforts of the
spectators. It was also most pleasant to be spared all cries of the
bookmakers—the betting system is that of the _pari mutuel_. The Jockey
Club is the most important social club, and with an entrance fee of
nearly £300 is naturally extremely wealthy; its existing premises are
palatial, and even so the removal to larger ones was under
consideration. We were kindly entertained there by a distinguished
representative of the early Spanish stock, Señor Calvo, to whom we were
introduced while he was practising his profession of auctioneer at the
cattle-market. His ancestor was a viceroy of the Court of Spain, and he
is by descent on both sides a pure Spaniard; the cosmopolitan influences
of to-day have, however, been too strong for the continuance of this
tradition in the family, and he himself and other members of it have
allied with outside nationalities. His father, who was responsible for
the conduct of a public journal, had his life attempted three times by
his political enemies, and finally sought refuge in England. There the
son was born and educated, but later on, going out to the Argentine, he
too entered public life and became a member of Congress, whose buildings
it was most interesting to see under his guidance.
The life of Argentine women is almost that of the East. The men go their
own way, make their own acquaintances, live their own life. They ask
strangers but little to their homes, and it is possible to be on quite
intimate terms with an Argentine and unaware whether he is married or
single. Country house hospitality scarcely exists, and even on the large
_estancias_ in the neighbourhood of Buenos Aires, a week-end party is
unknown. A lady does not walk out alone, and never, even in her own
home, receives a male guest without the presence of her husband. We have
been credibly informed of a wife who boasted that during her husband’s
absence in Europe, of over a year, she never went out of the house.
There is no higher education for women except for those training
professionally, and the interests of the majority, like those of a
certain set at home in pre-war days, consist mainly in bridge and dress.
Forty years ago all women wore the mantilla, but to-day fabulous sums
are spent on clothes. One charming Argentine lady told me that £30 was
quite a usual sum to give for a smart but simple hat. At the seaside
resorts the expenditure on clothes is so lavish, that it is cheaper to
take the trip to Europe than to procure the necessary garments in which
to be seen among your friends. In appearance the women are pretty and
effective, but spoilt to the eyes of a European by the inordinate amount
of powder. I was told by one present at the dinner-party in question of
an amusing scene witnessed in the ladies’ cloak-room; a daughter
arriving with her mother called out, “Oh, Mother, you have not nearly
enough powder on,” and made a dash for the powderpuff to remedy with two
or three large splashes the supposed defect. It is said that the wave of
female emancipation is reaching South America, but doubt was expressed
by a keen observer whether it would necessarily take its European form
of a demand for political and legal rights, or whether the Argentine
woman would not begin by desiring the same social and matrimonial
liberty as is assumed by her husband. At present, unfortunately, with
the vicious circle in which such customs move, much of the precaution
taken to guard women appears to be necessary, and I was sadly informed
by more than one English girl employed in the business houses of Buenos
Aires, that the freedom with which young women can move and conduct
themselves at home was not only conventionally but actually impossible
in their new surroundings.[2]
Argentina, as the depository of much that is undesirable from other
nations, can hardly hope to escape the blackguard element. Assassination
is the only thing which is cheap in the South American continent. The
head of one of the seamen’s missions at Buenos Aires told S. that it was
possible at any time to procure the murder of a man by paying five
dollars, not quite ten shillings, in the right quarters: this was
somewhat less than at Rio, where the price was stated to be thirteen
shillings and fourpence. The scenes which occur nightly about the docks
are incredible; hence returning to _Mana_ after dark was always a matter
of some anxiety. Our steward received a typewritten letter saying that
he had been mentioned as a suitable man for a desirable situation, and
giving an appointment after dark at a certain house in a certain street.
On inquiry the address turned out to be that of a low street in the new
part of the town, where much land is still waste, and there was no house
yet built of the number given. With regard to the said steward, one
Sunday evening he left the yacht and never returned. All anxiety about
his fate was set at rest by the fact that he had cleared his cabin of
all his goods. He may have been homesick and arranged to work his
passage back, or he may have been enticed by a more substantial offer, a
very usual occurrence where trained servants are difficult to obtain. As
he had of course signed the ship’s articles for the trip, his desertion
was reported to the consulate and the police, but we were told that to
get him back would be practically an impossibility; while, scruples
apart, nothing would have been gained by the simpler method of
assassination. The man himself we did not regret, but after the manner
of his kind he had waited till we were on the point of sailing, and
therefore left us in the lurch.
In spite of the fact that personal safety still leaves a good deal to be
desired, the Government of Argentina is one of the purest in South
America; the result, it is said, of the wealth of her officials. She is
already proudly conscious of her strength, and, in some quarters at any
rate, is anxious to rely upon it alone for her position among nations
rather than on any such external aid as the Monroe doctrine. Throughout
the whole continent it is necessary in speaking of the citizens of the
United States to term them carefully “North Americans,” avoiding the
usual and more abbreviated form.
Religion is not a powerful factor in Argentina either in public or
private life. Roman Catholicism is officially recognised, but it does
not strive to be a political force, and meets therefore with general
toleration; even when it is not practised it is neither hated nor
feared. Many women and some men are devout, but the majority of men
simply ignore it.
A Briton in leaving Argentina not unnaturally asks what is the share of
his own countrymen in the development of the new republic. Our
connection with it through trade is considerable. The railways are in
British hands, and 61 per cent. of the shipping flies the Union Jack. In
addition to young men who may wish to take up life in “the camp,” or
country, a certain number of Englishmen are employed in offices and
professional positions, while in connection with retail trade, it is
homelike to see the shops and advertisements of such firms as Harrod and
Maple. A pleasing bond exists throughout the British colony in
Freemasonry, which is a most living force, with many adherents, amongst
whom our Minister is included. S. being one of the elect, we had,
through the kindness of Mr. Chevalier Boutell, the Deputy Grand Master
for South America, the pleasure of being present at a ladies’ banquet,
which proved a very brilliant and enjoyable entertainment.
While the English commercial position is still good, it is said that
forty years ago our proportion of the trade was even greater. An old
inhabitant told us that he knew personally of not less than twenty-five
British firms who had gone under during that period, owing to the dogged
incapacity of the Englishman to supply what his customer wanted, instead
of what he himself chose to provide. Such failures leave, of course, the
door open for German penetration. A reputation for the same want of
adaptability, and also for being given to drink, makes Englishmen
unpopular as employés. With regard to our women kind, certain posts in
the town which are open to English girls are well paid, but they should
be taken up in every case with the greatest caution, and the
remuneration offered carefully compared with the increased cost of
living. A woman who marries on to an _estancia_ is necessarily
comparatively isolated, and accounts differed as to the amount of help
she is able to obtain in domestic labour. The 30,000 British subjects
who form the whole of those resident in Argentina are, in any case, but
a drop in the ocean, and they but seldom identify themselves with the
country of their abode. It is not unusual for parents to arrange that
their children shall be born in England, in order that they may avoid
registration as citizens of the Republic, with its consequent liability
to military service. It has been proposed in high quarters that suitable
accommodation might be provided in the Falkland Islands, as nearer and
more convenient British soil. Failing some such arrangement it is
possible to register a child of British parentage which is born in
Argentina, at the national consulate, and it is then _ipso facto_ a
British subject, except when actually in the land where it first saw the
light. Whatever share Britain may have in developing the wealth of
Argentina, that country never has been, and never will be, connected
with us by blood; for that bond with new lands we must look to our own
dominions over the seas.
[Illustration: MAGELLAN STRAIT AND PATAGONIAN CHANNELS]
CHAPTER V
PATAGONIA
Port Desire—Eastern Magellan Straits—Punta Arenas—Western Magellan
Straits—Patagonian Channels
The most southerly portion of the South American continent, called
Patagonia, first became known in the endeavour to find a new way into
the Pacific. Magellan was commissioned by Charles of Spain to try to
find by the south that ocean passage to the Indies which Columbus had
sought in vain further north. He sailed in August 1519, and began his
search along the coast at the River Plate; on October 21st, the day of
the Eleven Thousand Virgins, he came in sight of a large channel
opening out to the west: the promontory to the north of this channel
still bears the name he bestowed of Cape Virgins. He proceeded
cautiously, sending boats ahead to explore, and on November 28th
entered the Pacific. When he saw the open sea he is said to have wept
for joy, and christened the last cape “Deseado,” or the “Desired.”
The sea power of England, which had been negligible in the time of the
first voyages to the New World, was growing in strength; and, though
she had attempted no settlement on the southern continent, she saw no
reason to acquiesce in the edicts of the King of Spain, shutting her
off from all trade with the New World. In 1578 Drake took Magellan’s
route, with the object of intercepting galleons on the Pacific coast,
and passed through the Straits in sixteen days. On entering the
Pacific he was blown backward towards Cape Horn, and was the first to
realise that there was another waterway, yet further south, from the
Atlantic to the Pacific. Up till this time the land had been supposed
to extend to the Antarctic.
A hundred years later Charles II of England sent an expedition under
Sir John Narborough to explore this part of the world and trade with
the Indians, which wintered on the eastern coast of Patagonia.
Anson’s squadron avoided the Straits, taking the way by the Horn.
The Chilean and Argentine Boundary Commission divided Patagonia
between the two countries, giving the west and south to Chile and
bisecting Tierra del Fuego, 1902.
We left Buenos Aires on September 19th, achieving the descent of the
river without a pilot, and for the next fortnight had a varying share of
fair winds, contrary winds, and calms. Our chief interest was the man
who had taken the place of the absconding steward, who shall be known as
“Freeman”; we heard of him through a seamen’s home, and arranged that he
should go with us to Punta Arenas, to which place he wished for a
passage. He was a clean-looking “Britisher,” who for the last seven
years had been knocking about South America. He brought with him a
gramophone, and a Parabellum automatic pistol, with which he proved an
excellent shot, and he made it a _sine qua non_ that we should find room
on board for his saddle; thus was my knowledge increased of the
necessary equipment of an indoor servant. We paid him at the rate of
£100 a year, and though we found that he could neither boil a suet
pudding nor lay a table, so enlightening were his accounts of up-country
life that we did not grudge him the money.
We flatter ourselves our experience in detecting mendacity would qualify
us as police-court magistrates, but we never saw any reason to doubt the
substantial accuracy of Freeman’s stories. His experience dated back to
the time when mares of two or three years old were sold for ten
shillings, or were boiled down for fat, as, after the Spanish fashion,
no man would demean himself by riding one. He had at one time ridden
across the continent from the Patagonian to the Chilean coast, a journey
of six weeks, half of which time he never saw a human being; he was
followed all the way by a dog, though the poor animal was once two or
three days without water; it got left behind at times, but always
managed to pick up his trail. He was most candid about the means by
which he had made money when at one time employed on the railway, for
honesty was not in his opinion the way that the game was played in South
America, and therefore no individual could afford to make it part of his
programme; it did happen to be one of the rules on _Mana_, and we never
knew him break it. He was once running away after some drunken escapade,
when a policeman appeared and took pot-shots at him with a rifle.
Freeman turned and dropped him with his revolver; he did it the more
reluctantly as he knew and liked the man. Happily the shot was not
fatal, and he felt convinced that he himself had not been recognised.
After, therefore, carefully arranging an alibi elsewhere he returned,
condoled with the victim on the lawless deed, and gave him what
assistance he could; he felt, however, that that part of the country had
become not very “healthy,” and subsequently moved on. Even our
experiences of the ports had scarcely prepared us for the cynical
indifference to human life which his experiences incidentally revealed
as an every-day affair in “the camp.” In sparsely inhabited districts,
with their very recent population, the factors are absent through which
primitive societies generally secure justice, clans do not exist,
families are the exception, and in almost every case a man is simply a
unit. The more advanced methods of keeping the peace have either not
been formed or are not effective, for crime is often connived at by the
authorities themselves. The result is that the era of vendetta and
private revenge seems civilised in comparison with a state of things
where no notice is taken of murder, and the victim who falls in a brawl
or by fouler means simply disappears unknown and unmissed, while the
murderer goes scot-free to repeat his crime on the next occasion.
Freeman had, _inter alia_, been employed on one of the farms in
Patagonia, along the coast of which we were sailing, and told tales of
the pumas, or South American lions, which abounded in a certain
neighbourhood. This district had railway connection with a little
anchorage known as Port Desire, and as one of our intervals in harbour
was now due S. arranged to turn in here, and go up-country with him to
try to get a shot at the animals. We therefore put into the port on
October 3rd. It is a small inlet, of which the surrounding country is
covered with grass, but flat and dreary in the extreme, the only relief
being a distant vision of blue hills. Sir John Narborough, who spent
part of the winter here in 1670, said he never saw in the country “a
stick of wood large enough to make the handle of a hatchet.”
The human dwellings are a few tin shanties. In a walk on shore we were
able to see in a gully, a few remains of the walls of the old Spanish
settlement. As to the puma, fortunately from its point of view, the
railway service left a good deal to be desired. We arrived on Friday,
and there turned out to be no train till the following Tuesday, so it
lived to be shot another day—unless indeed it met a more ignominious
end, for the South American lion is so unworthy of its name that it is
sometimes killed by being ridden down and brained with a stirrup-iron.
We took three sheep on board, as mutton at twopence a pound appealed to
the housekeeping mind, and were able to secure some water, which is
brought down by rail; it was a relief to have our tanks well supplied,
as the ports further down the coast are defended by bars, and would have
been difficult of access in bad weather. Drake, on whose course we were
now entering, selected St. Julian, the next bay to the southward, for
his port of call before entering the Straits of Magellan; it was there
he had trouble with his crew, and was obliged to hang Doughty.
We sailed from Port Desire on Monday morning, but were not to say
good-bye to it so speedily. We soon encountered a strong head wind, with
the result that Wednesday evening found us fifteen miles backwards on a
return journey to Buenos Aires, and the whole of Thursday saw us still
within sight of it. We amused ourselves by discussing the voyage, which
had now lasted more than seven months. One of the company declared that
he had lost all sense of time and felt like a native or an animal:
things just went on from day to day; there was neither before nor after,
neither early nor late. It did not, he said, seem very long since we
left Falmouth, but on the other hand our stay at Pernambuco was
certainly in the remote past, and so with everything else. We had now,
in fact, done about three-quarters of the distance from Buenos Aires
towards the Straits of Magellan, and had 300 miles left before we
reached their entrance at Cape Virgins.
Ever since the Expedition was originally projected the passage of the
Straits had been spoken of in somewhat hushed tones; but now, when with
a more favourable wind we began to approach them, instead of going into
Arctic regions, as some of us had anticipated, the weather improved, the
sun went south faster than we did, and the days lengthened rapidly. Our
numerous delays had at least one fortunate result—they secured us a much
better time of year in the Straits than we had expected would fall to
our lot. The feeling in the air was that of an English April, bright and
sunny, but fresh; we kept the saloon cold on principle during the
daytime, living in big coats; in the evening we had on the hot-water
apparatus, so as to go warm to bed. It was quite possible to write on
deck, and the sea was almost too beautifully calm. We had a great many
ocean callers, who seemed attracted by the vessel: porpoises tumbled
about the bows till we could nearly stroke them, a whale would go round
and round the yacht, coming up to blow at intervals, while seals reared
their heads and shoulders out of the waters and looked at us in a way
that was positively bewitching; once a whale and seal paid us a visit at
the same time. One night S., who was keeping a watch for one of the
officers who was indisposed, was interested in watching the gulls still
feeding during the dark hours.
At 10 p.m. on October 15th the light of Cape Virgins was sighted, and we
woke to find ourselves actually in the Straits of Magellan. The Magellan
route, as compared with that by the Horn, is not only a short road from
the Atlantic to the Pacific, cutting off the islands to the south of the
continent, but ensures calm waters, instead of the stupendous seas of
the Antarctic Ocean. For a sailing ship, however, the difficulties are
great; the prevailing wind is from the west, and there is no space for a
large vessel to beat up against it, nor does she gain the advantage that
can be derived from any slight shift of wind; outside the gale may vary
a point or two, but within the channel it always blows straight down as
in a gully. The early mariners could overcome these obstacles through
the strength of their crews; in case of necessity they lowered their
boats and towed the ship, but the vessels of the present no longer carry
sufficient men to make such a proceeding possible. Sailing-ships
therefore take to-day the Cape Horn route, in spite of its well-known
delays, trials, and hardships. When later the German cruiser turned up
at Easter Island with her captured crews, the great regret of the latter
was that they had been taken just too late, after they had gone through
the unpleasantness of the passage round the Horn.
The first sight of Tierra del Fuego is certainly disappointing. The word
calls up visions of desolate snowy mountains inhabited by giants; what
is seen are low cliffs, behind which are rolling downs, sunny and
smiling, divided up into prosaic sheep farms. A reasonably careful study
of the map would of course have shown what was to be expected, as on the
Atlantic coast the plains continue to the extreme south of the
continent, while the chain of the Andes looks only on to the Pacific.
Nevertheless, if not thrilling, it was at least enjoyable to be in a
stretch of smooth water, with Patagonia on the north and Tierra del
Fuego on the south. The land on either hand is excellent pasture for
sheep, and there is said to be sometimes as much as 97 per cent.
increase in a flock. The largest owners are one or two Chilean firms,
but the shepherds employed are almost all Scotsmen, and indeed the
scenery recalls some of the less beautiful districts in the Highlands.
When sheep-farming was established, the Indians, not unnaturally from
their point of view, made raids on the new animals, with the result that
the representatives of the company were consumed with wrath at seeing
their stock eaten by lazy natives; they started a campaign of
extermination, shooting at sight and offering a reward for Indian
tongues. Our friend Freeman had worked on one of the farms, which had a
stock of 200,000 sheep, and the information he gave on this head was
fully confirmed later in conversations at Punta Arenas. The destruction
of the Indians was spoken of there as a matter for regret, but as
rendered inevitable by circumstances.
The navigation through the straits of a craft like ours makes it
necessary to anchor in the dark hours: the first night we spent off the
Fuegian coast, in sight of one of the pillars which define the boundary
of Chile and Patagonia; the second we lay in Possession Bay, which is on
the Patagonian side. We had time at the latter anchorage to examine the
pathetic wreck of a steamer, which had gone aground. She was a
paddle-boat, which was being towed presumably from one lake or river
area to another, and had to be cut adrift. Even in such an unheroic
vessel it was touching to see the sign of departed and luxurious life
cast away on this lonely shore, stained-glass doors bearing the
inscription of “smoking” or “dining-room,” and good mahogany fittings
such as washing-stands still in place. It is said that the outer coast
is strewn with wrecks containing valuable articles which it is worth no
one’s while to remove. S. walked up to the neighbouring lighthouse, and
was presented with three rhea eggs.
[Illustration:
FIG. 8.
IN THE MAGELLAN STRAITS.
S. and an ostrich.
]
The next morning we were under way at 5 o’clock, in order to pass with
the correct tide through what are known as the First Narrows. The
current here is so strong that it would have been impossible for us to
make headway against it; as it was, the wind sank soon after we started,
and we only just accomplished the passage, anchoring in St. Jago Bay.
The following day, Sunday, we negotiated successfully the Second
Narrows. From our next anchorage we saw from the yacht several rhea, or
South American ostriches, on a small promontory. S. went ashore on the
point and shot two of them, while Mr. Ritchie and Mr. Gillam, who had
landed on the neck of the promontory, endeavoured to cut off the retreat
of the two remaining birds. The one marked by Mr. Ritchie went through
some water and escaped him; the onlookers then viewed with much interest
a duel between Mr. Gillam on the one hand, running about in sea-boots
armed with a revolver, and the last ostrich on the other, vigorously
using its legs and wings and on its own ground. Victory remained with
the bird, which reached the mainland triumphantly, or at least
disappeared behind a bush and was no more seen. Seven miles south-west
of the Second Narrows lies Elizabeth Island, so named by Drake. We took
the passage known as Queen’s Road on the Fuegian side of the island, and
reached Punta Arenas next afternoon, Monday, October 20th. We had
intended to be there for two or three days only, but fate willed
otherwise, and we sat for weeks in a tearing wind among small crests of
foam, gazing at a little checkered pattern of houses on the open
hillside opposite.
It will be remembered that the motor engine, to our great chagrin, was
practically useless through heated bearings, and that all our endeavours
at Buenos Aires to diagnose and remedy its ailment had been ineffectual.
We had consequently to rely on passing through the Straits either under
sail, or, as the late Lord Crawford had suggested to us before starting,
through getting a tow from some passing tramp by means of a £50 cheque
to the skipper, a transaction which would probably not appear in their
log. However, in mentioning our disappointment to the British Consul,
who was one of an engineering firm, he and his partner hazarded the
suggestion that the defect lay, not in the engine, where it had been
sought, but in the installation; that the shaft was probably not “true.”
They bravely undertook the job of overhauling it on the principle of “no
cure, no pay,” and were entirely justified by the result. The alteration
was to have been finished in ten days, but there were the usual delays,
one of which was a strike at the “shops,” when a piece of work could
only be continued by inducing one man to ply his trade behind closed
doors while S. turned the lathe. It was six weeks before the anxious
moment finally came for the eight hours’ trial, which had been part of
the bargain, but the motor did it triumphantly without turning a hair.
We found what consolation for the delay was possible in the reflection
that we had at least done all in our power to guard against such
misfortune. The engine had been purchased from a first-class firm who
had done the installation; the work had been supervised on our behalf by
a private firm and passed by Lloyds; nevertheless it was peculiarly
aggravating, for not only did it involve great money loss, but it
sacrificed some of the strictly limited time of our navigator and
geologist. We had the pleasure at this time of welcoming the said
geologist, Mr. Lowry-Corry, who now joined the Expedition after
successfully completing his work in India.
Punta Arenas, with which we became so well acquainted, is a new and
unpretentious little town, but it is the centre of the sheep-grazing
districts, and its shops are remarkably good. Anything in reason can be
purchased there, and on the whole at more moderate prices than elsewhere
in South America. The beautiful part of the Straits is not yet reached,
and save for some distant views the place is ugly, but it gives a
sensation of cleanliness and fresh air, and our detention might have
been worse. There is indeed, on occasion, too much air, for it was at
times impossible to get from the ship to the shore or _vice versa_, and
if members of the party were on land when the wind sprang up they had to
spend the night at the little hotel; the waves were not big, but the
gales were too strong for the men to pull against them. I was with
reluctance obliged to give up some promising Spanish lessons, with which
I had hoped to occupy the time, for it was impossible to be sure of
keeping any appointment from the yacht. Punta Arenas boasts an English
chaplain, and Boy Scouts are in evidence. The chief celebrity is an
Arctic spidercrab, which multiplies in the channels and is delicious
eating, but we never discovered anything of much local interest.
I made one day a vain attempt to find the graves of the officers and
crew of H.M.S. _Dotterel_, which was blown up off Sandy Point some
thirty years ago. The cemetery overlooked the Straits; it was desolate
and dreary, the ground being unlevelled and the tufted grass, with which
it was covered, unkept and unmown. Most of the graves were humble
enclosures, some of which gave the impression of greenhouses, being
covered with erections of wood and glass; but here and there were small
mausoleums, the property of rich families or corporations. It is the
custom with some Chileans so to preserve the remains that the faces
continue visible; an Englishman at Santiago told us that after a funeral
which he had attended, the mourners expressed a desire to “see Aunt
Maria,” whereupon the coffin of a formerly deceased relative was taken
down from its niche for her features to be inspected. The police of
Punta Arenas had their home together in a large vault, which was
apparently being prepared for a new occupant; while the veterans of ’79
(the war between Chile and Peru) slept as they had fought, side by side.
There was apparently no Protestant corner, for the graves of English,
Germans, and Norwegians were intermingled with those of Chileans. The
resting-places of all, rich and poor alike, were lovingly decorated with
the metal wreaths so prevalent in Latin countries, but unattractive to
the English eye. Whilst I wandered among the tombs a storm burst, which
had been gathering for some time amongst distant mountains, and chilly
flakes of snow swept down in force, with biting wind and hail. I
sheltered in the lee of a mausoleum, on whose roof balanced a large
figure of the angel of peace bearing the palm-branch of victory, and the
inscription on which showed it to be the property of a wealthy family,
whose name report specially connected with the poisoning of Indians. The
landscape was temporarily obscured by the driving storm, not a soul was
in sight, and the iron wreaths on hundreds of graves rattled with a
weird and ghostly sound. Presently, however, the tempest passed and the
sun shone out, while over the Straits, towards the Fuegian land, there
came out in the sky a wonderful arc of light edged by the colours of the
rainbow, which turned the sea at its foot into a translucent and
sparkling green.
But if there was not much occupation on shore, the unexpected length of
our stay provided us unpleasantly with domestic employment. We had on
arrival parted from our friend Freeman, his object in coming to Punta
Arenas was, it transpired, to collect the remainder of a sum due to him
in connection with the sale of a skating-rink, which he had at one time
started there and run with considerable success: we were proud to think
that service on an English scientific vessel would now be added to his
experiences. Life below deck was then in the hands of Luke, the
under-steward, who, as will be remembered by careful readers, had been
the salvation of the inner man during our first gale in the North
Atlantic. We had engaged him at Southampton on the strength of a
character from a liner on which he had served in some subordinate
capacity, and he signed on for the voyage of three years at the rate of
£2 10_s._ a month. Though never what registry offices would call “clean
in person and work,” he plodded through somehow, and again in the
Freeman episode rescued the ship from starvation; we accordingly doubled
his wages as a testimonial of esteem. My feelings can therefore be
imagined when one morning, after we had been some weeks at Punta Arenas,
I was told that Luke was not on board and his cabin was cleared. He had
somehow in the early morning eluded the anchor watch and had gone off in
a strange boat. A deserter forfeits of course his accumulated wages,
which, by a probably wise regulation, are payable to Government and not
to the owner; but there is nothing to prevent a man who is leaving a
vessel recouping himself by means of any little articles that he may
judge will come in handy in his new career. The one that I grudged most
to Luke was my cookery book, to which he had become much attached, and
which was never seen again after his departure; it was really a mean
theft, from which I suffered much in the future.
S. offered, through the police, a reward for his detention, and enlarged
his knowledge of the town by going personally through every low haunt,
but without success. A rumour subsequently reached us that a muffled
figure had been seen going on board one of the little steamers which
plied backwards and forwards to the ports in Tierra del Fuego, and we
heard, when it was too late, that Luke had been enticed to a sheep farm
there, with the promise of permanent employment at £10 a month, with £2
bonus during shearing-time, which was then in progress. The temptation
was enormous, and I have to this day a sneaking kindliness for Luke, but
for those who tempted him no pardon at all. The condition in which the
successive defaulters had left their quarters is better pictured than
described, and so stringent is the line of ship’s etiquette between work
on deck and below, that, as the simplest way and for the honour of the
yacht, the Stewardess did the job of cleaning out cabin and pantry
herself. The moral for shipowners is—do not dally in South American
ports.
[Illustration:
FIG. 9.
PUNTA ARENAS.
]
Now began a strange hunt in the middle of nowhere for anything that
could call itself a cook or steward. The beachcombers who applied were
marvellous; one persistent applicant was the pianist at the local
cinema; our expedition, as already discovered, had a certain romantic
sound, which was apt to attract those who had by no means always counted
the cost. Mail steamers pass Punta Arenas every fortnight, once a month
in each direction, and these we now boarded with the tale of our woes.
Both captain and purser were most kind in allowing us to ask for a
volunteer among the stewards, but the attempt was only temporarily
successful; the routine work of a big vessel under constant supervision
proved not the right training for such a post as ours.
Finally, we were told of a British cook who had been left in hospital by
a merchant ship passing through the Straits. The cause of his detention
was a broken arm, obtained in fighting on board; this hardly seemed
promising, but the captain was reported to have said that he was “sorry
to lose him,” and we were only too thankful to get hold of anything with
some sort of recommendation. On the whole Bailey was a success. He too
had knocked about the world; at one time he had made money over a
coffee-and-cake stall in Australia, and then thrown it away. We had our
differences of course; he once, for instance, told me that as cook he
took “a superior position on the ship’s books to the stewardess,” but
his moments of temper soon blew over. I shall always cherish pleasant
memories of the way in which he and I stood by one another for weeks and
months in a position of loneliness and difficulty; but this is
anticipating.
As departure drew near, provisioning for the next stage became a serious
business, as, with the exception of a few depots for shipwrecked
mariners, there was no possibility of obtaining anything after we
sailed, before we reached our Chilean destination of Talcahuano. S.’s
work was more simple, as he had only to fill up to the greatest extent
with coal and oil, knowing that at the worst the channels provide plenty
of wood and water.
The next few weeks, when we traversed the remainder of the Magellan
Straits and the Patagonian Channels, were the most fascinating part of
the voyage. The whole of this portion of South America is a bewildering
labyrinth of waterways and islands; fresh passages open up from every
point of view, till the voyager longs to see what is round the corner,
not in one direction, but in all. It has, too, much of the charm of the
unknown: such charts as exist have been made principally by four English
men-of-war at different periods, the earliest being that of the
_Beagle_, in the celebrated voyage in which Darwin took part. A large
portion of the ways and inlets are, however, entirely unexplored. The
effect of both straits and channels is best imagined by picturing a
Switzerland into whose valleys and gorges the sea has been let in; above
tower snow-clad peaks, while below precipices, clothed with beautiful
verdure, go straight down to the water’s edge. The simile of a
sea-invaded Alps is indeed fairly accurate, for this is the tail of the
Andes which has been partially submerged. The mountains do not rise
above 5,000 feet, but the full benefit of the height is obtained as they
are seen from the sea-level. The permanent snow-line is at about 1,200
feet. The depths are very great, being in some places as much as 4,000
feet, and the only places where it is possible to anchor are in certain
little harbours where there is a break in the wall of rock. These
anchorages lie anything from five miles to twenty or thirty miles apart,
and as it was impossible to travel at night it was essential to reach
one of them before dark. If for any reason it did not prove feasible to
accomplish the necessary distance, there was no option but to turn back
in time to reach the last resting-place before daylight failed, and
start again on the next suitable day. On the other hand, when things
were propitious, we were able on occasion to reach an even further
harbour than the one which had been planned.
The proceeding amusingly resembled a game, played in the days of one’s
youth, with dice on a numbered board, and entitled “Willie’s Walk to
Grandmamma”: the player might not start till he had thrown the right
number, and even when he had begun his journey he might, by an unlucky
cast, find that he was “stopping to play marbles” and lose a turn, or be
obliged to go back to the beginning; if, however, he were fortunate he
might pass, like an express train, through several intermediate
stopping-places, and outdistance all competitors. The two other sailing
yachts with whose record we competed were the _Sunbeam_ in 1876 and the
_Nyanza_ in 1888: the match was scarcely a fair one, as the _Sunbeam_
had strong steam power and soon left us out of sight, while the
_Nyanza_, though a much bigger vessel, had no motor, and we halved her
record.
It will be seen that it was of first-rate importance to make the most of
the hours of daylight, which were now at their longest, and to effect as
early a start as possible, so that in case of accident or delay we
should have plenty of time in hand before dark. We therefore, long
before such became fashionable, passed a summer-time bill of a most
extended character, the clock being put five hours forward. Breakfast
was really at 3 a.m., and we were under way an hour later, when it was
broad daylight; but as the hours were called eight and nine everyone
felt quite comfortable and as usual, it was a great success. The
difficulty lay in retiring proportionately early. Stevenson’s words
continually rose to mind: “In summer quite the other way—I have to go to
bed by day.” The greatest drawback was the loss of sunset effects; we
should, theoretically, have had the sunrise instead, but the mornings
were often grey and misty, and it did not clear till later in the day.
One of the charms of the channels, is the smoothness of the water: we
were able to carry our cutter in the davits as well as the dinghy. It
also suited the motor, which proved of the greatest use, entirely
redeeming its character, there is no doubt however, that to become
accustomed to sailing is to be spoilt for any other method of
progression. The photographers accomplished something, but the scenery
scarcely lends itself to the camera and the light was seldom good. The
water-colour scribbles with which I occupied myself serve their purpose
as a personal diary.
We speculated from time to time whether these parts will ultimately turn
into the “playground of South America,” when that continent becomes
densely populated after the manner of Europe, and amused ourselves by
selecting sites for fashionable hotels: golf-courses no mortal power
will ever make. On the whole the probability seems the other way, for
the climate is against it; it is too near to the Antarctic to be warm
even under the most favourable conditions, and the Andes will always
intercept the rain-clouds of the Pacific. One of the survey-ships
chronicled an average of eleven hours of rain in the twenty-four, all
through the summer months. We ourselves were fortunate both in the time
of year and in the weather. It resembled in our experience a cold and
wet October at home; but there were few days, I cannot recall more than
two, when we lost the greater part of the view through fog and rain. On
the rare occasions when it was sunny and clear the effect was
disappointing, and less impressive than when the mountains were seen
partially veiled in mist and with driving cloud. The last hundred miles
before the Gulf of Peñas it became markedly warmer, and the steam
heating was no longer necessary.
It was far from our thoughts that exactly one year later these same
channels would witness a game of deadly hide-and-seek in a great naval
war between Germany and England. In them the German ship _Dresden_ lay
hidden, after making her escape from the battle of the Falkland Islands,
while for two and a half months English ships looked for her in vain.
They explored in the search more than 7,000 miles of waterway, not only
taking the risks of these uncharted passages, but expecting round every
corner to come upon the enemy with all her guns trained on the spot
where they must appear.
We left Punta Arenas on Saturday, November 29th, 1913, spending the
night in Freshwater Bay, and the next afternoon anchored in St. Nicholas
Bay, which is on the mainland. Opposite to it, on the other side of the
Straits, is Dawson Island, and separating Dawson from the next island to
the westward is Magdalen Sound, which leads into Cockburn Channel; it
was in this last that the _Dresden_ found her first hiding-place after
escaping from Sturdee’s squadron and obtaining an illicit supply of coal
at Punta Arenas. St. Nicholas Bay forms the mouth of a considerable
river, the banks of which are clothed with forests which come down to
the sea; near the estuary is a little island, and on it there is a
conspicuous tree. Mr. Corry and I went out in the boat, and found
affixed to the tree a number of boards with the names of vessels which
had visited the place. Jeffery scrambled up and added _Mana’s_ card to
those already there. This was our first introduction to a plan
frequently encountered later in out-of-the-way holes and corners, and
which subsequently played a part in the war. At the outbreak of
hostilities the _Dresden_ was in the Atlantic, and had to creep round
the Horn to join the squadron of Von Spee in the Pacific. She put into
Orange Bay, one of the furthest anchorages to the south; there she found
that many months before the _Bremen_ had left her name on a similar
board. Moved by habit someone on the cruiser wrote below it “_Dresden_,
September 11th, 1914”; then caution supervened, and the record was
partially, but only partially, obliterated; there it was shortly
afterwards read by the British ships _Glasgow_ and _Monmouth_, and
formed a record of the proceedings of the enemy.
[Illustration:
FIG. 10.
RIVER SCENE, ST. NICHOLAS BAY.
]
On Monday, December 1st, we started at daylight and made our way with
motor and sail as far as Cape Froward, the most southerly point of the
Straits; but the sea was running too high to proceed. We had to retrace
our steps, and cast anchor again in St. Nicholas Bay. This time S. and I
were determined to explore the river, so, after an early luncheon, in
order to get the benefit of the tide, we made our way up it in the
cutter. It was most pleasant rowing between the banks of the quiet
stream, and so warm and sheltered that we might almost have imagined
ourselves on the Cherwell, if the illusion had not been dispelled by the
strange vegetation which overhung the banks, amongst which were
beautiful flowering azaleas. Every here and there also a bend in the
course of the river gave magnificent views of snow-clad peaks above. A
happy little family of teal, father, mother, and children, disported
themselves in the water. Later in the voyage, as the mountains grew
steeper, we had many waterfalls, but never again a river which was
navigable to any distance. Some of the crew had been left to cut
firewood, and we found on our return that they had achieved a splendid
collection, which Mr. Ritchie and Mr. Corry had kindly been helping to
chop. Burning wood was not popular in the galley, but we were anxious to
save our supplies of coal.
Tuesday, December 2nd, we again left the bay, and this time were more
fortunate. It was misty and sunless, but as we rounded Cape Froward it
stood out grandly, with its foot in grey seas and with driving clouds
above. We had now definitely entered on the western half of the Straits
and were amongst the spurs of the Andes. As the day advanced the wind
freshened, the clouds were swept away, and blue sky appeared, while the
sea suddenly became dark blue and covered with a mass of foaming,
tumbling waves; on each coast the white-capped mountains came out clear
and strong. This part of the channel, which is known as Froward Reach,
is a path of water, about five miles wide, lying between rocky walls;
and up this track _Mana_ beat to windward, rushing along as if she
thoroughly enjoyed it. Every few minutes came the call “Ready about, lee
oh!” and over she went on a fresh tack, travelling perfectly steadily,
but listed over until the water bubbled beneath the bulwarks on the lee
side. It would have been a poor heart indeed that did not rejoice, and
every soul on board responded to the excitement and thrill of the
motion: that experience alone was worth many hundred miles of travel. As
evening came the wind sank, and we were glad of the prosaic motor to see
us into our haven at Fortescue Bay.
The next day the wind was too strong to attempt to leave the harbour,
and we went to bed with the gale still raging, but during the night it
disappeared, and before dawn we were under way. As light and colour
gradually stole into the dim landscape, the grey trunks and brown
foliage of trees on the near mountain-sides gave the effect of the most
lovely misty brown velvet. Rain and mist subsequently obscured the view,
but it cleared happily as we turned into the harbour of Angosto on the
southern side of the channel. Rounding the corner of a narrow entrance,
we found ourselves in a perfect little basin about a quarter of a mile
across, surrounded with steep cliffs some 300 feet in height, on one
side of which a waterfall tore down from the snows above. Our geologist
reported it as a glacier tarn, which, as the land gradually sank, had
been invaded by the sea. We left it with regret at daylight next
morning.
The Straits became now broader and the scenery was more bleak, the great
grey masses being scarcely touched with vegetation till they reached the
water’s edge. It was decided to spend the night at Port Churruca in
Desolation Island, rather than at Port Tamar on the mainland opposite,
which is generally frequented by vessels on entering and leaving the
Straits. We passed through the entrance into a rocky basin, but when we
were at the narrowest part between precipitous cliffs the motor stopped.
It had been frequently pointed out, when we were wrestling with the
engine, how perilous would be our position if anything went wrong with
it in narrow waters. I confess that I held my breath. S. disappeared
into the engine-room, the Navigator’s eyes were glued to the compass,
and the Sailing-master gave orders to stand by the boats in case it was
necessary to run out a kedge anchor and attach the yacht to the shore.
It was a distinct relief when the throb of the motor was once more
heard; the difficulty had arisen from the lowness of the temperature,
which had interfered with the flow of the oil. The ship, however, was
luckily well under control, with the wind at the moment behind her. In
an inner basin soundings were taken, “twenty-five fathoms no bottom,
thirty fathoms no bottom,” till, when the bowsprit seemed almost
touching the sheer wall of rock, the Nassau Anchorage was found and down
went the hook.
[Illustration:
FIG. 11
CAPE FROWARD, MAGELLAN STRAITS.
Looking East.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 12.
THE GLACIER GORGE, PORT CHURRUCA.
]
We grew well acquainted with Churruca, as we were detained there for
five days; Saturday through the overhauling of the engine; Sunday,
Monday, and Tuesday by bad weather; of Wednesday more anon. The position
was not without a certain eeriness: we lay in this remote niche in the
mountains, while the storm raged in the channel without and in the peaks
above; at night, after turning in, the gale could be heard tearing down
from above in each direction in turn, and the vessel’s chain rattling
over the stony bottom as she swung round to meet it. The heavy rain
turned every cliff-face into a multitude of waterfalls, which vanished
at times into the air as a gust of wind caught the jet of water and
converted it into a cloud of spray. Although the weather prevented our
venturing outside, it was quite possible to explore the port by means of
the ship’s boats. It proved not unlike Angosto, but on a larger and more
complicated scale. Beyond our inner anchorage, although invisible from
it, was a further extension known as the Lobo Arm, and there were also
other small creeks and inlets.
Even the prosaic Sailing Directions venture on the statement that the
scenery at Port Churruca is “scarcely surpassed,” and one of the fiords
must be described, although the attempt seems almost profane. In its
narrow portion it was about a mile in length and from 100 to 200 yards
in width; the sheer cliffs on either hand were clothed to the height of
many hundreds of feet with various forms of fern and most brilliant
moss. Above this belt of colour was bleak crag, and higher again the
snow-line. The gorge ended in a precipice, above which was a
mountain-peak; a glacier descending from above had been arrested in its
descent by the precipice and now stood above it, forming part of it, a
sheer wall of ice and snow as if cut off by a giant knife. There was
little life to be seen, but an occasional gleam was caught from the
white breast of a sea-bird against the dark setting of the ravine. In
one part, high up on the cliff, where the wind was deflected by a piece
of overhanging rock, was a little colony of nests; the mother birds and
young broods sat on the edge in perfect shelter, even when to venture
off it was to be beaten down on to the surface of the water by the
strength of the wind. Some of our party visited the fiord on a second
occasion to try to obtain photographs; it was blowing at the time a
severe gale, and the effect was magical. The squalls, known as
“williwaws,” rushed down the ravine in such force that the powerful
little launch was brought to a standstill. They lashed the water into
waves, and then turned the foaming crests into spray, till the whole
surface presented the aspect of a fiercely boiling cauldron, through
which glimpses could be caught from time to time of the dark cliffs
above.
While S. and I were visiting the glacier gorge, the two other members of
the party were exploring the last portion of the inlet named on the
chart the Lobo Arm. It terminated on low ground, on which stood the
frame of an Indian hut, and pieces of timber had been laid down to form
a portage for canoes. A few steps showed that the low ground extended
only for some 160 yards, while beyond this was another piece of water
which had the appearance of an inland lake, some three miles long and a
mile wide. The portage end of the water was vaguely shown on the chart
of Port Churruca, but there was no indication of anything of the kind on
the general map of Desolation Island. Our curiosity was mildly excited,
and we all visited the place; one of our number remarked that “the water
was slightly salt,” another that there “were tidal indications,” a third
that “from higher ground the valley seemed to go on indefinitely.” At
last the map was again and more seriously examined, and it was seen
that, while there were no signs of this water, there were on the
opposite side of the island the commencements of two inlets from the
open sea, neither of which had been followed up: the more northerly of
these was immediately opposite Port Churruca. “If,” we all agreed, “our
lake is not a lake at all, but a fiord”—and to this every appearance
pointed—“it is in all probability the termination of this northern
inlet, and Desolation Island is cut in two except for the small isthmus
with the portage.” Then a great ardour of exploration seized us, Mr.
Corry fell a victim to it, Mr. Gillam fell likewise, and we refused to
be depressed by Mr. Ritchie’s dictum that it had “nothing to do with
serious navigation.” We wrestled with a conscientious conviction that it
had certainly nothing to do with Easter Island, and we ought to go
forward at the earliest possible moment, but the exploration fever
conquered. We discussed the possibility of getting the motor-launch over
the portage, and were obliged reluctantly to abandon it as too heavy,
but it was concluded that it would be quite feasible with the cutter.
The next day proved too wet to attempt anything, but Wednesday dawned
reasonably fine, though with squalls at intervals. Great were the
preparations, from compasses, notebooks, and log-lines, to tinned beef
and dry boots. At last at 11.30 (or 6.30 a.m. by true time) we sallied
forth. The launch towed us down the Lobo Arm, and then came the work of
passing the boat across the isthmus, at which all hands assisted. It was
the prettiest sight imaginable; the portage, which had been cut through
the thick forest undergrowth, had the appearance of a long and brilliant
tunnel between the two waters, it was carpeted with bright moss and
overhung by trees which were covered with lichen (fig. 14). The bottom
was soft and boggy, and I at one time became so firmly embedded that I
could not get out without assistance. In less than half an hour the boat
was launched on the other side, and Mr. Corry, Mr. Gillam, our two
selves, and two seamen set forth on our voyage. Soon after starting the
creek divided, part going to the north-west and part to the south-east.
We decided to follow the latter as apparently the main channel.
We rowed for an hour and a quarter, taking our rate of speed by the log.
The mountains on each side were of granite, showing very distinct traces
of ice action. At 2 p.m. we landed on the left bank for luncheon. It
was, it must be admitted, a somewhat wet performance; the soaked wood
proved too much even for our expert campers-out, who had been confident
that they could make a fire under all circumstances, and had
disdainfully declined a proffered thermos. Enthusiasm was, however,
undamped. Mr. Corry ascended to high ground and discovered that there
was another similar creek on the other side of the strip of ground on
which we had landed, which converged towards that along which we were
travelling. After rowing for an hour and a half we reached the point
where the two creeks joined; here we landed and scrambled up through
some brushwood to the top of a low eminence. Looking backwards we could
see up both pieces of water, while looking forward the two fiords, now
one, passed at right angles, after some four miles, into a larger piece
of water. This was where we had expected to find the open sea, and some
distant blue mountains on the far horizon were somewhat of an enigma. As
we had to row back against a head wind, it was useless to think of going
further, unless we were prepared to camp out, so all we could do was to
make as exact sketches as possible to work out at home.
The return journey was easier than had been expected, for the wind
dropped; we kept this time to the right bank, and stopped for “tea” by
some rocks, which added mussels to the repast for the taking. The
portage was gained four hours after the time that the rest of the crew
had been told to meet us there; and it was a relief to find that they
had possessed their souls with patience. _Mana_ was finally reached at
11 p.m. It was found by calculating the speed at which we had travelled
and its direction, that our creek had led into the more southerly of the
unsurveyed inlets, and not as we had expected into that to the
northward. The distant blue hills were islands. Like all great
explorers, from Christopher Columbus downwards, our results were
therefore not precisely those we had looked for, but we had undoubtedly
proved our contention that Desolation Island is in two halves, united
only by the 160 yards covered by the portage on the Lobo Isthmus.
A knowledge of the existence of this channel, connecting the Pacific
Ocean with the Magellan Straits, might be of high importance to the crew
of a vessel lost to the south of Cape Pillar, when making for the
entrance to the Straits. Instead of trying to round that Cape against
wind at sea, her boats should run to the southward until the entrance to
the inlet is reached; they can then enter the Magellan Straits without
difficulty at Port Churruca. With the consent of the Royal Geographical
Society, it has been christened “Mana Inlet.”[3]
[Illustration:
FIG. 13.
MANA INLET.
]
The next morning, December 1st, we left Churruca with a fair wind, so
that the engine was only needed at the beginning and end of the day; but
the weather was drizzling and unpleasant, so that we could see little of
Cape Pillar,[4] where the Magellan Straits enter the Pacific Ocean. Our
own course was up the waterways between the western coast of Patagonia
and the islands which lie off the coast. It is a route that is little
taken, owing to the dangers of navigation. Not only is much of it
uncharted and unsurveyed, but it is also unlighted, and its passage is
excluded by the ordinary insurance terms of merchant ships; they
consequently pass out at once into the open sea at Cape Pillar. We
turned north at Smyth’s Channel, the first of these waterways, and made
such good progress that, instead of anchoring as we had intended at
Burgoyne’s Bay, we were able to reach Otter Bay. It is situated amid a
mass of islands, and the sad vision of a ship with her back broken
emphasised the need for caution. The general character of the Patagonian
Channels is of the same nature as the Magellan Straits, but particularly
beautiful views of the Andes are obtained to the eastward. The next day
Mount Burney was an impressive spectacle, although only glimpses of the
top could be obtained through fleeting mists; and the glistening heights
of the Sarmiento Cordillera came out clear and strong. We anchored that
night at Occasion Cove on Piazzi Island; and on Saturday, December 13th,
had a twelve hours’ run, using the engine all the way. Here there was a
succession of comparatively monotonous hills and mountains, so
absolutely rounded by ice action as to give the impression of apple
dumplings made for giants. The lines show always, as would be expected,
that the ice-flow has been from the south. Later a ravine on Esperanza
Island was particularly remarkable; its mysterious windings, which it
would have been a joy to explore, were alternately hidden by driving
cloud or radiant with gleams of sun. Glimpses up Peel Inlet gave
pleasant views, and two snowy peaks on Hanover Island, unnamed as usual,
were absorbing our attention when we turned into Latitude Cove.
On December 14th the landscape was absolutely grey and colourless, so
that Guia Narrows were not seen to advantage. Later the channel was
wider and the possibility of sailing debated, but abandoned in view of
the head wind. We had been struck with the absence of life and fewness
of birds, but we now saw some albatrosses. In slacking away the anchor
preparatory to letting go in Tom Bay, in a depth stated to be seventeen
fathoms, it hit an uncharted rock at eleven fathoms. It was still
raining as we left Tom Bay, but when we turned up Brassey Pass, which
lies off the regular channel, the clouds began to lift, and Hastings
Fiord and Charrua Bay were grand beyond description. From time to time
the mists rose for an instant, and revealed the immediate presence of
reach beyond reach of wooded precipices; or a dark summit appeared
without warning, towering overhead at so great a height that, severed by
cloud from its base, it seemed scarcely to belong to the earth. Then as
suddenly the whole panorama was cut off, and we were alone once more
with a grey sea and sky.
[Illustration:
FIG. 14.
CANOE CORDUROY PORTAGE BETWEEN PORT CHURRUCA AND MANA INLET.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 15.
PATAGONIAN WATERWAYS.
Showing water near the land smoothed by growing kelp.
]
As we approached Charrua, we caught sight among the trees on a
neighbouring island of something which was both white and nebulous; it
might, of course, be only an isolated wreath of mist, but after watching
it for a while we came to the conclusion that it was undoubtedly a cloud
of smoke. Our hopes of seeing Indians, which had grown faint, began to
revive. As soon as we were anchored, orders were given that immediately
after dinner the launch should be ready for us to inspect what we hoped
might prove a camping-ground. This turned out to be unnecessary, as the
neighbours made the first call. In an hour’s time S. came to inform me
that two canoes were approaching full of natives “just like the
picture-books,” whereon the anthropologists felt inclined to adapt the
words of the immortal Snark-hunters and exclaim:
“We have sailed many weeks, we have sailed many days,
Seven days to the week I allow,
But an Indian on whom we might lovingly gaze
We have never beheld until now.”
The crew, however, were fully convinced that the hour had arrived when
they would have to defend themselves against ferocious savages. They had
been carefully primed in every detail by disciples of Ananias at Buenos
Aires, and by the bloodcurdling accounts of a certain mariner named
Slocum, who claimed to have sailed the Straits single-handed and to have
protected himself from native onslaught by means of tin-tacks sprinkled
on the deck of his ship. The canoes were about 23 feet in length, with
beam of 4 to 6 feet and a depth of 2 feet. Six Indians were in one and
seven in the other; all were young with the exception of one older man,
and each boat contained a mother and baby. Their skins were a dark
olive, which was relieved in the case of the women and children by a
beautiful tinge of pink in the cheeks, and they had very good teeth.
Their hair was long and straight, and a fillet was habitually worn round
the brow; the top was cut _à la brosse_, giving the impression of a
monk’s tonsure which had been allowed to grow. The height of the men was
about 5 feet 4 inches. Most of the party were clad in old European
garments, but a few wore capes of skins, and some seemed still more at
home in a state of nature. They had brought nothing for sale, but begged
for biscuits and old clothes. I parted with a wrench from a useful piece
of calico, in the interests of one of the infants, which was still in
its primitive condition; it was accepted, but with a howl of derision,
which I humbly felt was well merited when it was seen that the rival
baby was already wrapped in an old waistcoat given by the cook. One of
the Indians talked a little Spanish, and was understood to say he was a
Christian.
After dealing with them for a while we offered to tow them home, an
offer readily understood, and accepted without hesitation. It was a
strange procession amid weird surroundings; the sun had shown signs of
coming out, but had thought better of it and retreated, and we made our
way over a grey sea, between half-obscure cliffs in drizzling rain,
taking keen note of our route for fear of losing our way back. Truly we
seemed to have reached the uttermost ends of the earth. The lead was
taken by that recent product of civilisation a motor-launch, containing
our two selves and our Glasgow socialist engineer; then at the end of a
rope came the dinghy, to be used for landing, the broad back of one of
our Devonshire seamen making a marked object as he stood up in it to
superintend the towing of the craft behind. The two canoes followed,
full of these most primitive specimens of humanity, while the rear was
brought up by a seal, which swam after us for a mile or so, putting up
its head at intervals to gaze curiously at the scene. S. had brought his
gun, and as we approached the camp thought it well to shoot a sea-bird,
for the double reason of showing that he was armed and giving a present
to our new friends. The encampment was situated in a little cove, and
nothing could have been more picturesque. In front was a shingly beach,
on which the two canoes were presently drawn up, flanked by low rocks
covered with bright seaweed. In the background was a mass of trees,
shrubs, and creepers, which almost concealed two wigwams, from one of
which had issued the smoke which attracted our notice (fig. 16).
We returned next morning to photograph and study the scene. The size of
the shelters, or tents, was about 12 feet by 9 feet, with a height of
some 5 feet. They were formed by a framework of rods set up in oval
form, the tops of which were brought together and interwoven, and
strengthened by rods laid horizontally and tied in place: the opening
was at the side and towards the sea. Over this structure seals’ skins
were thrown, which kept in place by their own weight, as the encampments
are always made in sheltered positions in dense forests. With the
exception that they do not possess a ridge-pole, the tents, which are
always the same in size and make, closely resemble those of English
gipsies, the skins taking the place of the blankets used by those
people. No attempt was made to level the floor, the fire was in the
middle, and in one the sole occupant was a naked sprawling baby, who
occupied the place of honour on the floor beside it. In some of the old
encampments, which we saw subsequently, there were as many as six huts,
but it was doubtful if they had all been occupied at the same time. The
middens are outside and generally near the door. Some of the Indians
were quite friendly, but others were not very cordial, the old women in
particular making it clear to the men of the party that their presence
was not welcome. The old man, whose picture appears (fig. 17), was
apparently the patriarch of the party, and quite amiable, though he
firmly declined to part with his symbol of authority in the shape of his
club; in order to keep him quiet while his photograph was taken he was
fed on biscuits, which he was taught to catch after the manner of a pet
dog. The staff of life is mussels and limpets, and we saw in addition
small quantities of berries. A lump of seal fat weighing perhaps 10 lb.
was being gnawed like an apple, and a portion was offered to our party.
The dogs are smooth-haired black-and-tan terriers, like small heavy
lurchers; they are, it is said, taught to assist their masters in the
catching of fish.[5]
The company presently showed signs of unusual activity, and began to
shift camp; the movement was not connected, as far as we could tell,
with our presence, and, judging by the odour of the place, the time for
it had certainly arrived. It was interesting to see their chattels
brought down one by one to the canoes. Amongst them were receptacles
resembling large pillboxes, about 12 inches across, made of birchwood,
which was split thin and sewn with tendons. In these were kept running
nooses made of whalebone for capturing wild geese, and also
harpoon-lines cut out of sealskin: at one extremity of these last was a
barbed head made of bone; this head, when in use, fits into the
extremity of a long wooden shaft, to which it is then attached by the
leather thong. The possessions included an adze-like tool for making
canoes, the use of which was demonstrated, and resembled that of a
plane; also an awl about 2 inches long, in form like a dumb-bell, with a
protruding spike at one end. There were small pots made of birch bark
for baling the boats, and some European axes. We did not see any form of
cooking utensil. When all the objects, including the sealskin coverings
of the huts, had been stowed in the canoes, the company all embarked and
rowed off towards the open sea.
On leaving Charrua and returning to the main channel we obtained
magnificent views of the Andes. Penguin Inlet leading inland opened up a
marvellous panorama of snowy peaks, which can be visible only on a clear
day such as we were fortunate in possessing; this range received at
least one vote, in the final comparing of notes, as to the most
beautiful thing seen between Punta Arenas and the Gulf of Peñas. A white
line across the water showed where the ice terminated, while small
pieces which reached the main channel, looked, as they floated past us,
like stray waterlilies on the surface of the sea. We anchored at Ring
Dove Inlet, and went on next day through Chasm Reach, where the channel
is only from five hundred to a thousand yards in width. Our
expectations, which had been greatly raised, were on the whole
disappointed, but here again no doubt it was a question of lighting; the
usually gloomy gorge was illuminated with the full radiance of the
summer sun, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Chasm Reach leads into Indian Reach, in which sea, mountain, and sky
formed a perfect harmony in varying shades of blue, with touches of
white from high snow-clad peaks. Suddenly, in the middle of this vista,
as if made to fit into the scene, appeared a dark Indian canoe with its
living freight, evidently making for the vessel. We stopped the engine,
threw them a line, and towed them to our anchorage in Eden Harbour. The
weather had suddenly become much warmer, and the thermometer in the
saloon had now risen to the comfortable but scarcely excessive height of
64°; the crew of the canoe, however, were so overcome with the heat that
they spent the time pouring what must have been very chilly sea water
over their naked bodies.[6]
[Illustration:
FIG. 16.
ENCAMPMENT OF PATAGONIAN INDIANS, BRASSEY PASS. _From sketch and
photos._
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 17.
INDIANS OF BRASSEY PASS.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 18.
CANOE IN INDIAN REACH.
]
The party was conducted by two young men; a very old woman without a
stitch of clothing crouched in the bow; while in the middle of the boat,
in the midst of ashes, mussel-shells, and other débris, a charming girl
mother sat in graceful attitude. She was, perhaps, seventeen, and wore
an old coat draped round her waist, while her baby, of some eighteen
months, in the attire of nature, occupied itself from time to time in
trying to stand on its ten toes. A younger girl of about fourteen sat
demurely in the stern with her folded arms resting on a paddle which lay
athwart the canoe, beneath which two shapely little brown legs were just
visible. Her rich colouring, and the faded green drapery which she wore,
made against the dark background of the canoe a perfect study for an
artist, but the moment an attempt was made to photograph her she hid her
face in her hands. The party was completed by a couple of dogs and a
family of fat tan puppies, who were held up from time to time, but
whether for our admiration or purchase was not evident.
The belongings were similar to those seen at the encampment and there
were also baskets on board. The young mother had a necklace which looked
like a charm, and therefore particularly excited our desires: in
response to our gestures she handed to us a similar one worn by the
baby, which was duly paid for in matches. When we were still unsatisfied
she beckoned to the young girl to sell hers, but stuck steadfastly to
her own, till finally a mixed bribe of matches and biscuits proved too
much, and the cherished ornament passed into our keeping. The young men
readily came on deck of the yacht, but the women were obviously
frightened, and kept saying _mala, mala_ in spite of our efforts to
reassure them. After we had cast anchor, the party went with our crew to
show them the best spot in which to shoot the net, and on their return
ran up the square sail of their canoe, the halyard passing over a mast
like a small clothes-prop with a Y-shaped extremity, got out their
paddles, and vanished down-stream.
At Eden Harbour a wreck was lying in mid-stream, where she had evidently
struck on an uncharted rock when trying to enter the bay, a danger from
which no possible foresight can guard those who go down to the sea in
ships. English Narrows, which was next reached, is considered the most
difficult piece of navigation in the channels: a small island lies in
the middle of the fairway, leaving only a narrow passage on either side,
down which, under certain conditions, the tide runs at a terrific rate.
It was exciting, as the yacht approached her course between the island
and opposing cliff which are separated by only some 360 yards, to hear
Mr. Ritchie ask Mr. Gillam to take the helm himself, and the latter give
the order to “stand by the anchor” in case of mishap; but we had hit it
off correctly at slack water and got through without difficulty. From
there our route passed through Messier Channel, which has all the
appearance of a broad processional avenue, out of which we presently
turned to the right and found ourselves in Connor Cove. The harbour
terminates in a precipitous gorge, down which a little river makes its
way into the inlet. We endeavoured to row up it, but could not get
further than 100 or 200 yards; even that distance was achieved with
difficulty, owing to the number of fallen trees which lay picturesquely
across the stream.
The plant life, which had always been most beautiful, became even more
glorious with the rather milder climate, which we had now reached. When
the trees were stunted it was from lack of soil, not from atmospheric
conditions. Tree-ferns abounded, and flowering plants wandered up
moss-grown stems; among the most beautiful of these blooms were one with
a red bell and another one which almost resembled a snowdrop.[7] The
impression of the luxuriant _mêlé_ was rather that of a tropical forest
than of an almost Antarctic world, while the intrusion of rocks and
falling water added peculiar charm. Butterflies were seen occasionally,
and sometimes humming-birds.
Since our detention at Churruca we had been favoured with unvarying good
fortune, and the crew were beginning to say that thirteen, which we had
counted on board since Mr. Corry joined us, was proving our lucky
number. Now, however, our fate changed; twice did we set forth from this
harbour only to be obliged to return and start afresh, till we began to
feel that getting under way from Connor Cove was rapidly becoming a
habit. On the first occasion the weather became so thick that in the
opinion of our Navigator it was not safe to proceed: the second time the
wind was against us. We tried both engine and sails, but though we could
make a certain amount of headway under either it was obviously
impossible, at the rate of progression, to reach the next haven before
nightfall; when, therefore, we were already half-way to our goal we once
more found it necessary to turn round. It was peculiarly tantalising to
reflect that there were, in all probability, numerous little creeks on
the way in which we could have sheltered for the night, but as none of
them had been surveyed there was no alternative but to go back to our
previous anchorage. Residence there had the redeeming point that it
proved an excellent fishing-ground. On each of the three nights the
trammel was shot at a short distance from the spot where the stream
entered the bay, and we obtained in all some 200 mullet. They formed an
acceptable change of diet, and those not immediately needed were salted.
From that time till we left the channels we were never without fresh
fish, catching, in addition to mullet, bream, gurnet, and a kind of
whiting; they formed part of the menu at every meal, till the more
ribald persons suggested that they themselves would shortly begin to
swim.
Our third effort to leave Connor Cove was crowned with greater success,
and we safely reached Island Harbour, which, as its name suggests, is
sheltered by outlying islands. This bay and the neighbouring anchorage
of Hale Cove are the last two havens in the channels before the Gulf of
Peñas is reached, and in either of them a vessel can lie with comfort
and await suitable weather for putting out to sea. It is essential for a
sailing vessel to obtain a fair wind, for not only has she to clear the
gulf, but must, for the sake of safety, put 200 miles between herself
and the land; otherwise, should a westerly gale arise, she might be
driven back on to the inhospitable Patagonian coast. In Island Harbour
we filled our tanks, adorned the ship for’ard with drying clothes and
fish, and for three days waited in readiness to set forth. At the end of
that time it was still impossible to leave the channels, but we decided
to move on the short distance to Hale Cove, which we reached on December
24th. Christmas Eve was spent by three of our party, Mr. Ritchie, Mr.
Corry, and Mr. Gillam, on a small rock “taking stars” till 2 a.m. The
rock, which had been selected at low tide, grew by degrees unexpectedly
small, and to keep carefully balanced on a diminishing platform out of
reach of the rising water, while at the same time being continuously
bitten by insects, was, they ruefully felt, to make scientific
observations under difficulties. On Christmas Day it poured without
intermission, but it was a peaceful if not an exciting day. It is, I
believe, the correct thing to give the menu on these occasions: the
following was ours.
SCHOONER YACHT _MANA_, R.C.C.
CHRISTMAS DAY, 1913.
Potages aux légumes à l’Anglais.
Mulets d’eaux Patagonia.
Bœuf rôti d’Argentine. Pommes de terre de Punta Arenas.
Petits Pois à l’Angleterre.
Pouding Noël de Army & Navy Stores, garni “Holly Antarctic.”
Fromage Gouda, Beurre, Pain de Mana, Biscuits Matelote.
Bonbons Peppermint à la School-girl.
Café de Rio de Janeiro.
The forecastle was visited after dinner and each man given a half-pound
tin of tobacco. Boxing Day was comparatively fine, and a laundry was
organised on shore with great success; a fire was made, old kerosene
tins turned into boilers, and the articles washed in camp-baths with
water from a streamlet. It is one thing, however, to wet clothes in the
Patagonian Channels; it is quite another to dry them. For days
afterwards the rain descended in torrents, while the wind blew
persistently from the north-west; with one short intermission we lay in
Hale Cove weather-bound for thirteen days, till, as some one remarked,
“it was a pity that we had not given it as a postal address.” It was
tiresome of course, but an interval of rest for all on board after the
strenuous passage of the channels was not without advantage; for
ourselves journals were written up, flowers pressed, and photographs
developed.
Hale Cove was fortunately one of those few ports in which it was
possible to get a little exercise, which the denseness of the
undergrowth generally rendered impossible. The cliffs, at the foot of
which _Mana_ lay, were precipitous and clothed with vegetation to the
sky-line, they thus scarcely lent themselves to exploration. There was,
however, across the small bay a southern spur, on the top of which for
some reason trees had not flourished and which was comparatively clear;
this it was possible to reach by landing on a little beach and
scrambling along an old track which had been cut through an intermediate
belt of wood. We could in this way get some sort of a walk, at the cost
of course of becoming soaked through from bogs and dripping vegetation.
Not far from the cove there were traces of a small frame house, and near
it flourished European wheat and grass, which had obviously taken root
from stray seed. Its history was difficult to guess. Why had a white man
lived there, and on what had he subsisted? The only solution suggested
was that it might at one time have been a port of call for a line of
steamers, and a woodman had been employed to cut fuel. Another dwelling,
but made of material found on the spot, had obviously been destroyed by
fire, and on its abandoned site native wigwams had been erected. The
place was evidently the resort of Indians; when, therefore, we noted
near the old track, and not far from the water-course, part of two rough
boards protruding from the earth, we hoped that we had chanced on an
Indian burial-ground, which would naturally have been of much
anthropological interest. The soil which had originally covered the
boards had been partially washed away by the rain, and on moving them we
found, as had been guessed, that just below were human bones; they were
so deeply encrusted with roots and earth that it was only by much
digging with our fingers we could get them out at all. Then they proved
to be in much confusion, two parts of the skull even were in different
places, and it was difficult at first to say whether the body, which was
that of a man in middle life, had been buried full length or in the
folded attitude so common among primitive peoples. It was my first
experience in scientific body-snatching, a proceeding to which later I
became fairly well inured, and it felt not a little weird being thus in
contact with the dead in his lonely resting-place. A great tree-fern
kept guard over the grave on one side, a gnarled trunk bent over it from
the other, and the sun gleamed at intervals through the thick branches
of surrounding cedars. At last it became obvious that the body had been
outstretched, and the grave lined as well as covered with boards, in
addition to which there had been a wrapping of some woven material; it
seemed therefore evident that the corpse had been that of a civilised
man. Who was he? the lumberman, the remains of whose hut we had seen?
one of the crew of some vessel which had put in here? or possibly a
shipwrecked mariner? for there were traces of an ill-fated vessel in a
quantity of coal washed up on the beach. Why, though he had been buried
with considerable care, was the grave so shallow, and why had it been
left unmarked? We buried him again reverently, and though he was very
possibly an unpleasant person when alive, the thoughts of one of us at
least, who is naturally mid-Victorian, turned to the mother who had once
borne and tended him somewhere and who could so little have pictured
where he would lie.
“One midst the forest of the west
By a dark stream is laid;
The Indian knows his place of rest,
Far in the cedar shade.”
MRS. HEMANS.
We discussed marking the spot, but came to the conclusion that the best
way to prevent its again being disturbed was to obliterate all traces of
it; so there the nameless man rests on in his hidden grave.
The wind still being contrary, charts and sailing directions were
ransacked for change of scene, and on New Year’s Eve we shifted our
quarters, proceeding up Krüger Channel, and anchoring in a little cove
called after De Wet: as Joubert was also in the neighbourhood, officials
of the Chilean Government who had surveyed the district had apparently
been of pro-Boer sympathies. On January 1st, 1914, we went out into the
Gulf of Peñas, only to find that it was useless to attempt to put to
sea, and we returned again to Hale Cove. The _Challenger_ had, we found,
anchored in the same spot on New Year’s Day, 1876. During the next few
days Mr. Ritchie, with the help of Mr. Corry, occupied himself at my
husband’s request in surveying a small cove as a possible anchorage for
lesser craft.
[Illustration:
FIG. 19.
HALE COVE.
]
A shooting expedition also took place after kelp-geese, which are large
birds about the size of Aylesbury ducks. When cruising in the launch we
saw at some distance a couple of them swimming in the sea; we circled
round them in the endeavour to get a shot, till we were about a hundred
yards distant, when they took the alarm and made off. They are unable to
fly, but when, as in this case, they anticipate danger scuttle along on
the top of the water, lashing it up with their webbed feet. The surface
was smooth as a mirror, and the boat went about seven miles an hour, but
for some two miles we were unable to overhaul them. Presently they dived
and separated, and on their reappearance we continued to follow one of
them. During the whole of the pursuit, whenever the wobbling of the boat
and the antics of the bird permitted the fore and back sights to be
brought in line, a ·275 mauser bullet was sent somewhere in the
neighbourhood of the fleeing object. The goose apparently came to the
conclusion that the white launch, with its spluttering motor, was a
peculiarly formidable sea-beast, and the safest place would be on land;
he therefore went on shore, climbed up some rocks, and looked at it; a
bullet between his feet, however, unsettled his mind on the subject, and
he once more took to the water, where he finally met his doom. Light,
who happened to be with us, witnessed the chase with intense delight,
and constantly referred to it afterwards as the most exciting
recollection of the voyage. As was not astonishing in the case of such
an athletic bird, no part of him proved to be eatable except his liver,
which was excellent.[8]
On Tuesday, January 6th, we at last got our favourable wind and said
good-bye to Hale Cove. It is the usual resort for vessels entering and
leaving the channels, but we had lain there for nearly a fortnight in
the height of the season without seeing a trace of a ship, a fact which
shows how little these waterways are frequented. As we passed out of the
Gulf of Peñas we gazed with interest on the unfriendly and barren peaks
of Wager Island, where Anson’s store-ship of that name was lost on May
14th, 1740, after the squadron had rounded the Horn. The members of the
crew who survived the wreck, one hundred and forty-five in number, were
there for five months, at the end of which time they had been reduced by
about one-third, chiefly through starvation. Seventy or eighty of the
remainder then took to the longboat and cutter, of whom thirty finally
reached the coast of Brazil via the Magellan Straits. The rest of the
survivors, a party of twenty, including the captain and an officer named
Byron, a great-uncle of the poet, made their way northward, and through
the aid of Indians four of them managed to reach the Spanish settlements
in Chile. The graphic account given by Byron of their surroundings on
the island would be equally applicable to-day, and has already been
quoted in these pages.
CHAPTER VI
CHILE
Refitting at Talcahuano—Trip to Santiago and across the Summit of the
Andes—Valparaiso—To Juan Fernandez—Typhoid on Board—Back to Chile—Juan
Fernandez again.
The principal Spanish colonies in South America were, as has been
seen, on the western side of the continent. Balbao crossed the isthmus
of Panama in 1513. In 1531 Pizarro landed in Peru, where he
encountered and overthrew the empire of the Incas. Valdivia, one of
his ablest lieutenants, made his way still further south, and in 1541
founded Santiago, the present capital of Chile, on the fruitful plain
between the Andes and the sea. His further progress was checked by the
Araucanians, a warlike tribe of Indians, who offered a much stronger
resistance than the Incas. They were never entirely conquered, and the
Spaniards in Chile were engaged in perpetual struggle with them, while
at the same time open to attacks on the coast from European powers who
were at enmity with Spain. When the revolutionary waves swept the
continent the Chilean patriots were at first compelled to withdraw
across the Andes. The most famous of them was Bernardo O’Higgins; his
father, originally a barefooted Irish boy, was one of the last
viceroys of Peru, and the son became one of the first presidents of
the new republic. Argentina had at this time accomplished her own
freedom, and was able to send help to Chile. General San Martin
crossed the Andes, and inflicted a crushing defeat on the Spaniards at
Maipu in 1818. The revolutionary army then passed north, the Viceroy
evacuated Lima, and at Guayaquil San Martin met the liberator Bolivar,
who had marched down from the north. Meanwhile Admiral Cochrane, who
had reorganised the Chilean and Peruvian navies, had been engaged in
freeing the Pacific from Spanish ships. South America thus was finally
cleared from the domination of the Spaniard.
Disputes, however, arose between the new republics as to their
respective boundaries: Chile fought Peru in 1879 over the possession
of the nitrate-fields, and issued victorious from the struggle. The
long series of difficulties between Chile and Argentina was ended, as
has been recorded, through British arbitration, in 1902.
It is hard not to believe that the “roaring forties” have a personality:
a polytheist who goes thither in ships ought to sacrifice to the spirit
of that unquiet belt. As soon as we had passed the magic limit of
degrees the weather changed and became beautifully balmy, and the rest
of our passage was excellent. When we again came in sight of land it was
in strong contrast to that which we had left, being brown, dried up, and
somewhat low: all visions of snow-clad Andes had disappeared; neither
here nor at Talcahuano was anything to be seen that could justify the
name of a coast range. Talcahuano, the Chilean naval port, stands on a
magnificently sheltered bay and was an ideal spot for our purpose of
refitting. It is much to be preferred, from the shipping point of view,
to the bay of Valparaiso, some 260 miles further up the coast, which
lies exposed to the northerly winds and is crowded with shipping.
Through the kindness of Mr. Edwards, the Chilean minister in London, a
naval order had been promulgated some time before our arrival giving
instructions that the Expedition was to be afforded all facilities. We
accordingly met with every courtesy, and the yacht was almost at once
placed in the floating dock to allow of the examination of her bottom,
an essential proceeding, as it had not been overlooked, except by a
diver at Punta Arenas, since we left England, now nearly twelve months
ago. A floating dock consists of a huge tray, with an enormous tank on
either side; when these tanks are filled with water the dock sinks, and
the vessel floats on to the tray, being supported against its sides, the
tanks are then emptied, and the tray rises, bearing the vessel clear out
of the water; when the work is completed the process is reversed and the
ship floats out once more.
After this overhauling, which took four days, came the work of examining
and restowing the hold; this was expedited by all the contents being
taken out and placed in a lighter alongside. It was the work of the
Stewardess to check the stores in hand, and also those contained in
ninety-five new packages from England which we found awaiting our
arrival. On the representation of our Legation at Santiago, the
Government had done us the favour to remit all duties on them except 5
per cent., which it would have required a special Act of Parliament to
repeal. As some goods pay as much as 55 per cent. in customs we were
greatly the gainers, in spite of the fact that an illicit levy had been
taken of our butter and jam, which are among the most heavily taxed
articles, to an amount equivalent to a supply of some weeks for the
saloon party. We were happily able to make good the deficiency, which
would otherwise have been somewhat maddening, by purchases of honey,
which all down this part of the coast is good and cheap. Jam is
ruinously expensive, if procurable at all, and our sympathy was extended
to the skipper of an English merchant ship in the bay, whose stock was
finished, but whose crew were in no way inclined to waive their Board of
Trade rights, for Jack thinks potted strawberries and damsons quite as
essential an article of diet as does Tommy. Our loss was less annoying,
if also less amusing, than that of the owners of a lighter which was
lying just outside the custom-house, and which was forcibly despoiled
during the night. The thieves turned out to be the guards set by the
custom-house, who apparently thinking the hours of darkness long had
contrived thus to pass the time. We told this story to one of the
inhabitants of another South American port. “Ah, yes,” he said drily,
“the custom-house here has now a bright electric light; it makes it
easier for them to take out the nails without hurting their fingers.”
We were now nearing the end of our outward voyage, and the provisions
had to be divided between the respective sea and land parties. Easter
Island affords no good anchorage, and our plan was that the yacht, after
disembarking the scientific members and waiting awhile off the coast,
should return to Talcahuano under charge of Mr. Gillam, to collect
letters and goods and then come out again to the island. The stores,
therefore, had to be divided into four lots, with much arithmetical
calculation: firstly, the portion needed by the whole Expedition for the
voyage out, which was expected to last about a month; secondly, that for
the shore party for a period of six months; thirdly, a share for the
crew alone for four months; and, fourthly, the remainder which was to be
left at Talcahuano and gathered up later. The island allotment was the
most difficult, as we had only a general idea of what it would be
possible to procure on shore.
It was altogether, as will be seen, a considerable work, and we were
hard at it for a fortnight, during which time, with the exception of two
shopping expeditions to the neighbouring city of Concepcion, we had
little opportunity to see the surrounding country. It felt at any rate
dry and warm, in fact well aired, after the damp of the Patagonian
Channels, and might have been even adjudged too dry and dusty. The most
refreshing sight was a little garden which adjoined the custom-house
steps, at which we landed almost daily, and which, in spite of
difficulties, was invariably bright with geraniums and other flowers:
Chile is much more a country of gardens, in the English sense, than any
other land it has been my lot to visit. Talcahuano has about 13,000
inhabitants, and consists of little beside the dockyard, in which the
chief posts are filled by Englishmen. Three English officers are also
lent in peace time by our own navy to that of Chile; one of these, with
whom we happened to have mutual acquaintances, was kind enough to
entertain us on board the Chilean warship, whose name, being translated,
was _Commodore Pratt_.
A point anxiously debated at the moment, and not without some practical
interest for us, was whether Chile could afford to keep the Dreadnoughts
which were being built for her by Messrs. Armstrong. There was a
financial crisis at the time, and the exchange was much against Chile;
hence firms there which owed money to England were delaying meeting
their liabilities, with the result that more than one English company
had failed in consequence. The sale of a Dreadnought would of course
greatly affect the rate; even without that before we left the country it
had materially risen, and the value received for a sovereign was, from
our point of view, regrettably diminished.
An Englishman feels distinctly more at home in Chile than in either
Brazil or Argentina. Some of the best-known firms are genuinely English,
though the possession of an English name is in itself no guarantee of
more than a remote British origin: a Mr. Brown may, for instance, marry
a Miss Thompson, and neither be able to speak the English tongue.[9] Our
language is the only one taught free in the schools; it is presumably
the most useful from the point of view of trade with ourselves and the
United States. One of our countrymen resident in the Republic explained
to us that “the Chileans hate all foreigners, but they hate the British
rather less than the others.” Those at least were our recorded
impressions at this time; on the subsequent visit of the yacht, after
war broke out, the German influence was strong enough to affect her
position adversely in the way of work and stores.
At last the provision lists were finished and we felt entitled to take a
holiday, leaving the remainder of the work on the ship in the competent
hands of Mr. Gillam; our special objects were to see the Easter Island
collection in the museum at Santiago and get a glimpse of the
Trans-Andine Railway. This part of our journeyings has nothing to do
with the voyage of the _Mana_, and accounts of the ground covered have
been given by much abler hands, notably by Lord Bryce in his
_Impressions of South America_; it shall therefore be told in outline
only. We left Talcahuano by the tri-weekly day express for Santiago; it
took twelve hours to travel about 350 miles, but the Pullman car was
luxurious, and we were able to see the country well. The line passes
northward through the long fruitful plain between the Andes and the
coast range, which constitutes the land of Chile, and crosses
continually the streams which traverse it on their course from the
mountains to the sea. The train stops from time to time at cheerful
little towns, and finally at Santiago, which is a most attractive city,
with a sense of quiet and yet cheerful dignity. There are but few
streets at the end of which it is not possible to obtain a glimpse of
the surrounding mountains, but they were scarcely either as near or
impressive as descriptions had led us to expect.
The first night of our residence in the capital we experienced an
earthquake. I was already asleep when about 10.30 I was awakened by the
shock; the light when turned on showed the chandeliers and pictures
swinging in opposite directions, and one of the latter was still
oscillating when the current was switched off eight or ten minutes
later. There was a slighter recurrence at 3 a.m. The shock was stated to
be the worst since the great earthquake of 1906, and numbers of people
had, we found, rushed out into the streets and squares. It was generally
agreed that familiarity in the case of earthquakes breeds not contempt
but the reverse, and that shocks of which the new-comer thinks but
little, fill those who know their possibilities with nervous alarm. In
this case no great damage was done; the only fatalities occurred at
Talca, a little place about half-way along the line by which we had
come. When we called at the Legation the next day to express our thanks
to the British Minister for the trouble taken about our stores, we were
shown the cracks in the walls which were the result of the previous
earthquake and the fresh additions made to them the night before. We had
the good fortune at Santiago to become acquainted with Sir Edward and
Lady Grogan. Sir Edward filled the post of military attaché for six of
our South American legations, and I had heard at Buenos Aires much of
the work and interests of Lady Grogan. She was the almost last
Englishwoman whom I met till my return to my native land two years
later, when I had the pleasure of renewing the acquaintance, this time
in Cromwell Road in proximity to numerous bales for Serbian refugees. We
visited the Museum of Antiquities, where we found the objects from
Easter Island of which we were in search; and the beautiful new Museum
of Fine Arts, which also contains articles from the island.
We left Santiago at noon on Saturday, January 31st, the line at first
continuing northwards. The country through which we passed looked
rainless and barren, and the journey was hot and tiring. The train was
crowded with Saturday travellers, and purveyors of drinks and ices
continually pushed their way down it, apparently finding a ready market
for their wares. At the junction of Llay-Llay, the line which comes from
Santiago on the south connects with that from Valparaiso on the west,
and branches off also eastward over the Andes to the Argentine. Here on
the platform sat rows of women with some of the delightful fruit in
which Chile abounds: grapes can be bought at 5_d._ a pound and peaches
and nectarines at 8_d._ or 9_d._ a dozen. The drawback, however, in the
case of the two last mentioned, is that, partly owing to the exigencies
of packing, the Chileans make a point of gathering and also eating them
quite hard and flavourless. The conscientious British matron can
scarcely see without distress children of the more prosperous classes,
as young as five or six years, concluding a heavy evening meal at eight
or half-past, by eating entirely unripe peaches. She ceases to wonder
that infant mortality in Chile is said to be heavy.
At Llay-Llay we took the easterly line, which ascends a valley full of
prosperous cultivation, till it reaches the little town of Los Andes,
where the Chilean state railway ends and the Trans-Andine service
begins. The two ends of this railway, the Chilean and Argentine, are in
the hands of different companies, which naturally adds much to the
difficulty of working the line. The trains run on alternate days in each
direction. There is a comfortable hotel at Los Andes where passengers
sleep the previous night in order to start the journey over the pass at
7 a.m.; much of the revenue of the line, however, is derived, not from
the passenger traffic, but from the cattle brought from the ranches of
the Argentine to Chile. The Chilean company is an English one, and the
manager, Mr. J. H. White, was good enough to arrange for us to travel
with the French minister, who happened to be quitting Santiago, in an
observation car at the end of the train; we had, therefore, both
pleasant company and most excellent views of the pass. The line winds up
a valley, which grows ever narrower between precipitous mountain-sides,
but as long as any green thing can find a footing the cultivation is
intense; where the incline is most steep a cog-wheel is employed.
Presently every trace of vegetation is left behind, and the route enters
on its grandest and wildest phase. Bleak rock masses tower to the sky on
every hand, and on their lower slopes rest masses of boulders, which
have descended at some earlier stage in the world’s history. When a
great height has been attained a little lake is reached, which, with its
colouring of gorgeous blue, resembles a perfect turquoise in a grey
setting. At 10,000 feet the highest point is gained and the train enters
the tunnel, which has been bored through the summit and which was opened
for traffic in 1909. It here leaves Chile and issues on the Argentine
side amidst similar but less striking scenery. The line now runs beneath
a series of shelters for protection from snow; they are of corrugated
iron and provided with huge doors which can be closed in case of drift.
The difficulties which arise in winter from such causes are very great,
but at the time of our visit the snow was as a rule confined to
occasional white patches near the summit of the mountains: the great
peak of Aconcagua, 23,000 feet high, which was now to be seen seventeen
miles to the northward, was principally remarkable for standing out as a
huge white mass among its greyer fellows.
Inca Bridge is shortly reached, and here we left the train. It is
somewhat astonishing to find a large and fashionable hotel in these
surroundings; it is resorted to by the inhabitants of Buenos Aires when
in search of cooler air or desirous of partaking of the iron waters for
which the place is famous. We started at 8 o’clock next morning for the
return journey, which we made by riding with mules over the part of the
summit traversed by the tunnel, catching the train on the Chilean side.
It is a delightful and easy expedition, which can be thoroughly
recommended. The road runs at first parallel to the line, and when it
leaves the valley rises by gradual zigzags: our guide dispensed with all
corners by means of short cuts, but even so the ascent was not
strenuous. As we mounted higher and higher the corrugated iron railway
shelters looked like long, headless, grey caterpillars crawling along
the valley beneath. We had been warned to expect high wind, but it only
became unpleasant as we reached the actual summit, along which runs the
boundary between Chile and Argentina. The celebrated statue of the
Christ with uplifted hands blessing both countries, which commemorates
the arbitration treaty, stands on the main road a little to the east of
the track by which we crossed, which was, as usual, a short cut.
The descent fully justified the impression which we had formed from the
train of the superior grandeur of the Chilean side; it must be even more
impressive when more snow is visible. We regained the railway in plenty
of time to see the Argentine train issue from the tunnel at 2 o’clock:
the travellers had left Buenos Aires on the morning of the previous day,
traversed the great Argentine plains, and spent the night _en route_. If
the train is delayed and arrives at the summit too late to be conveyed
down before dark, the Chilean officials refuse to take it over, as the
descent would be too dangerous; the passengers under such circumstances
have to spend the night in their carriages or find such hotel
accommodation as is possible. They were indeed, as we saw then, a
cosmopolitan crowd; the languages of France, Germany and Spain, also
English, of both the European and American variety, were all being
spoken in the crowded carriage in which we found places. Our nearest
neighbours were two young couples from the United States, evidently
making the journey for the first time; as we began the descent through
the very finest part of the scenery, they produced packs of cards and
became engrossed in a game of auction bridge. This is one of the things
which must be seen to be believed, but we were subsequently told it was
by no means a unique instance. We arrived at Los Andes, hot and dusty
after our early start and long day, to find ourselves carried off to the
manager’s house and most kindly welcomed by Mrs. and Miss White to a
refreshing tea amid the delight of a cool veranda and beautiful garden.
Next day we left for Valparaiso, retracing our steps as far as the
junction of Llay-Llay, and then traversing the coast range. The huge bay
of Valparaiso, filled with shipping, is an imposing sight, and the town
climbs picturesquely up the mountains which surround it; the higher
parts are residential, and are reached by elevators, which are stationed
at intervals in the main street, which runs parallel to the harbour. On
the lower level there are well-built offices of leading firms, shipping
lines, and banks, which give a pleasant sensation of wide interest and
touch with the great world. Nevertheless, Valparaiso is scarcely as fine
a city architecturally as would be expected from its importance, nor is
the hotel accommodation worthy of a first-class port. Its inhabitants
cheerily endorse the opinion of a visitor who is reported to have said,
“There is one word only for Valparaiso, and that is ‘shabby.’” The city
has, however, profited through the rebuilding necessitated by the
earthquake, and the improvement of the harbour and other works were in
progress. The earthquake is still a very present memory; one resident
showed us the spot where one of his servants, escaping from the house at
the same time as himself, was killed by falling masonry.
We called on Messrs. Williamson & Balfour; the firm have a financial
interest in Easter Island, and it was through their kind permission that
we were visiting it. We saw Mr. Hope-Simpson, one of the managing
partners; his power and expedition filled us with grateful awe. He sat
at the end of a telephone and appeared to put through in a few minutes
all our arrangements, whether with the Government, shipping, or docks,
which would have taken us many days of weary trudging about the city to
accomplish. I have often thought of that morning when confronted with
the appalling delays in public offices at home. We were introduced by
him to Señor Merlet, the chairman of the company for the Exploitation of
Easter Island, who are the direct lessees; he had been there himself and
was kind enough to give us all information in his power.
We returned to Talcahuano by sea as the easiest method. There were a few
more days of preparation, and on Friday, February 13th, a date
subsequently noted by the superstitious, we were at length ready to
depart. As the last things were hurried on board it recalled our
departure from Falmouth: this time the deck had to accommodate paraffin
tins full of cement to make a dock for Mr. Ritchie’s tidal observations;
the passage had to find room for a table for survey purposes; rolls of
wire for excavation sieves were strapped beneath beams of the saloon;
while on the top of one was fastened a row of portentous jars, the
object of which was to hold the acid from the batteries when we left the
ship, as the electrical gear would be dismantled when the engineer came
on shore in his capacity of photographer. Two zinc baths for laundry
work in camp were looked at ruefully; there seemed to be no place for
them in heaven or earth, certainly not on _Mana_. But half our heavy
task of stowage was accomplished when we were out of Talcahuano Harbour,
the boat began to roll prodigiously, and the work was finished somehow
with astonishing rapidity.
The next day found us all confined to our cabins, having, after our time
on land, temporarily lost our sea legs. By Sunday we began to feel
better, except Mr. Corry, who had a slight temperature and complained of
feeling unwell. When on Monday we arrived at Juan Fernandez, S. was down
with dysentery and a temperature of 103°, while Mr. Corry’s rose, to our
alarm, to 104°; Tuesday and Wednesday he was still in high fever, and by
Wednesday evening it was obviously useless to hope that his illness was
either influenza or malaria: there was nothing to be done but to act on
the third possibility and assume that it was typhoid fever; we therefore
turned the ship round and ran for Valparaiso. The prospect of the
passage back was hardly cheerful; I was out certainly for fresh
experiences, but not for the responsibility of nursing typhoid and
dysentery at the same time in a small boat in mid-Pacific. Each twelve
hours, however, was got through somehow, and better on the whole than
might have been expected. S. happily improved, and our poor geologist
himself was wonderfully cheerful and plucky; the sea was kind to us, and
we reached Valparaiso on Sunday morning with our invalid in a condition
which we felt did us credit. The difficulties of arriving in port with
illness on board proved to be not so great as I, at any rate, had
feared; the authorities were most kind in allowing us to haul down our
yellow flag almost at once, and taking us to a Government anchorage. The
harbour doctor was found to give the necessary authority for landing a
sick man, while arrangements were made with the hospital for a stretcher
and ambulance, and by the middle of the afternoon the patient was
comfortably on shore and in bed. The British hospital at Valparaiso is
new, reserved almost entirely for paying patients, and much surpasses in
comfort anything that we have either of us seen in England. Our
diagnosis unfortunately proved to be accurate, but we had the comfort of
knowing that the illness was well understood, as typhoid is, it
appeared, very common in South America, especially among new-comers. It
had been obviously contracted during the time at Talcahuano, when both
Mr. Corry and Mr. Ritchie had had frequent meals on shore.
We waited in port for a week, communicating by cable with the friends of
our patient, and then held a council of war. The doctor gave it as his
opinion that there was no reason for delay, and it was obviously
impossible in such an illness to wait pending recovery. We had, however,
to face the position that there was a chance, although a slight one, of
other cases occurring on board; hospital records show a percentage of
about 3 per cent. of doctors and nurses infected by patients, and of
course our precautions had, through circumstances, been neither so
timely nor so thorough; with 2,000 miles of Pacific before us we felt
that we could take no risk. On the other hand, we had no wish for
further experiences in hanging about in South American ports, more
especially as smallpox was at this time raging at Valparaiso. We
therefore decided that we would run back again to Juan Fernandez, and
put in a few days in a sort of quarantine, before finally leaving for
our destination.
The episode was most disappointing for all concerned; nevertheless our
prevailing feeling was one of thankfulness both for the sufferer and
ourselves, that, if the thing had to be, the illness had declared itself
while we were still within reach of help; the thought that we were
within measurable distance of having a case of typhoid on Easter Island
still makes us shudder. Hopes were cherished for a while that it might
be possible for our geologist to join us, either when _Mana_ returned or
by the Chilean naval training ship, which it was said might shortly
visit the island. Unfortunately the case proved not only severe, but was
prolonged by relapses, and on recovery the doctor forbade any such
roughing it. Mr. Corry therefore went back to England, from whence he
sent us a report on the geology of the Patagonian Channels, and such
information as he had gathered on the moot question of the submergence
of a Pacific continent. When war broke out he was among the first to
join His Majesty’s forces, and, alas! laid down his life for his country
in September 1915. When on our return to London my husband addressed the
Geological Society on the results of the Expedition, our thoughts
naturally turned with sadness to the one who, under other circumstances,
should have had that honour; I sat next to one of the older Fellows, and
he expressed his special sorrow at the scientific loss caused by the
early death of our colleague. “Corry was,” he said, “quite one of the
most promising of the younger men in the geological world.”
[Illustration:
FIG. 20.—JUAN FERNANDEZ: AN IMPRESSION.
]
CHAPTER VII
JUAN FERNANDEZ
Juan Fernandez was discovered by the navigator of that name on a
voyage from Peru to Chile in 1512. He rightly judged that the
southerly wind, which impeded all navigation in that direction, might
be adjacent only to the mainland; he therefore stood out to the west
in the hope of avoiding it, and so came across the island. His voyage
was so short that he was accused of witchcraft, and suffered
accordingly at the hands of the Inquisition; he was rescued from its
power by the Jesuits, to whom he ceded his rights in the newly
discovered land. The Order founded a colony there, but it proved a
failure. The abandoned island then became the resort of the
buccaneers, who preyed on Spanish commerce, and who used it to refit
their vessels, so that Spanish merchantmen had special orders to avoid
it. The privateers turned down goats to provide meat, on which the
Spaniards imported dogs to kill the goats; these achieved their
purpose on the low ground, but in the hills the goats held their own,
and the battle was therefore a drawn one. It was from an English
privateer that the Scotsman, Alexander Selkirk, was landed in 1704;
while some of the incidents in the life of Robinson Crusoe, such as
those connected with the goats, rats, and cats, were taken by Defoe
from the experiences of Selkirk, he is, if looked upon as the
prototype of the immortal hero, somewhat of a fraud. Not only is the
scene of Crusoe’s adventures laid in the West Indies, but Selkirk was
put on shore at his own request, with such stores as he required,
because he had an objection to the captain. He knew that sooner or
later the place would be visited by some ship coming to refit, and he
was only there altogether four years and four months. Selkirk reported
that he had slit the ears of some of the goats and let them go; a
number of these animals so marked and of “venerable aspect” were found
in 1741 by Anson’s sailors when they arrived on the island after their
passage of the Horn.
Anson’s own ship, the _Centurion_, lay in Cumberland Bay for three
months, during which time two others of the squadron and the
victualler arrived at the rendezvous; the _Gloucester_ had a terrible
experience, being a month within sight of the island with her men
dying daily of scurvy, and unable through contrary winds to make the
anchorage. The crews of the three men-of-war had numbered on their
departure from England 961: only 335 of these were alive when they
left Fernandez. The state of affairs is less surprising considering
that Anson was obliged to take a large consignment of Chelsea
pensioners; the almost incredible age of some of the company comes out
incidentally in the statement that owing to scurvy the wound of one
man reopened which had been received in the battle of the Boyne fifty
years before.[10] The island was subsequently occupied by the Spanish,
and after the independence of Chile it was for a while used as a
convict settlement.
Our time in “quarantine” at Juan Fernandez proved most enjoyable. We lay
in Cumberland Bay, which is the only anchorage; being on the north side,
it is sheltered from the south-east trade wind. The island is volcanic,
but the actual craters have broken down in course of ages, and their
form can no longer be traced, at least by the superficial observer; it
is now a mass of mountains of striking shapes, interspersed with wooded
ravines. We were able to see certain portions, mounted on ponies, but
much of the ground must be impossible to traverse. S. had a day’s
goat-stalking, but saw only two animals, and those were out of rifle
shot; the ponies, he said, scrambled about like cats, putting their fore
feet on the higher rocks and so dragging themselves up. The cattle which
roam over the island are not infrequently killed by falling down the
precipices. Our meat orders were executed by four men in a boat armed
with rifles, who went round by sea to some spot where the beasts were
likely to be found, and having shot one cut it up and brought it back.
The result was rather a plethora of Sunday beef even for a yacht’s
hungry crew.
[Illustration:
FIG. 21.
CUMBERLAND BAY, JUAN FERNANDEZ
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 22.
SELKIRK’S CAVE, JUAN FERNANDEZ.
]
A spot known as Selkirk’s Look-out (fig. 20B), on the dividing ridge of
the island, commands glorious views of the other side and the adjacent
island of Santa Clara; to gaze down from the wooded heights on to the
panorama of sea and land 2,000 feet below seemed like a glimpse into an
enchanted land. The tablet which marks the spot was put up by H.M.S.
_Topaze_ in 1868. We also visited a cave (D) which tradition points out
as Selkirk’s first residence, rowing in the boat round cliffs so steep
that a stone dropped from the top would fall more than 1,000 feet clear
into the sea; flights of pigeons wheeled out from the rocks, looked at
us, and went away again. The landing-place for the cave is somewhat
dangerous from the view of safety to the ship’s boats, being in a cove
whose beach is composed of big boulders. Once on shore the way lies
through a mountain-spur on the right, which has been worn by the force
of the waves into an imposing natural arch. It leads on to a little lawn
at the end of a valley running up into the mountains, down which flows a
small stream. In the hillside is the cave opening on to the meadow and
looking out to sea; the fireplace is visible, also a shelf cut in the
rock and niches to hold utensils. A prominent feature near the anchorage
are six or eight large caves (C), like big halls, the roofs of which are
adorned with drooping ferns, giving the effect of a beautiful
greenhouse: if originally natural they have probably been much enlarged.
They are said to have been used by the Spaniards for their prisoners.
Someone had been digging in the floor for treasure, under the assumption
that it had been left by pirates, presumably of an earlier day.
Juan Fernandez has at present some 300 inhabitants; its industry is
lobster-canning. Lobsters are also taken alive in the tank of a
motor-schooner to Valparaiso, their value growing _en route_ from 2_d._
each in the island to 3_s._ 9_d._ in the city. The schooner was also the
mail-carrier, and we took a mutual and friendly interest in one another,
as she and _Mana_ were about the same size. An old gentleman was in
charge of the island as governor, supported by four gendarmes; serious
offenders are exported to the mainland. The means of communication will
shortly be more rapid, as a house was already built to be used for
wireless installation (A).
On March 9th, 1915, one year precisely from the date we left the island,
the German ship _Dresden_ arrived in Cumberland Bay. She had been driven
by want of coal out of her hiding-places in the southern channels and
sought refuge at Juan Fernandez. Here after five days she was found by
the _Glasgow_ with her flag still flying. She had many times broken
neutrality regulations, and the Chilean governor with his gendarmes
could scarcely, as will have been seen, be expected to intern her. The
_Glasgow_ fired, the _Dresden_ replied, tried to negotiate, and then
blew herself up. The crew had all been landed, and the officers were
conveyed to Chile with the mails and lobsters. Thus in the twentieth
century did Fernandez once again play its part as a place of resort in
time of war.
After five days, no illness having appeared, we felt we might with
safety depart, and we started therefore on our 2,000–mile voyage, the
last stage of the outward journey.
CHAPTER VIII
LIFE ON BOARD
This is perhaps as good a time as any to attempt to give a general
impression of life on board the yacht. In the first place it should be
realised that no hardship was involved, and that the sense of safety, so
far from being less, soon became infinitely greater than on a larger
ship. Not only does a small boat ride over the waves like a cork, but
there is the assurance that in case of accident everyone will know what
to do, and orders will be received without delay; there is plenty of
room in the boats, and the lowering away is known to be a comparatively
easy matter. On first going on board a big liner after being accustomed
to _Mana_, it felt an alarmingly dangerous means of transit.
Existence on any ship has drawbacks in bad weather or extreme heat, but
on the yacht the arrangement by which the saloon and cabins were
connected with the deck-house made the circulation of air particularly
good. A sailing ship is also without the universal and unpleasant
draughts which are omnipresent in a steamer. In regard to the pleasure
of movement there is of course no comparison between the two.
As to the food there cannot be the same variety where no refrigerators
are possible, and preserved and salt meats are apt to become monotonous,
but we always left port with as large a supply of fresh meat as
possible, and a few hens and sometimes a sheep. Preserved vegetables are
good, and potatoes could be carried throughout a voyage, also eggs, and
some fruit such as bananas. With but few exceptions, in very bad
weather, we had bread every day in the cabin and twice a week in the
forecastle. The crew much preferred tinned milk and declined fresh even
when it was available, and for the saloon the unsweetened variety was
quite pleasant. In all other respects the meals were such as would
obtain in any simple household at home.
The routine of ship’s life turns on the watches, the alternate four
hours on and four hours off of the crew. Only in case of urgency is it
permissible to call the watch below, and hence any deck work, such as
altering or shortening sails, when it is not immediately imperative,
waits for the changes of the watch at 8, 12, and at 4, when all the crew
are available; those also are meal hours for the forecastle, with which
those of the cabin must not clash. The afternoon or dog watches are of
two hours only, from 4 to 6 and 6 to 8, in order to secure that the same
hours are not kept on two consecutive days by the same members of the
crew. It is a strange life from the point of view of the landsman,
especially in its bearing on the hours of sleep: eight hours on and
eight hours off duty would have seemed preferable, but it is the general
rule throughout the merchant service, and the men are accustomed to it.
My own daily round began with ordinary domestic duties, which were
seldom accomplished before 11 o’clock. On Saturday the work took even
longer, as, in addition to the usual business of life, the weekly stores
were given out to the forecastle, and fresh boxes of provisions were
fetched up from below and decanted into tins for shelves; if weather
permitted the main hold was opened. Not only do a marvellous number of
small things need attention on a boat, but every action takes much
longer, owing to the constant movement of the vessel; each article, for
example, has to be put down so that it cannot be overthrown by a sudden
lurch. To my friends who were anxious as to what we did for exercise, I
replied that to give out stores in a rolling boat, in imminent danger of
having the whole contents of a shelf thrown at one’s head, was an
acrobatic performance which involved sufficient activity to last the
twenty-four hours. The same is also true in degree of every muscular
movement, so that the need was rarely felt for such artificial exercise
as deck promenades. This was as well, for as both the lifeboat and
cutter were carried in the waist of the ship when we were at sea, the
space available for “constitutionals” was prescribed.
On certain passages when such a precaution seemed desirable, as for
instance in crossing the Doldrums, the supply of water was rationed; a
gallon per man per day is the allowance, of which the cook took the
morning quota, or half of the whole amount; in the afternoon everyone
produced a quart tin to be filled (about a fair-sized hot-water can),
and this was the private reserve for washing and drinking. It is
wonderful what can be done with it, and to use a full basin of water for
the washing of hands and then throw it away seems even to-day wicked
waste; the Stewardess was given a double supply, and found it more than
necessary. A new form of philanthropy came into play, when one member
might be overheard saying to another, “Can I let you have some of my
savings, I am really quite well off,” the savings being _aqua pura_.
When rain came every available utensil was utilised to catch it, and we
all suddenly became millionaires. It must be borne in mind that for many
things, such as bathing and scrubbing down, there was an unlimited
supply of salt water, and a “salt-water soap” proved a great success.
When the household duties were over for the time being, the favourite
resort, if the weather was bad or very hot, was in the deck-house,
otherwise it was the after end or poop of the ship. This space, which
was that above the chart-room, and of course the place of the helm, was
raised as in old-fashioned ships, so that it was almost always dry even
if the waist of the ship was slightly awash. There was no need, nor
indeed space, for chairs; cushions on the deck made satisfactory seats
with the steering-gear casing for a back, or in stormy weather on the
top of the box, with a rope to cling to if necessary. The position had
to be changed of course from time to time if the vessel went over on the
other tack.
A certain amount of writing and reading was accomplished, but not so
much as had been expected, for any considerable roll made them a strain
on the eyesight; a monumental piece of embroidery, which was to have
commemorated the voyage, was brought back practically untouched. Even
when no fixed occupation was possible the hours evaporated marvellously,
and for the first time on a voyage it was a pleasure to see the hands of
the clock put back. There was usually something to observe going on on
deck, and the speed at which the vessel was travelling was a perennial
source of interest: four miles an hour was fair, six was good, and
anything over eight was exciting. The speed was checked every watch by
means of the patent log, a mechanical screw which trailed behind the
vessel and whose evolutions registered its rapidity; its reckoning,
however, became more than once somewhat surprising, owing to the sharks
which mistook it for something good to eat, and its bright copper
surface was accordingly painted black. We once nearly secured a baby
shark, which could be seen clearly in the green water following the salt
meat which was being soaked by being towed overboard; the usual little
pilot-fish was in attendance. It took a bait, but got away with the hook
just as it was being hauled over the rail. This was almost the nearest
we came to success in fishing from the deck, in which we were uniformly
unfortunate, in spite of the fact that all on board were fishermen and
the crew were professionals. Passing bird and marine life were
frequently of interest. Above all the ever-changing ocean was an
immediate neighbour, always claiming attention, whether it bore a calm
blue surface, on which was traced the white line of the vessel’s course,
or resolved itself into a grey mass of tumbling billows, ever trying to
break and again falling back, leaving little white crests to mark their
vain attempt. It is presumably from this lazy frame of mind on the old
sailing vessels that the idea arose of a voyage as a cure for
overwrought nerves; the present mail steamer, with its hurly-burly of
strangers, noisy children, deck sports, and sweeps on the log may or may
not be a place of entertainment—it can hardly be considered one of rest.
When the ship’s bell sounded eight bells, or noon, all the hands which
could be spared went below to their dinner, a wonderful stillness
reigned, and the deck was devoted to the solemn ceremonies of
navigation. Three figures, those of the Navigating Lieutenant, the
Sailing-master, and frequently that of S., might be seen balanced in
various attitudes, sextant in hand, endeavouring to shoot the sun. The
most exciting moment of the twenty-four hours was when the paper was
handed in which stated the exact position of the vessel, and the amount
she had done on her course in the last twenty-four hours. It was
naturally preluded by guesses as to what the result would be, those who
had kept themselves informed of the records of the patent log having an
undue advantage.
The hours between luncheon and tea-time were largely devoted to slumber,
and the ship was kept as quiet as possible in order not to disturb the
men who had kept the middle watch the preceding night; their rest was
apparently much more affected by noise than is generally presumed to be
the case with non-brain workers. The same sound varies in its effect on
different persons; when it was necessary to use the engine the
Sailing-master complained that he could never sleep with that “unnatural
noise” going on. He altogether refused to allow that its regular beat
might be considered less distracting than the spasmodic jibing of the
ship, with its inevitable accompaniment of shouting of orders, stamping,
and hauling of ropes; those he maintained were absolutely “natural”
sounds. This recalls the attitude of the cook to cabbage day, which,
though beloved of the men, is, under certain conditions of the elements,
the reverse of pleasant to others on a small vessel, so much so that on
many yachts its recurrence is restricted by the ship’s articles;
_Mana’s_ cook was of the opinion that the smell was “rather nice”; he
evidently considered it a “natural” odour, which perhaps on the whole
was fortunate.
The most pleasant time of all on deck was after tea; it was then cool,
with the almost daily spectacle of a magnificent sunset. Sometimes the
sinking globe went down amid a glory of clouds, which turned the sea
into a blaze of red and gold; at others its descent could be traced inch
by inch as the ball of fire sank below the horizon on its road to other
lands, leaving behind it a track of light across the still waters. One
evening in the Pacific the whole sky, east as well as west, was covered
with pink clouds, which found their counterpart in the water below. It
is at times such as sunset, when sky and sea form a joint panorama, that
the dweller on the water truly comes into his own. In ordinary
circumstances, contrary to what might be expected, the ocean appeals
less to the imagination when seen from shipboard than when viewed from
the land; without foreground or counterbalancing element its restless
infinity seems bewildering to the comprehension. But when at sea the sky
takes up the tale; then the waters below and the firmament above each
find in the other their perfect complement and expression.
As soon as twilight reigned the gazer was recalled to the work-a-day
world; the navigator came up from the chart-room to take the ship’s
position by the evening star, the junior member of the watch clambered
up the fore-rigging to hang out the ship’s lights, and so night fell.
One of the charms of a ship is that she never sleeps. In the hours of
darkness the ordinary habitation relapses to a state of coma, and to the
mental condition of the primitive jelly-fish; a vessel is always alive,
always intelligent. The larger the craft, the more the vital functions
are withdrawn from the common gaze; in a small yacht they are ever
visible as an inseparable part of the whole. In wakeful nights and from
hot cabins, it is only necessary to stumble up the companion to find the
cool freshness of deck and waking companionship. Silhouetted against the
sky, is the dark figure of the man at the wheel, somewhere in the gloom
is the officer in charge, and for’ard, though invisible, is the watch on
the look-out. The latest news of wind and progress are to be had for the
asking; it is full of mystery and yet reassuringly practical.
The night _Mana_ crossed the Equator is unforgettable; the yacht, borne
along by the newly caught trade wind, raced through the water with the
very poetry of motion. The full moon made a silver pathway over the sea
and lit up not only the foam from the vessel’s bows, but also her white
sails, which were faintly reflected in the dark sea; the masts and
rigging stood out black against the deep blue sky, while over all was
the Southern Cross. What has been said of sunset from shipboard is still
more true of moonlight and starlight nights. Then ocean and sky become a
whole of marvellous beauty, and of majesty beyond human ken; always
suggesting questions, always refusing the answer.
[Illustration: EASTER ISLAND PHYSICAL]
PART II
_EASTER ISLAND_
OUTLINES OF COAST AND POSITION OF PRINCIPAL MOUNTAINS, MAINLY FROM
U.S.A. HYDROGRAPHIC OFFICE CHART NO. 1119.
POSITIONS OF CERTAIN LESSER MOUNTAINS, FROM EYE-SKETCHES BY THE AUTHOR.
HEIGHTS OF RANO AROI AND RANO KAO, FROM ADMIRALTY CHART NO. 1386.
HEIGHT OF RANO RARAKU, AS DETERMINED BY LIEUT. D. R. RITCHIE, R.N.
[Illustration:
FIG. 23.
29.3.1914.
EASTER ISLAND, FROM THE SOUTH.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 24.
EASTER ISLAND.
Diagrammatic sketch from Rano Kao looking north and east.
_Christmas Day, 1914._
]
GLOSSARY
OF NATIVE WORDS FREQUENTLY EMPLOYED
_Ahu_ A burial-place
_Aku-aku_ Spirit
_Ana_ Cave
_Ao_ The clan or clans celebrating bird rites
_Ao_ A ceremonial paddle
_Ariki_ Chief
_Atua_ God
_Hanga_ Bay or foreshore
_Haré_ House
_Hau_ Hat
_Hopu_ Servant to fetch “First egg”
_Iti_ Small
_Ika_ Fish
_Ivi-atua_ Person supernaturally gifted
_Kai_ Eat
_Kaunga_ Function in honour of a mother
_Ko_ Definite article before proper nouns
_Kohau rongo-rongo_ Tablet with script
_Koro_ Function in honour of a father
_Marama_ Light (In Tahitian = moon)
_Manu_ Bird
_Manu-tara_ The sacred bird (Sooty Tern)
_Máta_ Clan or group
_Mataa_ Obsidian spear-head
_Maunga_ Hill
_Miro_ Wood
_Moai_ An image
_Motu_ Islet
_Nui_ Big
_Paina_ A wooden figure, also the function connected with
it
_Péra_ Taboo for the dead
_Poki_ A child
_Raa_ Sun
_Ranga_ Captivity
_Rano_ Crater lake, also the extinct volcano
_Rapa_ Small dancing-paddle
_Roa_ Long
_Rongo-rongo_ Sacred words
_Také_ Ceremonial retreat
_Tangata_ Man
_Tangata-ika_ A slain man
_Tangata-manu_ The bird-man
_Tangata rongo-rongo_ Man learned in sacred words (generally the
script)
_Tatane_ Spirits (from “Satan”)
_Te_ Definite article before common noun
_Tea_ White
Words such as _nui_, _iti_, and _roa_, when they have become in
themselves geographical names, are treated as proper nouns, otherwise as
adjectives.