Chapter X: Camp Life

_Jan. 15._ The rain continued all last night and till late this morning, when the clouds cleared away and the sun came forth to cheer us again, but the wind is still strong and piercing. Mr. Arms and myself are indisposed, so that we have kept our tent closed and have done little during the day. This may be occasioned in part by the excitement arising from the arrival of the Sappho with the connected events, together with the drenching storm which rendered our dwelling wet and uncomfortable. All is quiet again and we return to our normal Patagonian life, which, for the most part, is monotonous.

_Jan. 16._ By the aid of Santa Rio we have endeavored to get the census of the whole Santa Cruz tribe, and have, as we suppose, succeeded approximately. He makes the number to be about 700, but this estimate cannot be wholly reliable, owing to his ignorance and our want of ability to communicate satisfactorily with him. We think, however, that the number will not exceed 1000.

The tribe on the northern pampas is undoubtedly much larger, while it is, as we are situated, utterly impossible for us to estimate the Port Famine tribe, including the Fuegians and a few miserable Indians scattered along the western coast.

We perceive an ill feeling between the two large clans that have lately met. Captain Congo says that Santa Maria is “much malo,” and he labors to excite our prejudice against her. And Maria says that Congo is a great liar, which is undoubtedly true not of him alone but of most of the tribe as well. These mutual jealousies and envyings between the leaders of the clans may lead to open rupture and the separation of the parties.

As among all the races of men, so among these dark-souled savages, envy and ambition are ruling passions. Those who seem to hold a “little brief authority” strive hard to show their importance and to persuade all around them to acknowledge their superiority.

Congo now appears to be an artful and insinuating flatterer, and his influence is on the increase, while that of Maria is waning. Doubtless this arises, in part at least, from the fact that he is young and vigorous and active, with a fine figure and a bold bearing, while, on the other hand, Santa Maria is advanced in life, of less fascinating address, and less activity and prowess.

As for the multitude of the Indians, their minds are fickle and inconstant as the winds, and he whom their capricious dotage exalts to-day may be execrated and abandoned to-morrow.

I went to-day to a tent and found a company playing cards. They had a full pack of English cards and appeared to play a regular game. This diversion was introduced among them by sailors together with other kinds of gambling. They swear, too; and we often hear shocking imprecations of damnation upon the head of some one. The first English sentence which I heard one of these savages utter was an oath, and I blush for my country and for the Christian name that through them this people have, first of all, been taught to blaspheme the Christian’s God.

_Jan. 17._ We have conversed freely of late about leaving the country so soon as a suitable opportunity shall offer. The object for which we came hither has, so far as we can see, been accomplished, and should the Lord open the way, we are prepared to return and report to the Prudential Committee of the A. B. C. F. M. on the state of Patagonia, the supposed number, character, habits, and modes of life of the inhabitants, and whatever may influence the determination of the Board as to endeavoring to establish a Christian mission in this country or the contrary.

Most of the strong Indians went off this morning on a grand hunt, accompanied as usual by many women and children, who carry the small tents and take care of the game.

We went out to see the process of weaving among this people. We saw in the loom a piece designed for a blanket, and the weaver plying her trade. The loom is constructed by setting two upright posts in the ground, and fastening two horizontal poles on these posts, one above the other, at a distance equal to the intended length of the blanket, which in this case was four feet and a half. To these poles the warp is tied at each end. The process of weaving is slow and tedious. The weft is wound on a smooth pin or stick for a bobbin. The weaver seats herself on the ground in front of the loom, and with another stick separates the threads of the warp for about six inches, and then, with the filling tied to an ostrich-quill as a shuttle, she passes it through the opened space. The stick is then drawn out, after serving the purpose of a lathe, and the warp is again separated as before. This process is continued until the blanket is completed, which is not until after many long and weary days, the artisan finishing fewer inches in a day than a hand-weaver would yards with the modern shuttle.

But, although the process is slow, the workmanship is marvellous. Many tints and a great variety of figures are wrought into the texture. These figures are often tasteful, and show much native genius in the operator. Where and how did these savages get this skill and taste? The yarn of which these blankets are made is spun from the wool of the guanaco. The fibre is long and soft. It is drawn out by the fingers, and twisted by means of a reed held in one hand. It is colored with various kinds of ochre procured back in the country. With these ochres the squaws also paint the guanaco robes, often with tasteful figures.

Queen Maria made us a long visit to-day. We feel grieved at the quarrel between her and Captain Congo. The enmity still continues. When she left, she went into a tent quite near us, and we soon heard loud talk there among the women. This attracted attention, and the women came rushing in from all quarters of the camp, either to look and listen or to take part in the strife. Loud and angry words were uttered, which were soon followed by the tug of war, if we might judge from the reeling and rocking of the tent. As the rear of the wigwam was towards us, and as we did not feel disposed to witness the spectacle, we do not know who were the combatants or what was the occasion of the quarrel.

Three pleasant-looking boys have for several days supplied us with two kinds of dry mountain berries, which they call “yanker” and “porton.” With these little presents they plead eloquently, and almost irresistibly, to be admitted into our tent, a privilege which we long to grant them freely, but are often unable to on account of the great crowd of the older folks who press in upon us. We feel sorrowful to think that these bright-eyed and smiling boys and girls must grow up to manhood and womanhood in darkness. In darkness they live, and in darkness they must die.

_Jan. 18._ The great hunting-party returned late last evening with much game, and most of the night was spent in roasting, eating, singing, shouting, and carousal.

We retired late, and were just falling into sleep when a large body of the savages came like a rushing tempest, with what seemed like a war-whoop, and surrounded our tent in a close circle. They stood silent for a moment, and then began to talk in an undertone around the circle. The moon was then in her first quarter, and it was so light that we could see the circle and the forms of the savages. We arose and looked out of our tent-door through a crevice, watching them from within, while they could not see us. Their low talk, sometimes sinking to a whisper, continued ten or fifteen minutes, and then suddenly, with another whoop, the ring broke and they all scattered.

What their object was in paying us this nocturnal visit we cannot now understand--whether in their glee to honor us in a savage serenade, or to kill and rob us in their savage cupidity, we know not.

The movement was mysterious, and at first startling, but it passed off quietly, and we returned to our pallet and slept peacefully until morning.

The Indians have kept us busy as artisans much of the day, in making spurs and _hodles_ for them and in sharpening their knives.

_Jan. 19._ This has been one of our most quiet Sundays. Our tent has been left partly open, so that the natives could look in upon us, but we have admitted none of them within, not feeling able to converse with them intelligently on the all-important theme, and choosing therefore to attend to our devotions in a quiet manner.

Several of the Indians brought us little jobs of work, but we satisfied them by telling them that we would attend to their requests to-morrow. Some have been engaged in hunting, some in gormandizing and sleeping, and some in gambling. They play for wagers, and the other day I saw a good pair of shoes staked against three plugs of tobacco. The Indian doctor has been engaged most of the day in different parts of the camp, moaning, screaming, blowing, shaking his rattle-bags, and going through all his incantations. Much confidence seems to be placed in his round of ceremonies; for he is employed by all who are ill, from the chief captain down to the meanest individual. They not only believe that his rattling incantations can drive possession from the human body, but also from dumb animals. He was engaged to-day at the tent of Congo in exorcising evil spirits from a sick horse. The usual process was gone through with, excepting the rattles, which were omitted, doubtless wisely, as they might have been received with less patience by a dumb beast than by a savage.

Every day gives us fresh illustrations of the dark character of this people, but our pain is that we cannot appeal to their understanding and their hearts.

_Jan. 20._ Several of the clan have taken their all to-day and gone northward, and Captain Congo informs us that he and most of the camp will remove to-morrow, a small party only remaining on the ground. They invite us to go with them, but as we have decided to leave the country by the first opportunity we choose to remain with our steadfast friend Louis and a hundred, more or less, of the Indians, in order to be within reach of the Strait should a vessel come that might take us off. Should we now retire far into the interior there would be no hope of our getting away, however many vessels might pass through the Strait. It affords us pleasure to find that Louis and a small party will remain to feed and protect us, while the great body of the tribe go north. In fact we had nearly resolved to stay, even if left alone and with means of subsistence only for a short period, as the object of our visit to Patagonia is accomplished, and we wait only for some conveyance to another field if it be the will of the Lord.

_Jan. 21._ Our sleep was interrupted again last night by the tremendous racket of the old doctor, who continued his medicinal noises until near morning, breaking out, from time to time, in strains of unusual energy and fierceness, as if he had really got the devil by his horns at last.

Early this morning the Indians prepared to decamp. Captain Congo bade us good-bye and led off a host on horseback. Queen Maria and Louis remain, and we are told that only eighteen horses are left to our party.

An Indian whom we call Captain John handed us an English Testament to-day. It is probably one left behind by one of the American sailors, who considered it a burden. Probably there are few dark places of the earth where copies of the sacred Scriptures are not scattered, but where they shed no light for want of readers.

We had a conversation with Santa Maria on the subject of a Christian mission here. She seemed pleased with the idea of Americans coming to live with the Indians to teach them good things, but did not favor their building a house and remaining stationary. She thought they should travel over the country with the clans and thus instruct them.

In the afternoon a thunder-shower swept over us. This is the first we have seen in this land. We have heard light and distant thunder before, but have had nothing like a regular shower until to-day.

The thunder caused a great barking and howling among the dogs, but there was no unusual excitement among the Indians. After the shower the savages killed a horse and distributed it among all the tents. All then fell to roasting and eating, attended with much apparent joy and hilarity. Was it a marriage-feast, or was it an offering to the “unknown God” of thunder? We could not know.

_Jan. 22._ Several more families have left us to-day, and followed the party that went north yesterday.

Those who remain have spent the day in feats of gormandizing beyond anything we have before seen. Large pots have been kept on fires from morning till night, and the Indians have gathered around them, feeding the fires with fagots and dry grass, and constantly consuming and renewing the contents. Scarcely a piece of the horse slaughtered yesterday remains in the camp.

Intelligence was brought us to-day from the Lorice party. This is the first news we have had from them since they left us. The report says that two of their number have died since they parted from us, and that two others are sick.

We were also informed that the three sailors who left Maria’s clan some time ago--viz., an Englishman, an American, and a Portuguese--are with this clan. As Captain Congo has left, and as our party is now small, we are told that Lorice and his Jezebel will soon pay us another visit. It is said that they are not far off. Well, let them come if they must, but we have no desire to see that Amazon again.

We had another thunder-storm this afternoon, with a fall of large hailstones.

_Jan. 23._ The Indians returned from their hunt to-day with very little game. So the gluttony of yesterday is succeeded by fasting and hunger. Checks, balances, and compensations seem to act in savage as in civilized lands.

About noon we were told that a vessel was coming up from the west, and shortly after a sturdy Indian came to our tent bringing a pale and sick white man behind him. This young man introduced himself as William Marshall Thornham, of Hull, England, aged twenty years. He said that he ran away from his vessel with two other sailors about a year ago, and that they all vowed to keep together and never forsake one another, come what would. Since then they had roamed with the Indians continually, suffering hunger and hardships almost unto death, being obliged to tramp on foot, without shoes, often over dry stubble, sometimes among flinty pebbles, then over sand-hills, and again among thistles. His feet were badly cracked, lacerated, and swollen; his hair was dishevelled, his face begrimed, and he had no clothing except an old, tattered, dirty, and cast-off skin mantle. A few weeks ago, coming in the proximity of the Strait, he and his two companions, in a fit of desperation, ran away from the clan with which they had travelled. They then wandered along the shore of the Strait, living upon mussels and watching for a vessel in which to get away. Soon afterward, falling in with a clan of the Port Famine tribe, they were made captives and treated with cruelty. William stated that if they attempted to get away from the clan, they were threatened with death by having arrows pointed at them. At length a vessel had anchored near them, and his two companions by a dexterous effort had eluded their captors and succeeded in getting on board the schooner, leaving him in his enfeebled state to the mercy of the savages.

The exasperated Indians then kept up a sharper watch over him than before. If he went a little distance from the camp, they would suspect him of designing to run away; when they would bring him back, and pass their knives across his throat as a sign of his fate should he attempt to get away. They next stopped his rations in order to weaken him so that he could not run, and he told us that for four days he had eaten nothing except a few watery and insipid berries which he found near the camp. Once or twice when Indians were all out of the tent, and when they supposed him to be asleep, he crawled around the tent and found a small piece of meat which he attempted to eat, but before he had swallowed a mite in came a savage and tore it from his teeth, and with a dark frown drew his knife across his throat. Soon a painful bowel complaint came on, and the poor man was unable to walk, and came near death. In this state some of our tribe found him, took him from the Yammerschooners (beggars), as this mongrel tribe is called by sailors, and brought him on horseback to us.

His appearance is truly distressing: emaciated and heart-broken, forsaken by the companions who had vowed to stand by him in weal or woe, to live or die with him, he is an object to excite our deepest sympathy and compassion. Even our Indians seem to pity him, and they delivered him up to us without remonstrance. We immediately took him into our tent, prepared the best we had--warm broth--for him, then bathed him in warm water, and dressed him in a suit of clothes, while Mr. Arms took him as his patient, administering carefully to his case. We endeavor to cheer him by assuring him that we will do all in our power to help him and to get him out of the country, should we find an opportunity to go ourselves.

He says it is true that a schooner named the Macdonald, Captain Clift, brother to the captain William Clift with whom we came out in the Mary Jane, anchored far west of Gregory’s Bay; that his companions got on board of her, and that he had heard that Captain Clift would anchor in Gregory’s Bay and take us off. This was joyful tidings, and we determined at once that Mr. Arms should go down to the bay and learn what were the facts in the case. Accordingly he went, but returned with the report that no sail was in sight. This was a damper; for our hopes had been raised to a high point, and the disappointment was not small. William felt it even more keenly than we did, for he had a desperate desire to get out of the reach of those by whom he had suffered so much, and now the poor youth almost sank in despair.

But we are more accustomed to these alternations of hope and disappointment. We are in the Lord’s hands, and there is nothing better than to wait his will.

Mr. Arms said that on reaching the bay he found the wind and current favorable, and there was no doubt that Captain Clift had gone on without stopping for us.

Young Thornham tells us that he left parents in Hull, and that he has now been absent from England four years, having left at the age of sixteen.

He says he was persuaded to run away in Patagonia by older companions who told him that he would have plenty to eat, a good horse to ride, no work to do, and every indulgence the heart desired; that he would, in fact, be a chief, and live as he pleased. Thus the poor fellow was beguiled to his cost, and his experience has been bitter. He seems a pleasant and amiable young man. He is modest and respectful and uses no profane or vile language. The contrast between him and other sailors whom we have met here is very striking.

_Jan. 24._ Several of our Indians went down to the shore early this morning to see if the schooner reported yesterday had not come in during the night, but they returned with the word that she had gone on without anchoring.

Yesterday the Indians said that the whole camp would go down to the Strait to-day, and their horses were brought up this morning for the purpose; but on hearing that the vessel had gone on they seemed disappointed and displeased, and determined to stay at home. So all was quiet again, and we retired to our little tabernacle to read and write. While thus busied in our work the Indians had, unconsciously to us, taken their horses and moved off stealthily. Some time in the afternoon we were surprised, on looking out over the camp, to find nearly all of the vigorous men and women gone, including our trusty friend Louis. On inquiring what this meant, we were told that the Indians had gone off on a hunt. This seemed incredible, especially as they always told us when they were going hunting. Looking all around, we noticed a few of the last stragglers of the camp moving towards the sea, but no one going north in the direction of the hunting-grounds. As we shook our heads and looked incredulous, the savages then said that their companions had not gone for guanacos, but that they had seen a drove of ostriches among the sand-dunes, lying between us and the Strait, and had gone in pursuit of them. Neither could we credit this; and as their movements and language indicated duplicity, we began to suspect that they had seen a vessel, and knowing, for we had told them, our intention to leave them by the first opportunity, they had slipped off thus slyly, intending to deceive us and keep us with them.

While we were thus conversing and looking towards the Strait--not, however, expecting to see a vessel, as we could not see the water without ascending a hill in our rear--all at once I descried the topgallant sail of a schooner through a small notch in the table-land lying between us and the sea! The riddle was now solved; our suspicions were true. The troop had gone off secretly, having seen the vessel, not intending to let us know it or to give us a chance to reach the shore.

We asked at once for a horse, but for the first time were met with a flat denial. One and another replied to our repeated calls, “_No hos you_.” But we were determined one of us should go down even if he went on foot. At last an old woman, who had always been kind to us, brought us her horse, for which we had promised a liberal compensation. We had never before been obliged to hire a horse. Mr. Arms mounted and set off, while I remained to make any preparations that could be made in anticipation of leaving. In the evening he returned with the report that the schooner Antarctic, of New York, Captain James S. Nash, of Rhode Island, had anchored in the bay, and that the captain would take us on board to-morrow, requesting us to be down at the sea at 9 +A.M.+

Mr. Arms found Louis on the shore; he had used the same deceit as the other Indians. By urging, however, he persuaded him and a few others to return to the camp with him, and to furnish us with horses in the morning.

Things, however, still look dark and suspicious; the faces of some whom we have esteemed our most tried friends are changed, and we are not without apprehensions that trials await us before we can get out of the country.

William Thornham is exceedingly anxious lest we shall get off and leave him. He begs us not to forsake him, as this would blot out his last ray of hope for escaping from this terrible land, and leave him to die without a friend. We assure him we will not leave him behind if it is possible for us to take him with us, and that we will do for him as for ourselves.