Chapter XI: Farewell to Patagonia

_Jan. 25._ We spent most of last night in overhauling our goods, deciding what to take with us and what to give to the Indians, and in packing. A little before day we lay down and obtained about an hour’s rest. We rose at daylight, went to Louis’s tent and aroused him to get up the horses. He was sleeping soundly, but on awaking him he grunted, rolled over, and told his young brother to go for them. We then returned to our tent, offered our morning prayers, ate a hasty breakfast, saw our luggage all in readiness, and assisted William in his preparations. But up to this time not a horse or an Indian was to be seen. Again we went to Louis, and found him fast asleep. We aroused and urged him to help us, and again he told his brother to go for the horses. Then again we waited, growing almost desperate at the delay. After two hours we saw a man leading up several horses, and our hopes revived. One of these was tied near Louis’s tent, and we had our luggage brought out to be packed; but when our backs were turned the hitched horse was let loose, and in a trice all were out of sight. The snare was now too visible. The savages meant to keep us, and they were thus trying to consume time until the vessel should sail without us.

We now appealed to their cupidity. We told them we had many things to leave, saddles, bridles, axes, tools, clothes, etc., and that those who befriended us should have a liberal share. This proved the motor; these were arguments not to be withstood, and away went squaws, boys, and girls, and in half an hour horses were galloped into the camp in excess of our wants.

Louis brightened up and worked with a will; all smiled and flattered, and one and another said, “_My hos you_.” How vividly the words of Solomon came to our memory, “Every one is a friend to him that giveth gifts”!

The animals were soon laden; a horse was provided for the poor sufferer, William, and all things were ready for a last trip to the waters of Magellan.

We bade the Indians and the camp farewell, and with no little emotion we said good-bye to the old chief and his wife, whose kindness and sympathy we had enjoyed during our whole stay in Patagonia. On waving a final adieu to the aged couple, the old mother set up a mournful wailing in such plaintive strains as to touch our hearts. This she kept up until her form faded from our sight and the lament died upon our ears. We shall never forget the picture of sorrow presented by this mourning pair as we turned our backs upon them. We left no truer friends behind us.

Louis and a few other Indians went with us to the shore. Most of the clan spent the night on the beach.

It was now near noon, and we felt anxious lest the captain, tired of waiting for us, should have gone upon his way; but when we were within about six miles of the shore we were surprised to meet Joseph Nash, the captain’s brother and the first mate of the Antarctic, and Charles Palmer, who came out with us on the Mary Jane. Mr. Nash informed us that the captain had waited anxiously for us, and fearing that we were in trouble through the treachery of the savages he had sent them to reconnoitre; that Queen Maria and several other Indians were then on board the Antarctic, and that, as the captain and officers believed a plot was laid by the Indians on shore to prevent us from getting off, Maria and her attendants would be detained on board as hostages until we and our effects were safely shipped.

Furthermore, he requested us to deploy to the right and strike the beach some half a mile from the camp; meanwhile a man at the mast-head would watch for our arrival, and at a signal he would despatch a swift boat for us, while at the same time he would send another direct to the Indian camp as a decoy; that the boat for us would strike the beach just at the time of our arrival; that we should jump aboard at once, and thus elude the Indians.

This was done with complete success, and with the skill of a military or naval tactician. The few Indians who were with us made no effort to detain us, and those at a distance made no efforts to reach us, so that their plot, if they had one, was a failure. Louis was permitted, on account of his great desire, to go on board with us.

When Captain Nash saw that we were safely embarked in the boat, he sent off another to convey Maria and her party to the shore. As this boat passed us, a savage held up a religious tract and called out to us to look on while he dashed it into the sea.

This token of contempt was at once imitated by the Queen, who raised a bundle of tracts in the air and in a spiteful manner threw them overboard, exclaiming “Malo! malo!” The captain afterwards told us that these tracts were stolen from his cabin, that Maria said we had a chest full of them, that they were very bad, and that by means of our paper we prevented them from getting rum and tobacco; that she had also complained of Mr. Arms that he was very bad, and had declared that as soon as she got on shore she would tear up the papers before his eyes, and then stab him with a knife which she drew from her bosom and showed him. These threats had led the captain to take the precaution of sending her and her people on shore while we were coming off, that thus a meeting might be avoided, as he had no doubt she would execute her threat should she find an opportunity. It might have happened so had we met the old Queen, but as we were blissfully ignorant of this danger until safe on board, we were saved from fear and anxiety. We are under great obligations to Captain Nash, who has treated us with much kindness, and who has shown firmness and discretion in getting us on board.

He told us that the old Queen showed him great ingratitude; for after supplying her and others with large quantities of bread and other eatables she told him he was “much malo” for taking us away, and that if he went on shore he would be stabbed. He tells us that our influence in endeavoring to suppress the vices of these natives is entirely counteracted by the sailors who stop here, and who tell the Indians that we came among them only to prevent them from getting such things as they want from ships; that we are bad men, and that they even advise them to destroy us. He assured us that he had men on board his own vessel who would do all this, and that one of them had been heard to tell the Indians to knock us down and throw us overboard.

We have little doubt that these are facts, as we have always found the savages worse after a visit to vessels.

Captain Nash then informed us that in coming through the Strait from the West he had spoken the Peruvian and the schooner on which I had slept about two weeks ago. The captain of that schooner had told him of my visit to his vessel, and had complained bitterly of the savages, stating that after I had left him in the morning, he sent his boat to the shore to trade, when the Indians seized the boat and his second officer, took them both up high and dry upon the banks, and then demanded a barrel of bread and five hundred plugs of tobacco as a ransom. All this he was compelled to give before he could recover his mate and boat. This, then, explains the riddle of the empty barrel on which the Indian drummed--the supply of bread shared so liberally with us, and the abundance of tobacco which we had observed at that time in the camp, and on which some of the people got deadly drunk, turning pale and groaning like dying men; for it was their custom in smoking to draw their mantles over their heads and inhale the fumes until completely intoxicated.

Captain Nash had also met the English schooner Sappho, near the western entrance of the Strait, and Captain Melward and Mr. Penny had told him of our situation, and of our desire to find a passage to the United States. Then, too, he had “gammed,” or visited, on board the Mary Jane, and, by request, had taken Charles Palmer, the suffering sailor, to return him to New York.

Charles had told him much of us, and he had determined to anchor at Gregory’s Bay and take us off if we were near at hand. No wonder, then, that we were surprised when he told Mr. Arms, on first meeting him, “I have come for you.” In this whole chain of facts how clearly we see “the good hand of our God upon us.”

There being a strong current against us and no wind, the Antarctic remained at anchor for several hours after we came on board, during which time numbers of the savages were brought off in the schooner’s boats to sell guanaco robes, fresh meat, and other articles. They appeared glad to see us and behaved quietly, and when they left the vessel some inquired how soon we would return.

It is evident that most of the chiefs and the great body of the clan have no little respect for us, but they are capricious, jealous, selfish, and superstitious, so that their friendship is unreliable, and their good-will to-day may turn to anger to-morrow. One thing is clear: that their selfishness and cupidity lead them to cling to us, for they have not failed to see that we have been of service to them in many ways, and they were hoping for more help and more gifts.

Louis is on deck and keeps near us; he seems to mourn our departure, for he looks sad. And we feel sad at leaving him; for in spite of his late apparent guile, we must ever remember his great fidelity to us during our sojourn of seventy-two days in this land of darkness. Under God we look upon him as our great protector, and he seems to us as one sent of the Lord to meet and receive us on our first entrance into Patagonia, and but for his constant and watchful care we cannot now see how our lives would have been made tolerable even if spared to this day. And now as we are about to bid him a final farewell his first love seems to revive, and he clings to us like a brother and really appears anxious to go with us.

At 4½ +P.M.+ a light breeze began to fan the surface of the water, and the captain ordered a boat to land all the Indians that remained on board, but Louis and a few of his friends lingered. The captain called, “All hands on deck! Make sail,” and, in a few minutes, “Take the anchor,” but Louis still remained. The vessel was now under way and slowly moving off with the boats by her side, when the captain sternly commanded Louis and his friends to jump into the boat, which they did reluctantly. We shook hands with them and waved them adieu, and they were soon landed.

And now our prow was pointed eastward towards the great Atlantic and we were really “homeward bound.” We saw the savages on the shore all astir, getting up their horses, packing, mounting, and moving off to their dismal homes. This to us was a sad picture; for though we are joyful at the thought that our exploring mission is accomplished, and that we are now on our way back to our thrice-blessed native land, and to our precious friends from whom we have received no tidings for nearly six months, yet it was painful to see these poor, dark-souled human beings for whom the Saviour died left in their darkness and ruin, and with little hope that the blessings of Christianity and civilization would ever come to their generation.

Thus commingled emotions of joy and pity move our hearts. The remembrance of their abominations pains and sickens our souls; their wretchedness excites our compassion; their kindness kindles our gratitude; and the blindness of their moral and spiritual natures awakens our sympathies and our love.

Ah! when will the day dawn and the day star arise upon them?

Well, we are in the cabin of the swift clipper Antarctic, a beautiful schooner of 173 tons, running like a racer, while the shores of Patagonia are gathering the mantle of night over them and fading from our view.