Chapter VI

Beagle sails with Paz and Liebre--Part company--Beagle visits
Buenos Ayres--Nautical remarks on the Plata--Sail from Monte Video
for San Blas--Lieut. Wickham and tenders--Butterflies--Sail for
Tierra del Fuego--White water--Icebergs--Rocks--Cape San
Sebastian--Oens men--Cape San Diego--Good Success Bay--Natives
--Guanacoes--Cape Horn--St. Martin Cove--Gales--Heavy Seas--Nassau
Bay--Goree Road--Prepare to land Matthews and the Fuegians.

18th October. No person who had only seen the Paz and Liebre in their former wretched condition, would easily have recognised them after being refitted, and having indeed almost a new equipment. Spars altered, and improved rigging, well-cut sails, fresh paint,[1] and thorough cleanliness, had transformed the dirty sealing craft into smart little cock-boats: and as they sailed out of Port Belgrano with the Beagle, their appearance and behaviour were by no means discouraging.

At dusk, Lieutenant Wickham and his small party of venturous associates separated from us, and steered into False Bay.[2] The Beagle anchored for the night, and next day pursued her route towards Monte Video, where she arrived on the 26th.

Desirous of communicating with the Government at Buenos Ayres, and measuring the difference of meridians between that city and Monte Video, we weighed anchor on the 31st, proceeded up the river, and remained in the outer roadstead, off Buenos Ayres, until the 10th of November. We then employed three days in verifying the positions of some banks,[3] as laid down in Heywood’s and other charts, and returned to Monte Video on the 14th.

It is not prudent for any vessel drawing more than ten feet water to remain under sail in this part of the river, while it is dark, unless a good pilot is on board; and even the best practical experience is not always a sure guide, so uncertain and fluctuating are the currents and depths of water. There are a few simple precautions, useful in such circumstances, of which I may be excused for reminding young sailors. A ground-log ought to be hove frequently, and compared with a common log; there should be a leadsman in each chains, one, at least, of whom should sound constantly: the deep-sea lead[4] ought to be used now and then, even in shallow water, as a check upon the hand-lead: from the vessel’s draught of water to two fathoms more than that depth, the hand-line should be marked to feet, by alternate marks of dark-coloured hair and small line: strong lanterns should be suspended under the chain-wales, near the water, but close to the ship’s side; while a careful person ought to superintend the leadsman, and occasionally take a line into his own hand, so that by ‘plumbing’ the bottom himself he may ascertain how far reliance is to be placed upon the leadsman’s opinion.

In the Plata, as well as in many other pilot-waters, to feel the ground thus is often more useful than knowing the precise depth of water, or even the colour, or nature, of the bottom.

27th Nov. Our arrangements and observations being satisfactorily completed, a sufficient quantity of provision on board to last eight months, at full allowance, and an extra supply of iron and coals for the forge, in case of any serious accident, the Beagle sailed from Monte Video; and, after filling water near Cape Jesu Maria,[5] hastened to look after her little assistants, left near Bahia Blanco.

In this trip we benefitted by the assistance of Mr. Robert N. Hamond, an early and much esteemed friend of mine, who was lent to the Beagle from H.M.S. Druid, of which he was then a mate.

December 3d. Soon after daylight we saw the very low islands, just to the northward of San Blas. I wished to have made Point Rubia, but was set twenty miles northward, during the night, by the flood tide. We stood directly towards the shore, but when eight miles from it found a wide breadth of discoloured water, and the depth shoaled suddenly from ten to three fathoms in a few casts of the lead. Hauling off, we steered southward, with the ebb tide. There was no ripple on the banks, but the water was quite yellow, and at the time we altered our course, in consequence of such shallow water, the nearest land was, at least, eight miles distant.

While tracing the outer edge of this bank we descried our cock-boats coming out to meet us, and soon afterwards Mr. Wickham came on board. He gave us gratifying news with little drawback; but had he been half-roasted his own appearance could hardly have been more changed. Notwithstanding the protection of a huge beard, every part of his face was so scorched and blistered by the sun that he could hardly speak, much less join in the irresistible laugh at his own expense. His companions were similarly sun-burned, though not to such a degree. They had been much occupied in sounding extensive banks and harbours, under a hot sun, and while a fresh wind kept them constantly wet with spray. But this inconvenience was trifling; one of more importance was excessive sea-sickness, in consequence of the short and violent movements of such small craft under sail among the tide-races and eddies so numerous on that coast.

In other respects all had prospered so well, that I determined to give Mr. Wickham fresh orders,[6] enlarging considerably his share of surveying operations. He was desired to continue exploring the coast, even as far as Port Desire, until the Beagle’s return from her visit to Tierra del Fuego and the Falkland Islands.

As the weather promised well, an anchor was dropped where we were, outside the banks, but the schooners sought shelter in the harbour of San Blas. Next day they came out and anchored close to us, in order to receive stores and various supplies which we had brought for them from Buenos Ayres and Monte Video. I was a little uneasy when I saw that the pilot of the Liebre, Mr. Roberts, was one of the largest of men, and that his little vessel looked, by comparison, no bigger than a coffin; but Mr. Wickham allayed my doubts by assuring me that his moveable weight answered admirably in trimming the craft; and that, when she got aground, Mr. Roberts stepped overboard, and heaved her afloat. “Certainly,” said Mr. Wickham, “he did harm on one day, by going up to look-out, and breaking the mast.”

In the afternoon of this day (4th) we weighed anchor and parted company from the Paz and Liebre. They returned to San Blas, and the Beagle steered southward. Secure and capacious as is the port just mentioned, it is one of the most difficult and dangerous to enter on this coast. The best, indeed only approach to it, is called by those sealers and sea-elephant fishers who have hitherto frequented it,--‘Hell-gate.’

At about four the weather was very hot, the sky cloudless, and varying flaws of wind drove quantities of gossamer, and numbers of insects off from the land. The horizon was strangely distorted by refraction, and I anticipated some violent change. Suddenly myriads of white butterflies surrounded the ship, in such multitudes, that the men exclaimed, “it is snowing butterflies.” They were driven before a gust from the north-west, which soon increased to a double-reefed topsail breeze, and were as numerous as flakes of snow in the thickest shower. The space they occupied could not have been less than two hundred yards in height, a mile in width, and several miles in length.

Our next object was to visit Tierra del Fuego, examine some portions of that country--yet unexplored--and restore the Fuegians to their native places; but in our passage, strong southerly winds, severe squalls, and cold weather, though it was near midsummer in that hemisphere, caused delay and discomfort, as they must always in a small and deeply-laden vessel, where little can be done except in fine weather.

We passed through a space of sea,[7] many miles in extent, where the water was of a very much lighter colour than usual; not of a light-green or muddy hue, such as one sees near land, but of a milky white tint. Being in soundings, one naturally attributed such a change of colour to some peculiarity in the ground; but I have since thought differently, and am now inclined to believe that the light-coloured water came from a distance, in one of those great, though slow-moving currents, which sweep past the Falkland Islands, and thence northwards: but to what cause its unusual whiteness is to be attributed, I know not. The dissolution of a huge iceberg, or of many icebergs, might alter the colour, and certainly would change the temperature of a considerable body of water; but in this case, a thermometer immersed in the sea did not indicate a degree lower than that of the previous or following day. During the three days, our soundings varied only from fifty to sixty fathoms. The lead certainly brought up fine grey sand while the water was light-coloured, and dark sand at other times; but I can hardly think that so decided a change--different from any I noticed elsewhere--could have been caused in fifty fathoms water by so small an alteration in the quality of the bottom.

Icebergs have been seen in latitude 40° S., and near the longitude of 50° W.; perhaps they are sometimes carried nearer the coast, in which case they would ground, and melt away.

I suspect that some of the rocks, so often, yet so fruitlessly, sought for--and instead of which many persons have supposed dead whales, wrecks, or large trees, were seen--may have been icebergs, against and upon which sea-weed, drift-wood, or other substances, may have lodged temporarily, causing a rock-like appearance. In this way, perhaps, arose the report of a rock said to have been seen by Lieutenant Burdwood; of the Aigle and Ariel rocks--and even of those islets sought for ineffectually by Weddell, a few degrees eastward of the Falkland Islands.[8]

In the first volume some notice was taken of the supposed Ariel Rocks, and I will avail myself of this opportunity to say that at various times the Beagle passed over and near their asserted position; and that she likewise searched for the reported Aigle shoal or rock, without ever finding the slightest indication of either.

On the 15th, we saw the land off Tierra del Fuego, near Cape San Sebastian, and next day closed the shore about Cape Sunday, ran along it past Cape Peñas, and anchored off Santa Inez. A group of Indians was collected near Cape Peñas, who watched our motions attentively. They were too far off for us to make out more than that they were tall men, on foot, nearly naked, and accompanied by several large dogs. To those who had never seen man in his savage state--one of the most painfully interesting sights to his civilized brother--even this distant glimpse of the aborigines was deeply engaging; but York Minster and Jemmy Button asked me to fire at them, saying that they were “Oens-men--very bad men.”

Our Fuegian companions seemed to be much elated at the certainty of being so near their own country; and the boy was never tired of telling us how excellent his land was--how glad his friends would be to see him--and how well they would treat us in return for our kindness to him.

We remained but a few hours at anchor under Cape Santa Inez, for so heavy a swell set in, directly towards the shore, caused probably by a northerly gale at a distance, that our situation was dangerous as well as disagreeable. Our only chance of saving the anchor and chain was by weighing immediately; yet if we did so, there would be a risk of drifting ashore: however, we did weigh, and drifted some distance, rolling our nettings in; but a breeze sprung up, freshened rapidly, and soon carried us out of danger. This happened at three in the morning, so my hopes of observations and angles were frustrated, and I had no choice but to run for the strait of Le Maire.

At noon, very high breakers were reported by the mast-head man, off Cape San Diego; at that time the flood-tide was setting strongly against a northerly wind and high swell; but when the tide was slack, at one, the breakers disappeared; and when we passed close to the cape, at two, the water was comparatively smooth.

There is a ledge extending from Cape San Diego, over which the flood-tide, coming from the southward, sometimes breaks with such violence, that a small vessel might be swamped by the ‘bore’ which it occasions.

As we sailed into Good Success Bay, a Fuegian yell echoed among the woody heights, and shout after shout succeeded from a party of natives, posted on a projecting woody eminence, at the north head of the bay, who were seen waving skins, and beckoning to us with extreme eagerness. Finding that we did not notice them, they lighted a fire, which instantly sent up a volume of thick white smoke. I have often been astonished at the rapidity with which the Fuegians produce this effect (meant by them as a signal) in their wet climate, where I have been, at times, more than two hours attempting to kindle a fire.

Scarcely was our ship secured, when the wind shifted to south-west, and blew strongly, bringing much rain with it; and we had indeed reason to rejoice at having attained so secure an anchorage. During the night, heavy squalls (williwaws) disturbed our rest very often, but did no injury, the water being quite smooth.

18th. Mr. Darwin, Mr. Hamond and others, went with me to the natives who had so vociferously greeted our arrival; and deeply indeed was I interested by witnessing the effect caused in their minds by this first meeting with man in such a totally savage state.

There were five or six stout men, half-clothed in guanaco-skins, almost like the Patagonians in aspect and stature, being near six feet high, and confident in demeanour. They scarcely bore resemblance to the Fuegians, except in colour and class of features. I can never forget Mr. Hamond’s earnest expression, “What a pity such fine fellows should be left in such a barbarous state!” It told me that a desire to benefit these ignorant, though by no means contemptible human beings, was a natural emotion, and not the effect of individual caprice or erroneous enthusiasm; and that his feelings were exactly in unison with those I had experienced on former occasions, which had led to my undertaking the heavy charge of those Fuegians whom I brought to England.

Disagreeable, indeed painful, as is even the mental contemplation of a savage, and unwilling as we may be to consider ourselves even remotely descended from human beings in such a state, the reflection that Cæsar found the Britons painted and clothed in skins, like these Fuegians, cannot fail to augment an interest excited by their childish ignorance of matters familiar to civilized man, and by their healthy, independent state of existence. One of these men was just six feet high, and stout in proportion; the others were rather shorter: their legs were straight and well formed, not cramped and misshapen, like those of the natives who go about in canoes; and their bodies were rounded and smooth. They expressed satisfaction or good will by rubbing or patting their own, and then our bodies; and were highly pleased by the antics of a man belonging to the boat’s crew, who danced well and was a good mimic. One of the Fuegians was so like York Minster, that he might well have passed for his brother. He asked eagerly for “cuchillo.” About his eyes were circles of white paint, and his upper lip was daubed with red ochre and oil. Another man was rubbed over with black. They were (apparently) very good-humoured, talked and played with the younger ones of our party, danced, stood up back to back with our tallest men to compare heights, and began to try their strength in wrestling--but this I stopped. It was amusing and interesting to see their meeting with York and Jemmy, who would not acknowledge them as countrymen, but laughed at and mocked them. It was evident that both of our Fuegians understood much of the language in which the others talked; but they would not try to interpret, alleging that they did not know enough. York betrayed this by bursting into an immoderate fit of laughter at something the oldest man told him, which he could not resist telling us was, that the old man said he was dirty, and ought to pull out his beard. Now, if their language differed much from that of York Minster, or was indeed other than a dialect of the same original, it is not probable that York could have understood the old man’s meaning so readily when he spoke quietly, without signs.

Richard Matthews was with us, but did not appear to be at all discouraged by a close inspection of these natives. He remarked to me, that “they were no worse than he had supposed them to be.”

20th. Soon after day-light this morning, some very large guanacoes were seen near the top of Banks Hill.[9] They walked slowly and heavily, and their tails hung down to their hocks. To me their size seemed double that of the guanacoes about Port Desire. Mr. Darwin and a party set off to ascend the heights, anxious to get a shot at the guanacoes and obtain an extended view, besides making observations. They reached the summit, and saw several large animals, whose long woolly coats and tails added to their real bulk, and gave them an appearance quite distinct from that of the Patagonian animal; but they could not succeed in shooting one.

21st. Sailed from Good Success Bay. On the 22d we saw Cape Horn, and being favoured with northerly winds, passed close to the southward of it before three o’clock. The wind then shifted to north-west, and began to blow strong. Squalls came over the heights of Hermite Island, and a very violent one, with thick weather, decided my standing out to sea for the night under close-reefed topsails. The weather continued bad and very cold during that night and next day.

On the morning of the 24th, being off Cape Spencer, with threatening weather, a high sea, the barometer low, and great heavy-looking white clouds rising in the south-west, indicative of a gale from that quarter, I determined to seek for an anchorage, and stood into (the so-called[10]) St. Francis Bay. In passing Cape Spencer we were assailed by such a furious hail-squall, that for many minutes it was quite impossible to look to windward, or even to see what was a-head of us. We could not venture to wear round, or even heave to, for fear of getting so far to leeward as to lose our chance of obtaining an anchorage; however, we stood on at hazard, and the squall passed away soon enough to admit of our anchoring in seventeen-fathoms water, quite close to a steep promontory at the south side of St. Martin Cove.

After being for some time accustomed to the low barren shores and shallow harbours of the Pampa and Patagonian coasts, our position almost under this black precipice was singularly striking. The decided contrast of abrupt, high, and woody mountains, rising from deep water, had been much remarked in Good Success Bay; but here it was so great that I could hardly persuade myself that the ship was in security--sufficiently far from the cliff.[11]

25th. Notwithstanding violent squalls, and cold damp weather, we kept our Christmas merrily; certainly, not the less so, in consequence of feeling that we were in a secure position, instead of being exposed to the effects of a high sea and heavy gale.

At sunset, there was a reddish appearance all over the sky--clouds shot over the summits of the mountains in ragged detached masses--and there was a lurid haze around, which showed a coming storm as surely as a fall of the barometer. The gale increased, and at midnight such furious squalls came down from the heights, that the water was swept up, and clouds of foam were driven along the sea. Although we were close to a weather shore, with our top-gallant masts down and yards braced sharp up, we hardly thought ourselves in security with three anchors down and plenty of chain cable out.[12]

Dec. 31. Tired and impatient at the delay caused by bad weather, we put to sea again the first day there was a hope of not being driven eastward; and during a fortnight we tried hard to work our way towards Christmas Sound. My purpose was to land York Minster and Fuegia Basket among their own people, near March Harbour, and return eastward through the Beagle Channel, landing Jemmy Button also with his tribe, the Tekeenica. Part of Whale-boat Sound and the western arms of the Beagle Channel were to be surveyed: and by this scheme I proposed to combine both objects.

Jan. 2d. We were rather too near the Diego Ramirez Islands, during a fresh gale of wind, with much sea; but by carrying a heavy press of sail, our good little ship weathered them cleverly, going from seven and a half to eight knots an hour, under close-reefed topsails and double-reefed courses--the top-gallant-masts being on deck.

On the 5th, the same islands were again under our lee--a sufficient evidence that we did not make westing. In fact, no sooner did we get a few reefs out, than we began taking them in again; and although every change of wind was turned to account, as far as possible, but little ground was gained.

On the 11th we saw that wild-looking height, called York Minster, ‘looming’ among driving clouds, and I flattered myself we should reach an anchorage; but after tearing through heavy seas, under all the sail we could carry, darkness and a succession of violent squalls, accompanied by hail and rain, obliged me to stand to seaward, after being within a mile of our port. All the next day we were lying-to in a heavy gale--wearing occasionally.

At three in the morning of the 13th, the vessel lurched so deeply, and the main-mast bent and quivered so much, that I reluctantly took in the main-topsail (small as it was when close-reefed), leaving set only the storm-trysails (close-reefed) and fore-staysail.[13] At ten, there was so continued and heavy a rush of wind, that even the diminutive trysails oppressed the vessel too much, and they were still farther reduced. Soon after one, the sea had risen to a great height, and I was anxiously watching the successive waves, when three huge rollers approached, whose size and steepness at once told me that our sea-boat, good as she was, would be sorely tried. Having steerage way, the vessel met and rose over the first unharmed, but, of course, her way was checked; the second deadened her way completely, throwing her off the wind; and the third great sea, taking her right a-beam, turned her so far over, that all the lee bulwark, from the cat-head to the stern davit, was two or three feet under water.

For a moment, our position was critical; but, like a cask, she rolled back again, though with some feet of water over the whole deck. Had another sea then struck her, the little ship might have been numbered among the many of her class which have disappeared: but the crisis was past--she shook the sea off her through the ports, and was none the worse--excepting the loss of a lee-quarter boat, which, although carried three feet higher than in the former voyage (1826-1830), was dipped under water, and torn away.[14]

From that time the wind abated, and the sea became less high.[15] The main-topsail was again set, though with difficulty, and at four o’clock the fore-topsail and double-reefed foresail were helping us towards False Cape Horn, my intention being to anchor in Nassau Bay. When the quarter-boat was torn away, we were between the Ildefonsos and Diego Ramirez: the wind varying from W.S.W. to S.W.

This gale was severely felt on all parts of the coast, south of 48°, as I afterwards ascertained from sealing vessels: and at the Falkland Islands, a French whaler, called Le Magellan, was driven from her anchors and totally wrecked in that land-locked and excellent port, Berkeley Sound.

Some persons are disposed to form a very premature opinion of the wind or weather to be met with in particular regions, judging only from what they may themselves have experienced. Happily, extreme cases are not often met with; but one cannot help regretting the haste with which some men (who have sailed round Cape Horn with royals set) incline to cavil at and doubt the description of Anson and other navigators, who were not only far less fortunate as to weather, but had to deal with crazy ships, inefficient crews, and unknown shores; besides hunger, thirst, and disease.

Before midnight we anchored under shelter of the land near False Cape Horn; and next morning (14th) crossed Nassau Bay in search of a convenient harbour near the Beagle Channel. Having found so much difficulty in getting to the westward by the open sea, I decided to employ boats in the interior passages, and leave the Beagle at a secure anchorage.

Furious squalls prevented our effecting this purpose; and we anchored for the night in Windhond Bay.[16] The following day (15th) we again tried to get to the head or north-west corner of Nassau Bay, but ineffectually, for repeated squalls opposed us, and at last obliged me to bear up for Goree Road; one of the most spacious, accessible, and safe anchorages in these regions. Here, to my surprise, York Minster told me that he would rather live with Jemmy Button in the Tekeenica country than go to his own people. This was a complete change in his ideas, and I was very glad of it; because it might be far better that the three, York, Jemmy, and Fuegia, should settle together. I little thought how deep a scheme master York had in contemplation.

18th. Having moored the Beagle in security, and made arrangements for the occupation of those who were to remain on board, I set out with four boats (yawl and three whale-boats), carrying Matthews and the Fuegians, with all the stock of useful things which had been given to them in England.[17] A temporary deck having been put upon the yawl, she carried a large cargo, and was towed by the other boats when the wind was adverse. Matthews showed no sign of hesitation or reluctance; on the contrary, he was eager to begin the trial to which he had been so long looking forward. Messrs. Darwin, Bynoe, Hamond, Stewart, and Johnson, with twenty-four seamen and marines, completed the party.

My intention was to go round the north-east part of Navarin Island, along the eastern arm of the Beagle Channel, through Murray Narrow, to the spot which Jemmy called his country: there establish the Fuegians, with Matthews:--leave them for a time, while I continued my route westward to explore the western arms of the channel, and part of Whale-boat Sound: and at my return thence decide whether Matthews should be left among the natives for a longer period, or return with me to the Beagle.

But before I briefly relate this attempt to form a temporary settlement among the Fuegians, it may be advisable to give a general sketch of the aborigines who thinly people the southernmost regions of South America: including not only the various tribes of Fuegians (as far as we know them), but the Patagonians, and those natives of Western Patagonia who are supposed to be a remnant of the tribe called Chonos.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Or rather red-ochre, coal-tar, and white-wash.

[2] See orders to Lieut. Wickham, in the Appendix.

[3] Ortiz, Chico, and Ensenada.

[4] Massey’s is preferable.

[5] Above Monte Video, on the north shore.

[6] See Appendix.

[7] Lat. 46° S. Long. 63° W.

[8] On this subject there are a few more remarks, under the head--Currents of the ocean,--in the last chapter but one.

[9] So named in remembrance of Sir Joseph Banks’s excursion.

[10] In the first volume doubts are expressed (in a note to page 199) respecting the place named by D’Arquistade, St. Francis Bay; or rather, I said, that “I do not think the bay adjacent to Cape Horn is that which was named by D’Arquistade, ‘St. Francis,’ and, if my supposition is correct, Port Maxwell is not the place which was called ‘St. Bernard’s Cove.’”

If the modern chart be compared with that issued by the Admiralty a few years ago, published by Faden in 1818, it will be seen that the particular plan of St. Francis Bay, given in Faden’s chart, agrees much better with the west side of Nassau Bay than with any other place; and that the “remarkable island, like a castle,” noticed in the plan, is evidently “Packsaddle Island,” of the modern chart. The rough sketch of land towards the north and east, as far as Cape Horn, on that plan, I take to be the random outline of land seen at a distance by the person who drew the plan, and the name “Cape Horn,” affixed to the southernmost land then in sight; which must have been Cape Spencer. But it is now too late to remedy the mistake, which is indeed of no consequence.

[11] As the shores of Tierra del Fuego are so much spoken of in other places, I say no more of them here.

[12] During such sudden, and at times tremendous squalls as these, it is absolutely necessary to have a long scope of cable out, although the vessel may be in smooth water, in order that the first fury of the blast may be over before the cable is strained tight; for otherwise, the chain or anchor might snap. When the violence of the squall is past, the weight of a chain cable sinking down, draws the ship a-head, so far as to admit of her recoiling again at the next williwaw; thus, a kind of elasticity may be given to a chain, in some degree equivalent to that always possessed by a hemp cable.

[13] I have always succeeded in carrying a close-reefed main-topsail (five reefs) in the Beagle, excepting on this and two other occasions; but were I again under similar circumstances, I think I should try to carry it--even then--for some time longer.

[14] It was well that all our hatchways were thoroughly secured, and that nothing heavy could break adrift. But little water found its way to the lower deck, though Mr. Darwin’s collections, in the poop and forecastle cabins on deck, were much injured. Next to keeping a sharp look-out upon the sky, the water, and the barometer, we were always anxious to batten down our hatches in time--especially at night, during a gale, or in very squally weather.

[15] The roller which hove us almost on our beam ends, was the highest and most hollow that I have seen, excepting one in the Bay of Biscay, and one in the Southern Atlantic; yet so easy was our little vessel that nothing was injured besides the boat, the netting (washed away), and one chronometer.

[16] So named by the Dutch in 1624, after one of their ships, the Windhond.

[17] By far the larger part of their property, including Matthews’s outfit, was sent by Mr. Coates, Secretary of the Church Missionary Society.