Adventures in Patagonia

Adventures

In

~Patagonia~

A

Missionary’s Exploring Trip

By The

Rev. Titus Coan

With An Introduction By

Rev. Henry M. Field, D.D.

New York

~Dodd, Mead & Company~

+Publishers.+

+Copyright, 1880, by+ DODD, MEAD & COMPANY

Contents

PAGE Introduction. i

Preface. 7

Chapter I.

The Preparation. 9

Chapter II.

The Decision. 21

Chapter III.

The Embarkation. 30

Chapter IV.

Arrival at our Landing Place. 46

Chapter V.

Visiting the Indian Camp. 65

Chapter VI.

A Squall. 90

Chapter VII.

Chief Congo and his Clan. 124

Chapter VIII.

Arrival of the “Queen.” 148

Chapter IX.

Sail ho! 160

Chapter X.

Camp Life. 190

Chapter XI.

Farewell to Patagonia. 210

Chapter XII.

Life at the Falkland Islands. 221

Chapter XIII.

Homeward Bound. 254

Chapter XIV.

Mr. Darwin’s Explorations. 269

Chapter XV.

The Captive in Patagonia. 287

Chapter XVI.

The Story of Capt. Gardiner, R.N. 291

Chapter XVII.

Later Efforts for Patagonia. 311

List of Writings Relating to Patagonia. 320

Introduction.

The writer of the following narrative is one of the most venerable of living missionaries, and a noble type of the “high caste” to which he belongs. With the strong religious conviction which comes from Puritan birth and training, with a faith that never doubts, and a zeal that inspires courage and devotion, he unites a practical turn of mind, a natural sagacity, and a quickness of adaptation to all vicissitudes of experience which may come to him in strange lands and among strange peoples--qualities which, combined, have made the American missionary a marked character in many parts of the world, and given him great success.

The Rev. Titus Coan is a native of New England, born in Killingworth, Conn., where his life began with the century, February 1st, 1801. He was the son of a farmer, and had no advantages but such as were afforded by the common schools. He developed a stalwart and rugged frame, and became noted for his physical strength. In manly sports he was an athlete, performing with ease the feat of lifting a barrel of flour to his shoulders. He joined a military company, in which his strength and courage gave him precedence, and he soon rose to be a captain. This military training was not lost upon him, and the endurance thus developed did him good service in the privations, hardships, and exposures of his after-life.

One could not live in Connecticut in those days without having his religious impressions and experiences. The famous evangelist, Asahel Nettleton, a native of Killingworth, was then setting New England aflame by his fervid eloquence. Wherever he went he was followed by crowds, to whom he preached with an earnestness and solemnity that filled them with awe. Young Coan was a cousin of Nettleton, and could not but be moved by the tide of religious feeling that swept over the country, though it was not till he had grown to manhood that he took the decided stand implied in making a “profession” of his faith. When religion takes hold of a strong character, it takes the stamp of the man, and stands out pronounced and positive. One who had been the athlete of his native town, foremost among his comrades, was not likely to be afraid of letting them see the new stand that he had taken. Prompt and bold in everything he did, no sooner had he come out on the Lord’s side, than he “wheeled into line” with the precision of a soldier, and taking Christ for his Captain, marched in the van under his great Leader.

Hardly had he taken this stand, before his thoughts turned to the profession of the ministry. He was then living in Western New York, near Rochester, and the nearness of Auburn Seminary offered him a place for theological study. Preparing himself with such opportunities as he had (without the delay of going through college), he entered the Seminary in the fall of 1831. Looking forward to his future career, he had already decided to devote himself to the work of foreign missions, when the American Board (being assured by a sea captain lately returned from South America that a hopeful field might be found among the tribes of Patagonia) was looking around for a couple of intrepid soldiers of the Cross, to undertake an exploring expedition, and fixed upon young Coan, who had at once the physical strength and the fervent spirit. Reports were conflicting about the country and its people, and the expedition promised to be one of a good deal of adventure, if not of personal danger. It might be too much to say that the adventure and the danger were an attraction to the late captain of the militia but they certainly did not intimidate him. After due deliberation, taking counsel with his teachers, and with one whose voice might be more potent still, since she was to share his life and his fortunes in any quarter of the globe, he accepted the appointment, and with a fellow-student set out for the extreme point of the continent. The following pages contain the narrative of his adventures in Patagonia, which were certainly full enough of excitement and of danger to satisfy the most ardent spirit. A few months’ experience of the wild country and its untamable inhabitants showed him that the field was not so promising as he had been told, and he returned to the United States for further orders. He then married, and accompanied by his bride, set sail for the Hawaiian Islands, which through the voyages of whaling ships had become somewhat known to the American public. There was then no overland route, nor short cut across the Isthmus of Panama. They took the long course around Cape Horn, and were just six months on the voyage, when they came in sight of the beautiful islands which were to be their home for the rest of their days.

Then began that long course of service which has few parallels in the annals of missionary life--few in the display of fidelity and devotion, “enduring hardship as a good soldier,” and fewer still in its marvellous successes. Cast almost like a shipwrecked voyager on a distant shore, among a strange people, with whom at first he could only communicate through signs or by an interpreter, he set himself at once to master the language, and so quickly did he catch the words and inflections, that in three months he preached his first sermon to the natives in their own tongue. In his intercourse with this simple people, of whom he sought to gain the affection and confidence, he showed a tact which was his birthright as a son of New England. He had a great deal of mother wit and natural shrewdness and pleasant humor, which gave a charm to his conversation even with these untutored children of nature, while his overflowing kindness soon opened to him the door of every native’s hut and heart. Desiring only to do them good, he tried to aid them in every way. He was a little of a doctor, knowing the remedies for the more common diseases, and, having a chest of medicines, prescribed for the poor people who were suffering. Often the natives stood in great numbers on the porch of his dwelling, with dusky arms outstretched, waiting for vaccination, or for his lancet to open a vein, that by bleeding they might be relieved of a burning fever. He even performed graver surgical operations. Those who had domestics troubles of any kind--wives who had shiftless husbands, or husbands who had termagant wives--alike sought the counsel of Father Coan, who was the general peacemaker. Thus he seemed to unite in himself the duties of preacher, pastor, and magistrate, and to be at once the teacher, guide, and friend of the whole population.

Nor were his labors confined to the spot where he lived. He made missionary tours to other parts of the island, now sailing in a canoe along the coast, and landing at the different places where he had made appointments to preach, and now climbing the slopes, which ascend in a series of ridges towards the mountains which make the centre of the island. In these journeys he encountered every sort of hardship. The tropical rains often came down in floods, converting in a few hours a rocky gorge into a foaming torrent, which no boat could cross and no swimmer could stem. But here his ready contrivance did not desert him. Calling to the natives on the other bank to throw him a rope, such as they make of the bark of the hibiscus, he seized it with his strong hands, and tying it around his body, was dragged across.

Thus the fame of this man of God spread abroad, and wherever he went the people “thronged him.” When he could not go to them they came to him. From all parts of the island they flocked to Hilo. “Whole villages gathered from many miles away, and made their homes near the mission house. Within the radius of a mile the little cabins clustered thick as they could stand. Hilo, the village of ten hundred, saw its population suddenly swelled to ten thousand, and here was held, literally, a camp meeting of two years. At any hour of the day or night a tap of the bell would bring together a congregation of from three to six thousand. Meetings for prayer and preaching were held daily.”

Congregations so vast and so long continued have not often been assembled since Apostolic times, and the Spirit came down upon them as on the day of Pentecost. The preacher himself was thrilled by the scene, and catching an inspiration from the thousands of eager eyes and listening ears, felt lifted up with a strange power. “There was a fire in his bones.” Were the congregation ever so large and tumultuous, it hushed at the sound of his voice. He said: “I would rise before the restless, noisy crowd and begin. It wasn’t long before I felt that I had got hold of them. There seemed to be a chord of electricity binding them to me. I knew that I had them, that they would not go away. The Spirit would hush them by the truth till they would sob and cry ‘What shall we do?’ and the noise of the weeping would be so great that I could not go on.”

As the fruit of these remarkable scenes a large part of the population abandoned heathenism, and professed to be converted to the Christian faith, insomuch, that when they came to be baptized, the good man was obliged to perform the sacred rite for them _en masse_. Seizing a brush like an _aspersarium_, and passing to and fro among the crowded rows of the candidates, he sprinkled them by scores and hundreds, pronouncing over them the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Strange as it may seem to us, the service did not thereby lose any of its solemnity, but was rather more impressive from being done in this grand, majestic way, whereas on a smaller scale it might have lost by the endless repetition. By these immense additions the church at Hilo grew till it numbered over five thousand members, making the largest Protestant church in the world.

Mr. Coan and his wife remained on the islands thirty-five years before revisiting their native country. When they came back in 1870, they found another world than that which they had left. All things had become new. They had made their outward voyage in a small sailing vessel. They returned in a steamship. When they landed in San Francisco they had scarcely seen a railroad. Now they were whirled in fire-drawn cars up the mountains and over the plains, across the whole breadth of the continent. The fame of the missionary had gone before him, and wherever he came among the churches he was welcomed with an enthusiasm such as had not been manifested since the heroic Judson came back from Burmah, years before. When they visited New York they were guests in the house of the writer, where we were charmed alike by the intelligence, sprightliness, and animation of the veteran missionary, and the sweetness of her who had been his faithful companion during his long exile. It was then that, as we sat in the library, he talked freely, though very simply and modestly, of all the way in which God had led him. Among other things he related his early experiences in Patagonia, and it was perhaps in response to our suggestion and that of others that he prepared the narrative which follows.

They returned the following year, and when they reached the Islands were received by the natives with great demonstrations. Here was to be their home for the rest of their days. Two years after the wife and mother died, while the father still lives in his eightieth year--a hale and hearty old man, happy in the recollection of the past, happy in the good which he has done to the people to whom he has given his life, and happy in their tender and affectionate veneration. He cannot be expected to continue long. In a few more years he will be laid beside her whom he so much loved. Though they sleep far from their native land, it is not unmeet that they should be laid to rest in the island for which they had done so much; on those beautiful shores where the waters of the Pacific come rippling and murmuring up the beach. Nor will their memory depart. As long as the generation that knew them shall remain, the simple natives will often visit their graves, and recall their virtues with tears of love and gratitude.

H. M. F.

+New York+, March, 1880.

Preface.

The following notes of a visit to Patagonia and the Falkland Islands are offered to the public in response to the call of many friends who desire to see the simple narrative in print.

These sketches of daily life at sea and among the wild savages of Patagonia were written for friends, and to assist personal recollections, and are now offered with diffidence simply as a plain record of facts and experiences.

The Supplement is added because the published narratives of visitors and missionary toilers among the Patagonian and Fuegian tribes have furnished new facts concerning those dark realms since the earlier part of the book was written. I have therefore taken the liberty to quote from the voyages of Admiral Fitzroy, Prof. Charles Darwin, Mr. Bourne, and from “The Story of Allen Gardiner,” to all of which I am indebted for important information, as I am also to very many shipmasters, officers, and private friends, whose sympathy, unaffected courtesy, and generous aid were so liberally extended to my companion and to myself during that memorable year of our lives.

May Heaven’s blessings rest upon them all in this life and throughout the future; and may the day be hastened when from every mountain-top and from the shining hills of heaven no “dark places shall be seen on earth” and no “habitations of cruelty”!

T. C.

+Hilo, Hawaii+, 1879.

[Illustration: Labeled Map of Patagonia, including the Falkland Islands]

Mission To Patagonia.

Chapter I.

Preparation To Send A Missionary Exploring Expedition To Patagonia.

While in the Theological Seminary at Auburn, N. Y., the following letter came to me one day in June, 1833:

“+Missionary Rooms, Boston+, June 19, 1833.

“+Mr. Titus Coan+,

“_Theological Seminary, Auburn_.

“+My dear Sir+: An exploring mission has been resolved upon by the Committee, Providence permitting, on the western coast of Patagonia. The vessel in which the mission must go, if it goes during the present year, is expected to sail on the last of July, and two missionaries can have a free passage. Two men ought by all means to go, and not one alone. One--Mr. Arms, of the Theological Seminary of Andover--has been engaged for the enterprise, and another is wanted. It occurred to us that perhaps you were the man. We received your testimonials, and made inquiries, and the result is that the question has been brought before the Committee, and they have unanimously appointed you a missionary of the Board, with special reference to this important expedition. Mr. Arms, the bearer of this letter, will explain to you the nature of the mission.

“The plan is, in brief, that two men, willing to endure hardship, be landed on the coast, at a place which is resorted to by sealing vessels, and spend a suitable time, probably a year or more, in travelling among the tribes of that coast; that they shall ascertain what can be done for them--where a mission had better be located, what should be the nature of the mission, etc.--and at the same time make arrangements for a mission, and then come home and report to the Committee. As this subject comes before you unawares, and you have but little time to reflect upon it, we do not ask you to decide now whether you will ultimately be a member of the Patagonian mission.

“The Committee will cheerfully leave this question to be determined at a future time, in view of Providential indications. The question now before you is, whether you will accompany Mr. Arms to the Patagonian coast and spend a couple of years, if necessary, among the Indian tribes of that coast? Of course you will both have to go unmarried. Mr. Arms leaves an intended wife behind him, and we understand that your circumstances are similar to his. The expedition now proposed to you is one full of privations; but it opens a prospect of bringing the Gospel to the minds and hearts of the poor degraded natives of Patagonia.

“Should you consent to go, you will come on to Boston by the 15th or 20th of July with all the necessary credentials for ordination, unless the Presbytery with which you are connected prefer to ordain you themselves, and can do it in season for you to be here at the time mentioned.

“I beg you to take this important subject into immediate and prayerful consideration. Let me hear from you as soon as possible. I earnestly hope you will go. If you do not, I see not how the mission can go during the present year.

“On your arrival in Boston we will confer with you fully on the subject. The Lord be with you, my dear brother.

“Most truly yours,

“+R. Anderson+,

“_Sec. A. B. C. F. M._”

In connection with the foregoing earnest letter, Secretary Anderson sent me copies of a correspondence with Captain Benjamin Morrell, then in the city of New York. Captain Morrell had recently published a very attractive narrative of a cruise along the eastern coast of Patagonia, also through the Magellan Strait and up the Pacific coast as far as the island of Chiloe. In this journal he had given a glowing description of the harbors, the forests, the climate, soil, clover-meadows, and the numerous and peaceful inhabitants of the western coast of Patagonia. He had also taken occasion to hint that this coast would be a favorable field for missionary enterprise.

On reading this fascinating narrative, the Secretary opened a correspondence with Captain Morrell in order to elicit more definitely the important facts which would warrant sending an expedition with the view of establishing a mission on that coast.

The following is a copy of two letters of Captain Morrell to Secretary Anderson in answer to letters of inquiry from the Secretary.

“+New York+, Jan. 24, 1833.

“+R. Anderson+, Esq.

“+Dear Sir+: Your favor of the 17th inst. is now before me, and it is with no ordinary degree of pleasure that I hasten to answer it.

“The interest you have taken in the temporal and eternal welfare of the now wretched and degraded natives of an unexplored region on the western coast of South America, between the Strait of Magellan and the Archipelago of Chiloe, has been highly gratifying to my feelings; and not the less so, I assure you, from your having derived the idea from the humble narrative I have just laid before the public. The harmless and inoffensive race of beings here alluded to are the migratory inhabitants of a country which is blessed with the most temperate climate, the richest soil, and the finest harbors on the face of the globe. It is true that at present these natives are more ignorant and debased than any other I have ever visited; but it is equally true that they are entirely free from many of the sensualities of the more enlightened, and are characterized by a mildness of disposition and a child-like simplicity of manners which in my humble opinion renders them fit subjects for missionary labor. They are ignorant of the simplest rudiments of agriculture, never dreaming that the luxuriant soil of their beautiful country would grant new favors to their slightest solicitation. Should heaven so far sanction the benevolent feelings which originated this correspondence as to enable your Society to establish a Christian mission among these children of nature, I have no hesitation in saying that a very few years would change their idle habits and wretched condition to those of comparative usefulness and happiness; while such a result would richly and amply reward me for all the time, labor, and personal hazards I have encountered in collecting the information I have published respecting them.

“In answering the series of questions you have done me the honor to propose, I shall beg leave to take them up in my own homely way and dispatch them in numerical order.

“The peninsula of Très Montes, in my opinion, is not the most eligible location on this coast for the establishment of a Protestant mission, on account of its proximity to the Catholic missions further north.

“For reasons which will presently appear, I would in preference designate the Guanaco Islands, or that section of the continent near which they lie, say lat. 47° south.

“The locating a similar establishment in any part of Magellan’s Strait ought to depend on the success or failure of the project under consideration.

“I think that the Spanish States of South America would rather protect than seek to disturb a mission at the Guanaco Islands, because neither they nor the mother-country have ever conquered or asserted any claim to territories south of Chiloe.

“The natives I believe would treat the missionaries with the greatest kindness and respect.

“The Guanaco Islands, you are aware, are situated a short distance from the mainland, the northern island being in lat. 47° 31′ S., lon. 75° 4′ W. The most of these islands are of considerable extent, with spacious harbors between them. Their surface is low and level, partly covered with heavy timber, and on many of them there are beautiful plains of sufficient extent to raise produce the first season for several thousand natives; nothing more being required than to run a plough through a rich, mellow soil and cover the seed with the furrows. These plains are now covered with fine long grass, heavy clover, and extensive patches of celery, surrounded by lofty forests of various kinds of excellent ship timber.

“The waters abound with a great variety of the finest scale-fish, which may be taken in any quantities either with a seine or hook and line. Numerous kinds of shell-fish are found on the shores, as well as sea-otters and seals.

“The forests are teeming with a great variety of beautiful birds, and the mainland abounds in lions, guanacos, deer, hare, foxes, otter and many other valuable animals. Minerals, drugs, etc., are doubtless to be found in the interior.

“A few black cattle, sheep, goats, hogs, and poultry, turned out on those islands that were not to be immediately devoted to tillage, would increase and multiply and soon replenish them.

“The natives that inhabit the sea-coast are all travelling tribes, subsisting entirely on fish and such wild animals as they can procure, having no substitute for bread.

“Yours truly,

“+Benj. Morrell+.”

“+New York+, Feb. 25, 1833.

“+R. Anderson+, Esq.

“+Dear Sir+: Yours of the 21st inst. came duly to hand and is now before me.

“In reply to your first question, I can state from my own personal and frequent experience that the climate south of the equator in any given degree of latitude between 30° and 55° is neither so cold in winter nor so warm in summer as in the same degrees of N. lat. In lat. 47° there is seldom any snow in the valleys. The storms are not more frequent nor more severe than in New England.

“The number of natives between lat. 47° and 50° I take to be about 20,000. They sojourn in one place till they have exhausted the shell-fish, and then remove to another. They have no tame animals except dogs. Interpreters can be obtained at Chiloe who understand their language and will translate it into Spanish.

“The natives are honest and will respect private property. The coast can be traversed with safety in canoes; but to penetrate into the interior horses will be necessary, which must be taken from the United States.

“In closing this hasty communication I beg leave to express the satisfaction I feel in your having taken this interesting subject into consideration, and trust that your exertions in behalf of the benighted heathen will meet a due reward. Under such a hope, I subscribe myself,

“Yours truly,

“+Benj. Morrell+.”

It will be seen that these letters of Captain Morrell embrace answers to many specific questions addressed to him by the Secretary of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions.

In order to increase information on the subject which now engaged the earnest attention of the Prudential Committee of the Board, the Secretary addressed a letter of inquiry to Silas E. Burrows, Esq., of New York City, as Mr. Burrows was the owner of several vessels engaged in sealing along the coasts of Patagonia and among the islands of Tierra del Fuego, and as Captain Morrell had been engaged in his service. Mr. Burrows had also been on the Pacific coast as far as Chili, and it was hoped that he might know something of the country and tribes described by Captain Morrell. This letter Mr. Burrows answered promptly, and with characteristic enthusiasm; and although he was unable to add any information to that of his Captain, yet he fully endorsed his high character and assured the Secretary that the Missionary Board might place implicit confidence in his statements.

Mr. Burrows furthermore stated that he was then fitting out a sealing schooner, the Mary Jane, to sail from New York City in July, and that he would be most happy to give a free passage in said schooner to two young gentlemen who might desire to explore on the western coast of Patagonia. He also stated that he would instruct the master of the Mary Jane, Captain William Clift, to look well to the missionaries, to land them at any points on the coast where they desired to explore, and to return them to the United States at the end of the voyage.

Up to this point all things looked favorable, and the voice of Providence seemed to say, “_Go forward_.” With these letters and testimonials Mr. Arms was sent by the Committee from Boston to Auburn, to converse with me, and to urge, if necessary, my acceptance of the appointment as an exploring missionary to Patagonia.

I had just returned from Rochester, where I had supplied the pulpit of one of the pastors during vacation. About nine o’clock in the morning these communications were put into my hands for consideration. I was then entering on my last term in the Theological Seminary. At its close I was engaged to marry Miss Fidelia Church, and I hoped to go with her as a missionary to some foreign land. We had been betrothed for years, and this call, if accepted, would throw a cloud over the prospects of our union for a long time at least, perhaps forever.

But the question must be met, and met _immediately_. It was now late in June, and the vessel bound to Patagonia was to sail before the close of July; and if I failed, the expedition must fail for that year at least, as it was deemed impossible to find another man to take the place in due season.

Chapter II.

~The Decision.~

I called on Dr. Richards, President of the Seminary, put the papers into his hands, and requested him to confer with Drs. Perrine and Mills, the other members of the Faculty, and give me advice.

The Professors met by call, and soon the venerable Dr. Richards, with brimming eyes, reported that, as the voice of God seemed to call me to this service, they could not object to my going; that, while they did not feel at liberty to give me positive advice, they approved of the proposed Patagonian mission, and that, should I decide to go, their prayers should go with me, and that I should have an honorable release from the further duties of the Seminary.

Thus another door was opened and another voice seemed to say, “_Go_.”

News of this call spread quickly through the Seminary, and many of the students rushed to my room to inquire. Some with tears entreated me not to go, with language like this: “The Patagonians are ferocious cannibals; they will kill and eat you. You have no right to throw away your life, as you are now just prepared to labor in the vineyard.”

Others said, “_Go, brother_; the Lord will go with you, and nothing shall harm you; for Jesus has said, ‘Lo, I am with you alway.’” As I was then busy in preparing to leave Auburn, the brethren were requested to come to my room at 5 +P.M.+, when I would be ready and happy to see all who would do me the favor to call. During that hour the room was crowded, conversation was free, prayer was offered, and tearful farewells and benedictions uttered.

At nine o’clock of the evening of the day on which the Boston letters came to hand the stage for Rochester was before the Seminary door, and I took my seat for the night. Early the next morning I was in Rochester, where I had left my espoused but a few days before.

She was at breakfast when I entered her house. After salutations I took breakfast with the family; then came morning prayers, during all which time nothing had been said as to why I had returned so soon to Rochester. All was mystery to Miss Church and her friends.

After prayers we retired to a separate room, and I, without a word of explanation, put Dr. Anderson’s letter into her hands. As she read, her emotion deepened, her tears flowed. What a change of situation! What an uprooting of fondly and long cherished hopes! For seven years we had waited, and now only three or four months remained before our nuptials were to be celebrated, and we were to go forth into some foreign field, to toil, to suffer, and to rejoice together in the vineyard of our Master. For a minute she was dumb. The struggle was intense. Soon, however, faith gained the victory. That full consecration which, long before, she had made to her Master and Lord assumed its power; her soul rose from the stern conflict of emotion--of hope deferred, perhaps slain. She took my hand and said, “_My dear, you must go_.”

This settled the question. There was no looking back. Another door was opened, and again the voice seemed to say, “_Go forward_.”

Henceforth it was preparation in earnest. I spent a few days in visiting friends in Western New York with Miss Church; then came a tender farewell, she returning to Rochester, while I hastened on to Boston. There I met Mr. Arms, my companion in the enterprise; and on Sunday evening, July 28th, 1833, we were ordained in Park Street Church. On the 29th we received our instructions for the Patagonian expedition from the Prudential Committee of the A. B. C. F. M., in the house of the venerable chairman, the Hon. S. Hubbard.

All things being now ready, we took passage for New York to embark for Patagonia.

In order to assist us in any further necessary preparations, Mr. Henry Hill, Treasurer of the Missionary Board, accompanied us to New York. He also furnished us with ample letters of credit on banking houses in Valparaiso and London, and the Secretary of the Board gave us letters of introduction to the commodore commanding the U. S. squadron on the Pacific station.

This was precautionary, in case we should find it necessary to reach Valparaiso in order to obtain passage to the United States, and perhaps _via_ England or France.

On our arrival in New York we were met by the Rev. David Green, one of the secretaries of the American Board, who had just returned from a visit to the Cherokee Mission; also by the Hon. Pelatiah Perit, a corporate member of the Board; by Mr. Silas E. Burrows, owner of the Mary Jane and patron of the Patagonian mission; by Captain William Clift, of Mystic, Connecticut, the Master of the Mary Jane; and by many others of the friends and patrons of Christian missions.

And now came a shock of disappointment. Captain Clift assured us that the officers of the Board had been misled by the recently published book of Captain Morrell. He denied the statements as to the fine climate, the beautiful lands, the luxuriant meadows of clover, the considerable number of the inhabitants, their quiet habits and their amiable disposition.

In confirmation of his denial he stated that he had sailed up and down the whole western coast of Patagonia several times; had seen the bays, channels, islands, the mainland, and the natives; that he had sealed from the western entrance of Magellan’s Strait to the island of Chiloe, and that the description of that coast by Captain Morrell was far from being correct. Captain Clift described the coast as broken, mountainous, wild, and the climate as often stormy. The ravines, headlands, cliffs, spurs, and precipitous sea-walls, he said, rendered travelling by land along the shore impossible, and by sea in a boat very difficult and dangerous.

“As for the inhabitants,” said Captain Clift, “they amount to only a few scores, and these are the most wretched and squalid creatures I have ever seen in human form: small in size, nearly naked, having only the protection of a piece of seal-skin hung over the windward shoulder, and turning this from side to side as their canoes tacked or the wind changed. They live most of the time in canoes, paddling from rock to rock, and subsisting on shell-fish, seals, and dead whales which sometimes drift on shore.” He added that there were no villages, or settlements of Indian tribes, along that whole coast; that the natives had no idea of agriculture, and that the land was unfit for tillage; in short, that it was the most dreary and inhospitable coast imaginable.

These statements were corroborated by the testimony of a number of masters, officers, and sailors who had been up and down that coast on sealing expeditions; and the testimony of Captain King, of the British navy, who once surveyed that coast, was substantially the same.

Furthermore, Captain Clift said that on the present voyage he should not visit that coast at all; that he would enter the Strait of Magellan, and seal among the lagoons, inlets, channels, rocks, and numerous islets of Tierra del Fuego; that to take the missionaries to the west coast of Patagonia would change the whole plan of his voyage, and probably make it an entire failure; and that to land us where we were instructed to go, to look after us along that coast, and to pledge himself to take us off and return us to the United States when our explorations were ended, was out of the question. He also said that to land and leave us there, without care or means of escape, would be but to abandon us to a cruel death.

All this put a new and dark aspect on the Patagonian mission. What could be done? Must we go back to Boston? Must we acknowledge failure, return our instructions, and seek another field of labor?

This seemed like “putting the hand to the plough and looking back.” We looked at one another, but all was blank. We looked to the Lord for guidance, and in half an hour the problem was solved.

Captain Clift said, “Gentlemen, if you wish to go to _Eastern Patagonia_, I will take you into the Strait of Magellan and land you on the north shore, among the Horse Indians, and then pursue my voyage, which may be one or two years. My object is to fill my vessel with seal-skins, whether the time be longer or shorter. Should you be on the shore, where I can reach you, when I return, I will take you home, but more than this I cannot promise.”

Our instructions from the Prudential Committee had cautioned us to avoid, if possible, getting among the Eastern Patagonians, as they were reputed to be fierce savages of gigantic size, and cannibals withal.

Captain Clift said, “They are hard fellows; but vessels passing through the Strait sometimes trade with them unharmed.”

The question was now reduced to this: to go among the Eastern Patagonians, under the conditions above stated, or to abandon the mission for the present at least, if not altogether.

A council of the members and friends of the American Board then present in New York was held. After prayer and due consultation, the following question was put to the young missionaries: “Are you willing, in view of all the circumstances and conditions of the case, to go to Eastern Patagonia?” The reply was, promptly, “Yes.”

The meeting then voted unanimously to approve of our desire to embark on this untried enterprise.

After renewed prayers, in which the missionaries and the cause were tenderly commended to the grace of God, the meeting was dissolved, and the missionaries at once set about finishing their preparations for sailing from New York.

Chapter III.

The Embarkation.

Having completed our outfit, written our last letters to distant correspondents, and bidden adieu to many kind and faithful friends in New York, we went on board the little schooner Mary Jane on the 16th of August, 1833, and sailed for one of “the ends of the earth.”

From my journal of our voyage to Patagonia I make extracts:

_Schooner Mary Jane, off Sandy Hook, Aug. 16, 1833._--By the good hand of God, our voyage to the far South is now commenced. We have bidden smiling and weeping friends farewell. The city, with its turrets and towers and lofty spires, has faded in the distance. Its busy hum is hushed. With favoring breeze and pilot at the helm, our little bark has sped down the channel, and now the great ocean opens on our sight. The sun is setting behind the western hills of my beloved country. The wind has died away. A placid calmness rests on the deep.

Captain Clift calls all hands, exhorts them to observe the rules of morality, and to obey orders _promptly_ and _cheerfully_. He then invited one of us to offer up prayer to Almighty God.

_Aug. 17._ We slept--and awaked. But the city, the islands, the Bay, the headlands, the continent with all its distant hills, have disappeared like a “vision of the night.” All is ocean around and under us, and our little cockle-shell is ploughing a white foaming furrow along the bosom of the deep.

On the 18th we had a heavy gale. Our light shallop danced and leaped and staggered, and plunged like a mermaid into the foaming billows, and like a duck or a swan received the spray and the leaping waves upon her deck. We were in the Gulf-stream, and were severely handled for several days, shipping heavy seas, but coming out well.

_Sept. 7_--lat. 34° 11′ N., lon. 29° 12′ W. We have had both stormy and fair weather; have sighted one ship and one brig, but were not able to speak to them. We have religious services on board when the weather is good, and a part of the crew seem attentive and thoughtful. Some retire to quiet places on deck to read the Bible and religious books and tracts, and to converse. Others are hard and heathenish. A few seem resolved to reform and lead new lives.

Our sympathies are much moved for a young sailor whose name is Charles Palmer, of N. Y. City. He says that he is a member of Dr. Phillips’ church, of N. Y., but that becoming somewhat thoughtless he shipped on board the Mary Jane without the consent of his parents. For this he is now very sorry, as he is often attacked with fearful cramps and convulsions, attended with delirium. Mr. Arms, having studied medicine, administers anti-spasmodics and sedatives; and during these attacks I give up my berth to him, and sleep on the transom. He seems grateful for these cares.

_Sept. 22._ On ascending to the deck this morning we were surprised to find our little vessel among the Cape de Verde Islands, and close under the lee of the island Brava. A noble brig lay at anchor in the bay, floating the “stars and stripes.” Soon a boat came alongside, when we learned that the vessel was the Susan Elizabeth, Captain Davis, of Boston, bound to Rio de Janeiro. This was the first vessel we had spoken, though we had sighted five sails on our way. We glided slowly away from the Cape de Verdes without anchoring or landing, and soon lost sight of land.

_Oct. 6._ Captain Clift and Mr. Burrows, the mate, hunted the heavens and the sea to-day for our latitude, but could find none. They found 20° of longitude. For 50 days we have been striving hard to _consume_ our latitude, and it has just left us, but we shall struggle again to gain more than we have lost. We wish to make 52° from the great Southern Hemisphere. We have glided smoothly over the equator without feeling a jar, and, better still, that slimy old rascal, Neptune, has not boarded us with his razor and slush-pot and brush; nor has Bacchus intruded with bottle and song and revelry. May these sea-monsters sink forever in the deep!

_Oct. 9_--lat. 6° S. For 54 days we have been pursuing the sun as he has been moving south on his blazing car. To-day we have overtaken him, and he looks down upon us from the zenith of his glory, flooding us with his vertical rays. Now we could truly say:

“Your form no darkling shadow throws Across the vessel’s deck.”

We shall now run south of the sun for a long time, and may often long for his nearer visits. How our little planet swings and changes position! The great Northern Hemisphere, with all its golden constellations, seems to be dipping, while the Southern rises and hangs out its shining lamps to guide our pathway over the dark abyss of waters.

The Southern Cross, also, rises higher and higher to remind us of the Sacrifice and of our great errand into the wild and dreary realms of the South.

_Oct. 12_--lat. 14° 15′ S. Our speed is now 200 miles a day. One of the Magellan clouds is in full view, hanging about 10 degrees above the horizon. The appearance of this nebula is like that of the galaxy, and it is, no doubt, formed by the blended rays of unnumbered stars.

Our seasons are now all reversed. We are in the midst of an opening spring, while the blasts of autumn are sweeping over the North. It seems odd to look north for the sun, and to see our tiny shadows fall southward.

_Oct. 15._ Land ho! At daylight our good captain awoke us to see the island of Trinidad, in lat. 20° 28′ S. Before sunrise we also made the islands of Martin Vas, four in number, lying 9 leagues east of Trinidad.

These islets are rough, rocky heaps of volcanic products rising abruptly from the ocean to the height of several hundred feet, sterile and uninhabited except by a few goats and many sea-birds. We did not land, and before noon all _terra firma_ had sunk below the horizon.

_Oct. 23_--lat. 34° 3′ S. We had a rousing gale on the 20th, with drenching rain and boisterous sea. Since then we have had variable weather, but have run rapidly on our course.

Birds of the “south seas” gather thick about us. The lively little stormy-petrel, called by sailors “Mother Cary’s Chickens,” and the Cape pigeons are very numerous and sportive. The soaring mollemoke (_Procellaria glacialis_) and the proud albatross (_Diomedia exulans_) sail gracefully above and around us, often lighting and dancing on the rolling waves. The albatross is very large, often measuring from 12 to 13 feet from tip to tip of his outspread wings.

On the 25th and 26th we were visited by a storm of wind, rain, and thunder more terrible than any that we had experienced. The night was dark, the rain poured in torrents, the tempest howled through the strained rigging, and ever and anon the thunderbolts from the black and swirling clouds came with a crash which seemed to rend the heavens, causing the “poor sailors to stand amazed and quiver,” while the blazing lightning seemed to set the clouds on fire and revealed the angry billows of the ocean rolling in sublime majesty and threatening to swallow up our bark with all on board.

How strikingly we were reminded of the sublime language of the royal psalmist: “The Lord sitteth king upon the floods. The voice of the Lord is upon the waters; the God of glory thundereth; the Lord is upon many waters”!

On the 27th the storm had subsided, and the day was quiet. We saw whales, porpoises, and sea-fowls, great and small, in abundance. On the 28th almost a dead calm attended us, and multitudes of birds gathered around us. By feeding them we drew a large family within a fathom of our vessel. There was something social and domestic in the sight of this brood, and it afforded us no little amusement to see the dexterity with which they dived after pieces of meat thrown to them.

_Oct. 31._ After another gale more severe than any I have hitherto recorded on this voyage, we are able again to use our pens to tell of “the works of the Lord and his wonders in the deep.”

During the night of the 28th, in lat. 40° S., long. 53° W., the wind returned in fresh strength and continued to increase until morning, when it proved to be a terrific pampéro, blowing directly from the great pampas of S. America. Amidst the roar of the wind the stern command of the captain was heard, “All hands ahoy!” and in two minutes all hands were on deck making everything as secure as possible.

All the sails were furled, except the head of the foresail, just enough to make the vessel feel the helm.

Under this small piece of canvas the vessel was put before the wind, which blew from the SW., and made to stand to the NE., which was going directly back over the ground we had passed. Soon the gale increased into a fearful hurricane, and the angry waves assumed a more threatening aspect, continually boarding us from every quarter and threatening to engulf us.

Scudding now became unsafe, as the danger of broaching to, upsetting, and sinking was imminent.

For hours no man on board but the captain dared touch the helm. The chief mate was a man of iron frame, but he shrank from the helm in dismay, and there stood the brave master--an excellent seaman--breasting the roaring tempest and fighting the foaming billows until his strength was nearly exhausted, when, with admirable skill and resolution, he succeeded in “heaving to” the drenched and laboring bark. The day was dark and fearful, the wind increasing every hour. The conflict of the elements exceeded anything we had ever seen. The roar of the winds, the towering of the waves, the reeling and creaking and trembling of the vessel, the giving way of spars and rigging, the breaking of railings and bulwarks, and the hoarse voice of command from the officers, all bespoke a scene of confusion, of awe, and of peril which none can understand but those who have witnessed a tempest at sea. All day long on the 29th the wind seemed to increase in strength and fury, and the waves rolled in sublime grandeur. Every succeeding billow as it approached our little bark looked as if it must go over us, but, coming under the bows and passing away at the stern, it lifted us upon its crest, where for a moment our vessel quivered, as if sensitive to fear, and then plunged down an angle of some 20 degrees into the deep valley--the “trough of the sea”--in which her topmasts could hardly have been seen from the valley beyond the next billow.

So long as these mountain waves were regular there was little danger; it was a sight of grace and beauty to see the majestic wave as it came under the vessel, lifting her up some 20 to 30 feet, holding her for a few seconds on its foaming crest, sprinkling her with a white feathery spray as with snowflakes, and then letting her down its sloping side into the deep valley below. It seemed somewhat like marine _coasting_, and indeed the motion was not unpleasant.

But ever and anon came a fierce, foaming billow, towering high and roaring as if to devour us. This would sometimes “comb over” and break, striking on the stern, on the bow, amidships, on our quarters, or along the whole length of the ship’s sides, sweeping our decks from “stem to stern,” dashing down the companion-way, drenching the cabin, setting furniture afloat in wild confusion, and soaking our berths, our clothing, our books and papers, and seeming, for the time being, to have full control of the ship, the cargo, and the crew. These were fearful breaches, and it often seemed as if all was lost. But it was wonderful to see our little shallop rise like a sea-gull from such a crashing and drenching flood, shake herself from the foam which filled her scuppers and poured in cataracts over her sides, and like a storm-bird adjust herself for another charge of her marine assailant.

During most of the time the sailors were holding on to the standing rigging with desperate grasp. No table was laid, and no one ate except by snatches.

This was a wind-storm from the great Buenos Ayres pampas, or prairies. There was no rain, nor thunder and lightning, and yet the sun was invisible by day and the stars by night, and no observations could be taken to determine our latitude and longitude until the storm was over. The obscuration of the heavenly bodies arose from the immense clouds of spray raised by the tempest, which filled the atmosphere to a great height and fell like a dense Scotch mist upon our decks. So thick was this spray that at times we could not see the bowsprit from the main deck, and a sailor at a few yards’ distance looked more like Hamlet’s ghost than like a man.

But all things in nature are governed by the law of compensation, and so it is with the laws of storms. Strong winds can raise the ocean waves to a certain height, after which they have no power to elevate; but, on the contrary, as the wind increases it can only depress the billows by its great pressure, and by _uncapping_, so to speak, the waves and lifting their crested foam into the atmosphere in the form of spray, in which the sun in his brightness paints rainbows and makes all the prismatic tints quiver and dance in aërial beauty.

But our sympathies were greatly moved for the master, the officers, and the whole crew during this terrific tempest. Everything alow and aloft was thoroughly drenched with the boarding waves or with the thick, cold mist. We had no chance for drying by night or day, and were also unable to cook or to get hot food; so that all of us were shivering and chilled with cold. The sight of the vessel and of all on board was dreary enough; but if the poet be correct,

“The darkest day, live till to-morrow, will have passed away;”

and so this storm ended, and we said with joy: “He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they are quiet.”

Captain Clift labored with amazing energy, thorough nautical skill, and untired patience and care to save our ship and all on board from a grave in the deep; and his officers and crew were prompt and ready to obey orders. The captain and the officers all say that they have never before passed through such an awful tempest.

This last day of October is one of gladness. All are engaged in repairing the damages to the vessel, in drying clothing, and enjoying the warm sunshine.

_Nov. 1._ We are far from our course, having sailed and drifted many miles northwardly during the storm.

Charles Palmer, the sailor heretofore mentioned as afflicted with convulsions, had a severe attack last night, and was brought into the cabin, where we cared for him.

_Nov. 8_--lat. 48° S., lon. 65° 14′ W. At 10 +A.M.+ the cry “Land ho!” rang from all parts of the vessel. The low, sandy shores of Eastern Patagonia near Cape Blanco are in full view about thirty miles to the westward. The day is delightful; the sky unclouded, the air soft and bland, the rays of the sun mild and grateful, all giving indications of the vernal season. But we see no fields smiling under the hand of the husbandman; no gardens and orchards dressed in the blooming beauties of spring; no harbors adorned with the waving flags of commerce; no cities lifting their towers against the sky; no peaceful villages and dainty hamlets sprinkling the extended plains; no glittering church-spires pointing the weary pilgrim to “a better country.” Art and science have never shed their kindly influences over this benighted land; nor has the “Light of Life” yet dawned upon it. Here the fierce savage has roamed from age to age, tearing the flesh and drinking the blood of his prey. Generation after generation has gone down to the shades of death without a beam of light to cheer the dark valley, or a “morning star” to give promise of “an eternal day.”

_Night._--A strong westerly breeze sets us eastward, and we have lost sight of the land.

_Nov. 10._ We have had divine service on board to-day, for the last time probably. Our next Sabbath we expect to spend among the Patagonian savages.

We have enjoyed religious worship on the Lord’s day when it has been fine weather during the voyage, and our little congregation is dear to us. Some of the crew express faith in Christ, and others have appeared sober-minded and impressible under the sound of the Gospel.

_Nov. 11._ At 5 +P.M.+ we made Cape Virgin on the north bank of the entrance to Magellan Strait, bearing due west and distant about eighteen miles.

_Nov. 12._ Arose this morning and found the Mary Jane within the Strait, beating against a strong head-wind. At noon we passed the first “narrows,” but at 5 +P.M.+ we were obliged to anchor on account of a strong head-wind and current. As our vessel dragged fast, the anchor was taken up, when one of the flukes was found broken off, and we were in peril of drifting on shore. Sail was instantly made, and our vessel ran back through the narrows till a new anchorage was found, when another anchor was let go, which held the ship.

Captain Clift reported the broken anchor as a new one purchased in New York. On examination it was found that a flaw in the fluke had been filled with putty and concealed with paint! Such a flaw has its moral.

The land on each side of the Strait is thus far low and gently undulating, with here and there a hill of little height. The beach is white sand. As we sailed along, the savages on either side raised a great smoke in many places. This is a common signal on descrying a vessel approaching their coast.

_Nov. 13._ We lay at anchor all day on account of a fierce westerly wind. As the tide fell, Captain Clift found it necessary to drop off into deeper water. Much difficulty was encountered in finding good holding ground, and we were all apprehensive of being driven out again into the open Atlantic. At length, however, good anchorage was found, and our bark rides safely.

Chapter IV.

Arrival At Our Landing-Place.

_Nov. 14._ On awaking this morning we found the Mary Jane quietly anchored in Gregory’s Bay, some seventy miles from the entrance of the Strait.

Thus our voyage of just ninety days is ended, and the land for which we sailed is before us. We look out upon a beach of white sand, upon sand-cliffs, sand-dunes, the grassy pampas and distant snow-crowned hills; but neither man nor beast nor human habitation is visible: all is drear solitude.

Captain Clift, with true kindness, offered to remain for a day or two to assist us in finding Indians, and to give us a home on board his vessel until we could get quarters among the savages.

Accordingly we landed early in the morning upon a beautiful beach, and, mounting a steep bank some fifty feet high, we found dry grass and a small clump of thorny bushes resembling the barberry, with a yellow blossom. With these we made a smoke as a signal to raise the savages. Not succeeding, we returned before noon to the vessel, and at 1 +P.M.+ we landed again with the Captain, determined to travel back into the country till we should find some human beings. Taking one of the Indian trails, of which we saw many, we pursued our way over hills and vales, often coming upon places where the savages had encamped, and which were thickly strewn with the bones of animals consumed by them--bones chiefly of the guanaco, a variety of the lama.

In one instance we saw two huge vertebræ of a whale’s spine, far inland. The tracks of horses, dogs, and guanacos were visible everywhere.

One of the latter animals we descried feeding alone in a meadow, but on seeing us he went like an antelope over the ground, and was soon out of sight. We saw several large fowls, among which was the thievish rook, the curlew, and the upland goose. Several small birds also flitted around us, cheering us with their sweet warbling.

The hills over which we passed were of a dark sandy soil, very light, free from stones, and covered with grass. The meadows were a rich alluvium covered with very thick grass, which grows in spontaneous profusion.

As the old tore (dry grass) still remained in abundance, we found it easy to raise a great smoke to arouse the savages. But on and on we went with rapid speed, as we were all very anxious to find Indians before night: the Captain because he wished to sail as soon as possible, and we because we felt the importance of meeting the natives before the Mary Jane should leave. We entered a little ravine, at the head of which we found a rill of pure water, where we slaked our great thirst. Soon after we found a larger stream running through a grassy meadow.

How far we travelled we know not, but our march was rapid because we were all urged on by our earnest desires to find inhabitants that day. Probably we walked from seven to ten miles towards the high lands north of us. But the descending sun and our weary limbs called for retreat; so back we sped to the beach, where we arrived at nightfall, hungry, thirsty, weary, and disappointed.

_Nov. 15._ Early this morning, Captain Clift in company with Mr. Arms set out again in search of Indians, while I remained on board to attend to some business preparatory to leaving the vessel.

After noon we descried one savage on the beach, and shortly after he was joined by three more, all mounted on horseback and attended by more than twenty dogs. In a little time Mr. Arms and the Captain appeared on the bank above the beach, when a boat was sent from the schooner to bring them on board. Three of the savages came off with them, one of whom is a son of an aged chief whom they call _el capata le grande_, the grand captain. The young man is of more than middling size, firmly built, of an open countenance, and, for a savage, of modest and pleasant manners. He can speak a few words in English and more in Spanish. By signs and a little Spanish we signified to him that we wished him to furnish us with two horses and be our guide to the Indian camp among the northern hills, where we could spend the night, and return with him to the shore in the morning.

This we were very anxious to do, that we might learn what we could about Patagonian life before the Mary Jane leaves us. The young chief seemed to understand and to consent to our desires. So we took him on shore, where he selected two horses for us, and, mounting his own, we set off on full gallop, leaving three Indians and one horse on the shore. After riding rapidly for four or five miles, our guide dismounted, drew out two pebbles from his skin pouch, struck fire and kindled the dry grass around us. This soon made a dense smoke, which was the signal for the other savages of his clan to come down.

He then waited a while, looking earnestly to the hills, but we as earnestly beckoned him to remount his horse and ride on. He obeyed, and we rushed over another plain, when he dismounted again, made another great smoke, and waited again for the Indians.

We pressed him once more to go on, as night was approaching and we feared we should not reach the lodge that day. So on we galloped, but shortly we descried dark forms coming down the side of the mountain from a pass among the hills, one or two miles distant. Then another and another squad followed, while we rode on to meet them. The first detachment came up like a whirlwind, their long, coarse black hair streaming and their rough skin mantles flapping in the wind, while all were shouting in savage glee. The ground shook under the rush of their horses, and the atmosphere was clouded with dust. They surrounded us; they yelled and grinned; they were as noisy as a flock of loons, and as active as a swarm of bees. They talked with our guide; they tried to talk with us; they examined and counted our garments; they opened our vests, felt in our pockets, pulled up our trousers and thrust their hands into our boots. This was rough courtesy and a savage reception.

Probably all this examination was to ascertain whether we had arms or tobacco. The former would have excited suspicion; the latter aroused their cupidity.

They were large, strong, and bold men, quite independent in their bearing, and perfectly conscious that they were “masters of the situation.” They were dark and filthy, ignorant and brutal in the last degree; and yet each man was a king in his own estimation, and their country was the greatest, the richest, and the best in the world. It had never been conquered, and these proud men were lords who knew no masters.

They laughed, showing splendid rows of white teeth, and in five minutes the interview ended. Every man put spurs to his horse, and, with yells and an uproarious shout, the whole band, of about twenty, rushed toward the Strait, leaving a long cloud of dust behind them.

Our guide wished to turn back and go with them to the shore, but we still urged him to proceed to the camp. This he did reluctantly, often lingering, dismounting, and showing a desire to return. We met a few more straggling companies of savages, and when the last came up it was impossible to press him forward any longer. We judged ourselves to be ten or twelve miles from the sea, with no signs of an Indian camp in sight. So when our guide turned his horse’s head toward the shore, we had no alternative, and we wheeled also. This was near sundown. We gave our coursers the rein and followed our savage friends without stopping to think, to wink, or to breathe.

At 10 +P.M.+ we were back on the beach, where we found the companies we had met encamped in the open air for the night. We hailed our vessel, but had no response. She was anchored more than half a mile from the shore; her lights were extinguished, her crew asleep, and we were to spend our first night on shore with these wild people without shelter or supper. About forty savages were scattered around, some sleeping and snoring, some talking in unknown gutturals, some grunting, and some hunting small game in the hair of their dogs, of which about a hundred were present, while the horses were tethered around with raw-hide thongs. A small clump of thorn-bushes near the beach had supplied the savages with a few fagots with which they had kindled a flickering fire, which furnished just light enough to render the darkness and the dark visages visible. Around these smoking fagots sat a number of Indians trying to warm in the smoke and ashes a few small pieces of dirty guanaco meat, of which they gave Mr. Arms and myself each a morsel about the size of one’s finger. This was our supper. But we were weary and hungry, and so without scruple, “asking no questions,” we ate our morsels with thankfulness. This was a foretaste of Patagonian life. The Indians also gave us a little water from a skin bottle, or bag such as the old patriarchs used, and this was a kind of prelibation of the blessings in store for us in this wild land.

After our repast and our thanksgiving, our guide spread a skin for us to sleep on, and when we lay down he tried to cover us with a small, thin, and not very clean blanket. It was kind in him, and we appreciated the service; for it was a cold night and the dew was heavy, so that we awoke in the morning wet and chilled. But we slept peacefully and without fear, and awoke thankful for the protecting care of Israel’s Shepherd.

_Nov. 16._ The morning is bright and cool. The sun of our northern home shines upon us, but all our surroundings are strange and weird. The Captain sent his boat early, and we went on board, taking with us the old chief before mentioned, his son our guide and one other Indian. All these seemed to be prominent men of the tribe and our object in taking them on board was to make arrangements with them for living and travelling with them in Patagonia until our mission to their country should be accomplished.

Through seamen who have visited the Strait and seen numbers of this tribe of savages, we learn that a chief whom the sailors called Maria and dubbed the Queen was somewhere in this region. Supposing that this woman was invested with high authority, and wishing to have an early interview with her, we inquired of our old chief and his son where she was. They signified that she was gone far north to her winter quarters, but that she would return in about “one moon” to her southern rambles. We then made them understand that we wished to leave our vessel to live with them for a season. The three Indians consulted together for about ten minutes, when the aged sire signified their assent to our proposal, promising by signs to put food into our mouths, to give us horses to ride, to carry our luggage, and to take good care of our persons.

They wished to know how many moons we would live with them, and whether our vessel would return for us, to all of which we replied indefinitely, as all was uncertain to us.

All this took place in the cabin, the Captain and officers being present as witnesses. The chief then, by earnest gestures, inquired for our baggage, and, as it was pointed out article by article, he and his men laid hold of it, the sailors coming to their help, and in a few minutes it was all in the boat. We followed, bidding a final farewell to the Mary Jane, which had been our home for three months.

Captain Clift went on shore with us to assist in erecting our tent and to bid us a final adieu, intending to sail at evening on his voyage westward. He has taken a lively interest in all that concerns our welfare on this expedition. Our tent, which was made in New York, of light canvas, was pitched to-day for the first time. It spreads about eight feet in length and six in breadth. In this we have gathered our little all for our sojourn in Patagonia, consisting of our personal apparel, a few sheets and blankets, a small chest of medicines, a few books with stationery, two saddles with bridles and spurs, a few pounds of sea-biscuit and pork, and a little bag of salt, together with a variety of articles such as axes, hatchets, files, fishing-tackle, saws, gimlets, augurs, hammers, handkerchiefs, garments, and several pieces of cotton and woollen goods, to the amount of a few hundred dollars, for presents to the savages, or to purchase food or other useful articles from them. Thus furnished, we commenced housekeeping in Patagonia on the 16th of November, 1833.

In the afternoon of this day the sealing schooner Plutarch, Captain Miner, of Mystic, Conn., came into the bay and anchored near the Mary Jane, and Captain Miner visited us in our tent on shore. At nightfall the masters, officers, and crews of the two schooners bade us a kind adieu and went on board, intending to sail that evening.

_Sunday, Nov. 17._ On awaking this morning we found the Mary Jane and the Plutarch still at anchor in the harbor. A strong head-wind and a heavy current running east had prevented the vessels from leaving their anchorage. The boats of these vessels did not leave the davits all day on account of the roaring wind and the rough sea. We remained in our little tabernacle during the day; it was crowded from morning till night with the savages, all curious to examine our luggage, and even the garments on our persons. They labored hard to talk with us, and we with them; but we all found it impossible to make ourselves understood except to a very small degree.

The miserable creatures are nearly destitute of food, as this is the third day on the shore, and as they rarely find game within five to ten miles of here.

We ate sparingly of the little stores we took from the vessel, and the savages--men, women, and children--watch us like hungry dogs, and beg of us with pitiful importunity.

A few very small mussels are found along the shore, and these are the only shell-fish we have seen. Of these they gathered a scanty pittance, but not enough to satisfy hunger.

The Indians have one skin tent on the shore, and a part of them occupy this, and the rest sit and lie and sleep around upon the grass. Their time is spent in eating, when they find anything to eat, sleeping, laughing, talking, singing, card-playing, etc. Their clothing, as has been said, is of skins of the guanaco, dressed and made into mantles in the form of a blanket with the fur on. When these are old and filthy they harbor innumerable small vermin. To-day we saw one of these mantles spread out, with some six savages gathered around it. One with a club beat the fur side of the mantle, while the others watched the game as it was thrown out of the fur, seized and devoured it with greedy relish.

This is our first Sunday on heathen ground, and it is truly affecting to be surrounded by these debased and benighted beings, for whom we have so often prayed, without being able to tell them of a Saviour’s love, or the motives which brought us to their dark abodes.

_Nov. 18._ Like yesterday and last night, this day has been boisterous on land and sea. The strong head-wind has kept the vessels at their anchors; the rain has been abundant, with chilling cold, and the clouds have been so dense and dark that, for most of the time, we have been unable to see the schooners at their anchorage. No boats have come to the shore since the 16th, and we have hardly once moved out of our quivering tent. But notwithstanding the storm, hunger has driven some of the savages to mount their horses and hunt for game. The young chief came to our tent and said in English, “Guanaco most done,” and signifying that they must brave the storm and hunt. Soon a small party were mounted on horses, and armed with the _bolas_, an instrument made of strips of raw-hide about six feet long, with three strands, each armed at the end with a smooth round pebble about the size of a hen’s egg, enclosed in skin. This weapon, thrown among the animals from a horse at full speed, entangles the game so that the hunter, leaping from his horse, dispatches it with his _cuchillo_, or hunting-knife.

The hunters were gone a long time, and returned at evening, weary, hungry, with dark and downcast faces, having taken nothing but one skunk.

The whole dependence of these natives for food is on their wild animals, chiefly the guanaco, which is very cautious and as fleet as the deer. We pitied the poor fellows in their hunger and disappointment, but we had no power to help them from our slender stores, the whole of which would not have sufficed to give one tenth of them a meal.

As for fishing, though encamped on the sea-shore, they have no fishing-tackle, nor do they seem to know anything of the art.

But hungry and thirsty, wet and cold, without tent or fuel, they will remain on the shore as long as a vessel is at anchor. They are eager for tobacco and other stimulants, for guns and ammunition, for bread, pork, and all edibles; but tobacco and intoxicants are the first articles for which they call, and their desire for these is fearful. The articles they exchange for what they obtain from ships are fresh meat of the guanaco, furs, skin mantles, and a few other things.

The chief signified to us that they must return _mañana_, i.e. to-morrow, to their lodge in the mountains.

At 4 +P.M.+ the storm abated and the sea was more quiet. Soon we saw the boats of the Mary Jane and the Plutarch lowered and heading for the shore. The masters, Clift and Miner, with officers and sailors, came to greet us once more and to bid us another farewell. Captain Miner brought us a basket of boiled penguins’ eggs, which he had gathered at the Falkland Islands. These were very acceptable, and in our condition delicious.

At sunset the boats with our much-esteemed friends returned to the vessels. At dark the savages, like fowls, retired to their lodgings; the horses ceased neighing, the dogs ceased howling, the children ceased their noisy gambols, the adults ceased their hoarse talking, the wind was lulled, the sea hushed its roar; the great vault of heaven shone out adorned with glowing constellations and sprinkled with blazing sapphires. All was calm and quiet, and after offering up our vesper thanks and petitions to Him who made and who moves the mighty wheels of the universe, we fell into a sound sleep.

_Nov. 19._ On awaking this morning every vision of home and country, every mark of civilization, had fled. The little vessels, like sea-birds, had spread their white pinions to the breeze and sped to the west. The bark which had borne us so safely for many thousand miles, and upon which we had been so generously fed for ninety-four days, had passed away like a dream of the night. Around us were savage horses neighing, one or two hundred savage dogs barking, and forty or fifty savage men, women, and children spread out upon the ground, some fast asleep, some snoring, some grunting, some just opening and rubbing their eyes, some jabbering, some sitting up and hunting small game in the upper loft, some smoking the nauseating pipe, some moving slowly about without apparent motive, some looking at their horses, some turning on their earthy beds “like a door on its hinges,” half waking and falling asleep again. But no one was washing hands and face, no one bathing in pure water, no one reading, no one praying, no one laying a clean breakfast-table, no one cooking a morning repast, and no one eating, drinking, or even giving signs of having anything to eat! This is poverty, hunger, nakedness, filth; this is squalid misery; this is darkness and deep degradation; this is heathenism and savagism of the lowest type; this is man with the image of God erased from mind and heart--man sunk below the brute he feeds on--heaven-created man in ruins--man unconscious of his origin, utterly ignorant of what he is, of what he might be, and of all that awaits him!

Such are our surroundings, and such were some of our meditations. And how could we sound the depth or measure the length and breadth of the degradation? How, without an interpreter or any medium of communication with these deaf and dumb and blind spirits, were we to reach them?

But we are here, we thought, and these are the facts. The last material link which connected us with the civilized and Christian world is sundered. We are left among these savages without arrangement or pledge for return to our country. We are thrown upon their hospitality for our food, and upon their wills for our protection and our lives. But we do not regret it. We came voluntarily, knowing the facts, and we have no fears. “One who is faithful and true” has said, “Be not anxious for your life;” so also for “what we shall eat and drink, for your Heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.” He that “giveth to the beast his food and to the young ravens that cry” has said, “I am with you always. I will never leave or forsake you.”

This was the day set for decamping and going northward, but a cold rain has prevented. So we have sat in our tent, while the Indians have filled every vacant nook and corner, watching with curious eyes every movement we make. We do all we can to communicate with them, but that is little; our thoughts are like the contents of sealed bottles ready to burst.

Chapter V.

Visiting The Indian Camp.

_Nov. 20._ Early this morning our young chief, whom we call Louis, aroused us to prepare for a march to the northward. We struck our tent at once, and prepared our luggage, which the women packed upon their horses with skill and care, having abundance of raw-hide thongs for the purpose. All the labor of pitching and of striking tents, of arranging and packing baggage, and of carrying little children, pertains to the women, while the men stand or sit and look idly on. The men carry nothing, but mount their horses like rangers, riding independently, deploying to the right and left of the trail in search of game, and rushing upon it at lightning speed when seen.

While the squaws move along in Indian file on a gentle trot, the males are seen darting off in tangents, raising the dust on many lines over the plains, or standing or wheeling on the summits of distant hills, carefully scanning the surrounding landscape in hope of descrying a herd of grazing guanacos. Whether successful or unsuccessful they soon return to the track, often ahead of the caravan, when, after moving on for a few miles in a waving line, they again repeat the old manœuvre in search of game.

The horses that we have seen thus far are small, but hardy and fleet, and quite obedient to the wills of their masters. We were surprised to see the burdens they carried. The women slung our chest (3 feet by 1½) on one side of a horse, with a good-sized trunk on the other to balance it. On these they placed a large bag of the weight of a common travelling-trunk, and above all these a squaw mounted to guide the horse.

This is a specimen of the burdens with which they load their horses. When everything was ready, horses were assigned to Mr. Arms and myself, and as the tribe was _minus_ two horses on account of their foreign guests, we were invited to take the saddle and reins and to receive a sturdy Indian each behind us. We accepted the “situation” cheerfully, for why should the dependent offer terms to his host and benefactor? So away we galloped with light hearts, for the morning was bright, the air pure, and the gratification of leaving our dingy, dreary, and hungry camp for a morning ride over the rolling prairie into the open country was exhilarating.

The moving and winding cavalcade was a picturesque one. Our faithful young chief, Louis, led us on, and did not at first deploy like the other Indians for game. Our way led through level pampas covered with grass, and skirted at a distance on either hand with mountain ranges, some of whose summits were still shining with snow.

The travelling was good, and, though our horses were heavily laden, we proceeded at the rate of about four miles an hour. About once in ten miles the Indians would rest their horses for an hour, always near a clump of thorn-bushes when they were to be found. With these brambles they would kindle a fire and warm themselves; for though the morning was bright and the breeze gentle, yet by noon the wind became strong and cold.

We rode our own saddles and used our own bridles and spurs. The native saddle is a simple and rough imitation of the Spanish saddle-tree, made of wood and without covering. The girths and stirrup-leathers are only raw-hide straps. The stirrup is made of wood in triangular form, and with only breadth enough to receive two toes. The spur is made of two small pieces of hard wood sharpened to a point, and rigged with leather straps so as to fasten firmly upon the heel, and tied on the instep. With these they often goad their horses until their sides run blood. The bridle-reins are raw-hide, attached to a wooden bit, which is tied to the under-jaw of the horse without headstall. With this rude bit and rein the horse is under the full control of his rider.

On our way we saw many guanacos gazing upon us from the distant hill-tops, or scudding at full speed over the plain to avoid us. At length Louis suddenly halted, cast a keen look towards the hills on the left, and in a moment put spurs to his charger and bounded away across the plain with the speed of an arrow. This sudden movement was soon explained to us by the savages, who, pointing that way, said “Guanac! guanac!” The old chief followed his son in company with several others of the party, while we jogged on with the women, children, and luggage. In a short time young Louis rejoined our party, informed us that he had killed a guanaco, and that some of his men had remained behind to dress it. This gave us all joy, for our appetites were keen after a hungry ride of five hours. We soon came to a small bunch of bushes, where the cavalcade halted, dismounted, and kindled a fire.

Presently an Indian came up with a piece of the guanaco they had killed. This was roasted, or rather warmed and smoked, and distributed among us all.

When our scanty meal was over we proceeded on our way, the savages talking or singing in rough guttural tones. At 4 +P.M.+ we arrived at the Indian headquarters, after a weary ride of 25 to 30 miles.

We found the savages encamped in a narrow valley between two ranges of hills which screen them from the strong winds of this country.

On our approach to this first real Indian lodge which we had seen, all the savages, old and young, men, women, and children, with a new pack of dogs, rushed out to hail us. The dogs howled, the horses neighed, the men shouted and yelled, the children screamed and ran to and fro, hiding in and behind the tents, peeping out to get a sight of the strangers and then withdrawing through fear, while the whole camp was astir with noisy interest. There were remarkable sights and sounds, and wonderful garrulity; and what odors too! In this camp we found a large number of Indians who were not on the shore. The lodge contains ten skin tents like the one on the beach. These hovels are arranged in a slightly curved line, all facing the east, as the prevailing winds are from the west. The tent in which the chief and his family live is larger and better than the rest, and is a little separated from them on the right.

A small stream of pure water runs along the valley. This is a great comfort, as water is extremely scarce in this part of the country.

There is no wood near us except a very few of the prickly bushes spoken of before, and these are used only in cooking. On our arrival the squaws unloaded the horses, delivered the baggage to its respective owners, erected the tent brought up from the bay, and assisted us in erecting ours. Meanwhile all our parcels were bestowed in a heap in the tent of the chiefs, father and son, and Louis sat by and watched them until our tent was ready, when they were brought in and arranged.

These chiefs seem to have adopted us as their children, and to feel a peculiar responsibility for our protection and comfort. All our baggage was brought safely up, even to the smallest article, and delivered to us in good condition.

Everything being thus arranged, we took possession of our little “tabernacle in the wilderness,” and felt almost at home once more, though “in a strange land.” Sitting in our tent door as the winds were hushed and the mild sun was sinking behind the hills, the people gathered around us, full of smiles and beckonings and wakeful curiosity; and even the little children, naked as Adam in Eden, were running and leaping and giggling in their evening gambols, often venturing near our tent, looking in upon us with curious eyes, and then with a jolly shout returning again to their plays upon the turf.

The old mother, wife of the aged chief, brought us a piece of guanaco and of pork from the Mary Jane. It was cooked in an old iron pot, and upon this we made our first meal in the inland camp of the Indians; after which we offered up our evening thanks and petitions to Him whose guardian love and care had led us thus far, and then, resting from care, enjoyed a peaceful sleep.

_Nov. 21._ Early in the morning the whole camp was astir, and the people flocked around our tent to watch our movements. Our hero, Louis, also came, and seeing me in the act of shaving, he begged me to take off his beard. This I did, apparently much to his gratification. Our breakfast, like our supper, was given us by the good old motherly chief, though this was evidently nearly the last morsel of meat in the tent.

Thus far we have not suffered severely from hunger, as our Indian hosts divide their scanty pittance with us. This we eat without bread or vegetables.

A party of ten, with horses, dogs, and the bolas, went out on a hunt this morning, headed by our friend, Captain Louis. Mr. Arms joined the party, while I remained to “keep ship,” _i.e._ to look after the tent.

At 4 +P.M.+ the Captain and Mr. Arms returned hungry and weary, having ridden a great distance and taken nothing. As the meat in the camp was exhausted, the savages looked gloomy and the children clamored and cried with hunger. Things were looking dark, and we began to apprehend suffering. Soon, however, another detachment of the hunting party returned with three fine guanacos slung in quarters upon their horses. Then there was laughing and shouting, and all was bright again. Before dark we were presented with a piece of meat well roasted for our supper.

The hunters also gave us an ostrich-egg measuring 14 inches in its longer and 11¾ inches in its shorter circumference. This was indeed a God-send, as we were already longing for something besides meat for food.

I spent the day in our little tent surrounded as usual by the natives, who take great pains to communicate with us, and who seem to wonder who and what we are, whence we came, and why we have voluntarily located ourselves among them. We long to converse with them, but there is no interpreter. Probably no man on earth understands their language but themselves. They seem fond of their little children, and love to have us notice them. The children also are losing their shyness, and flock around us in a smiling and confiding way. We brought out many coarse combs, with finer ones for their use, and the little naked urchins seem delighted to have us teach them how to comb their swampy heads.

We have been examining their tents, or wigwams, and find they are made thus: Three or four rows, according to the size of the wigwam, of small stakes are set vertically in parallel lines in the ground. The first or front row may be five, six, or eight feet high, the second a foot or two shorter, and the third or fourth about two feet. On the tops of these upright stakes are slender longitudinal poles that reach from end to end of the hovel; they are lashed to the stakes with strips of skin or with the tendons of animals. This completes the frame. Over this a large covering of skins is spread and secured by thongs. The ends of the hut are secured by skins fastened to upright stakes or horizontal poles. The front is left open in fair weather; but in winter and during storms it is enclosed like the ends with curtains of skins. For this covering they use the skins of old guanacos, or those of the puma, cougar, or gray lion of South America. These skins are cut and well matched and sewed together with the sinews of animals, making blankets of convenient size, to be rolled, unrolled, spread on the tent, and removed at will. All the tents, including frames, coverings, partitions, etc., are made with reference to packing and transporting from one part of the country to another; for when a tribe or clan or division removes, nothing is left behind.

The dress of these people in its primitive state was, of course, exclusively of skins. For this purpose the skins of the calves or young guanacos were selected because of the lightness of the material, but especially on account of the softness of the fur, or rather wool. This is short, thick, and soft, like lamb’s wool, interspersed with thin scattering hairs. The Indians have the art of dressing these skins with the wool on, so that they are soft and pliable like dressed deer-skin.

Thus prepared, they are cut by “dovetailing” so as to secure the greatest economy of the material, and then sewed together with a small awl of iron, which they call _hodle_, according to the size desired. The form is that of a shawl or blanket, and it is often ornamented on the flesh side with various figures colored in pigment. This is the only garment of the males, except a narrow belt of skin or cloth to cover their nakedness. It is wrapped around the person like a blanket, and in cold and stormy weather it is drawn up so as to cover the head like a hood and fastened around the waist with “a girdle of skin” like the mantle of John the Baptist. When the weather is cold the wool side is turned inward, and outward when it is warm. When hunting, the Indian girds it tight about his loins to save it from being swept off by the wind, but lets it fall from his shoulders to flutter in the wind, while the arms and upper part of the body are free for the management of the reins, the lasso, the bolas, the spear, the bow and arrow, or the knife.

The women dress like the men except that they wear a broader garment around the waist, extending from the hips to the knees. Over this the mantle is like that of the man. The foot is usually bare, but sometimes protected by moccasins made of the skin of a horse’s or guanaco’s leg, dressed soft and worn like a boot or stocking. They wear no head-dress but their long, coarse black hair. The small children wear “Adam-skin.”

_Nov. 22._ Besides the young chief Louis, who has been so attentive to us, another young man claims to be a chief, under the name of Captain Lorice. He professes great friendship for us, often coming to our tent with a piece of roast meat, and trying to talk with us. When either of these chiefs is with us we have little annoyance from other visitors, but in their absence we are often troubled by the lower class of the savages, especially by mothers and children who try to examine all our baggage, often asking us with no little impudence to open all our packages and exhibit the contents. They beg relentlessly, and pilfer small articles whenever they find opportunity.

Twelve of the savages amused themselves a long time to-day by playing a game of ball. In this exercise they threw off their mantles, and exerted themselves in a state of nudity, having no clothing upon them except the strip around the loins. Their ball is nothing but a round knot of wood; their bat is a stick two feet long, and crooked at one end like the handle of a pistol. With this they drive the ball along the ground, apparently without order or system.

They have a few cards with which they occasionally play, but we have seen no gambling as yet.

At noon Captain Louis led up a horse in front of his cabin, when another Indian, standing about six feet in front of the animal, shot an arrow into his breast. The arrow penetrated eighteen inches, entering the heart. In a few minutes the horse staggered and fell dead, and soon it was dressed and prepared for cooking--head, feet, entrails, and all. Shortly after several pieces were brought to us roasted. On these we dined. The horse was fat, and the meat tender and not unpalatable, especially for men in our hungry condition.

As the savages find their game so wild and fleet that it cannot be procured without vigorous exertions, and as they are supremely indolent, they are quite liable to get out of food, when their only recourse is to slaughter a horse. Though they caught three guanacos yesterday, all were consumed at once; for, divided among a hundred half-starved people, there was but a small pittance for each individual.

This afternoon we found that a good cord belonging to our tent was missing. Of this we informed Louis, who immediately commenced a search from hovel to hovel, until he found and restored it to us. He seemed to feel badly on account of the affair, and many of the savages gathered around us to protest their own innocence of the offence. This showed some sense of right and wrong in their minds, and our action in the case seemed to impress them favorably. At first we debated the question as to the prudence, in this early stage of our acquaintance with the Indians, of complaining of this petty theft; but as it was obvious that even these ignorant beings had some notions of the right, and as we feared that a neglect to notice the affair would embolden them to further depredations, we resolved to be decided with them in the outset, and, if possible, to check the evil in the bud. Thus far the effect is decidedly favorable. The chiefs tell us that they must soon remove to some place where guanacos are plenty, and ask if we will go with them. Of course we have no alternative, as our lives depend on their supply of food. Our lot is cast with the savages for better or for worse, and we wish to travel wherever they go, to see the country.

_Nov. 23._ The weather has been fine for most of the time since we came up into the country. Gentle spring showers are frequent, and the air is mild and salubrious.

Early in the morning I rambled out and climbed one of the highest peaks of the northern range of hills under which we are encamped. It is covered with grass to its summit, and I saw three guanacos feeding on its side. I also started a gray fox, an animal common in this country.

From the top of this hill I had a grand and extended view of the surrounding country. The landscape consists of vast plains, studded here and there with isolated conical hills, and skirted by low mountain ranges. But silence and desolation reign everywhere. No voice of man or beast or bird echoed through the stillness. The three guanacos shot off at reindeer speed, and were soon out of sight, and the fox sneaked noiselessly away and disappeared. No pretty villages nestled among shade-trees; no lowing herds, or bleating flocks, or gamboling lambkins gave life and beauty to the landscape, or broke its everlasting slumbers.

I returned to the camp, and found it almost desolate. A large company of Indians had gone out on a hunting expedition, while most of the available women and children went a long distance to the hills, where they gathered fungus excrescences from old trees. These fungi consist of small globular masses, quite dry and tasteless, which the savages eat with their meat as we would eat popped corn. They returned at evening with small quantities of this insipid article, which they call _chouet_ and of which they seem fond. They gave us a little, and we eat it for want of bread or vegetables.

Our camp has been quiet, as so many have been absent and we have not experienced our usual annoyances.

We have been well supplied with horse-beef to-day, roasted or boiled in an old iron pot, and brought to us by the savages when they took their own meals.

The hunting party returned with seven guanacos, and our food is just now abundant. Captain Louis brought me a pair of trousers to-day, received on board the Mary Jane, and requested me to piece them, as they are too small! He often brings us little tasks, and seems much pleased by our ability and readiness to help him. He has spent much of the day with us, and he exhibits the same inquiring disposition, often asking us the names of things in English, and then giving us their Patagonian names. We are more and more pleased with his kindness, and feel glad to have him with us. He loves to imitate Americans, and occasionally comes out in a full sailor’s dress which he has obtained of some passing vessel.

The old chief, father of Louis, had a severe colic to-day, and groaned heavily with pain. Mr. Arms gave him a sedative, which soon relieved the pain and surprised the gazing savages.

Our almost constant music during the day is the noise of children and the barking and yelling of dogs. These animals are extremely poor, and whenever meat or bones are thrown out to them there is a horrid squabble of a whole pack, and the weaker escape limping from the jaws of the stronger with yells which are piercing. Besides this their owners are almost constantly beating them with clubs, keeping up an incessant uproar in the canine family.

_Sunday, Nov. 24._ The Indians had a long game at ball-play this forenoon; otherwise the day has been quiet. We have never seen our young chief Louis at a game of ball. Is it because he regards his dignity too highly? We cannot say. As yet we have seen nothing which looks like religious rites among this people, nor do we know whether they have any notions of a Supreme Being or a future state of existence. They have crude ideas of right and wrong. They praise and blame. The thief is shy and shows a sense of fear and guilt; and the man who has lost a knife, a file, or a piece of meat by a thief is full of rage and cursing. Of course their moral code, or their distinction between right and wrong, is very imperfect. We are forcibly impressed, however, with the truth asserted by Paul in regard to the heathen who have not the Scriptures: “These having not the law, are a law unto themselves; who show the work of the law written in their hearts, their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the mean while accusing or else excusing one another.”

Most of this day we have spent in our little tabernacle, where we have been visited by many of the Indians, who have been very civil; and we have tried to interest them by signs. But ah! it is hard to be surrounded by these gazing, chattering savages without being able to teach them of “the true God and Eternal Life.” We long for an interpreter, to open an avenue to their understandings and hearts. But our desires are vain.

These savages seem to look upon us as of a superior race of beings, and they are more and more careful not to do things which appear to displease us, often quietly _asking_ liberty to come into our tent, and carefully avoiding meddling with our furniture without leave.

We show them maps and pictures, and interest them with object-lessons so far as we have the means to teach them. The effect of checking them when noisy and rude, and in every effort to commit petty depredations, appears favorable; and thus we are enabled to impress them with some moral lessons and to lead them in some degree. We look upon them with pity and compassion, and they gaze upon us with unceasing wonder.

_Nov. 25._ Cold and uncomfortable. Spent most of the day in our tent making a flannel shirt for our chief. He watches the work with great interest, and many others crowd around to see us use the needle. All our operations are watched by scores of curious eyes.

A grand hunt to-day, and the party returned at evening with ten guanacos. Captain Louis brought home a fine young calf, and presented it whole and undressed to us. This gives us a good supply for several days; but we have no salt for preserving meat. The natives use no salt, although there is salt in the interior; but the air is cold and pure, and meat can be kept three days by hanging it out in the wind. When their fresh meat is abundant they jerk it, then smoke and pound it into a Patagonian pemmican. This they often preserve against a famine, a long storm, or winter when the snows are deep. Hitherto we have let the Indians bring us our food cooked. To-morrow we propose to commence cooking for ourselves, as their cookery is wretched.

_Nov. 26._ After retiring last evening, we heard for a long time what appeared to be a speech or harangue in the tent of our chief. The tones of voice expressed great earnestness and animation, and were finely modulated for a public speaker.

What the nature and occasion of this declamation were we are unable to learn. Our ears were also saluted by harsh, monotonous singing in some of the tents for most of the night, so that we slept but little.

To-day, by permission of our hosts, we commenced cooking our own food. And though our bill of fare is still limited to one article, we find a decided improvement in our meals.

During our culinary operations the natives crowded around in large numbers, and with an intense curiosity, wondering at our strange manœuvres. We can practise but three modes of cooking--roasting, frying, and boiling--but these will give us a little variety in our dishes.

_Nov. 27._ This day has passed like most of the days since we came to this camp. The poor savages lounge around us from morning to night, unless hunger drives them out to hunt. They both excite our sympathy and try our patience. Most of them are quiet and civil when they pay us a visit, but one woman is more troublesome than all the rest of the tribe; indeed we both agree that she is the most vexatious creature we ever met in human form. She is large, ill-formed, dark-visaged, greasy, and filthy. These physical defects we could endure; but her spiritual composition seems to consist of all that is revolting in impudence and villainy. Her visits are long and frequent; she seems determined to handle and examine every bag, box, trunk, and all other articles in our tent; and she is perpetually begging for herself and children, of whom she has a large brood. She rarely fails to be present at our meals, looking into our saucepan, peeping into every dish, and begging everything we cook. To-day she had the assurance to dash her brawny hand into our soup and haul out some of the meat. This was not occasioned by hunger, as there is now an abundance of meat in her tent. We treat her with as much inattention as possible, and have resolved to give her nothing she asks for until she ceases her impudent begging, persuaded that to gratify her wishes would only make her visits more frequent and her demands more intolerable.

Sometimes she seems vexed by our neglect, and leaves us in a pet, growling and muttering as she goes; and we indulge the momentary hope that we shall have less of her company henceforth. But she soon returns to the attack with renewed vigor, and we have only to entrench ourselves again with apparent indifference, and thus to stand on the defensive until the storm is over. Such cases only impress us more and more with the absolute degradation of these savages.

_Nov. 28._ Cold and dreary. We spend a large portion of our time in reading, writing, and studying Spanish.

We hear that there are some Indians in other clans who know more Spanish and English words than any we have yet met. We learn, also, that there are several runaway captive sailors among the northern clans, and that these clans will soon visit us, with the queen, Maria, and these English and American captives. We therefore await with great interest their arrival, hoping to find some better medium of communication than we now have, and thus to learn more of the country and its inhabitants.

The Indians come to us in crowds, filling our tent, squatting before the door, and straining their black eyes to look in and see what we are doing. Many of them are pleasant in their demeanor, and bring us pieces of meat. But we depend chiefly upon our host, Louis, to supply our wants.

Our mode of cooking and eating affords them great amusement, and the smell of our soup or our roast is a signal for them to rally and come to our tent. They sit and look at us, and then talk earnestly and laugh, then look again and again, even trying to look down our throats, enjoying their diversions heartily. This is a great annoyance, but we must bear it patiently; it will pass off when their curiosity is satisfied. These savages, like all others, are fond of ornaments. We find the brass thimbles we gave them, with needles and thread for sewing, punched with holes, strung on strings, and hung around their necks or upon their breasts.

The troublesome woman mentioned yesterday is, we learn, the wife of Captain Lorice. The husband has appeared kind and friendly, but he seems greatly under her dictatorial influence; petticoat government, so to speak, being by no means unknown even in Patagonia. She not only begs herself and teaches her children to beg, but she has set her husband on to beg likewise.

We now learn that there is not the most perfect harmony between the families of the two chiefs. This arises, as we suppose, from envy and jealousy on the part of this woman, whom we have dubbed “Jezebel.”

Lorice came alone to our tent to-day and told us that he should strike tents to-morrow and go to another place, urging us to abandon our host, Louis, and go with him. He offered to furnish us with good horses, to care for our luggage, and to supply all our wants. He pointed to the hut of Captain Louis and, with a frown, cried out, “Malo, malo! mañana!”--Bad, bad! to-morrow! We fear that a storm is gathering, and that trouble may come to the camp. Louis has said nothing to us on the subject, but a settled thoughtfulness on his countenance, for now several days past, has indicated that his heart was heavy.

Our resolution, however, is taken. Trusting calmly in Him who has ever been our protector, we will not forsake our trusty and faithful friend Louis, who seems to have been sent of God to meet us, first of all, in Patagonia, and to be our host and guide thus far in this “howling wilderness.”

Chapter VI.

A Squall.

_Nov. 30._ We wrote nothing yesterday.

What we feared on the 28th came upon us on the 29th. Early yesterday morning Lorice and his Jezebel came to see us, and wished us to strike our tent and prepare to go with them--where, we of course did not know. Many of the women were taking down their hovels and preparing all their stuff for removing, while the men were bringing up their horses for decamping. We looked at the tent of Louis, which was still untouched. But as most of the tents around were coming down we felt it prudent to begin arranging our luggage, lest we should be left alone. Meanwhile the chief, Lorice, with his Jezebel were assailing Louis and his friends with angry language. She especially seemed full of fury, and her face and eyes looked fiendish, and we every moment looked for blows. At length, however, there was a calm, and we hoped that the squall was over. We struck our tent, and Louis struck his. Jezebel came and took a small medicine-chest and some other articles, and packed them on her horse. Other squaws took other articles, until one half or more of our baggage was upon horses.

All at once the storm broke upon us with double fury. Jezebel dashed our chest of medicines on the ground, breaking vials and doing much damage; then she threw off all our luggage and scattered it hither and thither, storming and raging like a fury. At once the clan began to resolve itself into two hostile parties; the larger number clinging to Lorice and his vixen, and the smaller ranging with our friend Louis. The war of words went on and waxed hotter and hotter, till it assumed the fury of a whirlwind. At length the vixen with her whelps flew at the hair and eyes of our friend, and he was thrown upon the ground, kicked, scratched, beaten, his hair pulled out, his ear-jewels rent from his ears; he was soon smeared with sweat, dirt, and blood. Louis’s party came to his help, but the opposite side outnumbered them two to one, and the weaker party were roughly handled. Many were thrown upon the ground and dragged by the hair, with faces and limbs begrimed with dust and blood. The old chiefs, Louis’s father and mother, tall, venerable savages of not less than seventy years, fought desperately for their son and his family. But they, too, were overpowered by numbers and thrown upon the ground.

It was a miserable sight, while the struggle was going on, to see the bloody and beseeching face of Louis, as he lay prostrate on the ground, grasping with one hand a large bag of clothing and various articles belonging to us, and with the other trying to protect himself from his savage foes, and beckoning to us to come and help him in protecting our own property. But we had, alas! no power to help. We sat on the ground in full view of the trying scene, and could only signify by looks and gestures our disapproval, and our wish to see peace and harmony restored.

At length the struggle abated from the sheer exhaustion of the combatants, and the parties, with torn ears, noses, and skins, and with dishevelled hair, sat down in two lines, facing each other in sullen silence. We improved the armistice in endeavoring by signs and looks to make a peace. But hot blood was up, and the flinty Patagonian wills were not yet softened. After a short breathing-spell the two lines rose and attacked each other again in a hand-to-hand fight as before; while we again looked on with amazement and grief, not knowing how the strife would end.

But the second struggle was shorter than the first, and again the parties sat down exhausted. An Indian who had always appeared mild and friendly then rose, and commenced to harangue both parties in eloquent tones. He spoke for about fifteen minutes, and in such a manner as to chain the attention of all. His speech was marked with energy, animation, and pathos; he had varied and melodious intonations of voice, and used seemingly appropriate gestures. Of course we regretted exceedingly that we could not understand his language.

All was hushed during the harangue; and in a few minutes after its close, the parties rose up, brought together their strayed horses, gathered the scattered _débris_ of the fight, and reloaded the animals, each party furnishing half the horses for the luggage. One party brought a horse to Mr. Arms, and the other party one for me. This amicable settlement by compromise revealed the cause of the fight. Each party wanted to keep the strangers, and neither would yield its claims until exhausted by fighting. This reminded us of what men call civilized and Christianized warfare. Had these savages reasoned better, they would have settled their respective claims by arbitration or by mutual concessions and agreement without a fight. But in savage and in civilized warfare, after blood has been shed, property destroyed, misery inflicted, and hatred engendered, the parties come back upon the right ground of settlement, that of negotiation and reason.

It was fortunate for these Patagonians that they were not armed with deadly weapons. We saw no fire-arms, bows and arrows, knives, or clubs in use on this occasion; and no lives were sacrificed.

At 3½ +P.M.+ we were again ready for our march, and after travelling some ten miles over a northern ridge, we encamped at 6½ in a quiet notch in the mountains. Here we erected our tent, kindled a fire, and prepared our supper. Our friend Louis came to our help, and brought us the head and neck of a guanaco which he had killed by the way.

Thus after a day of fatigue and solicitude we were permitted to lie down once more in peace.

During the live-long night the Indians were very noisy, singing, talking, and haranguing. This interrupted our sleep, yet we had no fears, as all seemed good-natured, with no evidence of anger or contention.

Perhaps they were like soldiers in camp, rehearsing the dangers escaped, the skill and cunning of the tactics, the valor and prowess displayed, the trophies won, and the glories which crowned the field and the fight.

Early this morning a large party took up their horses and went off on a grand hunt, and we have been permitted to spend a quiet and peaceful day in writing and study.

_Sunday, Dec. 1._ The place of our new encampment is somewhat similar to the one we left. We are in a cosey nook among hills, with grassy valleys in the near vicinity, and surrounded with prairie-lands studded with conical, truncated, and elongated sand-dunes. On the pampas the grass is coarse and bunchy. In the alluvial valleys the soil is rich and the grasses luxuriant. Everywhere the soil is sandy, and, what strikes us as remarkable, we have not yet seen a rock, a boulder, or a pebble big enough to throw at a bird.

A rill of pure water runs along our valley, and, as is usual, a little clump of thorny bushes is near by.

These shrubs are now in leaf and blossom, and from extreme longing for cereals or vegetable food I go to these bushes to browse, eating the leaves, buds, and flowers. They are slightly acid, and afford a little relief to the strong appetite for some other food than flesh.

Not succeeding yesterday, the savages have gone out to-day on another hunt. This is the first Sabbath they have chanced to spend thus since we have been among them.

This morning “Jezebel” came to visit us again. We had indulged the hope that after the fight of the memorable 29th her visits would be “few and far between,” and brief withal. But all disputes being amicably settled between the belligerents, on she comes again. With face lighted up like moonshine upon a thunder-cloud, she invited me to go to her husband’s tent and receive a piece of meat. I went and brought the present; but it was only a few minutes before she returned and began begging this thing and that, with her characteristic audacity. It was a long time before we could get rid of her, and when she turned her broad back we breathed freely again.

This is the first visit we have received from any of the Lorice family since the fight. The reason evidently is because they cannot succeed in detaching us from our old and tried friends the Louis family.

The savages, as before stated, pitch their tents nearly in a straight line, the old chief and his son on the right and Lorice on the left. Our tent is again pitched close to Louis’s.

My companion has been ailing to-day, so that he has kept his bed. Probably this is, in part at least, on account of the great change in our diet and the fatigue and excitement of the two days past.

The wife of the old chief has come to our tent several times to-day to look after the sick man. She appears very sympathetic, and evidently longs to do something to help him. We are becoming not a little attached to this fine old woman, and begin to call her mother. Her husband is a patriarchial man in appearance. Each of them is six feet high, and they are venerable in their three score and ten years. There is something so noble, so kind, and so generous in this aged couple that we are strongly drawn toward them. How ardently we long to bring the invitations of the Gospel to them! for we almost feel assured that while thousands of the youth and the well-informed in our land reject the “glad tidings,” this aged couple would receive the truth with the docility of little children.

_Dec. 2._ Mr. Arms is well again. We washed some clothes to-day, and the Indians gathered around us in droves. All appeared full of curiosity on seeing the process. Probably they had never seen washing before, for although there are a few cotton and woollen garments, such as shirts, among them, yet we have never seen them wash _anything_, not even their hands and faces, nor have we ever seen one of them bathe, or a mother wash her pappoose.

The old chief and his wife made us a long, friendly visit to-day. They seem very cordial and paternal in their friendship, and we enjoyed their visit.

During their stay our thorny “Jezebel” came and looked in at our door, but seeing us entertaining some of the family she hates, she turned herself and went off with an air of bitter contempt. We were glad thus to escape another siege, and felt under much obligation to our aged friends for protecting our castle from an attack.

At evening we closed our tent early and observed the monthly concert of prayer. This is the first season of the kind we have spent on heathen ground. We were but “two” in number, yet we had the promise of a third, and this was a joy. We had often prayed for the heathen before, but never before among the heathen. We had often prayed for missionaries before, but never before with such a knowledge of the trials and the wants of missionaries.

_Dec. 3._ It is midsummer with us, and while our northern homes are ice-bound we are bathing in a hot summer sun. Our Indians are now well supplied with food, and, in accordance with their lazy habits, some are snoozing in their cabins and others are stretched out upon the ground, basking like seals in the solar rays. There will be no more hunting and no more labor until their present supply of meat shall be exhausted.

Thus far our fears of suffering from hunger have not been realized. He that “heareth the young ravens when they cry” has liberally spread our table, if not with the luxuries, yet with the necessaries of life.

_Dec. 4._ Rambling this morning in search of edible roots or greens, many children followed me, and perceiving me digging the ground, as if hunting for something, they pointed out a small bulb which, as they signified, was edible. We dug a small mess and boiled them, finding them quite refreshing, though we had never seen the savages eat them. Their appearance is like that of a small garlic, and the taste somewhat like a turnip. They were, however, very scarce, and we never found them in any other place.

A little before noon we perceived a movement in the camp, and in a few minutes every tent except that of the old chief and family was struck and the houses packed for decamping. This sudden and to us mysterious movement was ordered by the chief Lorice; but for what reason we could not determine. Previously, when the Indians were about to remove, they have given us timely notice and invited us to go with them. On this occasion nothing was said to us until most of the clan had moved off.

As our host Louis remained quiet all this time, we went to inquire what this meant. He signified that the party in motion were going out to meet the old queen Maria, and that he and his small family would remain and look after us until their return. Meanwhile Lorice lingered about the camp-ground until all of his party had left. He then made us a call of some twenty minutes, and departed to follow his party. Louis rode out with them some distance, but returned before night bringing a fresh guanaco which he had killed on the way, and of which he gave us nearly half.

We are now left with a single family, formerly consisting of the old chief and wife and five children: two sons and three daughters. The two older sisters and a woman whom we supposed to be Louis’s wife went off with the clan, leaving only the old couple and Louis with a brother and sister younger than he, five in all, with us. Where we shall go next, or what the morrow will reveal, is all uncertain. All is quiet, and in the deserted camp there is a feeling of solitude which is a little oppressive.

_Dec. 5._ The peace and stillness around make it seem like a Sabbath. No romping and squalling children, no rude and noisy men, and few dogs are to be heard.

Seeing a dozen guanacos on a distant hill, our chief offered me his gun and wished me to go in pursuit of them. Accordingly I went, and after walking about two miles I came in full view of more than thirty feeding in a herd. At a distance they resembled a drove of colts; on being approached they neighed like colts. “I came, I saw;” the animals, too, saw--and snorted and disappeared. I returned with gun and charge, heated and wearied, but with no game. It is next to impossible to get near enough to a guanaco to bring him down with a rifle.

_Dec. 6._ Having intimated to our host that we needed more covering at night, he immediately presented us with several young guanaco-skins, and his mother and sister set about making them into a bed-spread for us.

We have only to make known our wants to this family and they are at once supplied to the extent of their ability. Our Indian mother still treats us with true kindness, and endeavors to prevent all unnecessary annoyances. If the dogs become troublesome while we are dressing our meat, or cooking, she comes with her rod to chastise them and to teach them manners. The two children appear affectionate and obedient. They never trouble us like many of the other children when they visit us, and they show no inclination to pilfer little articles. In point of intellect, sprightliness, and pleasantry they would not suffer by comparison with many children of civilized countries.

_Dec. 7._ Louis went out on a hunt and brought in a large supply of fresh meat, which he shared liberally with us. When we are overstocked with venison, we jerk a part and keep it against a time of scarcity.

Our chief tells us that he belongs to a large tribe who have spent the winter far north, where the climate is mild, and that they are now coming south by easy marches and will soon be here. So he remains to receive them. He also says that Lorice and his clan are aliens from Tierra del Fuego, and that the northern Patagonians do not associate with them; also that they go by themselves most of the time. He says that the reason why he associated with them is because he took a woman of that clan, and that she had now left him and gone off with her friends.

We are picking up Patagonian words daily, and our chief is very eager to get hold of English words.

These quiet days afford us an excellent time for reading, writing, study, and conversation with our neighbors, who appear more and more attached to us.

We are very anxious to see more of the country, to meet other tribes, and, if possible, to obtain horses and guides to take us over the western mountains to the Pacific coast, somewhere in the region of Chiloe or among the Araucanians south of Chili. As it now is, however, we are shut up to faith and hope, and we must wait the will of our Master, and move only when the cloud-pillar lifts and goes forward. We are in an unknown wilderness, surely, where all is wild and strange, utterly helpless in ourselves even to secure our daily food. We can pray as never before: “Guide us, O thou great Jehovah,” adding with special earnestness, “give us day by day our daily bread!”

The day has been cold, with frequent falls of rain and hail. Mr. Arms is still feeble.

_Dec. 8._ Our host has been out and brought in a guanaco. A heavy frost covered the ground this morning, and the day has been cold and squally. Angry clouds have been passing over, and frequently discharging their chilling contents of rain and hail. We wrap ourselves up in skins and keep quiet in our quivering tent.

_Dec. 9._ This morning our young chief went out again with bolas, knife, and dogs on a hunt for guanacos. His aged father, who has been mostly kept to the camp for a long time by inflamed eyes and the infirmities of old age, also saddled his steed and followed his son to the chase. The day proved uncomfortable for the expedition, the wind being quite piercing and the rain falling almost continuously. Notwithstanding this the Indians returned with eleven guanacos, most of which were young ones, as these sooner tire under the chase and are easily caught by the dogs. Of these calves they gave us three as our portion.

Thus the Lord spreads our table by the hands of these savages, whose hearts he has moved to receive and support us with a kindness and hospitality truly affecting.

_Dec. 10._ Prepared a little spot of ground and planted some garden-seeds to-day, though we shall probably soon remove to some other place, and may never see this spot again. We have also planted the seeds of various kinds of fruit-trees, which we hope may yet spring up and bear fruit, though we do not see it. The restless, roaming habits of these natives render it impossible to attend to agriculture among them. Captain Louis went out and returned with a horse-load of long poles and stakes to hang fresh meat upon. The wood resembles wild cherry. He must have brought them from a great distance, as he was gone nearly all day. Two of his largest stakes he gave to us for our use.

_Dec. 13._ On the 11th and 12th nothing occurred worthy of record. To-day our friend signified that we must soon break up camp and go eastward. Asking him why, he only replied that this place is “malo.”

We could not understand this complaint, as our wants have never been so well provided for as since we came to this station. The reason of this evidently is that we are few in numbers and very quiet; therefore the game is not frightened away by the noise of dogs, the yells of savages, and the rush of the chase. And again it is the season of calving, when it is easy for one or two Indians, with twenty to thirty dogs, to run down the young and weak animals. But to make swoop upon a herd of keen-eyed and watchful full-grown guanacos is quite another thing, and to secure large numbers of them often requires combination and strategy such as the Patagonian hunter only understands. Sometimes they go out fifty or a hundred strong, on a grand hunt, with from one to three hundred dogs, the dogs and horses being thoroughly trained to the service. In such cases one or two scouts are sent quietly out to examine the meadows and valleys where the animals feed. When a herd is descried the utmost caution is observed, so as not to discover an Indian to the herd. The hunters then deploy to the right and left, keeping under cover of hills, or in ravines, if possible, until they have formed a circle around the herd, the dogs keeping close to their masters. They then quietly contract the circle until the guanacos take the alarm, when the whole herd, following one leader, rushes for some point in the circle to break it and escape. At this moment dogs and horses all start for that point, and those which reach it before the guanacos seize the game. A score or two of bolases are whirled in the air and sent whizzing among the animals, winding around their necks and entangling their legs, while the dogs fall upon the prey, and the Indians, leaping from their horses and cutting the throats of the game with their sheath-knives, drink the hot blood with their dogs.

They then sever the trunk of the animal midway between the fore and hind legs, and lashing one half on one side and the other on the opposite side of the saddle, they mount again and fly over the plains shouting like triumphant conquerors returning from a gory field.

_Dec. 14._ We have been one month in Patagonia to-day. This morning Louis came and said to us, “Much Indus in Gregory’s Bay,” and then signified that to-morrow there would be a _pigo grande_ (a great smoke), and that we all should move down to the Strait. He intimated that Lorice and his party had gone thither by a circuitous route which he described on the ground; and that Queen Maria had come with her train. He also gave us to understand that to-morrow she would send for us to go down to her camp.

Anxious to know whether we understood our chief, it was proposed that one of us go down with him to the Strait and see what was the state of the case. To this he assented, and in a few minutes two horses were ready and I set off at rapid speed with the young man, while Mr. Arms remained “by the stuff.”

Our track to the sea was a new one to me; it led over lofty hills, across broad plains, and through deep winding ravines.

On our way we saw hundreds of guanacos feeding in the meadows, several droves of which we pursued for a considerable distance; but though our horses skimmed the ground like arrows, yet horses and dogs were distanced by the elastic bounds of these swift creatures, which were soon out of sight.

These horses are so thoroughly trained for the chase that as soon as the scent of the game is snuffed, or the neighing heard, they are restless as the war-horse at the booming of cannon or the smell of gunpowder, and the instant the signal is given they dart for the prey, bounding over meadows and plains, over morasses, bogs, and ravines, rising and descending very steep hills with little abatement of speed, and suffering nothing to obstruct their progress till they are checked by their riders or fall breathless with fatigue. In going directly over a steep hill of about 700 feet elevation, and on an angle of 35° to 40°, our horses climbed with amazing energy, and on descending on the opposite side they threw themselves on their haunches, leaping rapidly with their fore-feet, and suffering their hinder parts to slide after them. This was a new way of “coasting,” but it worked well with the rider as he sat firmly in his saddle. While I enjoyed the motion, I admired the skill of the animals.

Divest European cavalry of fire-arms, and allow them only the sabre and lance, and they would stand a poor chance before the Patagonian cohorts armed with the bolas and knife.

We caught no guanacos, and having taken no _viaticum_ we began to feel hungry. Fortunately, however, the keen hunter’s eye of Louis descried a little _cochin_, or skunk, in a bunch of grass. Dismounting quietly, he thrust his hand into the grass and hauled out pussy so adroitly as to kill it without the least accident to himself. He then hung it upon his saddle, mounted his steed, and on we rushed. Coming in full view of Gregory’s Bay, and gaining an extended sight of the Strait and shores, we saw no smoke, no wigwams, and no Indians.

It was now late in the afternoon; we had ridden some thirty miles; the wind had become strong and cold. We turned our horses’ heads northward and rode against a wind which soon became so violent that it was difficult to keep in our saddles, and our horses put down their heads, snorted, and almost refused to move. Louis dismounted, ordered me to dismount, and said that we must spend the night where we were. We unsaddled our horses, and Louis, tying their fore-feet together so that they could make progress only by leaping, let them go for the night. His next movement was to cook his game for supper. At a short distance he found a small clump of bushes, where he kindled a fire, in the flame of which he singed off the hair of the skunk. Then, having heated some small stones which he carried with him, he put them into the bowels of the _cochin_, and laying it among the embers and smoke of his improvized oven, it was soon roasted to his satisfaction. Tearing off one quarter he gave it to me, and appropriating the other three quarters, with the appurtenances, he devoured it all in less time than has been occupied in this description. Nothing was left of his portion, for even the bones were cracked and the marrow sucked out.

Night coming on, we now prepared to sleep. Placing our saddles at our heads and near the bushes, as a small barrier against the wind, and taking our saddle-cloths for blankets, we lay down while the blasts raved and roared around us. In the night we were aroused by one of the horses, who in his struggle to free himself of his unwelcome fetters came leaping and stumbling within a few feet of us, greatly endangering our safety. Louis arose, unshackled both the horses, and tied them to tufts of grass; and we were undisturbed till morning.

_Sunday, Dec. 15._ We arose early to return to our camp, but our horses were not to be found. They had broken from their tetherings and made their escape. We were a little perplexed, but the morning was calm and bright. Directing me to remain and keep still in my place, Louis set off in search of the stray beasts. Thus I was left alone in this vast wilderness without power to find my way back to the camp, as I had left my pocket-compass behind and had taken no bearings, trusting alone to my guide and expecting to return with him on Saturday to the lodge. But if I had not taken my compass, I had not forgotten my little pocket Testament, my constant companion in sleeping and waking. Nor could I forget the assuring promise in Heb. xiii. 5: “For he hath said, I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.” So I sat on the ground and mused; I arose and walked to and fro; I looked north, south, east, and west, but no sound was heard and no moving thing was seen. “Both the beast and the bird were fled, they were gone.” I took out my watch and looked; one half-hour gone and no Louis. Again I looked; one hour gone and he had not returned. The third half-hour went, and I stood alone in a vast and unknown solitude--in a realm of utter silence, and silence that, like the darkness of Egypt, “could be felt.” Never before had I so impressively realized the value of a man, savage though that man be. How truthfully came the words of Isaiah to mind, “I will make a man more precious than fine gold”!

Looking and waiting, I wandered to a small bunch of bushes, and here I found a hawk’s nest, with one young half-fledged hawk. Hunger was on me, and now, thought I, we shall have a breakfast when our chief returns with the horses. I worked my way into the brambles and caught the bird. He fought bravely for “life and liberty” and with beak and talons drew blood, but hunger conquered and I secured him. Shortly after this capture, back came my hero with both of the truants. At this my heart leaped for joy, the waiting had seemed so long and painful; but when he saw the bird in my keeping his face grew dark as a thunder-cloud, and he seemed to be in rage and consternation. He began to gesticulate earnestly and to cry out, “Malo! malo!” shaking his head significantly, till I was alarmed, and ran back to the bush with my prey and restored the bird to its nest. Thus all my fond hopes of a breakfast were dashed. I suppose that this hawk is sacred to the Patagonians, and that their superstitious fears forbid to do it harm. Our horses were saddled and mounted in haste, and after a John Gilpin ride of five hours we reached our camp about noon, weary and hungry, as I had gone thirty-six hours with no other food than a small piece of _cochin_.

My “companion in arms” had been anxious for us, and he had thoughtfully boiled a piece of guanaco for me. In a little tent as we are, and in a wild and savage land, the sight of our tabernacle was truly cheering, because it has the name, and has by use something of the air, of home. We trust we are truly thankful for our shelter, and that our circumstances are so much better than they might be. On our way back this morning young Louis pointed out a place to which he said we would soon remove.

_Dec. 16._ Found the Indians preparing for a removal this morning; but as it was rainy and cold we advised them to wait until to-morrow, to which they cheerfully assented. So we spent the day in preparing our baggage for decamping.

_Dec. 17._ Agreeably to the arrangements of yesterday we struck our tent early this morning, put our effects on horses provided for us, and set out with our Indian family for the new place of encampment. Our course was eastward, and our removal occupied most of the day. The new location is near a small stream of water, but it is in an open plain of wide extent, surrounded in the distance by hills which bound our horizon. Here we have nothing but a few bushes, near which we have pitched our tent, to break the force of the winds as they come sweeping over the pampas.

Before we had time to erect our tent a cold rain came on that wet both our luggage and ourselves and rendered us very uncomfortable. The chief’s family, with their usual kindness, rendered us every assistance in their power, though this help came mostly from the women.

_Dec. 18._ A cold and blustering day. The wind rushes, screeches, and howls. Our tent quivers and shakes and threatens to fall. It already begins to give way before the blasts, and we have been obliged to take it down to mend the threatening rents. It is quite too frail to last long in this climate, and unless we can keep screened from the winds among the hills or in quiet valleys, our tabernacle will soon take wings and leave us. It could not possibly stand during a winter. Should it fail us we must take lodgings in the skin hovels of the Indians. This will be uncomfortable indeed, as their tents are made loathsome by grease, old skins, filth, vermin, the smoke of their cooking, and the almost unendurable smoke of their pipes. Add to this their numerous lousy, gaunt, and quarrelling dogs, twenty or thirty of them to each hut, and one can imagine the situation without a desire to test it by sight, or sound, or smell, or touch.

It is difficult to conceive of a lower state of existence than we find in Patagonia.

_Dec. 19._ This morning Mr. Arms went out with Louis and his young brother to seek a fresh supply of meat, while our kind Indian mother with her little daughter returned to the place of our last sojourn to bring some stakes and poles which we had left behind because our horses were overloaded on the 17th, but which we needed.

Thus I am left with no one in the lodge but the old chief, who is still much indisposed and almost blind with inflamed eyes. The quiet is impressive, and the relief for a few hours from the discordant sounds of an Indian camp is very grateful.

While thus congratulating myself on the uninterrupted solitude in prospect, all at once two Indians on foot arrived with tidings that our old acquaintance Captain Lorice with his unctuous wife Jezebel and the large party that separated from us two weeks ago were on their way back and would soon be here. Soon after several other Indians came up, and presently the whole troop of horses appeared. The riders dismounted, and the squaws at once set about pitching their tents in a line, with ours on the right, while the men and children gathered around me, the women joining them as soon as the tents were erected. All appeared good-natured and joyful at meeting, as if old feuds and jealousies were forgotten. From this time till night our tent was thronged with these children of nature, filling every nook within and crowding around the door in almost stifling numbers, all apparently curious to know if any change had come over the “Americana” strangers during their absence.

One of the Indians brought me a fine saddle of young guanaco, another filled my hands with jerked meat pulverized, and Captain Lorice presented me with a whole calf and made a long and friendly visit. As soon as his wife had erected and arranged her tent she also came with seeming great good-nature, smiling as if she had been transformed into “an angel of light,” and bringing with her the old brood of children. It was not long, however, before this April sunbeam was obscured by peevish and fitful clouds. “The ruling passion,” cupidity, still strong, began to show itself. With her usual disgusting impudence she set to handling our effects, asking me to open bags and cases and show her all our goods, at the same time reminding me of the present her husband had just given me, in order to impress me with a due sense of obligation. But she found me imperturbable and unpersuasible, and after vainly trying every art in her power, in tones and looks and earnest gesticulations, pointing to her rags, hauling up her children to show their nudity, and even opening their mouths to signify their desire to eat our food, she became sullen and silent.

At evening our little party returned with thirty young calves, having had unparalleled success. Of these twelve were given to us. This appears to be the season of plenty with the Indians.

_Dec. 20._ Visited to-day by large numbers of the natives. They appear so fond of our society and so curious to see us at our work that they almost crowd us out of our tent. While dressing our game they flocked around and begged the liver, lungs, kidneys, heart, etc. These they devoured raw with the greediness of carnivorous animals. This is not occasioned by hunger, as they are now well fed; but it is a habit of theirs, and they esteem these parts (especially when they come warm from the animal) as a great luxury. I have seen the children eating the most offensive parts of the intestines uncooked and unwashed; and the blood is a sweet beverage to all.

The Indians find wild dandelions in this region, and they gather and eat them in large quantities, roots, stems, and all, without washing or boiling. Thus it seems we are not alone in our keen desire for vegetables and herbs.

Toward evening Captain Lorice made us a long visit, and again urgently requested us to leave the family by whose kind care we have been so long fed and go with him and his tribe to the north. He offers to give us each a fine horse, to feed us well, and to protect and guide us wherever he travels. He continues to show his envy of Louis, and calls him and his family by ill names, while he boasts of his own greatness and goodness. If one would believe it, he is a model of all righteousness, truth, and generosity. His invitation was pressed with much earnestness by some of his favorites, who labored to impress us with a sense of his excellences, assuring us we should lack nothing if we would put ourselves under his care.

But we are still deaf to the entreaties and incredulous to the fair promises of this chief and his clan, and we feel more and more confirmed in the belief that it would be indiscreet, not to say wrong, to abandon our tried friends and put ourselves into the hands of savages whose sole object too evidently is to obtain the few articles in our possession. We therefore gave Lorice to understand that we would remain where we were until the arrival of Queen Maria, she being daily expected from the north. He was disappointed and downcast at our answer, but at length left us with apparent good feeling.

_Dec. 21._ Lorice did not remove to-day according to his statement yesterday, but instead went out with a party on a hunt.

During the day we saw a great smoke at a distance northward, and our young chief says it is Queen Maria with her tribe, that she is coming down to the Strait, and that he will go to meet her to-morrow. Of course we rejoice in the tidings, and hope all will prove true, as this is what we have long waited for.

A young Indian brought us a pocket-knife to sharpen. We immediately recognized the knife as one which had been stolen from us, each of us having lost a knife of this description. We signified to the one who brought it that the knife was ours; but as we could not prove that he was the thief, nor find out the culprit, we permitted him to keep it.

Near sunset we witnessed a scene altogether novel to us. Nearly all the women in the camp assembled on a lawn and engaged in a game at ball-playing. They were noisy, lively, and energetic. At the close of the game an altercation took place between our Jezebel and another woman. A squabble ensued, when all the other women and many of the children arranged themselves in a large circle around the combatants. The scene ended without blood, but not without a torrent of angry and bitter words which continued until late in the evening. What was the cause of the contention we could not learn; whether it was a dispute about the game or a revival of the old party feud was not certain; but one thing was clear, that Jezebel was the exciting cause.

We retired late to rest, but the noise in the camp and the incessant barking of a hundred dogs prevented sleep till near morning.

_Sunday, Dec. 22._ Louis started early this morning to meet the tribe of Indians whose smoke we saw yesterday.

During his absence Captain Lorice and several of his party paid us frequent visits and urged us with renewed importunity to strike our tent and go with them to-day, as they were about to leave. He seemed unusually earnest and anxious, and we apprehend that his haste to leave to-day is occasioned by the near approach of a large party friendly to Louis. We again and again rejected his proposals, urging the same reasons we had given on former occasions. His clan packed their horses, mounted, and moved off, while he and a few others lingered behind as if unwilling to leave us. Several times he seemed on the point of departing, when he would again return and sit in our tent, urging us to go by all the motives he could present, by flattery, and by the offer of rewards. These not moving us, he would sit silent for a long time wrapt in a thoughtful mood.

We made him presents of several articles, as we had done before, with which he seemed pleased.

Near sunset we saw our friend Louis returning accompanied by three lads of, as we judge, the ages of ten, twelve, and fourteen years.

On his arrival Lorice mounted his horse and disappeared. Louis reported that he had met a large body of good Indians, and that they would all be here to-morrow, but that the queen was not with them. He appeared much pleased that the Lorice party had gone.

On his way home he had slain a large puma. He had no weapons but his bolas and knife, but with the help of a fierce pack of dogs and his own skill and prowess he succeeded in slaying this powerful animal. He gave us liberally of the booty, and we found the flesh not very tough and quite palatable.

Chapter VII.

The Great Chief Congo And His Clan.

_Dec. 23._ Our Indian friends arose early this morning to make ready for receiving the coming troop from the north, and the young chief went out to meet and to escort them into camp. About noon they began to arrive, and for hours they kept pouring in and pitching their tents around us.

As usual all the labor was performed by the squaws, while the men and children assembled in multitudes before our tent, gazing upon us with eager curiosity and smiling good-nature. The clan consists of several hundreds, and when mounted it looks like a straggling regiment. It is headed by a young man whom they call Congo, and to whom they give the title of “de capita le grande.”

Soon after his arrival this grand captain came and introduced himself to us as the great chief of the tribe, and spent several hours with us. He is a splendid specimen of physical organization, about six feet three inches high, well formed and graceful in figure and movements. He has a mild, open countenance with an intellectual stamp, and full of kindness and good-nature. His manners are easy and natural, and one might at first sight take him for a half-civilized native.

He rides a splendid horse, and dressed in his skin leggins and rich fur mantle he makes a fine appearance for a Patagonian. He speaks many Spanish and some English words, and thinks himself quite a learned man, especially as he can count ten in English.

He told us that a large part of this tribe were with Santa Maria, and that they would be here in one moon.

He inquired of us about our country. Was it great? were there plenty of guanacos? How we came to Patagonia; how many moons we were on the water? How long we had been here; how long we would remain? What goods we had brought? Whether we were not great captains and owners of many vessels? And many such like questions. To all these inquiries we gave him truthful answers that seemed to satisfy and please him. He was also curious to know the English name of almost everything around. After a social interview he invited us to visit him at “de casa le grande”--the great house--and presenting his hand in all the apparent cordiality of civilized etiquette, he left us and returned to his own tent.

Besides the grand captain there are several inferior officers, whom they call “poco capetans,” or little captains, but how either of these offices is filled or what are the distinctive powers of each we have not yet learned. To all appearance, the man who shows the most prowess in fighting, the greatest dexterity in hunting, and the largest amount of loquacity and self-assurance becomes, like Nimrod of old, a natural leader of his tribe, and the people look up to and follow him.

At the same time there is little appearance of rule or government among them. Most of these savages assume an air of boldness and independence, as if every man was born a king and had never been conquered or made to serve, and thus they sweep the plains like the Bedouins, and roam from the Straits of Magellan to the Rio Negro on the north and from the shores of the Atlantic to the western Andes. To one of these subordinates, Santa Rio, we were introduced. He speaks the Spanish language, and shows by his name that he has been with priests of the Catholic Church. Four years ago he was sent from the Falkland Islands, where he was then residing, by the governor of those islands to trade for horses. Since then he has remained with the Patagonians, taken a wife from among them, and seems to have cast in his lot with the tribe. He is quite inferior in his person, but has more intelligence and a greater degree of civilization than most of the Indians. He is dressed in pa