Equatorial America

There are thirteen theatres in the city, and an admirable museum. The latter, rich in antiquities, is noted for its prehistoric remains of animals which once lived in the southern part of this continent, but whose species have long been extinct. This particular museum is advantageously known to scientists all over the world. The Colon Theatre is a large, well-equipped, and imposing place of entertainment, as much so as the Théâtre Française, Paris, and takes a high position in representations of the legitimate drama and the production of the better spectacular plays. This house adopts what is called here the cazuela in the division of its auditorium, an excellent system, very general in South American theatres, and we believe, nowhere else. It consists in giving up the entire second tier of boxes or seats to the exclusive use of unattended ladies, an arrangement which seemed to us strongly to recommend itself. To this division of the auditorium there is a separate entrance from the street, and no gentlemen are admitted under any pretext whatever. So those who desire to come to the entertainments quite unattended can do so with perfect propriety, and are safe from all intrusion in this isolated position. The ladies of this city, when they appear in public, dress very elegantly, following closely North American and European styles, while displaying the choicest imported materials well made up. Perhaps comparisons are invidious, but we feel inclined to accord precedence in the matter of personal beauty to those of Montevideo. In dress, however, the ladies of Buenos Ayres certainly excel them. Each city has its local "Worth," but many dresses are made in Paris and imported, regardless of expense.

There may be somewhere a noisier city than Buenos Ayres, as regards street life in the business section, but London or New York cannot rival it in this respect. Undoubtedly this is owing in a measure to the fact that the traffic of so large and busy a metropolis is crowded into such narrow thoroughfares, barely thirty feet in width, and often less than that, a portion of which space is taken up by the tramway tracks. The noisy vehicles which run on these rails make their full share of the racket and hubbub. Here, as in the cities of Mexico and Puebla, the drivers of the cars are supplied each with a tin horn, hung about his neck, or suspended from the car front, upon which he exercises his lungs, producing ear-piercing and discordant notes. Wheels and hoofs upon the uneven pavements increase the din, supplemented by shouts and language more forcible than proper, uttered by enraged teamsters because of the frequent blocking of the roadway. Add to these dulcet sounds the cries of itinerant fruit venders, fancy-goods sellers, and the shouts of persistent newsboys, and one has some idea of the irritating uproar which rages all day long in the older streets of Buenos Ayres.

Cows and mares are driven singly or in groups through the streets of this city, and milked at the customers' doors, so that one is nearly certain of getting the genuine article in this line, though we were assured that some roguish dealers carry an india-rubber tube and flat bag under their clothing from which they slyly extract a portion of water to "extend" the lacteal fluid. "Is there no honesty extant?" Adulteration seems to have become an instinct of trade. Asses are still driven through the streets of Paris, in the early mornings, and the milk obtained from them is distributed in the same manner, whether with a slight adulteration of water or not, we are unable to say. It is not uncommon at Buenos Ayres to see a person served on the street with fresh milk just drawn from the animal, which he drinks on the spot. A very refreshing, modest, and nutritious morning tipple. Mares, as before mentioned, are not used for working or riding in this country, but are kept solely for breeding purposes and to furnish milk. This article is considered to be more nourishing for invalids and children than cow's milk, and is often prescribed as a regular diet by the physicians.

The grand driving park of the capital, known by the name of Third of February, is situated at Palermo, some distance from the city proper, and covers between eight and nine hundred acres. On certain days, especially on Sundays, a military band gives a public outdoor concert here, when all the beauty and fashion of the city turn out in gay equipages to see and to be seen, forming also a grand and spirited cavalcade of fine horses and carriages. The races take place at Palermo, and, as in all Roman Catholic countries, on Sundays.

The neighborhood of Buenos Ayres is generally under good cultivation, the soil and climate uniting to produce splendid agricultural results. The suburbs of Flores and Belgrano each present a very pretty group of quintas and gardens, wherein great skill and refinement of taste is evinced. The alfalfa, a species of clover used here in a green condition as fodder for cattle, and which is as rich as the red clover of New England, to which family of grasses it belongs, grows so rapidly and ripens so promptly that three crops are often realized from the same field in a single season. The immediate environs of the city are occupied by private residences, many of which are very elaborate and imposing, surrounded by charming gardens and pleasure grounds. Grottoes, statuary, and fountains abound, while orchards of various fruits are common, interspersed here and there with picturesque graperies. Some of the highways are guarded by hedges of cactus, —agave, – much more impenetrable than any artificial fencing. Trees of the eucalyptus family have heretofore been favorites here, originally imported from Australia, but they have ceased to be desirable, since it appears that nothing will grow in their shadow. They seem to exercise a blighting power on other species of vegetation. Figs, peaches, and oranges grow side by side, surrounded by other fruits, while the low-lying fields and open meadows nearest to the river are divided into large squares of three or four acres each, enameled with the deep green of the thick growing alfalfa, and other crops varying in color after their kind. Richest of all are the intensely yellow fields of ripening wheat still farther inland, whose softly undulating surface, gently yielding to the passing breeze, produces long, widespread floating ripples of golden light.

The love of flowers is a passion among all classes of the people, and their cultivation as a business by experienced individuals gives profitable employment to many florists, whose grounds are pictures of accumulated beauty, fragrance, and variety of hues. There is as true harmony to the eye in such blendings as there is to the ear in perfect music. The reader may be sure that where the children of Flora so much abound, bright tinted humming-birds do much more abound, dainty little living feathered gems, rivaling rubies, sapphires, and emeralds.

To insure the good health of her large and increasing population, the system of drainage in Buenos Ayres requires prompt and effectual treatment. The natural fall of the ground towards the river is hardly sufficient to second any engineering effort to this end. That typhoid fever should prevail here to the extent which it does, at nearly all seasons of the year, is a terrible reflection upon those in authority. This is a fatal disease which is quite preventable, and in this instance clearly traceable to obvious causes. Rio Janeiro, with its yellow fever scourge, is hardly more seriously afflicted than Buenos Ayres with its typhoid malaria. Indeed, it is contended by some persons living on the coast that the number of deaths per annum in the two cities arising from these causes is very nearly equal, taking into account the results of year after year. Sometimes, unaccountably, Rio escapes the fever for a twelvemonth, that is to say, some seasons it does not rage as an epidemic; but we fear, if the truth were fairly expressed, it would be found that the seeds are there all the while, and that the city of Rio Janeiro, like that of Vera Cruz on the Gulf of Mexico, is never absolutely exempt from occasional cases.

The Argentine Republic contains more than a million square miles, as already stated; indeed, immensity may be said to be one of its most manifest characteristics. The plains, the woods, the rivers, are colossal. To be sure, all of her territory is not, strictly speaking, available land, suitable for agricultural purposes, any more than is the case in our own wide-spread country. No other nation equals this republic in the value of cattle, compared with the number of the population, not forgetting Australia with its immense sheep and cattle ranches. It is believed, nevertheless, that the agricultural interest here, as in Uruguay, is gradually increasing in such ratio that it will erelong rival the pastoral. The average soil is very similar to that of our Mississippi valley, yielding a satisfactory succession of crops without the aid of any artificial enrichment. The pampas have a mellow, dry soil, the common grass growing in tussocks to the height of three or four feet, and possessing a perennial vigor which mostly crowds out other vegetation. A few wild flowers are occasionally seen, and in the marshy places lilies of several species are to be met with; but taken all together the flora of the pampas is the poorest of any fertile district with which we are acquainted. A few half-developed herbs and trefoils occasionally meet the eye, together with small patches of wild verbenas of various colors. At long distances from each other one comes upon areas of tall pampas grass as it is called, so stocky as to be almost like the bamboo, eight or ten feet high, decked with fleecy, white plumes. Birds are scarce on the pampas. There is a peculiar species of hare, besides some animals of the rodent family, resembling prairie-dogs —biscachos– or overgrown rats, together with an occasional jaguar and puma, found on these plains, as well as that meanest of all animals, the pestiferous skunk. Animal life, other than the herds of wild cattle, can hardly be said to abound on the pampas.

Until a few years since, Buenos Ayres enjoyed the distinction of being the capital of the province of the same name, as also of the Argentine Republic; but the present capital of the province of Buenos Ayres, called La Plata, is situated about forty miles south-east of Buenos Ayres, with which it is connected by railway. The site of the new capital was an uninhabited wilderness ten years ago, the foundation stone of this city having been laid in 1882. To-day La Plata has a population of about fifty thousand, although over seventy are claimed for it, a comprehensive system of tramways, broad, well paved streets, two theatres, thirty public schools, a national college, and six large hotels. There are many monuments and fountains ornamenting the thoroughfares, and what is now wanting is a population commensurate with the grand scale on which the capital is designed. An immense cathedral is being built, but has only reached a little way above its foundation, as work upon it has for a while been suspended. If the original plan is fully carried out, it may be half a century or more in course of construction. La Plata is suffering from the pecuniary crisis perhaps more seriously than any other part of the country. The city is lighted by both electricity and gas, issues five daily newspapers, has a very complete astronomical observatory, a public library, five railroad stations, and some very elegant public buildings. Its large possibilities are by no means improved, however. Of the buildings, the edifice of the provincial legislature, that of the minister of finance, and the legislative palace are all worthy of mention. The government house is a long, low structure, the front view of which is rendered effective by an added story in the centre, which projects from the line of the building, and is supported by high columns. The "Palace," as it is called, forming the residence of the governor of the province, is an elaborate and pretentious building, three stories in height, with two flanking domes and a dominating one in the centre. Of course La Plata has gained its start and rapid growth from the prestige of being the provincial capital, but it is now slowly developing a legitimate growth on a sound business basis, and though it can hardly be expected to ever equal Buenos Ayres in population and commercial importance, it nevertheless promises to be a prosperous city in the distant future; its citizens already call it the "Washington" of South America. A close observer could not but notice that many houses were unoccupied, and the streets seemed half deserted.

While the most of our maps and geographies remain pretty much as they were a score of years ago, and a majority of the kingdoms of the Old World have changed scarcely at all, the Argentine Republic has been steadily growing in population, progressing rapidly in intelligence, constantly extending its commercial relations, and marching all the while towards the front rank of modern civilization. A detailed statement of its extraordinary development during the last twenty years, in commerce, railway connections, schools, agriculture, and general wealth, would surprise the most intelligent reader. It is believed by experienced and conservative people, particularly those conversant with the South American republics, that Buenos Ayres will be the first city south of the equator in commercial rank and population, within a quarter of a century. The increase of this republic in population during the last two decades has been over one hundred and fifty per cent., a rapidity of growth almost without precedent. The increase of population in our own country, during the same period, was less than eighty per cent. Twenty-four lines of magnificent steamships connect the Argentine Republic with Europe, and twice that number of vessels sail back and forth each month of the year, while its railway system embraces over six thousand miles of road in operation, besides one or two yet incomplete routes, though the opening of its first line was so late as thirty-four years ago. Add to this her system of inland river navigation, covering thousands of miles, which has been so systematized as to fully supplement the remarkable railway facilities.

That Argentina rests at the present moment, as we have constantly intimated, under a financial cloud is only too well known to every one. It is a crisis brought about by an overhaste in the development of the country, especially in railroad enterprises. Festina lente is a good sound maxim, which the people of this republic have quite disregarded, and for which they and their creditors are suffering accordingly. It is seldom that any newly developed country escapes the maladies attendant upon too rapid growth, but this is a sort of illness pretty sure to remedy itself in due time, and rarely impedes the proper development of maturer years. If this republic has been unduly extravagant, and borrowed too much money in advancing her material interests, she has at least something to show for it. The funds have not been foolishly expended in sustaining worse than useless hordes of armed men, nor in the profitless support of royal puppets.

Nations no less than individuals are liable to financial failure, but with her grand and inexhaustible native resources, backed by the energy of her adopted citizens, this republic is as sure as anything mortal can be to soon recover from her present business depression, and to astonish the world at large by the rapidity of her financial recuperation. Her present annual crop of wool exceeds all former record in amount, and is authoritatively estimated at over thirty million dollars in value. To this large industrial product is to be added her prolific harvest of maize and wheat, together with an almost fabulous amount of valuable hides.

CHAPTER XIII

City of Rosario. – Its Population. – A Pretentious Church. – Ocean Experiences. – Morbid Fancies. – Strait of Magellan. – A Great Discoverer. – Local Characteristics. – Patagonians and Fuegians. – Giant Kelp. – Unique Mail Box. – Punta Arenas. – An Ex-Penal Colony. – The Albatross. – Natives. – A Naked People. – Whales. – Sea-Birds. – Glaciers. – Mount Sarmiento. – A Singular Story.

The route to Rosario is rather monotonous by railway, taking the traveler through a very flat but fertile region, over prairies which are virtually treeless, not unlike long reaches of country through which the Canadian Pacific Railroad passes between Banff, in the Rocky Mountains, and Port Arthur, on Lake Superior. The monotonous scenery is varied only by a sight of occasional herds of cattle, feeding upon the rich grass, with here and there a mounted herdsman, and the numberless telegraph poles which line the track. It is at least a seven hours' journey from Buenos Ayres to Rosario. Occasionally a marshy reach of soil is encountered where large aquatic birds are seen, such as flamingoes, storks, cranes, herons, and the like.

Rosario, in the province of Santa Fé, is the second city in point of population and importance in the Argentine Republic. It is a young and promising capital, hardly yet fairly launched upon its voyage of prosperity, but so far it has been singularly favored by various circumstances. The place is arranged in the usual crisscross manner as regards the streets of this country, which, unfortunately, are too narrow for even its present limited business. In place of twenty-four feet they should have been laid out at least double that width, in the light of all experience has developed in these South American cities. This new town is situated a little less than three hundred miles by water from Buenos Ayres, and about two hundred by land, railroad and steamboat connection being regularly maintained between them. The site is admirably chosen on the banks of the Paraná River, fifty or sixty feet above its level, and it is destined to become, eventually, a great commercial centre. In 1854 it was only a large village, containing some four thousand people. It is the natural seaport, not only of the rich province of Cordova, but also of the more inland districts, Mendoza, San Luis, Tucuman, Salta, and Jujuy, the first named having a population of half a million. Owing to the height of the river's banks, merchandise is loaded by "shutes," being thus conducted at once from the warehouses to the hatches of the vessels. Already a number of foreign steamships may be seen almost any day lying at anchor opposite the town, while the railway communications in various directions have all of their transportation capacity fully employed. One of these lines reaches almost across the continent to Mendoza, at the eastern slope of the Andes, west from Rosario. Other roads run both north and south from here. The foreign and domestic trade of the place is second only to that of Buenos Ayres. Vessels drawing fifteen feet of water ascend the river to this point. As a shipping port, Rosario has to a certain extent special advantages even over the larger city, being two or three hundred miles nearer the merchandise producing points.

There is already a population of some seventy-five thousand here, and, as we have intimated, the city is growing rapidly. Wharves, docks, and warehouses are in course of construction, and can hardly be finished fast enough to meet the demand for their use. There are a few substantial and handsome dwellings being erected, and many of a more ordinary class, in the finishing of which many a cargo of New England lumber is consumed. Some of the public buildings are imposing in size and architectural design, wisely constructed in anticipation of the future size of the city, whose rapid growth is only equaled by St. Paul in Brazil. The tramway, gas, and telephone have been successfully introduced. There is certainly no lack of enterprise evinced in all legitimate business directions, while attention is being very properly and promptly turned towards perfecting a carefully devised educational system of free schools, primary and progressive. When the founders of a new city begin in this intelligent fashion, we may be very sure that they are moving in the right direction, and that permanency, together with abundant present success, is sure to be the sequence.

On one side of the Plaza Mayor of Rosario stands a very pretentious church, not yet quite completed, but as the towers and dome are finished it makes a prominent feature from a long way off, as one approaches the town. In the centre of this square is a marble shaft surmounted by a figure representing Victory, and at the base are four statues of Argentine historic characters. This square is adorned with a double row of handsome acacias. As regards amusements, so far as is visible, theatricals seem to take the lead, the place having two theatres, both of which appear to be enjoying a thriving business.

When a new city is started in South America upon a site so well selected, and after so thoroughly substantial a plan, the result is no problem. The influx of European immigrants promptly supplies the necessary laborers and artisans, quite as fast, indeed, as they are required, while the ordinary growth and development of inland resources tax the local business capacity, enterprise, and capital to their utmost. Rosario needs to perfect a careful and thorough system of drainage. Fevers are at present alarmingly prevalent, arising from causes which judicious attention and sanitary means would easily obviate.

We will not weary the reader by protracted delay at this point, having still a long voyage before us.

Embarking at Montevideo, our way is southward over a broad and lonely track of ocean. If we can summon a degree of philosophy to our aid, it is fortunate. Without genial companions, surrounded by strangers, and thrown entirely upon ourselves, mental resort often fails us, life appears sombre, the wide, wide ocean almost appalling. One of the inevitable trials of a long sea voyage is the wakeful hours which will occasionally visit the most experienced traveler, – midnight hours, when the weary brain becomes preternaturally active, the imagination oversensitive and weird in its erratic conceptions, while forebodings of evil which never happens are apt to fill the mind with morbid anxieties. The very silence of the surroundings is impressive, interrupted only by the regular throbbing of the great, tireless engine, and the dashing waters chafing along the iron hull close beside the wakeful dreamer. Separated by thousands of miles from home, all communication cut off with friends and the world at large, while watching the dreary ocean, day after day, week after week, we imagine endless misfortunes that may have come to dear ones on shore. However limited may be the world of reality, that of the imagination is boundless, and sometimes one realizes years of wretched anxiety in the space of a few overwrought hours. It is such moments of passive misery which beget wrinkles and white hairs. Action is the only relief, and one hastens to the deck for a change of scene and thoughts. After experiencing such a night, how glad and glorious seems the sun rising out of the wide waste of waters, how bright and glowing the smile he casts upon the long lazy swell of the South Atlantic, as if pointedly to rebuke the overwrought fancy, and reassure the aching heart!

Be we never so dreary, the great ship speeds on its course, heeding us not; its busy motor, like heart-beats, throbs with undisturbed uniformity, forcing the vessel onward despite the joy or sorrow of those it carries within its capacious hull.

The Strait of Magellan, which divides South America from the mysterious island group which is known as Terra del Fuego, and connects the Atlantic with the Pacific Ocean by a most intricate water-way, is considerably less than four hundred miles in length, and of various widths. De Lesseps, with his successful Suez Canal and his deplorable Panama failure, is quite distanced by the hand of Nature in this line of business. It would require about ten thousand Suez Canals to make a Magellan Strait, and then it would be but a very sorry imitation. It will be remembered that the Portuguese navigator who discovered this remarkable passage, and for whom it is justly named, first passed through it in November, 1520, finally emerging into the waters of the new sea, upon which he was the first to sail, and which he named Mar Pacifico. Doubtless it seemed "pacific" to him after his rude experience in the South Atlantic, but the author has known as rough weather in this misnamed ocean as he has ever encountered in any part of the globe.

One can well conceive of the elation and surprise of Magellan, upon emerging from the intricate passage through which he had been struggling to make his way for so many weary days. What a sensation of satisfaction and triumph must the courageous and persevering navigator have experienced at the discovery he had made! What mattered all his weary hours of watching, of self-abnegation, of cold and hunger, of incessant battling with the raging sea? Henceforth to him royal censure or royal largess mattered little. His name would descend to all future generations as the great discoverer of this almost limitless ocean.

The passage leading to the strait on the Atlantic or eastern end is about twenty miles across, Cape Vergens being on the starboard side, and Cape Espiritu Santo – or Cape Holy Ghost – on the port. The entrance on the western or Pacific end is marked by Cape Pillar, Desolation Land, where the scenery is far more rugged and mountainous, the cape terminating in two cliffs, shaped so much like artificial towers as to be quite deceptive at a short distance. The narrowest part of the strait is about one mile in width, known to mariners as Crooked Reach. A passage through this great natural canal is an experience similar, in some respects, to that of sailing in the inland sea of Alaska, between Victoria and Glacier Bay, bringing into view dense forests, immense glaciers, abrupt mountain peaks, and snow-covered summits, the whole shrouded in the same solitude and silence, varied by the occasional flight of sea-birds or the appearance of seals and porpoises from below the deep waters. So irregular in its course is this passage between the two great oceans, so changeable are its currents, so impeded by dangerous rocks and hidden shoals, so beset with squalls and sudden storms, that sailing vessels are forced to double the ever-dreaded Cape Horn rather than take the Magellan route. A United States man-of-war, a sailing ship, was once over two months in making the passage through the strait, and Magellan tells us that he was thirty-seven days in passing from ocean to ocean, though using all ordinary dispatch. Within a fortnight of the writing of these notes, a European mail steamship was lost here by striking upon a sunken rock. Fortunately, owing to the proximity of the shore and moderate weather prevailing, the crew and passengers were all saved.

Winter lingers, and the days are short in this latitude. A sailing ship would be compelled to find anchorage nightly, and some days would perhaps be driven back in a few hours a distance which it had required a week to make in her proper direction. Steamships usually accomplish the run in from thirty to forty hours, there being many reaches where it is necessary to run only at half speed. If heavy fogs and bad weather prevail, they often lay by during the night, and also in snow-storms, which occur not infrequently. The sky is seldom clear for many hours together, and the sun's warmth is rarely felt, the rain falling almost daily. Even in the summer of this high southern latitude the nights are cold and gloomy, ice nearly always forming. It must be admitted that this region, of itself, is not calculated to attract the most inveterate wanderer. One is not surprised when reading the rather startling narrations of the old navigators who made the passage of the strait, encountering the constantly varying winds, and having canvas only to depend upon. The marvel is that, with their primitive means, they should have accomplished so much. There are no lighthouses in this passage from ocean to ocean, though it has been pretty well surveyed and buoyed in late years, thanks to the liberality of the English naval service, by whom this was done. There is, in fact, a dearth of lighthouses on the entire coast of South America, especially on the west side of the continent. We can recall but three between Montevideo and Valparaiso, a distance, by way of the strait, of fully two thousand miles. The lighthouses we refer to are at Punta Arenas, Punta Galesa, near Valdivia, and that which marks the port of Concepcion, at Talcahuano. The Strait of Magellan is only fit as an abiding-place for seals, waterfowl, and otters; humanity can hardly find congenial foothold here.

The natives of Patagonia, who live on the northern side of the strait, are called horse Indians, because they make such constant use of the wild horses; they do not move in any direction without them. Those on the Fuegian side are called canoe Indians, as the canoe forms their universal and indeed only mode of transportation. The former are a rather large, tall race of people, the men averaging about six feet in height; the latter are smaller in physical development, and are less civilized than the Indians of Patagonia, which, to be sure, is saying very little for the latter, who are really a low type of nomads. The Fuegians are believed to still practice cannibalism. One writer tells us that criminals and prisoners of war are thus disposed of, and that the last crew of shipwrecked seamen who fell into their hands were roasted and eaten by them. Their hostile purposes are well understood, for whenever they dare to exercise such a spirit they are sure to do so. They cautiously send out a boat or two to passing vessels, with whom a little trading is attempted, the main body of natives keeping well out of sight; but in case of any mishap to a ship, or if a small party land and are unable to defend themselves, they will appear in swarms from various hiding-places, swooping down upon their victims like vultures in the desert. The officers of the yacht Sunbeam, as recounted by Lady Brassey, found it necessary to turn her steam-pipes full force upon the swarming natives, who were doubtless preparing to make an effort to capture the yacht and her crew, hoping to overcome them by mere force of numbers. They were, however, so frightened and utterly astonished by the means of defense adopted by Lord Brassey that they threw themselves, one and all, into the sea, and sought the shore pell-mell. Humboldt, in his day, ranked these Fuegians among the lowest specimens of humanity he had ever met, and they certainly do not seem to have improved much in the mean time. One is at a loss to understand why the Patagonians should have impressed the early navigators with the idea that they were a people of gigantic size. There is no evidence to-day of their being, or ever having been, taller or larger than the average New Englander. Half-naked savages, standing six feet high, naturally impress one as being taller than Europeans clad in the conventional style of civilized people.

The waters of Magellan are very dark, deep, and sullen in aspect, with insufficient room in many places to manage a ship properly under canvas alone. In their depth and darkness these waters also resemble those of Alaska's inland sea. The shores are quite bold, and the rocks below the surface are mostly indicated by giant kelp —Fucus giganteus– growing over them, a kind provision of nature in behalf of safe navigation. It will not answer, however, to depend solely upon this indication; the many rocks in the strait are by no means all so designated, nor are they all buoyed. Sea-kelp is very plentiful in this region, and serves many useful purposes. It forms a nourishing food for the Fuegians under certain circumstances, when their usual supply is scarce. They dry it and prepare it in a rude way suited to their unsophisticated palates. It also forms a portion of the support of the seals and sea-otters; these creatures feed freely upon its more delicate and tender shoots. It is wonderful how it can exist and thrive among such breakers as it constantly encounters in these restless waters, which are churned into mounds of foam in squally weather; but it does grow in great luxuriance, rising oftentimes two hundred feet and more from the bottom of the sea. It is curious to watch its abundant growth and its peculiar habits. If the wind and tide are in the same direction, the plant lies smooth upon the water; but if the wind is against the tide, the leaves curl up, causing a ripple on the surface, like a school of small fish. A specimen of giant kelp was secured from alongside of the ship, broken off at arm's length below the surface of the water. It was heavy and full of parasites. Upon shaking it, myriads of marine insects, shells, tiny crabs, sea-eggs, and star-fish fell upon the deck. All of these were of the smallest species, some almost invisible to the naked eye, but how wonderful they appeared under the microscope, which developed hundreds of forms of life infinitesimal in size!

At a prominent point of the main channel is a strong box made fast by a chain, which always used to be opened by the masters of passing ships, either to deposit or to take away letters, as the case might be, each shipmaster undertaking the free delivery of all letters whose address was within the line of his subsequent course. In the whaleship service, especially during times now long past, this arrangement has been of great service, and there is no instance on record where the purpose of this self-sustaining post-office was disregarded. In these days of fast and regular post-office service, the "Magellan mail," as it was called, is of no practical account.

There are several fairly good harbors in the strait, but the only white settlement was originally a penal colony founded by the Chilian government, though it no longer serves for that purpose, the convicts having risen some years since, and overpowered the garrison. A large portion of the Patagonian shore is well wooded, besides which an available coal deposit has been found and worked to fair advantage. Steamships, which were formerly obliged to go to the Falkland Islands, in the Atlantic, five hundred miles from the mouth of the strait, when running short of fuel, can now get their supply in an exigency at Punta Arenas – "Sandy Point." It is situated in the eastern section of the strait, about a hundred and twenty-five miles from the entrance. We do not mean to convey the idea that this is a regular coaling station, though it may some time become so. The town consists of straggling, low-built log-houses, and a few framed ones, reminding one of Port Said at the Mediterranean end of the Suez Canal, with its heterogeneous population. That of Sandy Point is made up of all nationalities, strongly tinctured with ex-convicts, and deserters from the Chilian army and navy. English is the language most commonly spoken, though the place is Chilian territory. It contains some twelve or fifteen hundred inhabitants, and is the most southerly town on the globe, as well as the most undesirable one in which to live, if one may express an opinion upon such brief acquaintance.

We made no attempt to go on shore at Punta Arenas. A rain-storm was at its height while the ship lay off the town, and when it rains in these latitudes, it attends exclusively to the business in hand. The water comes down like Niagara, until finally, when the clouds have entirely emptied themselves, it stops. Jupiter Pluvius is master of the situation, when he asserts himself, and there is no one who can dispute his authority. Umbrellas and waterproofs are of no more use as a protection during the downpour, than they would be to a person who had fallen overboard in water forty fathoms deep. One of our passengers came on deck with a life preserver about his body, solemnly declaring that if this sort of thing continued much longer, the article would be absolutely necessary in order to keep afloat.

During the season the Patagonians bring into Punta Arenas the result of their hunting in the shape of seal and otter skins, together with guanaco, and silver-fox skins, which are gathered by local traders and shipped to Europe. Occasionally a few sea-otter skins of rare value are obtained from here, fully equal, we were told, to anything taken in Alaskan waters. We have said that Punta Arenas is the most southerly town on the globe. The next nearest town to the Antarctic circle is the Bluff, so called, – also known as Campbelltown, – in the extreme south of New Zealand, where the author has eaten of the famous oysters indigenous there.

Two sorts of supplies are to be obtained by navigators of the strait, namely, fuel and good drinking water. Sometimes a valuable skin robe may be purchased of the Patagonian Indians. It is called a guanaco-skin cloak, and made from the skin of the young deer. To obtain these skins of a uniform fineness of texture, the fawns are killed when but eight or ten days old; the available product got from each one is so small as hardly to exceed twice the size of one's hand. These are sewn together with infinite care and neatness by the Indian women, who use the fine sinews taken from ostriches' legs for thread. One of these guanaco-skin cloaks represents a vast amount of labor, and a hundred fawns must die to supply the raw material. Only chiefs of tribes can afford to wear them. Strangers who are willing to pay a price commensurate with their real cost and value may occasionally buy such an article as we describe, but these cloaks are rare. One was brought on board ship and shown to us, the price of which was twelve hundred dollars, nor do we think it was an excessive valuation. It was worth the amount as a rare curiosity for some art museum.

That monarch bird of Antarctic regions, the albatross, frequents both ends of the strait, and sometimes accompanies steamships during the passage, together with cape-pigeons, gulls, and other marine birds, though as a rule the albatross is little seen except on the broad expanse of the ocean. A bird called the steamer-duck, also nicknamed by sailors the paddle-wheel duck, was pointed out to us by our captain. It is so called from its mode of propelling itself through the water, scooting over the surface of the strait while using both wings and legs, and creating considerable disturbance of the water, like a side-wheeler. The wings are too small to give it power of flight through the air. The steamer-duck is a large bird, nearly the size of the domestic goose; after its fashion, it moves with astonishing velocity, considerably faster than the average speed of a steamship. But we were speaking a moment since of the albatross, which is a feathered cannibal, and shows some truly wolfish traits. When one of its own species, a member of the same flock even, is wounded and drops helpless to the surface of the sea, its comrades swoop down upon it, and tearing the body to pieces with their powerful bills, devour the flesh ravenously. This was witnessed near the Arctic circle, between Hobart, in Tasmania, and the Bluff, in New Zealand, a few years ago, when some English sportsmen succeeded in wounding one of these mammoth birds from the deck of the steamship Zealandia. The only other known bird of our day which measures from eleven to twelve feet between the tips of the extended wings is the South American condor.

The sea hereabouts abounds in fish, which constitute the largest portion of the food supply of the few Indians who live near the coast of either shore. The Fuegians dwell in the rudest shelters possible, nothing approaching the form of a house. The frailest shelter, covered with sea-lion's skins, suffices to keep them from the inclemencies of the weather. With the exception of an animal skin of some sort, having the fur on, secured over one shoulder on the side exposed to the wind, the canoe Indians wear no clothing. We were told that several of these natives, while quite young, were taken to England by advice of the missionaries and taught to read and write, being also kindly instructed in civilized manners and customs, which they gladly adopted for the time being; but upon returning to their native land, in every instance they rapidly lapsed into a condition of semi-savagery. It had been hoped they would act as a civilizing medium with their former friends, after returning among them, but this proved fallacious, and was a great disappointment to the well-meaning philanthropists. This same experience, as is well known, has been the result of similar experiments with natives of Africa and the South Sea Islands. The author is conversant with a striking illustration of this character in connection with an Australian Indian youth, which occurred in Queensland, and which was both interesting and very romantic in its development. It simply went to prove that hereditary instincts cannot be easily eradicated, and that not one, but many generations are necessary to banish savage proclivities which are inherited from a long line of ancestors.

Gold is found to some extent in the beds of the streams in Patagonia, – free gold, washed from the disintegrated rocks. Natives sometimes bring small quantities of the gold dust into Punta Arenas, with which to purchase tobacco and other articles. Many heedless and unprincipled individuals sell them intoxicants, to obtain which these Indians will part with anything they possess, after they have once become familiar with the taste and effect of the captivating poison.

Not far from Cape Forward, near the middle of the strait, which is the most southerly portion of the American continent, three native boats were seen during our passage. The steamer was slowed for a few moments to give us a brief opportunity to see the savage occupants. These three frail, ill-built canoes were tossed high and low by the swell of the Pacific, which set to the eastward through the strait. Each boat contained a man, a couple of women, and one or two children, the latter entirely naked, the others nearly so. They were Fuegians, raising their hands and voices to attract our attention, asking for food and tobacco, to which appeal a generous response was made. Their broad faces, high cheek-bones, low foreheads, and flat noses, their faces and necks screened by coarse black hair, did not challenge our admiration, however much we were exercised by pity for human beings in so desolate a condition. They certainly possessed two redeeming features, – brilliant eyes and teeth of dazzling whiteness. The fruit thrown to them seemed best to suit the ideas and palates of the children, who devoured oranges, skin and all; but the gift of clothing which was made to the parents was laid aside for future consideration, though there are probably no "ole clo'" merchants in Terra del Fuego. The men ate hard sea biscuit and slices of cold corned beef ravenously. The plump, well-rounded shoulders and limbs of the women showed them to be in far better physical condition than the men, whose bodies consisted of little besides skin and bones. They were copper colored, and the skin of the women shone in the bright sunlight which prevailed for the moment, as though they had been varnished. If their faces had been as well formed as their bodies, they would have been models of natural beauty. How these people could remain so nearly naked with apparent comfort, while we found overcoats quite necessary, was a problem difficult to solve satisfactorily.

"They were born so," said our first officer. "As you go through life with your face and hands exposed, so they go with their entire bodies. It is a mere matter of habit, – habit from babyhood to maturity."

All of which is perfectly reasonable. It was observed that on the bottom of their boats was a layer of flat stones, and on these, just amidship, was spread a low, smouldering fire of dried vines and small twigs, designed to temper the atmosphere about them. So frail were the boats that one of the occupants was kept constantly baling out water.

It is impossible to form any intelligent estimate as to how many of these aborigines there are in and about the strait. They find food, like the canvas-back ducks, in the wild celery, adding shell-fish and dried berberries, and are a strictly nomadic people. After exhausting the products of one vicinity, for the time being, they move on, but return to the locality at a proper time, when nature has recuperated herself and furnished a fresh supply of vegetable growth and edible shell-fish. A stranded whale is a godsend to these savages, upon the putrid flesh of which they live and fatten until all has disappeared. In their primitive way they hunt this leviathan, but want of proper facilities renders them rarely successful. Occasionally they manage to plant a spear in some vital spot, deep enough to be effectual, so that the whale, after diving to the depths of the sea, finally comes to the surface, near the place where he was wounded, to thrash about and to die. Even then, unless it is at a favorable point, the large body is liable to be swept away by the strong tide setting through the strait, so that the natives seldom secure a carcass by these means.

Not long since one of the European mail steamers, on approaching the Atlantic end of the strait, sighted an object which was at first thought to be a sunken rock. If this was its character, it was all important to obtain the exact location. A boat was lowered and pulled to the object, when it was found to be the carcass of a dead whale, in which was a stout wooden spear which had fatally wounded the creature. Securely attached to the spear, by means of a rope made of animal sinews, there were a couple of inflated bladders. The spear was evidently a Fuegian weapon, and though it had finally cost the whale his life, the dead body had been carried by the current far beyond the reach of those who had caused the fatal wound. The discovery showed the crude manner in which these savages seek to possess themselves of a whale occasionally and thus to appease their barbaric appetites. They could not pursue one in their frail boats, but the creature is sometimes found sleeping on the surface of the sea, which is the Fuegian opportunity for approaching it noiselessly, and for planting a spear in some vital part of the huge body. Whales, when thus attacked, do not show fight, but their instinct leads them to dive at once.

A few whales were observed within the strait during our passage, some so near as to show that they had no fear of the ship. It was curious to watch them. There was a baby whale among the rest, five or six feet in length, which kept very close to its dam; it suddenly disappeared once while we were watching the school, though only to rise again to the surface of the sea and emit a tiny fountain of spray from its diminutive blow-hole. In passing a small inlet which formed a calm, sheltered piece of water, still as an inland lake, there were seen upon its tranquil bosom a few white geese, quietly floating, while close at hand upon some rocks, a half score of awkward penguins were also observed, with their ludicrous dummy wings, and their bodies supported in a half standing, half sitting position.

Ducks seem to be very abundant in the strait, but geese are scarce. An occasional cormorant is caught sight of, with its distended pouch bearing witness to its proverbial voracity. All the birds one sees in these far away regions have each some peculiar adaptability to the climate, the locality, or to both. The penguin never makes the mistake of seeking our northern shores, nor is the albatross often seen north of the fortieth degree of south latitude. True, were the former to emigrate, he would have to swim the whole distance, but the latter is so marvelously strong of wing that it has been said of him, he might breakfast, if he chose, at the Cape of Good Hope, and dine on the coast of Newfoundland.

Terra del Fuego, – "Land of Fire," – which makes the southern side of the strait, opposite Patagonia, is composed of a very large group of islands washed by the Atlantic on the east side and the Pacific on the west, trending towards the southeast for about two hundred miles from the strait, and terminating at Cape Horn. The largest of these islands is East Terra del Fuego, which measures from east to west between three and four hundred miles. One can only speak vaguely of detail, as this is still a terra incognita. These islands do indeed form "a land of desolation," as Captain Cook appropriately named them, sparsely inhabited to be sure, but hardly fit for human beings. They are deeply indented and cut up by arms of the sea, and composed mostly of sterile mountains, whose tops are covered with perpetual snow. When the mountains are not too much exposed to the ocean storms on the west coast, they are scantily covered with a species of hardy, wind-distorted trees from the water's edge upward to the snow line, which is here about two thousand feet above the sea. In sheltered areas this growth is dense and forest-like, especially nearest to the sea; in others it is interspersed by bald and blanched patches of barren rocks. In some open places, where they have worn themselves a broad path, the glaciers come down to the water, discharging sections of ice constantly into the deep sea, crowded forward and downward by the immense but slow-moving mass behind, – a frozen river, – thus illustrating the habit of the iceberg-producing glaciers of the far north.

One never approaches this subject without recalling the lamented Agassiz and his absorbing theories relating to it.

The author has seen huge glaciers in Scandinavia and in Switzerland, forming natural exhibitions of great interest; each country has peculiarities in this respect. In the last-named country, for instance, there is no example where a glacier descends lower than thirty-five hundred feet above the sea level, while in Norway the only one of which he can speak from personal observation has before it a large terminal moraine, thus losing the capacity for that most striking performance, the discharge of icebergs. The best example of this interesting operation of nature which we have ever witnessed, and probably the most effective in the world, is that of the Muir glacier in Alaska, where an immense frozen river comes boldly down from the Arctic regions to the sea level, with a sheer height at its terminus of over two hundred feet. From this unique façade, nearly two miles in width, the constant tumbling of icebergs into the sea is accompanied by a noise like a salvo of cannon. This glacier, it should be remembered, also extends to the bottom of the bay, where it enters it two hundred feet below the surface of the water, thus giving it a height, or perhaps we should say a depth and height combined, of fully four hundred feet. Icebergs are discharged from the submerged portion continually, and float to the surface, thus repeating the process below the water which is all the while going on above it, and visible upon the perpendicular surface. Nothing which we have seen in the Canadian Selkirks, in Switzerland, Norway, or elsewhere, equals in size, grandeur, or clearly defined glacial action, the famous Muir glacier of Alaska.

The most remarkable peak to be seen in passing through the Strait of Magellan is Mount Sarmiento, which is inexpressibly grand in its proportions, dominating the borders of Cockburn's Channel near the Pacific end of the great water-way. It is about seven thousand feet in height, a spotless cone of snow, being in form extremely abrupt and pointed. This frosty monarch sends down from its upper regions a score or more of narrow, sky-blue glaciers to the sea through openings in the dusky forest. Darwin was especially impressed by the sight of these when he explored this region, and speaks of them as looking like so many Niagaras, but they are only miniature glaciers after all. One sees in the Pyrenees and the St. Gothard Pass similar cascades flowing down from the mountains towards the valleys, except that in the one instance the crystal waters are liquid, in the other they are quite congealed. The group or range of which Sarmiento is the apex is very generally shrouded in mist, and is visited by frequent rain, snow, and hail storms. We were fortunate to see it under a momentary glow of warm sunshine, when the sky was deepest blue, and the ermine cloak of the mountain was spangled with frost gems.

It would seem that such exposure to the elements in a frigid climate, and such deprivations as must be constantly endured by the barbarous natives who inhabit these bleak regions, must surely shorten their lives, and perhaps it does so, though "the survival of the fittest," who grow up to maturity, is in such numbers that one is a little puzzled in considering the matter. A singular instance touching upon this point came indirectly to the writer's knowledge.

It appears that four Fuegian women, one of whom was about forty years of age, and the others respectively about twenty, twenty-five, and thirty, were picked up adrift in the strait a few years ago. It was believed that they had escaped from some threatened tribal cruelty, but upon this subject they would reveal nothing. These fugitives were kindly taken in hand by philanthropic people at Sandy Point, and entertained with true Christian hospitality. When first discovered they were, as usual, quite naked, but were promptly clothed and properly housed. No more work was required of them than they chose voluntarily to perform; in short, they were most kindly treated, and though the best of care was taken of them in a hygienic sense, they all gradually faded, and died of consumption in less than two years. They seemed to be contented, were grateful and cheerful, but clothing and a warm house to live in, odd as it may seem, killed them! They were born to a free, open air and exposed daily life, and their apparently sturdy constitutions required such a mode of living. Civilized habits, strange to say, proved fatal to these wild children of the rough Fuegian coast.

CHAPTER XIV