OSGOOD ART COLORTYPE CO., CHI. & N. Y.

An Antarctic Iceberg

THROUGH THE FIRST
ANTARCTIC NIGHT
1898–1899

A NARRATIVE OF THE VOYAGE OF THE “BELGICA” AMONG
NEWLY DISCOVERED LANDS AND OVER AN UNKNOWN
SEA ABOUT THE SOUTH POLE

BY

FREDERICK A. COOK, M.D.

SURGEON AND ANTHROPOLOGIST OF THE BELGIAN ANTARCTIC EXPEDITION
WITH AN APPENDIX CONTAINING A SUMMARY OF THE SCIENTIFIC RESULTS

Illustrated

WILLIAM HEINEMANN
LONDON
1900

Copyright, 1900, by
Frederick A. Cook.

Portions of this narrative have appeared in the Century, Scribner’s
and McClure’s. Though this material has been much changed
and rewritten, my acknowledgments are due to these magazines.

Press of J. J. Little & Co.
Astor Place, New York

TO THE LITTLE FAMILY,
THE OFFICERS, THE SCIENTIFIC STAFF, AND
THE CREW OF THE “BELGICA,”
WHOSE FORTUNES AND MISFORTUNES MADE
THIS STORY OF THE FIRST HUMAN EXPERIENCE
THROUGHOUT A SOUTH POLAR YEAR;
TO THESE MEN,
WHOSE CLOSE COMPANIONSHIP AND STURDY
GOOD-FELLOWSHIP MADE LIFE ENDURABLE
DURING THE STORMS, THE
DARKNESS, AND THE MONOTONY
OF THE ANTARCTIC,
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED.

INTRODUCTION.

For three hundred years explorers have been active in pushing aside the realms of the unknown towards the north pole; but the equally interesting south pole has, during all this time, been almost wholly neglected. There have been expeditions to the far south, but compared to arctic ventures they have been so few and their work within the polar circle has been so little that the results have been largely forgotten. It is not because valuable results have not been obtained in the antarctic, but because the popular interest in the arctic has completely overshadowed the reports of the antipodes. The search for the North-west and the North-east passages, which commerce demanded to reach the trade of the Orient during the seventeenth and the early part of the eighteenth centuries, fixed the public eye persistently northward. This extended effort to find an easy path to the wealth of Asia was fruitless, but it was followed by a whale fishery, a sealing industry, and a fur trade, which has proven a priceless boon to mankind. As a result of these two periods of trade exploration, we have now entered upon a third stage, a period of scientific research which will not, and should not, end until the entire area is outlined in the growing annals of exact knowledge.

The antarctic has a history somewhat similar, but it is almost forgotten. Until 1772 the south frigid zone was pictured by fiction writers in flowery phraseology. They placed here a fertile country, projecting far northward into the Atlantic and the Pacific. This land was supposed to be inhabited by a curious race of people who possessed a super-abundance of gold, precious stones, and other material wealth. To learn the truth of this new “land of promise” Capt. James Cook was sent out in 1772. Cook, with a thoroughness which characterised all his efforts, circumnavigated the globe close enough to the antarctic circle to convince the world that if land of large extent existed around the south pole it must be far beyond the usual ice-limits. Sixty years later, through the efforts of American and British sealers who had searched every known rock of the southern seas for fur-seals, and sea-elephants, the United States, England, and France, fitted out rival expeditions. The combined work of these expeditions marked the second period of antarctic exploration and resulted in the re-establishment of a great polar continent on the Austral chart. Sixty years again passed before another expedition was sent to press beyond the southern barriers of ice. The voyage of the Belgica is the beginning of a third revival of antarctic exploration which has been brought about by determined efforts, made almost simultaneously in England, Germany, Belgium, and the United States. This third period of antarctic research, like the third stage of arctic exploration, is wholly in the interest of science.

The first country to complete the outfit of a modern expedition was Belgium. England and Germany now have expeditions in preparation, but the honour of being the first to send a scientific venture, with trained specialists and appropriate equipment to the antarctic, belongs to Belgium.

For the origin of the Belgian Antarctic Expedition we are indebted to the energetic efforts of Lieutenant Adrien de Gerlache. By soliciting private subscriptions and finally by securing the financial aid of the Belgian Government, Gerlache succeeded in collecting the sixty thousand dollars which were barely sufficient to fit out the enterprise. The vessel selected for the mission was the Norwegian sealer Patria, which was rechristened Belgica. She is a strong vessel, of about two hundred and fifty tons, built some ten years ago. She was not strengthened or altered on the plan of Nansen’s vessel, the Fram, as has been so often stated. Nevertheless, she proved herself a craft of extraordinary endurance, withstanding the thumps of rocks, iceberg collisions, and pressure in the pack-ice, in a manner perfectly marvellous. Owing to a scarcity of funds, the accoutrements of the ship and the outfit for polar exploration were somewhat imperfect. If we had been compelled to stay longer, or if it had been necessary to make a forced overland journey, or a retreat homeward on the ice, we should have found our equipment inadequate.

The members of the expedition were from many lands, as the following list will show:

Commandant, Adrien de Gerlache (Belgian).

Captain, Georges Lecointe (Belgian), Executive Officer and Hydrographer.

Roald Amundsen (Norwegian), 1st Mate.

Emile Danco (deceased) (Belgian), Magnetician.

Emile Racovitza (Rumanian), Naturalist.

Henryk Arctowski (Russian), Geologist, Oceanographer and Meteorologist.

Antoine Dobrowolski (Russian), Assistant Meteorologist.

Frederick A. Cook (American), Surgeon, Anthropologist and Photographer.

ENGINEERS.

• Henri Somers (Belgian).
• Max Van Rysselberghe (Belgian).

SAILORS.

• Belgians.
• Jules Melaerts.
• Jan Van Mirlo.
• Gustave Dufour.
• Louis Michotte.

• Norwegians.
• Adam Tollefsen.
• Hjalmar Johansen.
• Johan Koren.
• Engebret Knudsen.

Carl Augustus Wiencke (deceased).

Altogether we numbered nineteen when leaving Punta Arenas—seven officers, housed in the cosy little cabins, and twelve marines, including Dobrowolski, housed in the forecastle. Thus divided, we were two happy families, and as such we tried to extract from the frozen south polar surroundings such rare comforts as regions of perennial snows afford.

The Belgica left Antwerp at the end of August, 1897. She steamed and sailed down the Atlantic to Madeira, then across to Rio de Janeiro, down to Montevideo, and into the Strait of Magellan to Punta Arenas. After spending some time in the Fuegian channels and among the Cape Horn Indian tribes, we took our departure from the known world, at Staten Island on January 13, 1898. We sighted the South Shetland Islands a week later, where, during a violent tempest, we lost by an accidental fall overboard, the young and faithful Norwegian sailor, Wiencke. We next crossed the ever-foggy and ever-tempestuous waters of Bransfield Strait, and on the afternoon of January 23, 1898, came in sight of the outer fringe of a new land, the Palmer Archipelago. Entering this, we discovered a new highway, which in size compares favourably with Magellan Strait. To the east and west of this strait, we charted about five hundred miles of a land which had never before been seen by human eyes—part of a great continental mass which probably surrounds the south pole. It is buried even in midsummer under a ponderous weight of perennial ice. Passing out of the strait, we entered the South Pacific, and after skirting the western border of Grahamland to Adelaide Island and then to Alexander Island, we attempted to enter the main body of the pack-ice westward.

The work of the first three weeks in the new regions proved the discovery of a highway perfectly free for navigation during the summer months from Bransfield Strait, two hundred miles south-westerly, through an unknown land to the Pacific. This highway has received the name of our ship. To the east of Belgica Strait we discovered a high, continuous country which probably connects with the land charted as Grahamland. This has been christened Dancoland, in memory of our companion, Lieutenant Danco, who died on the ship during the long drift in the pack-ice. The land to the west of the strait is cut up into islands by several channels, and is named Palmer Archipelago, in honour of Captain Nathaniel Palmer, the American sealer who was the first of all men to see the outer fringe of this land. Scattered about in the waters of Belgica Strait are about one hundred islands and several groups of islands. About fifty of these are of considerable size. The islands, the capes, the bays, the headlands, and the mountains have mostly received the names of Belgian friends of the expedition; but prominent outside workers have not been forgotten, as is evidenced by Nansen Island and Neumayer Channel. Each officer was given the privilege of bestowing some names. Hence two islands which fell to my lot are named after the city of my home and the first mayor of Greater New York—Brooklyn and Van Wyck Islands.

After passing out of the strait into the open Pacific, we strove to follow the mainland southward, but the pack-ice forced us away. Late in February we entered the main body of the sea-ice, intending to push southward and westward. After penetrating ninety miles we found ourselves firmly beset. Unable to extricate the ship, we drifted with the ice to and fro, but generally west, for thirteen long months. During the early part of the long polar night Lieutenant Danco died. Except for the depression of this melancholy bereavement, the health of the members of the expedition was fairly good; but the seventy days of continued darkness weighed heavily upon us. The scientific work was prosecuted throughout the year of the drift. Each department has reason to feel proud of its records. But all were happy when, on March 14, 1899, we were released from the icy fetters which had held us so long.

We left the pack from longitude 103° west of Greenwich, and latitude 70° 45′ south. We had thus drifted from about 85° to 103° of west longitude and between 70° and 72° south of latitude. In March and April we drifted westerly to longitude 92° 25′, where we were on April 25th. From May to October we drifted back again to a place near our starting point. From November to the time we left the ice we drifted rapidly westward. The winter drift then is eastward, the summer drift is westward, and this is also the direction of the prevailing winds. Our farthest south was on May 31st, latitude 71° 36′ 5″ south, longitude 87° 40′ west. It would not at any time have been possible to push farther poleward in our position. The various soundings which we took prove the existence of a sea where there was previously thought to be land. Through these soundings also we have discovered a submarine bank comparable to the bank off the coast of Newfoundland. The excellent series of magnetic observations by M. Lecointe indicate the magnetic pole to be about two hundred miles east of its present assigned position. The hourly meteorological observations, under the direction of M. Arctowski, are of priceless value to students of weather. The painstaking zoölogical work by M. Racovitza, and the numerous other observations and studies of antarctic life and phenomena, are of a like value. As an American I can with due modesty say that the work of this, the Belgian Antarctic Expedition, will form the stepping-stone to future antarctic exploration.

In the following pages I have not attempted to elaborate on our experiences and observations. This I leave for a future work. My aim has been to select from my diary and notes such data as might prove of interest to the general reader. In my desire to condense this story into a single volume I have omitted much of the daily routine of life. I have also omitted a discussion of technical topics. There is no pretence made by me that this book contains all of the scientific data of the expedition. The observations, descriptions of specimens, and scientific deductions will be published in other channels. The Belgian Government has liberally set aside a sum sufficient to publish in proper form the scientific records, and a commission is at present occupied in making a preliminary study of the material with this end in view.

We did not start out to mount the south pole, as we have been reported. Our aim was a less ambitious work of scientific exploration along the edge of the unknown. In this we were reasonably successful. My story, then, is not one of pole-chasing, with its many certain disappointments. It is a record of the first expedition to pass through the ordeal of the long antarctic night and its gloomy winter storms. It is, I hope, a contribution of new human experience in a new, inhuman world of ice.

The illustrations in this book are made, with but a few exceptions, from photographs, and since these are the first photographic reproductions of antarctic life and scenes, it is hoped that they will be of value as records of the unknown south. In the color plates we have aimed to give a few examples of the daily touches of colour, which serve to relieve the awful monotony and glittering whiteness peculiar to the south polar regions. The vivid complexity of delicate shades of most scenes is impossible of imitation by the present means of the printer’s art, but the success attained by the artist, the engraver, and the printer in these reproductions has been an agreeable surprise to me.

In the notices of my return from the antarctic, and in the story of the Belgian Antarctic Expedition, as published in the American newspapers, it has unintentionally been made to appear as if I desired to claim a major share of the credit for the results of this expedition. This I wish to disclaim. The credit of organising the expedition belongs to its Commander, Adrien de Gerlache; the honour of sending out the venture belongs to the enterprise of Belgian citizens. The fame and honour, which are the results of a successful expedition, belong to every member of the expedition. Every one, from the highest officer to the cabin-boy, has done his share of the work nobly and faithfully. Everyone, then, from the cabin to the forecastle, deserves equally the honorable mention which is the explorer’s only pay.

Frederick A. Cook, M.D.

687 Bushwick Avenue,

Borough of Brooklyn,

New York.

CONTENTS

OFFICIAL MAP

OF THE

Belgian Antarctic Expedition

Charted by Captain George Lecointe

SECOND IN COMMAND.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THROUGH THE
FIRST ANTARCTIC NIGHT

CHAPTER I
IN AND ABOUT RIO DE JANEIRO

Rio de Janeiro, October 30, 1897.

At last I am on the way to the land which has been the dream of my life,—“the mysterious antarctic.” I have talked of this journey of exploration so long, have wished for it so persistently, that now, when my one foremost ambition seems on the verge of a realisation, I can hardly assure myself that I am not on the road to another of many disappointments. In three weeks one half of the distance in an air line from New York to the south pole was traversed, and here on the lower edge of the tropics I have waited for the arrival of the ship with the company of Belgian explorers with whom the journey to the antarctic, now just begun, is to be made.

On my arrival at Rio de Janeiro the Belgian Legation looked after my comforts, and the Minister, Count van den Steen, offered me the hospitality of his home at Petropolis.

After a fortnight of dreamy tropical life, a telegram announced the arrival of the expedition ship, the Belgica, in the Rio harbour. We took the early morning train and slowly descended the two thousand feet along several valleys, winding around various hills, down and down on the curious cog-wheel railroad, until we reached the head of the bay. Here an old-style side-wheel steamer carried us to Rio de Janeiro. On the pier a delegation appointed by the Belgian colony of Rio met us with a tug, in which we were carried to the Belgica.

There was nothing about the Belgica to attract unusual attention from a distance. She was rather odd in shape and colour, but Rio harbour is full of weird-looking crafts. We boarded the Belgica at about 11 o’clock. It was a scorching morning, and as we ascended the sea ladder a cloud of hot vapour rose above us from the moistened decks. The Captain, Lecointe, was at the gangway and greeted each visitor as the Minister introduced us. Behind him on deck stood Commandant de Gerlache, at his side the officers and scientific staff, while the crew was stationed on the port side of the quarter deck.

To me this was a moment of special interest. Here for the first time I met face to face the party of total strangers, the members of the Belgian Antarctic Expedition, with whom I am to remain as companion and co-worker for a period of months, perhaps years. I was greeted in a strange tongue—French—not a word of which I understood. One after another came to me asking questions, but I could only look askance at them. After a while I learned that the Commandant could speak English and all of the scientific staff could speak German, so we began to exchange ideas in tongues familiar to me.

My first impression of the officers and crew was—as it is to-day—decidedly favorable. Every one seemed a picture of health, full of youthful vigour, and jolly good fellowship. The Belgica appeared small, but she seemed well adapted to the prospective work, and above all, she was filled brim full with good food,—such delicacies as only a Belgian could select. I am sure as we penetrate the white antarctic she will seem large enough; she will afford us a safe home, and many, very many, comforts, as comforts go in the polar regions.

The Belgica left Ostend, Belgium, on August 24, 1897, and reached Madeira September 13. From here, after an adjustment of the instruments and some scientific observations, lasting three days, she sailed for Rio de Janeiro; but Rio was not reached until late in the afternoon of October 22. The voyage was made against a series of adverse winds and calms, making it necessary to steam a part of the time. Excepting a few cases of seasickness the party enjoyed excellent health while crossing the tropics.

The general plan of the expedition was now for the first time outlined to me by Commandant de Gerlache. Up to the present all my communications had been by cable, and necessarily brief, but now I was able to elicit from the hardworked projector the prospective plan of our campaign. The Belgica will start from here, after the magnetic instruments are adjusted, for Montevideo, where she will stop perhaps two days. From Montevideo we will proceed to Punta Arenas, Chile, in the Strait of Magellan.

At Punta Arenas we shall make some scientific observations and collections, stopping perhaps eight days. And then, after coaling and restocking our provision supply, we shall sail for the South Shetland Islands, thence to Grahamland, and southwestward along its border to the limit of navigation. If time and ice conditions will permit we shall first sail along the eastern shore of Grahamland and south into Weddel Sea. But this journey, tempting as it seems, is now rather doubtful, owing to the short time at our command. From this western terminus of Grahamland we shall try to map the coast to Alexanderland and beyond as far as possible, then we are to press southward and westward to Victorialand. Deep sea soundings and dredgings will be taken wherever the opportunity presents. Systematic, magnetic, and meteorological observations are to be made, and large zoölogical collections are expected. In a general way it is the aim of the expedition to make a thorough scientific survey of the regions traversed. The commander reserves the right to alter any or all plans to suit unexpected conditions as we meet them.

In the afternoon the Minister, Count van den Steen, took Commandant de Gerlache and most of the scientific staff ashore to begin the first of a long series of presentations and introductions to the congenial Brazilian officials. We were first presented to the chief of customs and the Minister of marine affairs, from whom we derived the twofold pleasure of being warmly greeted and freed of harbour dues, custom annoyances, and other troublesome local regulations.

It was to me a source of never-ceasing interest to note the translations of the various questions asked. This portrayed clearly the Brazilian notion of a polar expedition. The ideas proved to be so tropical that I must risk a breach of etiquette and quote enough to show Brazilian versions of polar work. We were constantly asked, “Have you a smoking-room and much tobacco?” “Of course you have lots of wine and other nice drinks, but have you plenty of good things to eat? You must take some Brazilian coffee.” Others would put to us questions about our provision for pleasure, music, games, and pastimes in general, but I do not remember having been asked even once about the serious scientific work of the expedition. One broad-minded and apparently intelligent fellow, well on in the winter of life—a member of the Cabinet, asked the usual questions about wines, cigars, and personal comforts, and then, having heard of Mrs. Peary’s experience in the North; he asked if we had any women among us? On being answered with a rather sharp and quick “no!” he remarked: “Then, I don’t want to go along.”

This explains the lack of interest of South Americans in anything polar. So long as beautiful women, good wines, fine cigars, and delicate foods are not found at the south pole, Latin Americans will probably not aspire to reach it.

The magnetic instruments were taken to the local observatory for adjustment and comparison. To do this properly required about a week, hence arrangements were made for various receptions, tours of exploration, of pleasure, and what not. The zoölogist, Mr. Racovitza, learning that he could take a fast steamer and reach Punta Arenas about a fortnight in advance of the expedition, at once made arrangements to leave us. This will afford him much additional and valuable time to make collections and observations in the immediate vicinity of the Strait of Magellan.

We began the week on Monday by the Presidential reception. The Belgian Minister, Count van den Steen, had arranged the details and according to his instructions we assembled at the office of Consul Laurys shortly after noon. From here we embarked in coaches drawn by small but handsome mules. We were hurried through narrow streets, along an endless number of low houses, plastered outside and in. The doors and windows were full of men, women and children, scantily dressed but ill at ease, all doing nothing in various ways.

In a half hour we reached the White House, an imposing and substantial building constructed from the local schist which everywhere underlies the city. Led by Count van den Steen we entered, ascended to the third floor, and were marshaled to the President’s reception room with very little ceremony. The room was handsomely decorated by wall paintings, and fresco decorations probably of Italian design, while the floors were of beautiful inlaid wood, also of a foreign manufacture. There were no carpets, but little furniture, and the mantels were covered by artificial flowers and plants.

In a short time the President, Senor Trudente de Moreas Barros, entered. We were presented separately, after which the Minister made a short address in French to which the President replied in a few words, and then grasping our hands he offered a cheerful greeting to each member of the expedition.

The Belgian colony had long planned a feast for the expedition, and this was to be the grand event at Rio, to which we looked for real joy and lasting comfort. The time had been set for the evening of the 25th, at the Restaurant Petropolis, on Rue de Ovidor. We assembled at 7 o’clock; there were about 100 people present, representing the male members of the Colony, the officers and scientific staff of the expedition, and a few newspaper editors.

The room was large and airy; electric fans were in position, but the air was cool enough without their use. The walls were decorated with flags, and the tables with flowers and fruits. The bill of fare was Belgian—a few local additions to the very best that could be imported from Belgium. This, I am sure, is sufficient said of a very delightful collection of rare foods and good drinks. There was much enthusiastic speech-making and toasting in French, Portuguese, and Italian; presumably complimentary to Brazil, Belgium and the expedition, but I did not understand it. The spirit of hilarity, however, was in the air and, although I was a foreigner among strangers whose language was unknown to me, I cannot remember having enjoyed a banquet at home better. We had all been wined and dined, separately and collectively, before and after, but the occasion which will always remain in our minds as the best treat of all is the Rio Belgian banquet.

The day following, and for the balance of the week, we visited the local places of interest, explored the city in various ways, and were received at a special meeting of the local Geographical Society. Rio de Janeiro is a city of perhaps six hundred thousand inhabitants, with about one hundred thousand foreigners. It is the metropolis of South America, but far, very far, behind Montevideo and Buenos Aires in modern improvements and in all the present arts of civilization. It is essentially a commercial city, a center from which exports are sent and imports distributed throughout Brazil and much of South America.

A great deal of money is made here, but the present money has fallen to about one eighth of its actual value. Things cannot be much longer prolonged as the present money market stands, from which it follows that various rumors of a national bankruptcy are current. A well informed resident assured me that a crisis would arrive before our return from the antarctic.

Brazil, in the infancy of its republican form of government, has very many political difficulties to settle. There is more political discussion to the square mile in Rio de Janeiro to-day than to an equal space on any other part of the globe with which I am familiar. A rebellion has just been subdued in a northern province, but from the south comes fresh news of another attempted secession. The several states of Brazil seem to be loosely bound together and before the country finds its true equilibrium many changes will probably occur.

As a city Rio de Janeiro has been so well and so often described that I shall only give here the briefest outline of a few points of interest as they impressed us. The houses are all of stone or brick, rarely more than two stories, built on an irregular hilly surface, mostly facing the ever visible and always enchanting inland sea, the harbour. The rear of the city is lost between the rising hills which encircle the harbour. The streets are very narrow, are paved with granite, and are always alive with people of several colors and of all nationalities. The business streets have an air of bustle and Yankee thrift, but the side streets are clothed in the usual perpetual ease of the tropics.

The city is easily traversed by electric and mule cars; even the mountains are ascended by electric and steam roads, which required great engineering skill in construction. Carriages and waggons are almost entirely drawn by small mules. The numerous sights and breathing places are reached without much trouble and very cheaply, for Rio has perhaps the cheapest carfare of the world, less than three cents a ride. Rent is nearly as high as in New York in the better or healthier parts of the city; wages are good, but living in general is expensive. Nearly all the foreigners, however, consider it an excellent business place. The health of the city is good, excepting occasional epidemics of yellow fever, and, if it were not for the intense heat of summer, Rio would offer a bright future for young, ambitious Europeans and North Americans.

It would hardly be expected that poleward-bent explorers would grow enthusiastic about any place in the torrid zone, but Rio de Janeiro, with all its heat, has people with warm hearts, who were to us a pleasant inspiration. It has fruits and coffee which are a joy to the inner man; it has abundant natural resources which will some day make it a great, a very great, city.

Saturday at 2 o’clock was set for the time of sailing, and although we appreciated the honors and pleasures conferred upon us by the hospitable Belgians and Brazilians, the appointed time found us all eager to continue our voyage toward the south pole. Many visitors were on board at the last moment. The Minister, with his fatherly interest in the expedition, the Belgian committee, representatives of the Rio Geographical Society, and various other distinguished visitors were there to bid us au revoir and bon voyage. Among the visitors were a couple of young ladies who received an unusual share of warm attention from the prospective frigid explorers. A desire to kidnap them as a diversion to break the long monotony of the journey was frequently expressed and no doubt deeply felt by at least one lonely bachelor. The last visitor was a young Brazilian in a gaudy uniform, who came by a special Government launch as a representative of the President. His particular mission was to offer us the President’s compliments and his wishes for a good, successful voyage. This we appreciated as a delightful bit of thoughtfulness on the part of President Barros.

On board the Belgica everything was bustle and haste. Provisions were coming, new articles of equipment were being loaded and stored away, visitors were going to and fro examining our curious instruments and the general outfit. Tugs were all around the craft and one, with several photographers, kept spinning around, snapping at the center of curiosity from every side. At three o’clock the Commandant gave the order to start, and the entire mass moved with us. The visitors remained on deck, and the tugs followed.

The commercial part of the harbour, with its steaming heat and teeming mass of conglomerate humanity, soon fell behind more interesting points. Several foreign cruisers were in the harbour among them our Cincinnati, and these kept us busy replying to salutations and cheers. As we passed the old battered fort of S. João we rather expected a series of salutes, but instead a large band appeared on a low crown of torn cliffs playing lively airs. Now and then the musicians would stop and fill the atmosphere with quaint cheers, all of which pleased us far better than a display of powder.

As we advanced, a rather strong wind ruffled up an uncomfortable sea, and as we approached the narrows, which are guarded by two ancient looking forts, it was deemed best to part with our visitors. The Brazilian men humored and kissed us, as is their custom—the men only, not the ladies. Our good friends of the Belgian Colony offered many cordial greetings, and as the tugs withdrew from us, the oft-repeated au revoir and bon voyage came with every leap of the sea.

Our progress against the incoming wind and sea was very slow, but this gave us an excellent opportunity to take a long parting view of the beautiful Bay of Rio de Janeiro, with all its indescribable splendour. The sun was low, close to the crests of a ridge of mountain peaks. We were steaming out of the mouth of the bay, a harbour which is said to be large enough to afford room for all the naval fleets of the world. On every side were mountains rising abruptly from the waving expanse of blue—mountains with cliffs and steep slopes, many apparently perpendicular, all with sides nearly covered by a thick dark green verdure. Only the loftiest peaks were bald and even these had a few weather-worn trees to add colour and life.

As we looked over the stern of the Belgica, much of the city was still in view. The low, irregular houses, with tiled roofs and sides washed with lime in various bright shades of red, white and blue, were unique and attractive. They will always remain in our minds as a pleasing reminder of Brazilian good wishes. Before the city and behind it were the perennial midsummer waters, spotted with vessels of various nations, beset by a score of emerald isles and fringed by as many fascinating bays. It is, however, the crude, rugged majesty,—the rare grandeur of the mountain peaks around the enchanting harbour which give it ever fresh and effervescent glory.

Beginning at the left and close to the stern of the Belgica, was a bold peak of solid rock, which from its fancied resemblance to a lump of sugar, is called Pão de Assucar. A little farther on the eye is stopped by the famous Corcovado, a huge needle of granite, its base washed by the blue tropical waters, its apex, three thousand feet above, piercing soft, pearly vapours, and its sides painted by the hand of nature in various shades of green. Next upon the horizon was outlined the strange freak of nature, the Bicodo do Papagaio, or Parrot’s Beak. A bit of landscape, more distant and less startling, but still very alluring, is next in line—the interfolding rock configurations of Gavea. Then several other sky-scraping mountains, and the enraptured vision ends upon the whitened crown of fair Santa Thereza.

Along the head of the bay, ever veiled by a blue haze, are the Organ Mountains, so named because the various cones and serrated peaks bear a fancied resemblance to the pipes of an organ. Beyond these, but out of vision, is Petropolis, the new capital of Brazil, and the summer home for Rio’s wealthy and foreign residents. To the right are lesser mountains, separated by deep bays and broad, fertile valleys. The beds of these are clothed with banana, mango, pineapple, and other fruit-bearing trees and plants. The scene as a whole is a feast to the eyes and a nursery to the mind.

But we must be off to less fertile lands—on to the icy south, stopping only at Montevideo and the Strait of Magellan before we attack the virgin ice south of Cape Horn.

CHAPTER II
FROM RIO DE JANEIRO TO MONTEVIDEO

Montevideo, November 13, 1897.

The Belgica left Rio October 30, 1897. She steamed out of the harbour amid an uproar of salutations and accompanied by many of the friends of the expedition to the entrance of the bay. Here the little party of well-wishers gathered around Count Van den Steen and offered us a final bon voyage—a scene and a sentiment which followed us far into the polar night. The sun was hanging low over the blue outline of the Organ Mountains, and the darkness of the rapidly approaching tropical night was already on the lowlands, which are here exposed to receive the warm humidity of the Atlantic. The wind was steadily increasing from the east, bringing in a heavy sea and premonitions of an uncomfortable night. The two battered forts which guard the entrance were soon passed, and we laid our course south-westwardly along the Brazilian coast, with a fair wind and a favourable current. Darkness, torrid blackness, settled down over us with a rapidity which I had not before noted. The wind increased and the sea rose higher and higher, bringing with it Neptune to salute the too hilarious victims of the expedition at Rio.

Rio Harbour from Mt. Corcovado.

Rio de Janeiro.

The next morning no land was in sight, but the weather was delightfully clear with a fair breeze and an easy sea, a happy condition which followed us several days. We have now passed the tropic of Capricorn, are out of the torrid zone, and well on our path across the south temperate zone toward the bottom of the globe. The air is more stimulating, the winds fresh and bracing, more in accord with our polar longings, and altogether we begin to feel our natural vigours and ambitions which the burning heat farther north had withered.

From Madeira to Rio it had been found impossible to sleep in the bunks because of the stifling heat. Hammocks were accordingly swung amidships, in which some sleep was possible for the occupants of the cabins, while those of the forecastle stored themselves on the deck in almost any position offering a breeze and a protection from being washed overboard. These restful open air positions offer a splendid opportunity during the sleepless hours to study and admire the beauty and strangeness of the southern sky. From the time when we crossed the equator to our present position we have been intensely interested in the new constellations which have glided over the southern horizon, while in the north we have been watching, with some regret, the sinking and disappearance of the stars and groups with which we have been familiar from the time of our infancy. This vanishing of the Pole Star, and the many old friends in the heavens brings to us a vivid impression of the vast distance which we have traversed from our native lands. The new firmament has many charms, but it takes time to admire its complex splendour. The grouping of the large stars, the scattered nebulæ rivalling in lustre the Milky Way, and the unfilled spaces, remarkable for their extreme darkness, give the southern heavens a peculiar aspect. With this dome of tropical blue relieved by the new heavenly bodies above, and with a breakneck pitching and tossing at every plunge of the vessel, one is more apt to fall into an admiration of Nature than into a profound sleep. But this easy life on deck has also its drawbacks at times when one’s calm, dreamy philosophy is suddenly and rudely interrupted. Jack runs across the deck and presently stumbles in a heap over some sleeper when a series of grunts and something worse fills the night air with another spirit.

On November fourth, for a short time, the low shore-line of the Island of Santo Catherina was dimly visible under a blue mist in the west. At about this time we also saw the first Cape pigeons, stormy petrels, and albatrosses, and a few days later when there was no land in view an off-shore wind brought us some forms of land life. Among these were butterflies, moths, various birds with beautiful plumage, and some troublesome flies. We met only one voyager on this lonely course, a Brazilian coaster. She was built after a model of the last century, but, having every rag set which could draw, she came through the rolling blue waters with a grace and picturesqueness that would do justice to a modern yacht. We enjoyed the sight immensely as she came towards us, ploughing through hills of foam, her blunt prow buried in white spray, her huge square stern rising and falling nimbly out of one trough into another. It was as if one of the explorers who had gone before us, a Drake or an Anson, who were at once pirates and explorers, had suddenly dropped in our path to examine the men and the methods of less ambitious followers.

On the evening of the seventh we were fascinated by a strikingly beautiful sunset—the first worthy of note since the Belgica left Antwerp and certainly the most remarkable which I had observed since leaving New York. The phenomena was most charming in colour when the sun was about to sink behind the blue outline of Uruguay on our western horizon. The sea was branded by streams and bands and spots of fire which, with the easy undulation of the surface, gave it the appearance of active flames. The sun itself was descending behind a faint purple zone of mist. Its disc seemed out of all proportion to its usual size and there was something sublimely beautiful in the loneliness of its descent. All the sky above it, and far to the south and north was a vivid crimson in zigzag streamers, while over our heads the dome was an exquisite tint of green, which melted in the east into a dark purple blue. Shortly after the heavenly glow of the sunset had vanished, the sky began to assume quite another aspect. A gloomy range of cumulus clouds rose in the north-west, and in a few hours had advanced so far as to project nearly over our heads. The scene was made particularly strange by the even steely colour of the rest of the sky. It was ruled with a line, here and there ragged, but for the most part singularly homogeneous from the confines of the north-eastern mass of horizon. All the central portion of this vast surface of cloud was of a deep leaden hue, while its edges were marked by rapidly changing lines of carbon and luminous grey. By a deception of the eye the entire mass appeared convex, and it looked as wild as any phenomena of Nature I ever saw. At frequent intervals a sharp shower of arrowy lightning whizzed along its lowest fringe, illuminating the decks and the sea with a weird blue light. The lightning had the remarkable peculiarity of not being accompanied by thunder, nor was it followed by rain.

Yesterday at noon the high ridge of mountains in the eastern part of the province of Rio Grande do Sul were feebly discernible under the western horizon. This is the most southern province, the most industrious, and certainly the most promising part of Brazil. It is composed almost entirely of Germans, upon whom the unfair yoke of the Rio Janeiro government fits badly. They are at present engaged in a revolution for freedom and independence. To-day we have the low sandy dunes of the coast of Uruguay on our port side, and through the night we made little progress against the increasing southerly wind which followed the peculiar sky effects. At 6 o’clock on the morning of the eighth, we were off Castillo Island. Here the wind increased with such fury that we began to look about for a harbour.

In a few hours we were off Cape Polonio, but a farther progress into the mouth of the River Plata against the wind was impossible. The bark was turned landward for a little cove at the neck of Cape Polonio which seemed somewhat sheltered by the off-lying seal rocks. To reach this anchorage, however, the bark made difficult work of it. She rose and tumbled over the ugly land swells like a waggon over a rocky road. Her feeble engines were pressed to their greatest force, which heated the spaces above the fireplace to such an extent as to ignite the woodwork, and thus to the anxiety of the storm was added the excitement of a fire.

The fire was soon extinguished, and at noon we dropped anchor in a little harbour where the main force of the wind did not reach us, but the sea continued to rise and fall with a sickening suddenness. Here we rode out the storm, which continued until about noon of the next day. The falling of the temperature, caused by the decreasing latitude and especially by this storm, is daily more noticeable. Already the cold south temperate winds have compelled us to abandon the restful open air berths in the hammocks and driven us into the stuffy state-rooms, where every precaution has been taken to prevent the escape of heat in the icy south. During the afternoon and night, while the ship was bowing to the wind and violently pulling at her chains, we examined the character of our surroundings. From our position the land presented about as barren and lifeless an aspect as any region I ever saw.

On closer inspection we became interested in the mere bleakness, and little by little we found a fascination in the lifeless sterility with which we were first impressed. The torrents of wind moved the sand-like snow, and even deposited it in huge drifts, giving the whole surface a wavy, undulating appearance. In the interior a few ranges of low hills were discernible; but their surfaces were such that the shape could not be easily separated from the vast wavy plain along the coast. Cape Castillo is easily distinguished from the other sandy points by a white round sand hill, one hundred and eighty-four feet high, to which the land gradually rises from the Cape southward. This is Mount Buena Vista, and its peculiar mammary form, with its well defined white nipple and rounded sides marked by dots of cactus plants,—these peculiarities, with the isolated position, give the eminence an impressiveness and a picturesqueness quite in accord with its important geographical position.

Mount Buena Vista marks the entrance from the north into one of the largest and, for the future, one of the most important rivers of the world, the Rio de la Plata. The river was discovered in 1515 by Juan Diaz de Solis, and seems to have been named by Sebastian Cabot in 1520. The name (meaning “river of silver”) was not given it because of its fancied resemblance to silver-plate, for in reality its surface is always ruffled, and its colour and consistency would be better described by the “river of mud;” but the great amount of actual silver ore which was taken from the Indians along this river, and the fact that it was used as a highway for the transport of the metal to the coast, are responsible for the poetic name of this ever dirty stream.

Though the waters are not sparkling, and the banks are not such as to call for an enthusiastic description, yet the Plata occupies a position unequaled among the rivers of the world. It drains the largest part of South America south of the Amazon basin, and with its many tributaries reaches from the mountains of eastern Brazil to the Andes, covering therefore almost the entire width of the continent from the Atlantic to the Pacific. While its basin is thus widely spread, the name Rio de la Plata is limited to the stream from the junction of the rivers Parana and Uruguay, to the Atlantic. It is one hundred and fifty miles in length, and about one hundred and twenty miles wide at its outer spread. From here it rapidly narrows, so that at Montevideo it is but fifty miles wide, while at Buenos Aires it is only twenty, and at the junction of its principle head waters, but four miles. Its peculiar water is generally noticeable far out in the Atlantic by the change in colour: from the bright blue of the subtropical seas to a dull green, and on closer approach to a dark brown.

One of the most remarkable facts in the history of American discovery is the slowness with which the world has learned of the true natural resources of this region. The early Spaniards came here to obtain from the Indians, either by fair means or otherwise, such valuables as they possessed. Silver and gold were thus secured, and this led to the more important discoveries of the sources of these metals, which we now know are so widely spread over the continent. Little by little the Spaniards settled among the Indians; and then came a time when the English descended upon the Spaniards and relieved them of their treasures. One of the first of these British pirates was Sir Francis Drake, knighted and otherwise honoured by Queen Elizabeth for his heartless cruelty to, and valuable thefts from, the Spanish pioneers.

Drake’s narrator, while writing pious words with one hand and stealing Spanish silver with the other, had not much time to make sharp observations, but his notes are interesting. “Passing thus,” says the Reverend Mr. Fletcher, “in beholding the excellent works of the Eternal God upon the seas as if we had been in a garden of pleasure, April 5, 1578, we fell in with the coast of Brazil, in 30° 30′ towards the Pole Antarctic where the land is low near the sea, but much higher within the country, having in depth not above twelve fathoms three leagues off from the shore; and being deceived by the inhabitants (Indians), we saw great and huge fires made by them in sandy places. After this, we kept our course sometimes to the seaward, sometimes to the shore, but always southward as near as we could till April 14th, in the morning, at which we passed Cape St. Mary which lies in 35′ near the mouth of the River Plata running within it, about six or seven leagues along the main, we came to anchor in a bay under another Cape which our General afterwards called Cape Joy. (The present site of Montevideo.) The country here about is of a temperate and most sweet air, very fair and pleasant to behold, and, besides the exceeding fruitfulness of the soil, it is stored with plenty and mighty deer.” A few months later the good Reverend wrote thus: “We lighted on a Spaniard who lay asleep, and had lying by him thirteen bars of silver, weighing in all about 4,000 Spanish ducats. We freed him of his change which, otherwise, might have kept him working.”

Since this time the Spaniards have slowly spread and mingled and intermarried with the Indians, and the various resulting states have secured the independence of the Castilian yoke and are now very rapidly advancing. But for the first two centuries progress was very insignificant. Buenos Aires, the New York of South America, is here spreading on the banks of the silver river. Montevideo and other cities are growing with a vigour similar to that of Yankee towns, and if excellence of climate, fertility of soil, and limitless natural resources count for anything, the gathering basin of the Rio de la Plata will certainly soon become the United States of South America.

We went ashore on November 9th, and were met by a weather-worn group of men in various quaint costumes. Their faces and their apparel did not suggest the pleasureable moments and the warm reception which fell to our lot later. But we soon found hearts as warm and minds as appreciative as any that could be discovered under silks and broad-cloth. Cape Polonio is a port of anchorage, about two miles southward of Mt. Buena Vista. On it is a lighthouse of gray masonry, one hundred and thirtyseven feet in height, with three white horizontal bands. The actual height of this tower is not great, but being placed in a region where the sky is constantly loaded with clouds, and over a land with little irregularity of surface, the white peak seems constantly to pierce the dark skies. Scattered about on this neck of land are a few huts made of the remains of wreckage, galvanised iron, or grass, according to the luck and wealth of the various occupants. To the most palatial of these we were first escorted.

This was the home of the proprietor of the only industry of the place,—a sealing station. We had at first some difficulty in making ourselves understood. There was no one among us speaking Spanish, but after a brief effort we found that a little French was understood and that English was possible with an old seaman. At the lighthouse an Italian speaking French fluently came to our rescue. We had no special object in making a debarkment here, but since the storm drove us into shelter the staff of scientific collectors determined to examine the nearest ground. The zoölogist, with his assistant, searched the shore for shells and marine life; the geologist went to examine the sand-dunes, while the surgeon remained to administer to the wants of the natives, from whom some prized ethnographic specimens were obtained. The earlier Indian tribes, which once roamed over this region, like those of the coastal regions farther north, have entirely vanished. There are no trees nor is agriculture in the immediate vicinity possible. A few cactus plants are the only green spots which cheer up the dull white sands. But a short distance inland there is excellent grazing, and here are found some of the most magnificent cattle farms of the world.

After our collecting tour we assembled at the home of the chief sealer. Here the customary native hospitality was extended to us with open arms. The women prepared maté, the South American tea, while the men brought out their most precious varieties of alcohol and cigarettes. The good people of the entire encampment, about fifty in number, then assembled to do us honour. Among these there were a few gauchos, the South American prototypes of our own cowboys, and two or three travellers en route to Montevideo from Rio Grande do Sul; all the others were engaged in the various departments of sealing. They had taken many seals the year before, and 16,000 during the previous season, all of these from the rocks which surround the cape. The seals are of a common variety, yielding oil and leather but no fur. As we departed we were loaded with presents and treated and toasted again with maté and brandy, ingredients as necessary to South American hospitality as whisky and cigars to the success of an old time political meeting in the United States.

At four o’clock on the morning of the tenth, we tipped our anchor and drew out of the little harbour, steaming into the Plata, close to its northern bank. Throughout the day we had the low sandy beds of Uruguay on our port bow. On these there was an occasional group of cactus, but they seemed from a distance like projecting rocks and, aside from the relief which they afforded, there was nothing to break the monotony. It was one long, nearly level bank of lifeless sand. In the back ground an occasional row of blue hills marked the position of a warm and more promising country.

On the morning of the eleventh the scene had noticeably changed. We had passed Cape Maldonado during the night and were heading for Flores Island in a direct course for Montevideo beyond. The land no longer presented the sterile sand-driven beach, but gray wind-rasped hills, separated by patches of forest and fronted by prominent highlands which stood out boldly against a clearing sky. The temperature rose quickly as we advanced into the river. We passed Flores Island at two o’clock, and dropped anchor in the horseshoe bend which forms the imperfect harbour of Montevideo.

We had been met farther out in the stream by the customs and quarantine officers, but these troubled us little, and were of much less interest to us than our third visitor, the congenial representative of the Belgian Consulate, who brought our letters and some news of interest. To us the most startling news was the story of the bold attempt to assassinate President Barros of Brazil, whose friendly hand we had shaken only a few days previous, apparently surrounded by all possible guards to perfect safety. This case, however, while somewhat startling to a stranger, illustrates one of the recognised methods for changing presidents in the Spanish American republics. The President of Uruguay was summarily disposed of in the same manner only a few months ago, while his successor is probably awaiting his turn with resigned fate. The life of a president hereabout is evidently not one of any special ease, security, or comfort.

The city of Montevideo presents, even from a distance, an air of thrift, wealth, and comfort. El Cerro, a nipple-shaped mount, is the only distinguishing feature of the landscape which marks the sight of the port. It rises in a gentle slope to the height of five hundred feet, about a half mile from the rugged beach on the western side of the bay. Its sides are covered with a thin grass which is now giving place to residences, a result of the recent growth of the city. The top is crowned by a fort, and within this there rises a splendid lighthouse, whose powerful revolving light is visible at sea twenty-five miles from the coast. The main portion of the city stands upon a peninsula of gently rising ground on the east side of the bay. From here the town spreads over a large portion of the mainland and there are several prominent buildings which stand out boldly over the low houses which compose the body of the city. To one coming from Rio Janeiro or other cities in the tropics, the most noticeable feature of this city is the dense volume of smoke arising from its chimnied houses and thrifty factories: the latter are a certain sign of an agreeable climate and dry apartments—comforts foreign to torrid America.

It was, perhaps, eight o’clock in the evening before we had finished reading our letters and were ready for a debarkment. The afternoon was fairly clear, there had been little wind, and the temperature was extremely agreeable; but now the aspect changed with such suddenness as to cause some anxiety for the ship’s safety during the coming night. Huge fantastic rolls of lead-like sheets of clouds drove rapidly over the sky from the west, and painted the whole scene in an inky blackness with such marvellous speed that we were amazed and undecided as to what it meant for some time; but a few zigzags of coloured lightning and a deafening burst of thunder soon explained to us the character of the coming commotion. Thinking that we could reach the shore before the shower commenced, we descended into one of the tugs, which at once headed for one of the many lights standing out boldly in the inky blackness shoreward. But on our way we were pelted and pounded by such a hail storm as had never fallen to my lot. The globules were about the size of a large marble, and fell in such numbers that, though the fall did not continue more than ten minutes, it completely covered the decks. As we reached the shore, and mounted to the pier with our hats battered and our pockets full of icy spheroids, we had to face still another trial characteristic of the Plata, a rain storm. But this rain storm while interesting from a meteorological standpoint did not arouse us to a sense of study. Big drops came quickly in the wake of the hail pellets, and these multiplied with such rapidity that in a few minutes, and before we could find shelter, it seemed as if all the clouds of heaven had united to pour upon us a cold torrent.

Drenched as thoroughly as if we had been overboard, we shortly found our way to the Hotel Oriental, and here the entire upper floor was placed at the disposition of the members of the expedition. After a comfortable night’s rest and a cup of delicious Rio coffee brought to our bedside—a custom which is everywhere in South America a joy—we prepared for a material study of the city and its resources.

San Felipe de Monte Video is the full name of the capital of the Oriental Republic of Uruguay, but it is now generally written Montevideo. It has a population of about 200,000, and of these it is said that not less than 50,000 are foreign residents. The entire Republic has a population not exceeding 800,000, hence one quarter of Uruguayan residences are here closely huddled together near the mouth of the Plata. The blood of the Uruguayans, aside from the complex European admixture, which is now entering their veins, is a curious blend of old Spanish and local Indian. But unlike similar hybrids many of the good qualities of the bold Spaniard, and of the freedom-loving Indian have been preserved. Hence the men have developed into a type of vigorous manhood giving an appearance at once of wild strength and refined intelligence, while the women must be considered as among the most beautiful of the world.

The trade of Montevideo seems far beyond what we would expect from a town of its size. Wool, hides, tallow, dried beef, and, in general, the products of cattle farming are the chief and nearly the only exports. But these are gathered from the interior in such tremendous quantities, and with so little expense, that they form an enviable source of wealth; and since this is also one of the chief exports of the United States, it is evident that Uruguay is to us a formidable commercial rival. The imports are very large, because this is a centre from which much of the country in the Plata basin is supplied. The imports consist principally of cotton, woollen and silk fabrics, hardware, wine, various food products, and, within the past few years, much improved machinery has been bought. The trade is almost entirely with the various states of Europe, of which England claims twenty-five per cent. The means of transportation to the United States is so imperfect, and the efforts of our merchants have been so feeble that Yankee goods are little in evidence here.

From our balcony at the hotel we had a charming view of the city and of the bay which forms the harbour. Twenty-seven steamers of huge tonnage were anchored at various points, mostly far from the shore. A little nearer were a series of cruisers from various nations. Among these was the beautiful little Castine of our White Squadron, and H. M. S. Retribution. Still nearer were a large number of flat-bottom river crafts, which navigate the Parana and Uruguay rivers. The harbour thus presented every evidence of thrift and industry, while the many large warehouses fronting the water were sufficient proof of the great commerce. The city is composed mostly of tile-roofed two-story stone houses, neat in appearance, and comfortable in equipments. The law prohibits the building of private residences more than seventeen metres in height. But there are many public buildings which are raised much higher, and notable among these is the imposing structure which now belongs to the University of Montevideo. It was originally built as a hotel, but was finally bought by the Government as the home of its principal institute of learning. The building occupies a good sized square, is five stories in height, and has a wide open centre with balconies on every floor. The institution has excellent laboratories, libraries, and is in many ways well adapted for modern education. It is thus a proof of the noble and higher aims of our little sister Republic.

Closely connected with the University is the growing fame of a young Italian bacteriologist—Dr. I. Sanarelli. Two years ago Dr. Sanarelli accepted a position on the staff of the Institute of Hygiene, and in addition to his regular work he has devoted much of his time to a careful search for the germ of yellow fever. His efforts seem to have been crowned with success, for he is to-day the most noted man in all South America. I heard the name of Dr. Sanarelli on every tongue from the Amazon to the Plata, and I expected to pay him a formal professional visit, but this was obviated by a more natural meeting. We were taking dinner at the one fashionable restaurant of the town when the famous doctor came in, and he was promptly ushered to our table.

The story of the discovery of the germ of a disease which has destroyed thousands, perhaps millions, of human lives, is a matter of considerable interest and certainly vastly more important than that of a king who has conquered nations. And if this discovery is supplemented by a remedy which will cure or prevent the disease, it will surely be one of the greatest blessings which the world has ever known. Both of these attainments seem to be within the grasp of Dr. Sanarelli. During the early part of the present year (1897) he discovered the little organism which is the cause of the yellow pest. The news has spread over the entire world, but with the usual conservative attitude of the medical profession the brilliant discovery has been but slowly recognised; even at present there are many doubters who will not accept the newly discovered organism as the sole cause of yellow fever until confirmatory observations establish the fact more definitely. The Montevideo doctors, however, one and all, accept the discovery as final and look with confidence to Dr. Sanarelli for the practical outcome of the curative plan of treatment upon which he is now experimenting.

To cure yellow fever with its cause in hand, it is proposed to make a fluid similar to the anti-diphtheritic serums, which are either destructive or inhibitory to the germs in question. Such a serum has been made and it has been tried upon beasts and men with what Dr. Sanarelli considers marked success. The Brazilian government, in whose domain there is always a nursery of the disease, has recognised the great possibilities of this work, and will shortly set up an experimental laboratory for the manufacture of the serum. For a positive judgment as to the success or failure of the serum plan of treatment we must wait for a long trial, perhaps several years; but the glory and the credit of being the first to see in this dangerous little speck of life, hitherto invisible, an enemy which has caused the death of uncounted thousands of vigorous human lives, already belongs beyond a question to Dr. Sanarelli.

Our time at Montevideo was spent in collecting articles of equipment, provisions, and general supplies, for the use of the expedition in the icy antarctic. For this purpose the city affords many advantages, since nearly all foreign goods can be obtained at very moderate prices, and the local production of fresh provisions are both limitless and cheap. Under the guidance of our thoughtful Belgian friends, we were offered every facility to enjoy the warm hospitality of the place, and to accomplish quickly the objects of our visit. And although we were anchored here less than three days, we were able to complete our mission, and see a few of the local characteristics. The stores are everywhere well stocked with domestic and foreign goods, and if the buyer is able to speak English or French he will have little difficulty in being understood. The streets are wide, regular, and well paved with granite blocks. Tram-ways afford ample but slow transit. Carriages are numerous, and can be obtained at a very moderate cost. Somewhat irregularly scattered throughout the city are small parks with neat arrangements of tropical and semi-tropical plants. The greatest attention, however, seems to be given not to flowery decorations, but to the systematic adjustment of wide promenades.

It does not take a party of young bachelors, such as the “personnel” of the Belgica, very long to discover the side of life with which these promenades are always closely related. Indeed, we soon found out, without assistance, the reason for their great width in proportion to the size of the park—a cause which was to us a never-ceasing pleasure. For we all arrived independently at the conclusion that this feature of the city must be due to the remarkable number and variety of strikingly beautiful women in Montevideo, and their desire to display their qualities to male admirers. So far as my limited experience goes, there is no street or promenade in the world which can offer so large a number of charming young women, in a given group and in a given time, as these palmy promenades of Montevideo. We found it difficult to assign a tangible reason for this attractiveness. It was not in the dress, for the costume was that of nearly all the civilised world. It was not in the form, in the colour of the hair, in the carriage, or in any noticeable art of manner; for all of these characteristics were comparable to those of the refined women of New York, Paris, or London. But in addition to perfection in all these matters there was about them an indescribable something, which made every woman on sight appear to be able to speak her own ideas and the meditations of her admirers in the tongues of the observer, be he French, English, German, Spanish, or what not. Perhaps we were too much absorbed to have discriminating powers; but for this we should be pardoned, for it was about the last glance we had of women, beautiful or otherwise, during four hundred long, wintry days.

Part of Montevideo.

The most prominent citizen of the United States in Uruguay is a modest Bostonian of whom we hear little at home, but who is well-known throughout South America. It is Mr. Thomas W. Howard, who has enjoyed the unparalleled distinction of being a consular representative of the United States for nearly thirty years. The force of character, the executive ability and faithfulness to the home Government, necessary to retain such a position through all the political upheavals, must be evident to every one. The fact is, that Mr. Howard has performed his duties so faithfully, and is such a favourite at once among his countrymen and the Uruguayans, that a change has been found to be undesirable by both the Democratic and Republican parties. Mr. Howard’s residence is one of the bits of local architecture which is much discussed and admired. It is situated in the most fashionable part of the town, on the border of a small but luxuriant park. Its external appearance is not extraordinary in either size or loveliness, appearing simply as a substantial structure of bright sandstone with two stories, but the interior displays wealth and artistic taste. Here expensively polished marbles, rare antique furniture, and tasteful decorations are everywhere in evidence. It is the home of a cultivated and refined man of the world, amid the boundless South American luxuries.

It is impossible for me to give in this limited space the various phases of interesting life in this merry Paris of South America, so I will close with a few general impressions: First, Montevideo is a city of uncounted natural wealth, for prosperity is stamped on the blocks of every street, on the modest but comfortable homes, on the stores, the hotels, the clubs, and the churches. Second, it is a city of charming women, against whom I could bring but one indictment, that of disbelieving in their natural charms to such an extent as to lead them into a lavish use of artificial colouring and powder. Third, the enjoyment of life is here one of the prominent arts of daily occupation. Merry faces are always in evidence, and the light, airy laughter of both sexes bursts with the ease of soap bubbles. Deep meditation, curbing, or melancholy cares, and profound inspirations are usually out of sight. Among Uruguayans life is indeed a happy, leaping, bubbling stream.

CHAPTER III
ORGANISATION OF THE EXPEDITION

Off Cape Virgin, November, 29, 1897.

Quite as interesting as the work of an exploring expedition is the story of the initial inception of the idea, and the various experiences, fortunes and misfortunes of its projector. The difficulty of Columbus in securing the necessary funds for his bold voyage across the unknown waters of the west are familiar to all. A similar difficulty has fallen to the lot of M. de Gerlache and every explorer who, even in the modern days of progress and scientific enlightenment, has tried to secure the necessary funds for a voyage of scientific exploration. When an area equal to one sixth of the known land surface of the globe still remains unexplored, it is easy to formulate plans for journeys of discovery; but to secure the money for their execution is quite another matter.

The ambition for antarctic exploration in Lieutenant de Gerlache’s mind is an old story. “Exploration in general,” he says, “and antarctic exploration in particular, has always had for me a particular fascination. When Professor Nordenskjöld announced his project for south polar exploration in 1892, I at once volunteered, but this, like many other projected southern expeditions, never materialised. The disappointment, however, only sharpened my ambition as did every one of my many subsequent discouragements.”

In 1894 Lieut. de Gerlache presented his first paper to the Royal Geographical Society of Brussels. It was the prospectus of this expedition in its infancy. In it he made as strong a plea as possible for aid to promote exploration of the long neglected antarctic. The Society approved of the project, but offered, at that time, no financial assistance and even delayed its moral support. Various men of wealth were then appealed to, and after many disheartening disappointments, he enlisted the interest of M. Solvay, a promoter of science, “and with him the first glimmer of success dawned upon the horizon of the enterprise which was the ‘apple of my eye’—the projected Belgian Antarctic Expedition.”

Mr. Solvay laid the foundation of the fund with 25,000 francs, or $5,000. In addition, he generously furnished the money for a visit to the arctic regions, a necessary preliminary schooling for an antarctic explorer. A leave without pay was obtained from the Navy to promote the germinating interests of the coming expedition. In the early part of 1895 Gerlache went to Norway, and with the Norwegian sealers to Jan Mayen and to the East Greenland waters. Here he studied the life of the sealers at work, their methods, and the strange animal life. He studied the elements of ice navigation, and above all, caught the never-dying fascination which enraptures every intruder into the white boreal regions.

On his return from the Arctic Sea, the expedition had assumed a more definite shape; the plan was matured, and definite arrangements were at once instituted. A prospectus was sent to King Leopold with a request for an audience, but it was refused. Gerlache then wrote a series of five articles, calculated to awaken interest in south polar regions. These were published and given much prominence by L’Independance Belge. The articles, with the warm support of the press, aroused the needed enthusiasm, and created the welcome public sentiment which carried the project to its final issue.

The Geographical Society, on its next meeting, at the end of January, 1896, opened a subscription list, but the fund swelled slowly. With the assistance of regimental festivities, cycling contests, exhibitions, and the help of various special committees throughout Belgium, 120,000 francs ($24,000) were realised. The Government was then appealed to, and it responded with a grant of 100,000 francs ($20,000). The total sum was now $50,000. The road to success now seemed very easy, but other and unexpected troubles followed. The $50,000, with the greatest economy, did not suffice for the many unlooked-for contingencies.

Active preparations were begun early in June of 1896, though it was hardly expected that the expedition would be able to start during that year. Gerlache went to Norway, and there bought from Captain Pedersen the Patria according to a previous agreement, patriotically rechristening her Belgica. She seemed to be about the only ship of the Norwegian ice-fleet at all suitable for the expedition, and even after she was secured Lieutenant de Gerlache had to arrange with Mr. Christensen of Sandafjiord to put in a new boiler, and to make other necessary alterations and repairs. At about this time, also, definite arrangements were made with several of the prospective members of the expedition—Messrs. Arctowski, Danco, and Amundsen were enlisted in the project. In spite of many minor discouragements, the prospects now really seemed bright; the expedition, it was felt, would surely embark. But Gerlache was then again delayed, though undaunted, by finding that the fund at his command was not sufficient to properly equip the expedition.

The final preparations of the vessel, the purchase of the scientific instruments, many of which were specially made, the want of ready money, and a thousand little matters which needed attention combined to delay the expedition. In addition to these drawbacks, other scientific men were necessary to complete the staff. Special efforts were put forth to secure a competent zoölogist, one who possessed qualities essential to a polar explorer, and this proved one of the greatest difficulties. Belgium and France were searched without avail, and finally Mr. Racovitza was found in Rumania. But he was doing military duty, and it was feared that the diplomatic arrangements essential for his release would be slow. However, he was luckily freed at once to join the growing family of pioneers.

For south polar exploration it is necessary to leave the northern hemisphere in July or August. For it should be remembered that the seasons in the south are the reverse of those of the north. January is the midsummer of the antarctic. The vessels which are fitted to withstand ice jamming are slow. The heavy cumbersome timbers, the blunt bow, round bottom, fuel-saving engines and small canvas, are all excellent for ice navigation, but they are decided impediments to speed. The first of September was now at hand, and painful as was the thought of a year’s delay, it proved unavoidable.

Lieutenant de Gerlache was in close communion with Commander Wandel of Copenhagen who had charge of the Danish East Greenland Expedition. This expedition in its scientific aims was more like the prospective Belgian Expedition than any other venture, and furthermore Captain Wandel was familiar with the United States exploring ship Blake, which had done splendid work in ascertaining the depths of the Pacific. “From Commander Wandel,” says Gerlache, “I obtained not only valuable data, but much of his equipment at a nominal cost.” In this way the end of the summer was spent in Denmark, and in a similar way the winter was spent in Norway.

To visit Dr. Nansen, and to prepare himself more thoroughly for the antarctic, Gerlache made his home in Norway during the early months of winter. For a like reason Lieutenant Danco accompanied him; they learned to travel on skis, and experimented with sledges, winter clothing, and camp equipments. The best possible outfit was selected for the intended sledge journeys over the virgin south polar lands. Many condensed and preserved foods, admirably adapted for polar journeys, are best obtained in Norway. From this experience it followed that most of our provisions were Norwegian.

Returning from Norway with the Belgica early in July 1897, he found that all the money was spent, and still he needed many, very many, important things. “Again,” says Gerlache, “I sought aid by private subscriptions, and again we were doomed to disappointment. We now decided on a desperate effort. It was to arrange a public exhibition of the Belgica and its entire equipment, and either raise the additional financial support, or sell the whole outfit and abandon the project. The exhibition was very largely attended by the best people of Belgium, a fresh interest was created, and a new patriotic pride now arose in behalf of the expedition.

“A subscription feast was prepared, which, through the indefatigable efforts of Madame Osterrieth, became very popular and profitable. The festivities were held at a public park in Antwerp which was handsomely decorated for the occasion. Special military gymnastics and cycling contests were among the attractions, the attendance was large, and the welfare of the ‘Expedition Antartique Belge’ was on every tongue. The occasion won for Madame Osterrieth the title of ‘Mother Antarctic,’ and for the expedition ten thousand francs.

“Mr. Schollaert, the worthy Minister of the Interior, visited the Belgica as did many other deputies, and through them the Government was asked for another sixty thousand francs—an amount absolutely necessary to assure the successful issue of the expedition. This was granted, making the entire fund from all sources three hundred thousand francs, or about sixty thousand dollars. With this, preparations were at once made to leave Antwerp and the departure was announced for August 16th.

“Letters and telegrams with good wishes and friendly sentiments poured in from all sides at the last moment. But of these I can only mention a few:

“Captain Hovgaard of the Danish Navy, and a member of the famous Vega Expedition wired his compliments and ‘Good Luck.’

“Dr. Neumayer, of Hamburg, who has advocated antarctic exploration for twenty-five years wired: ‘My most sincere wishes follow you toward the south pole.’

“Fridtjof Nansen, whose star of fame had just risen, wired: ‘Chance and luck follow you and the Belgica. May the voyage bring such rich scientific results as the careful preparations promise, and may it throw a new light over the darkest part of the world.’

“We weighed anchor and drew out of Antwerp on August 16th. Many people gathered to see the starting, and all Antwerp seemed on foot to wish us bon voyage. Representatives from many French societies were there to congratulate us on our good fortune with the organisation, and to wish the expedition unbounded success. The yachts of the Antwerp Yacht Club, under whose flag the Belgica sailed, showed their interest by salutations and a rich bedecking of flags. Amid the storm of cheers from the people on the quays, the tooting of whistles from neighbouring crafts, and the thundering of cannons from places which we knew not, we slowly withdrew. After a few hours Antwerp, with its friendly hilarity and its bustling activity, sank from view. Then, after a breath of ease and a moment of reflection, we felt that the hardest part of our work had been accomplished. At last the hard-earned project was afloat, and, as if to force the pride of our work upon us, the Dutch cruiser Kartenaar followed us out to sea in company for twenty-four hours, an indication of neighbourly affection which we keenly appreciated. This we afterwards learned was by order of the Dutch Queen Wilhelmina.

“Head winds, against which no progress could be made, and a small accident to the engine, made it necessary to put into Ostend. Here his Majesty, King Leopold, visited us, offering many congratulations on the success of the difficult task of organising the first Belgian polar expedition. His Majesty took a sharp interest in the Belgica, and closely examined her many peculiar fixtures, finally offering his hand and many words of warm encouragement befitting the occasion.

“During the few hot days of August, which were spent at Ostend, a teeming mass of fellow-countrymen and women crowded the decks of the Belgica. It seemed, with the vessel loaded so heavily, with every cubic foot of space occupied, and even the bunks and state-rooms piled full of useful articles, so that there was really no room for curiosity seekers, as if all Ostend, and a good part of the outside world, had been aboard. There came a time, however, when the ship must leave, when we must finally sever ourselves from the friendly atmosphere of our beloved native land, and leave our friends behind for the second and last time until our return.”

It was on the eve of the final departure from home, by the way, that my own name was first suggested as a future companion. There had been considerable trouble and some disappointment in connection with the surgeons appointed. The first candidate was put aside, after acceptance, for personal reasons, and the second declined to go at the last moment for family reasons. Without a knowledge of this difficulty I cabled, volunteering my services, though at this time I had not previously written a line, nor was I acquainted with a single individual of the expedition, or its representatives. In response to my cable I received this:

1 B H WH 11 OSTENDE, 10.45P (Via 369 Fulton St Brooklyn,)

DR COOK,

BROOKLYN, N. Y.

FOUVEZ REJOINDRE MONTEVIDEO MAIS HIVERNEREZ PAS

GERLACHE.

To this I answered yes, and it was followed by, “Meet us at Rio, end of September.” I had only a few days to prepare myself and my outfit for a journey which might take one year, or ten, or a lifetime. But I was determined to go, and so it came about that in September I found myself on the way to meet my prospective companions on the unfriendly bosom of the Atlantic, seasick and miserable from rough weather and tropical heat. I should have had a longer time to afford better means to prepare for a journey of this kind. To consent by cable to cast my lot in a battle against the supposed unsurmountable icy barriers of the south, with total strangers, men from another continent, speaking a language strange to me, does indeed seem rash. But I never had cause to regret it. The antarctic has always been the dream of my life, and to be on the way to it was then my ideal of happiness. To be on the way from it was an ambition quite as strong two years later.

Captain Lecointe describes the final departure and the voyage down the Atlantic thus: “There was a great storm of sentimental and serious enthusiasm as we left Ostend on August 24th. Fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, and other men’s sisters were there to press upon us their last tokens of love. This was done in different ways. Some cried, others laughed and took the matter in a good humor, and still others were angry that one of their number should, with eyes open, go from a warm home to what was predicted to be a certain icy grave. Many of the old seamen about gave gratuitous advice to our friends, based upon their own experiences about Cape Horn, which in substance was generally ‘these men will never return.’ As the Belgica drew out from the docks and we saw for the last time for many months the red faces of sadness, the pale faces of anxiety, the waving handkerchiefs, and as we felt the parting girlish kisses coming with the soft breezes, we were, indeed, half sorry to leave our little land of home delights. Amid the cheer of enthusiastic voices and the thunder of salutations from whistles and guns we glided out into the broad Atlantic, whose beating swells were henceforth to be our home and our highway to the chosen field of action, the snowy south polar regions.”

The Belgica.

CHAPTER IV
THE “BELGICA,” HER EQUIPMENT, HER COMFORTS AND DISCOMFORTS

Strait of Magellan, Dec. 2, 1897.

I have now been on the Belgica more than a month, and my admiration for her becomes stronger as we advance toward the southern ice. Her history, her fittings, her equipment, and her men, all serve to enhance this affection, and every day I find in our good ship new points of interest. She has been dressed and redressed so much on this voyage down the Atlantic that the original owners would now hardly recognise her. She has been scraped and polished and painted, and rearranged inside and out, until she looks quite like a pleasure craft. Her new name, Steam Yacht Belgica, now fits her, for her aspect and atmosphere as a greasy, sooty sealer has vanished. The almost inseparable distinction of a sealing craft, the persistent fishy odour, is also gone.

The more we drive her over this lonely sea, the more we fix and comb and dress her, the stronger we feel her quivering animation. She already has a place in our affections as definitely as a pet horse. As she takes us farther and farther away from our homes, we become daily more dependent upon her. And as she pitches and tosses in the unruly seas, and rides out the forbidding storms, we feel we shall love her better. We may have become sentimental about our little pet, but so much depends on her. On the ability of the Belgica to plough through the virgin antarctic ice, depends our success in exploring the prospective new lands. On her hospitality depends our comfort, and on her stability depends, not only the success or failure of the entire expedition, but our future existence, for if she is buried in the antarctic, we cannot hope to survive, we must go with her to an icy grave.

To see the Belgica aright, and appreciate her real value, she should be observed in the polar ice, her natural home. In a cosmopolitan harbour, like Antwerp or Rio de Janeiro, among the larger ships and modern ironclads, she seems like a little bull-dog amid a group of large greyhounds—small, awkward, and ungraceful. In colour the Belgica is gray, with natural wood and cream trimmings. She is bark rigged, and has patent single topsails. Her body is one hundred and ten feet long, twenty-six feet wide, and she has a draft of fifteen feet. In a good wind, without steam, she is able to sail six knots. An auxiliary steam power is placed well aft, that the bow may rise to crush the ice. The boiler is new, and the engine has an effective horse-power of one hundred and fifty. Burning three and a half tons of coal, in Belgian bricks (bricquettes), and with smooth water, the Belgica will make seven knots per hour. But we shall only use her half speed, for with two tons of coal she will make about four knots, a speed quite sufficient amid icebergs, drifting floes, pack-ice, and unknown rocks.

There are many points of special interest in the construction of a modern steam sealer like the Belgica. But to describe all these would lead us into too many long nautical details. In selecting the framework of the bark, timbers were obtained of double the usual size and strength of an ordinary vessel of the same measurement. The stem was inclined, making the bow of an inclination similar to that of a sledge runner, which enables the vessel to rise on to the surface of the ice, and crush it rather by its own weight than by the motive force, as did the older ice-vessels. Otherwise the shape is similar to that of a well-built modern sealing vessel.

The planking inside and outside of the ponderous framework is of extraordinary strength, and over all is a special ice-sheathing of very hard wood. The bow and stern are protected by four-inch planks of greenheart, a tropical wood possessing the remarkable quality of being both hard and elastic. Experience has taught that this wood affords the best protection against the ice destruction. Amidships the wear is less, and here thick oak planks seem to afford the needed security, while it is much lighter and cheaper. The stern wall is five feet thick, and the breast wall about twelve feet in antro-posterior diameter. Outside of this almost indestructible battering ram, there is a protective sheathing of soft Swedish iron, to receive the first cutting edges of the ice.

The rudder is large and specially strong to stand the strain of the crushing ice, while the vessel goes astern into the pack. The helmport is large enough to make it possible to dislodge obstructive ice. The propeller, too, has its special points of interest. It can be raised out of the water, as occasion may require, to free it from ice entanglements, or to replace it with a new one, should it be broken, and also to permit free sailing. And then there is the crow’s nest—a huge barrel raised to the top of the mainmast, to enable the lookout to view a greater horizon. We shall often expect to hear, as I have in the arctic, startling news from the man in this sky-barrel. He will probably announce the first sight of some new lands, and will often send down a signal of our approach to some big animal, which will bring us all on deck armed with rifles, only to find a piece of discoloured ice or snow as a target.

If by any chance the southern ice-floes should hug us too affectionately, we are well prepared for its unwelcome caresses. Our little ship will stand a good deal of hard squeezing; she is constructed to fight not only with her engines and her armoured breast, but in her bowels we have stored something like two thousand pounds of tonite, an explosive said to be superior to dynamite for ice destruction. With this tonite we hope to blast and shatter and find freedom for our Belgica if embraced by the Frost King.

Although we do not expect to hunt seals or whales or anything else for commercial purposes, the expedition is well prepared to take all kinds of life for scientific study. We have boom and harpoon guns to capture whales and sea-elephants. We have rifles, shotguns, pistols, knives, and ammunition to do justice to a pirate ship. Several thousand pounds of alcohol, and a large quantity of chemicals are on hand to preserve animal specimens, and also cotton for stuffing birds, as well as an apparatus for blowing eggs. Our cameras are of all varieties, and with these we expect to photograph the strange antarctic life with its immediate surroundings.

The devices for scientific fishing are as complete as the limited finances would permit. We shall be able to fish on the surface in the middle stratas, and on the bottom of the deep sea. We can even scrape the bed of the ocean with huge dredges for low forms of life, and can drop the thermometer down to register the degrees of heat of the invisible homes of these strange creatures.

The trawls and dredges are made after the last American Sigsbee system as improved by Professor Agassiz. There are four large frames, fifteen nets, and three thousand fathoms of galvanised steel rope with a tensile strength of five tons to haul the catch by steam. And then there is the tangle-bar, and much other fishing apparatus, all of which would make an old-time fisherman stare with envy. In short, the equipment is such that not only the life of the air and land will be accessible, but also a systematic study of the marine life inhabiting the unmeasured depths of the southern ocean will be for the first time possible.

The new science of oceanography, or as Lieutenant Maury, its father, called it, “the geography of the sea,” has been constantly in mind in the organisation and equipment of the Belgica. The outfit for fishing partly belongs to this department; unique devices for sounding the ocean in all depths by the Monacho machine (with pianoforte wire and steel rope as a line, sinkers which detach automatically, and a complicated system of special steam machinery) is now adjusted, ready for use. We expect to study the submarine currents, temperature, and the composition of the water. For all of this, we have special apparatus, perhaps not interesting to the average reader in a description, but the results are sure to add a new and startling chapter to the growing annals of ocean science.

The laboratory is in a small, specially constructed deckhouse behind the foremast. Its dimensions are small, perhaps fifteen feet long and twelve feet wide, but its capacity for storing instruments, and its convenience for work is phenomenal. It is intended as the centre for all scientific work, a sort of “union den” for the working staff, as the motto painted in large letters over the window “L’Union Fait L’Force,” indicates. It will, however, be principally used for meteorologic, oceanographic, and zoölogical investigations. When one first steps into the laboratory, there creeps over one a fear to move, for everything seems a frail meshwork of glass; straight and spiral tubes, glass cylinders, thermometers, barometers, test tubes, bottles, and glass articles, too numerous to mention, are attached to all the available surface on the walls, the shelves and even the ceiling. At first appearance one would pronounce the frail fixtures short-lived, and it certainly seems as if a single sharp toss or sudden pitch of the ship would send the whole glassy splendour in fragments to the floor. The vessel, however, has rolled for three months on the destructive swell of the Atlantic, and, thanks to the carefully planned attachments, very few instruments have been broken; so we have reason to hope from this experience that the ice will not be more injurious.

A very complete library is on board. It is a library, like the men, of various tongues, and descriptive of a great variety of subjects. Each department has its technical bibliography. The Commandant and the writer have a general collection of all the antarctic narratives in all tongues. The Captain has a heap of charts and books on navigation; Lieutenant Danco has everything pertaining to terrestrial magnetism. The general scientific library is indeed a cosmopolitan collection. It contains books in French, English, German, Polish, Norwegian, and Rumanian print. In addition to serious literature, we have other books and magazines of lighter character. But these float about, from the laboratory to the cabin, and then to the forecastle, always in the hands of those whose spirits need elevating. Weeklies with unusually good pictures, such as half tones of beautiful women, theatric or opera scenes are reserved and served after dinner as a kind of entertainment.

The quarters for officers and men are fairly good—palatial, as comfort is measured on a sealer. The Commandant has a neat little room behind the mizzenmast, opposite to the kitchen. It is carpeted, nicely furnished, and the walls are artistically bedecked by old Dutch sketches, some paintings, and many photographs of polar scenes. We are so pressed for space, that we are told even this room will be partly filled with coal at Punta Arenas. The cabin is well aft; like the laboratory, the Commandant’s room, and the kitchen, it is on deck. As we enter, to the right of the engines are the berths of the Captain and the mates, where they have the soot, steam, and smoke of the engine-room to impress upon them the importance of their work, while the noise is such that prolonged sleep is impossible. The cabin is small, but full of comfort. It is as if eight men stood up around a small table, and a box were built around them, the corners and walls and ceiling being lined with books and instruments. It is not a very joyful place in the tropics, but when an endless sea of ice surrounds us, and the wind is blowing, and the decks are covered with snow, then, with steaming food on the table, we shall find its true value.

A door through the left of the cabin opens into an aisle, to the side of which are the four berths where the devotees of science sleep. The sides are thoughtfully lined with lockers, but every nook, the beds, the ceiling, and at times even the floor, is covered with clothing, instruments and books. After a storm it is a sad rivalry in hopeless entanglement. The forecastle occupies the space between decks from the foremast to the stem. It is large, light, and, compared with the officers’ quarters, extremely comfortable. We speak French in the cabin, German and French in the laboratory, and a mixture of English, Norwegian, French, and German in the forecastle. The life and order on board of the Belgica is that of a well-regulated family. Each man has his duties to perform, but he will also be expected to lend a brotherly hand to his companions as occasion may require. On clear evenings the music-box is often brought up on deck, and as the familiar tunes bound out into the strangely clear atmosphere, some sing, others dance; some walk about, and still others play games. The scene is truly melancholy upon reflection. We are going farther and farther away from home to the most desolate and forbidding part of the known or the unknown world. Our return is uncertain, our future is dark; but we have set out with this knowledge before us, and now it is our duty to aid in keeping up the general family cheerfulness. Whatever else may be our future success or failure, our domestic comforts are assured. When we assemble on deck after dinner, with the music to draw out a general feeling of well-being, a generous and unanimous air of joy rises with the ascending dew of the setting sun of the South Atlantic.

CHAPTER V
MONTEVIDEO TO PUNTA ARENAS

Punta Arenas, Dec. 14, 1897.

The Belgica raised her anchor and steamed out of the harbour of Montevideo Sunday, November 14, 1897. We were showered with the good wishes of the people, and loaded with the good things of the land. The entire Belgian colony followed us far out into the stream to bid us a final adieu, while the officers and men were kept closely occupied in answering the various signal salutations of the many neighbouring vessels as we passed. The deck strewn with provisions, hastily assembled at the last moment and alive with visitors, was a picture to send a thrill to the heart of a navigator about to encounter the worst sea on earth; but the happy disposition instilled by our congenial friends made us forget, for a time, all cares for the future. Soon we ploughed across the choppy waters of the River Plata under an uncomfortable series of squalls which seemed to come with a hiss and a force like bombs from a cannon. Before sunset we had left the low, blue line of hills which mark the northern banks of the river and the site of Montevideo, far under the northern horizon. We were again on our way to the snowy bottom of the globe, with intentions to stop by the wayside at the world’s jumping-off-place, Punta Arenas.

On the following morning a heavy sea was pounding our port-bow, giving a quick lift, and permitting a sudden fall, to which our stomachs seriously objected. The sky was clothed with gloomy clouds having hard, zigzag edges like the margins of torn sheets of lead. We were, to all appearances, far out in the open expanse of the broad Atlantic, but, in reality, we were still in the mouth of the River Plata,—which accounted for the warm humid winds driving over our starboard. Much of the day was spent in an examination and rearrangement of our newly acquired equipage and provisions. It was to me a matter of agreeable surprise to find among these so many of the fruits and vegetables common to the New York market; but this is explained by the fact that Uruguay is a land of perpetual summer, where winter frosts are nearly unknown. The time of our visit was the spring of the southern hemisphere, November 15th, in the south, corresponding to May 15th, in the north; and while fruit and vegetable products are plentiful through the year, they are particularly delicious at this time. We had strawberries, cherries, apples, lettuce, radishes, peas, beans, artichokes, new potatoes, cabbage, and a long list of other fresh productions. There is, however, one great anomaly in the food supply of South America; it is the difficulty of obtaining fresh milk and the impossibility of securing good butter.

This is particularly surprising in view of the fact that, in Uruguay and Argentina, cattle farming is at once one of the principal industries and a source of the principal wealth of the countries. That good butter and excellent milk could be made under competent management is unquestionable. At Buenos Aires several successful efforts have been made, and the best results have followed the efforts of a missionary who has taken to the management of cows in preference to the more difficult task of reforming Spanish American sins.

In the absence of butter one is, however, not so seriously disappointed after he is accustomed to the Spanish substitute, “dulce de leche,” a sort of confection of milk. Mrs. Huysman, the wife of a prominent Belgian of Montevideo, had presented the expedition with a liberal supply of this, and after one or two introductions it proved quite a delicacy. Dulce de leche is a kind of sweet paste of the consistency of lard; at ordinary temperature it has a straw colour and no distinct odour. It is made of condensed milk, cane sugar and the marrow of the largest beef bones, the ingredients being worked together in a smooth homogeneous mixture, and then sealed in small tin cans. In this form it is much in use, and can be obtained throughout all of southern South America. The mixture is extremely nutritious, and aside from its position as a substitute for butter it has evidently special values of its own. I see no reason why it could not be introduced with advantage into the United States.

On the morning of the 16th, the sky was clear of the heavy clouds which descend with the stream of the Rio de la Plata. There was a little air, dry and pleasant, coming from the Patagonian pampas over our western horizon. The sea was a joy to behold. Its surface was like a sheet of silver, glassy and luminous, with long, easy and regular undulations. Through these the Belgica steamed with a grace and ease quite befitting a pleasure yacht. Under the inspiration of the morning, we were prepared to deny the evil reports so often made of these waters. That such an easy sea, and such a heavenly sky could in a short time be transformed into a howling mockery by the storm demons, did not seem, to our innocent trust in nature, a possibility; but the afternoon brought with it signs of uneasiness. The steady air from the west ceased, and little breezes followed from all parts of the compass. The exquisite bright blueness of the sky changed to a smoky blue; but at two o’clock there were no clouds and nothing on the horizon to indicate danger. The atmosphere became quickly humid and heavy, making respiration seem difficult, while the barometer was spasmodically rising and falling. That there was some unusual phenomenon which we were about to witness, we felt convinced, but we were long in getting hints as to its nature.

At about four o’clock a sharp dark line, like a perfectly straight bar of iron, was seen over the southern horizon. It rose with wondrous rapidity and as it ascended above this central bar there swelled out a perfectly smooth and even roll of weirdly luminous vapour. Across the rounded surface were small, ragged films of intense white and steel gray passing with lightning haste, and this gave the upper line an awe-inspiring appearance. Under the central bar the cloud was of a dark steel gray, but we could at no time see the sky, or even the horizon under the advancing commotion. We were intensely interested in the sight, but it did not seem to us particularly dangerous, nor did it strike the sailors with the terror which I have seen less imposing sky-effects produce. The strangeness of the sight, however, put the officers on guard, and every surface of sail that could be taken in was at once furled. The sea now began to rise and it was strange to watch it. It first boiled, apparently without wind, into short waves. This the following wind straightened out like the wrinkles of a cloth under a smoothing-iron. Then other waves rose too high and too solid for the wind to flatten. These increased in size, and multiplied in numbers, and rushed towards us in huge coils of spray. The Belgica pitched and tumbled in the resulting sea, but as yet no wind had struck her. The water and the air was lighted with a sort of vague pearly glow. At this time the strange line seemed just over our bowsprit, and extended entirely across the heavens from east to west, but only a little draught of air crossed the bridge.

I turned to watch the men who had suddenly left their work and were coming down from the rigging. All at once the bark was struck with terrific force, and stopped as suddenly as if she had struck a stone wall; this was followed by a howling, maddening noise as the wind passed through the ropes and spars such as I had never heard before or since. Everybody grasped a bar or a rope to keep from being swept overboard. The bark, after the first thud, raised her bow and drove her stern into the boiling sea, and then righted, seemingly prepared for the next assault. After a few other, but lesser, puffs, the wind came with a steady hiss—like steam from an exhaust pipe, and its force was expended with the same rapidity with which it fell upon us. From the commencement to the termination this strange onslaught occupied but fifteen minutes; but this was as much as I care to see of a hurricane of this sort, though they are sufficiently prevalent in this region to receive the special local name of pamperos. A pampero is apt to leave a lasting impression on one’s mind, and on the Belgica we date all of our events from the time of its occurrence.

For a few days following the pampero we were gliding along the coast of Patagonia, but out of sight of land, under the most beautiful skies and in the most delightful weather imaginable. Pleasant weather, however, makes the life of a sailor monotonous and far from enjoyable, because it affords time and opportunity to mend and dress and polish the ship. Such was the work of the crew here. The tropical sun had brought out some of the oil and not a little of the fishy odour with which years of blubber hunting had filled her. The paint, also, which had been piled on in different colours, year after year, came off in large sheets like the bark of a dead tree. To mend and dress the Belgica, then, in a suitable garb for the perpetual frost of the south pole was a matter of considerable work.

The skin of the bark was scraped, and painted, and varnished, and polished, new sails were fitted, old ones repaired, and all of the sailing gear was strengthened for the expected blasts south of Cape Horn. Waterproof covers were made for the various bits of machinery and the instruments openly exposed on deck. Between decks the provisions were being examined and restored. Supplies and equipments were put aside for a wintering party in the antarctic. The cabins and the forecastles were to be cleared and altered for more prolonged habitation, and the hammocks were put away, not to be used again for a long time. Henceforth we must take to our berths, which are like hermetically sealed cans. These bunks have been made to fit each man, in length and breadth, according to careful measurement. The result is that the fit is like that of a snug boot, but the comparison is hardly admissible, since a neat-fitting boot flatters vanity, and pleases the eye; but where are the joys of a boot for a bed? I must hasten to add that such an economy of room was necessary; but, unfortunately, either the beds had shortened, or the men had lengthened, for two men presently complained that their bunks were now six inches too short.

The pleasant dispositions and the regular daily occupations, which come with continued fair weather, were abruptly set aside on November 26th. Our eyes in the morning opened under a sky dark, gray, and gloomy. This was soon enlivened by wildly moving cloudy streamers, under which the sea tumbled in huge cliffs, and our stomachs raised in long reaches. Mal de mer was the openly acknowledged pastime of the hour, and it seemed to be in evidence in direct proportion to the mental development of the personnel. The Captain, for example, was the first victim, and he was followed by the most capable sympathisers of the état major. These were followed by the ordinary seamen, the man of lowest mental development being usually the last to loosen the gastric bonds. Let this be a comfort to victims of Neptune.

The wind poured upon us in hard, steady blasts from the south-west for nearly two days, which gave us, on our growing menu, a taste of the normal weather of the “roaring forties”—a relish which a heavy lumbering sealing craft is apt to impress upon the memory. We were hungry for the sight of land, which the Captain had been promising us as an appetiser from hour to hour; for we had been a fortnight without seeing anything but the blackness and blueness of the Patagonian sea, and anything in the form of land would have been a feast to our eyes.

Early in the morning of November 29th a low straight line, like a huge beam of wood, appeared to separate the grayness of the sky from the soft blue waters in the south-west. It proved to be the northern cape of the eastern entrance of the Strait of Magellan,—Cape Virgins. The name is fascinating when one feels he is at the world’s end, and land in any form in this locality is an encouragement, but there is nothing about the topography of Cape Virgins which would arouse much admiration. It is a long, sandy cliff one hundred and thirty-five feet high, its base descending perpendicularly into the sea with the interruption of an occasional shingle point, where it appears as if a boat might make a landing. Its colour varies much with the position of the sun, the character of the atmosphere, and the cloudiness of the sky. As we approached, it at first appeared nearly white, with occasional dark shadows when the surface was uneven, and the entire wall was crested by a thin but smooth line of green grass. At this time the direct beams fell upon the coast from the sun, still low on the eastern skies. A few hours later, when we were nearer and the sun was under a light cloud, the cliff appeared like a wall of terra cotta. The cape is the seaward termination of a long range of low hills extending across Patagonia.

Cape Virgins is one of the most important landmarks on the Atlantic seaboard, and its discovery marked the beginning of the most important period of maritime adventures in the history of navigation. Before we pass it, and enter the now famous Strait, permit me to give a few incidents in the story of the discovery of this cape and the hard-earned but triumphant entrance into the narrow path which permitted the first circumnavigation. The credit belongs to a Portuguese, Fernão de Magalhães, and the honour belongs to Spain, for the expedition was under the patronage of the Spanish crown.

Magalhães assembled his fleet at San Julian on the Patagonian coast, Easter Eve, in the year 1520. Here he spent the few months of southern winter, from April to October. During this time he first saw, and his historians first described, the pampa Indians whom, because of their loosely booted feet, they gave the ill-fitting name of Pata-gones: a name which all the world of women should detest, for it means clumsy-hoofed. From this first designation given to the people the entire country from the Plata to the Strait, has been given the name of Patagonia. Patagonia, then, fully translated, means the land of the clumsy-hoofed people. This is unkind when, in reality, the Indians of this region have feet which are not only smaller, but far neater in shape than those of Europeans of the same size and weight. At this anchorage Magalhães had some trouble with his officers who committed the unpardonable crime of differing from him in their opinions. To one of these men a letter was sent with a messenger who had instructions to stab him while reading. Other officers were executed with similar despatch. Magalhães was evidently a good representative of the saints of his day, upholding the church with one hand, and committing the blackest deeds of Satan with the other.

OSGOOD ART COLORTYPE CO., CHI. & N. Y.

Fuegian Boys

On October 21st, Magalhães entered the Strait for which he had searched and, though he had killed some of his officers but a short time previous in a manner which would now be considered premeditated murder, he honoured the saints by calling the channel Canal de Todos los Santos—Canal of all the Saints. The cape on his starboard, as he entered, was named the Cape of the Eleven Thousand Virgins, in honour of the day on which it was discovered, St. Ursula’s day. Succeeding generations have thought less of the saints and more of Magalhães, and have named the canal in honour of its discoverer, but even the discoverer’s name has changed with time, for to-day we write Strait of Magellan, and not Magalhães. The cape has also suffered a change by the later and less religious geographers. Eleven Thousand Virgins, even as a name, is too flowery for a Cape Horn sand-bank, and furthermore it was the hunting ground of a people among whom the term virgin would be useless. Just at present this point of land is charted Cape Virgins, and its virgin soil is being broken by thrifty gold diggers.

Returning to our present voyage and to the less sentimental, and less brutal, but I fear less religious modern times, the Belgica has not only no one to fill the chaplain’s duties, but, so far as I know, only one Bible (which is kept under cover) and no prayer book. Religion is apparently not one of our missions. But then I must hasten to add that on expeditions of this kind land pilots are more necessary than “sky pilots.”

At noon we rounded the low sandy bar extending southward from Cape Virgins terminating in Dungeness Point, and entered the historic Strait of Magellan. The eastern beach was strewn with fragments of iron from the hull of the iron vessel Cleopatra, which was one of the many vessels wrecked here. The skeleton of the Cleopatra was still fighting the sea some distance off shore, and presented a picture which would run into delight under the brush of an artist. The western shore of the point was strewn with fragments of wooden vessels, and two hulls well ashore rocked like cradles, but were apparently not much injured. This point seems to be a convenient graveyard for marine crafts.

To our south under a dark bank of cumulus clouds was the white cliff of Cape Espirito Santo, which, like Cape Virgins, is the termination of a long range of hills on Tierra del Fuego. The waters were alive with innumerable forms of life, many of which were new to us. Whales, seals, porpoises and penguins were darting about in the sea like birds in the air, while resting on the glassy surface, hovering over the land, rushing over and around the Belgica were strange members of the feathered tribe; among these, albatrosses, gulls, petrels, ducks, and geese were most numerous. The profusion of animal life around us, the blackness of the lowlands to each side, and the encouraging prospect of the channel before us, furnished a sort of wild fascination which is probably as great in our day as in the time of the early pioneers.

Passing westward we had, by midnight, reached the entrance of the first narrows. Here we anchored for the night. For three long months we had gone steadily and persistently southward in one general direction; such a monotony of course draws the Atlantic out into an unimaginable length, but now we were headed westward, away from the Atlantic with its fickle winds to the more friendly Pacific; and our course in the future will be more varied—a circumstance which seems to arouse an agreeable train of thoughts. These thoughts, with the peculiar and continual interest of the scenes around the ship, kept us awake for a large part of our first night in the Strait.

From time to time I left my bunk and paced the poop that I might better see the wide panorama under the varying shades of the night. There were marvellous changes in colour and in the general aspect of the land, with imperceptible changes of light. This I had noticed earlier in the day and it continued throughout the night; but of this I can hope to give only a crude outline, for the delicate shades of colour and the infinitesimal grades of light cannot be spread out with black and white under a quill. As the sun sank behind the hazy outline of the Cordilleras Mountains, over the Patagonian pampas, the grassy surface everywhere assumed a bright yellow tint, in harmony with the gold which is now scraped from the ground. The sandy cliffs which walled the shores were inky black on the north, and bright gray or brown on the south. The water retained its dark green hue until the semi-luminous, semi-liquid, purple of the long twilight flooded the whole scene. Then followed the short blackness of the night which again blended into an exquisite purple morning. As the sun rose over the cliff of Cape Virgins, the vast treeless plains were marked into sharp figures of brown and yellow and red. Hence these regions, like tastefully dressed women, have a special dress for every part of the day, and this garb changes the appearance of landmarks in such a manner that at times they are difficult of recognition. I will not force the parallel—but thus in one of the elements of beauty in this Strait, lies one of its greatest dangers to navigation.

We tipped our anchor in the morning and advanced to the mouth of the second narrows, where we anchored at 4 P.M., December 1st. Here we learned from the latest budget of the French coast-pilot that there was a French settlement, and from the Belgica a number of farm-houses were visible, which seemed to confirm the information. We accordingly prepared to pay the occupants a visit, and also to search the surrounding territory for specimens. Landing in the bend of Gregory Bay with a corps of scientific collectors, hunters and sailors, all of an adventurous turn of mind, we soon spread over the grassy pampas in every direction. Three of us who went to visit the farm-houses soon discovered that the coast-pilot’s information was not up to date. The Frenchmen in question had disappeared about ten years previous, and the entire region, practically everything within sight, belongs to a very wealthy Chilean sheep farmer, by the name of Menendez.

At the first farm-house we found a couple of Scotch shepherds who informed us that the main station of the farm was a few miles east, and to reach this they offered us horses. The Captain and I accepted and were soon mounted, but before we returned we had some regrets. The animals objected to their burdens from first to last, and I might add that we objected to their manners at once and for all times. Like all Patagonian horses, they are trained to take their direction by the throw of the reins, and not by the traction of the bit. If the rein is thrown against the left side of the neck, the horse goes to the right, and vice versa. It is hard to adopt the method at once without a certain amount of traction on the bit to which one is accustomed; but this lateral traction the pampa horses will not permit. If you will hold a tight rein you must hold it with equal tension on both sides, and hold it steadily, or the animal will stop at once, and perhaps with such suddenness as to make you test the hardness of the ground. The horse also has a motion and a gait which is absolutely peculiar to the pampas. These peculiarities soon drive chagrin to the heart of a northern horseman.

We galloped eastward in a beaten path close to the placid waters of Magellan Strait. To our left were a low series of hills—the Gregory Range—and behind these the sun had fallen, throwing its parting rays on the shore-line of Tierra del Fuego opposite, and over the distant Fuegian mountains. The novelty of the ride and the fascination of the scenery helped us to forget the bruises and accumulating pain—of which, however, we were forcibly reminded later. In an hour we reached our destination and had an opportunity to see, for the first time, one of the end-of-the-century wonders,—the re-discovery of Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego by the sheep farmers. Here were the men by whom, and the method by which, the hopeless sterility of the end of the continent has been turned into a field of industry with a farming profit perhaps equalled in no other part of the world.

A young man with a sporting air advanced from one of the buildings to meet us. He was Alexander Menendez, the chief of the place, and the son of the Cape Horn Vanderbilt. Spanish is the official language of this region, but neither the Captain nor I spoke it, and thus we were a little anxious to know the tongue in which we might interchange ideas. We could handle between us French, Flemish, English, German, and Eskimo, and we rather flattered ourselves that the man who could not converse with us in one of these tongues could have few ideas worthy of exchange. We had no need for anxiety, however, for our new host spoke English and German and some French, in addition to his national tongue. Indeed, English seems to be the general language of the sheep farmer. Mr. Menendez took us to his little home, a one-story wooden building, with three or four rooms. Our mission was hardly more than a formal visit, but pampa customs are such that one immediately enters into the inner life of the ranchmen from which it is difficult to separate quickly.

Here we found a sheep ranch in its youth, but its proportions were already such as to startle most North American farmers. Upon a treeless waste of 90,000 acres, spread out in easy undulations along the Magellanic waters, were 120,000 sheep. The climate and the grass are such that the animals require no shelter and no extra feeding, not even during the coldest winter months, and they are so nearly self-supporting that one shepherd manages a herd of 2,000 animals. When sheep thus thrive and multiply at next to no expense, and on ground which was first obtained for the asking and taxes, it is not difficult to understand the success of Patagonian farmers.

Indian Mission Huts.

Part of Punta Arenas.

The same enterprising Menendez has several other farms, the most promising of which is across the Strait, and to this our eyes were directed with considerable pride by our host. This farm occupies the lowlands of north-eastern Tierra del Fuego, which is said to be the best sheep land of the entire region. Here, upon about 120,000 acres, there are 150,000 sheep turning wool into gold faster than any gold mines could be expected to offer yellow metal.

Mr. Menendez, however, like all managers of great enterprises, had his troubles: “Sheep farming is very profitable,” said he, “but we have one great difficulty—it is to secure good help.” This ought to be a cheerful notice to the unemployed thousands of Europe and America, but it should be accepted with a proper appreciation of the life and work in question. A Patagonian shepherd lives the life of a wild man. In the saddle he roams about on the pampas with his sheep, and at night he makes camp like an Indian. But there are many men who enjoy just such a life, and for such there is plenty of room in this region. The usual pay is about thirty dollars (gold) per month, but expenses are next to nothing, and an additional income is added to the regular pay by the products of hunting, such as ostrich feathers, guanaco skins, etc. The men at present employed are mostly Scotch shepherds, but some of the best ranchmen have been made from ordinary seamen. In the newer methods of shearing and other improved mechanical contrivances, machinists and other artisans are in demand. Many of the men who have come here as workmen are now ranch-owners themselves, and few who have once tasted the elixir of pampa life ever leave it again for the noise and the strife and the gilded glitter of the upper world.

When we again mounted our horses to return, we were somewhat disposed to lay aside polar exploration and become sheep farmers, but this idea was soon dissipated by our efforts to return to the Belgica. The purple twilight was just deepening into the darker shades of night as we left the little group of buildings which constitute the headquarters of the Menendez ranch. The horses seemed more than ever opposed to their inexperienced riders, and our discomfort was such that we did not hurry them. We preferred to leave to them the selection of the path, and the rate of progress, while we drank in the sharp antarctic air and enjoyed the glory of the night scene. It was nearly midnight when we reached our canoe. Here we found our companions impatiently waiting for us, some seated on boulders, others stretched out on the grass, and a few chatting with the shepherds in the nearest hut. But we were somewhat dejected as we gazed upon the sight before us; the water had run out with the tide to such an extent as to leave our boat high and dry some three or four hundred feet from the nearest launching-place. Every foot of this distance had on it a covering of a soft semi-liquid mixture of clay, sand, small stones, and shellfish. The Belgica must start with the tide at daybreak, and her whistles were already tooting the signal to hasten on board. To wait for the tide was impossible, so we started our canoe over the debris. If the surface had been tar it could not have offered more resistance, nor could it have caused more discomfort. After an hour of almost superhuman effort we reached the water, but we were covered with slime and mud and perspiration from head to foot, and we agreed that our first Patagonian debarkment was a decidedly expensive luxury.

We reached the Belgica as the eastern skies brightened with the coming morning twilight. The anchor was raised immediately, and while our aching muscles were resting, we were transported through the second narrows to Elizabeth Island. In three hours we were opposite the island and accordingly prepared for another debarkment. Our object in stopping here was principally to obtain a supply of the wild geese for which this island is noted. We landed in a cave near a lonely shepherd’s hut, and scattered over the island, being careful to leave two men to keep the canoe afloat that we might not renew our experience of the previous night.

We found the geese extremely numerous, but either they were too well acquainted with firearms, or our workmen had been too long seasick, for, from the result of our hunt, we were able to produce only a dozen birds. Elizabeth Island, like all of the grassy ground of this region, is devoted to the interests of sheep-farming. It is upon this notable island that the first Magellanic sheep-farming experiment was made. Mr. H. I. Reynard, an Englishman living in Punta Arenas, first conceived the idea early in the seventies. Perceiving that sheep and cattle thrived in the Falkland Islands, whose climate and vegetation was in most respects similar enough to that of Elizabeth Island to warrant the expenditure necessary for a proper trial, he accordingly established here the first sheep colony. The sheep took so kindly to their new home, and multiplied so rapidly that, though the island is eight miles long and two miles wide, it was very quickly so thickly stocked that numbers of the sheep were transferred to the mainland. From this experiment in farming Mr. Reynard was reported, in 1894, to be enjoying the princely income of a hundred thousand dollars annually.

Among our collections from this island were a number of flint arrows and spear points, which seem to be abundant in the numerous heaps of mussel shells and other sites of old Indian encampments. But the island has long been deserted by the Indians, for, even at the time of its discovery by Drake, three hundred years ago, none are mentioned. The discovery and naming of this island is thus described by the old records: “The 24th of August (1578) being Bartholomew’s day, we fell in with three islands bearing trianglewise one from another; one of them was very fair and large and of a fruitful soil, upon which, being next unto us, and the weather very calm, our General with his gentlemen and certain of his mariners then landed, taking possession thereof in her Majesty’s name, and to her use, and calling the same Elizabeth Island.” The other islands are those now known as Santa Marta, and Santa Magdalena Islands, upon which Drake found penguins so numerous, that, in one day, not less than three thousand were taken and subsequently used as food.

The Wind-swept Rocks of the Western Fuegian Islands.

We left Elizabeth Island at 10 o’clock in a mist of cold, drizzly rain and steered westward close to its low sandy cliffs. The mist occasionally raised and gave us a glimpse of the land. There is a ridge of small hills running parallel to its length through the centre, the highest of these being one hundred and eighty feet above the sea. The hills were made more conspicuous by various clusters of a bluish shrub, but aside from these there were no trees and nothing but the hardy pampa grass to cover the sandy soil; nevertheless, with its shepherds’ huts, and its vast herds of sheep, Elizabeth Island is not without an air of attractiveness.

At noon the atmosphere had cleared and the ever-present dark, feathery clusters of vapour shaded the water and gave it a despairing blackness. Over our port bow a low buff-colored point extended far out into the widening strait. This was our first sight of the famous Sandy Point, whose notoriety is sure to reach the ears of every South American voyager. Here also we noticed a striking change in the topography of the land and in the character of the vegetation. We had left the smooth, treeless pampas behind us, and before us appeared a wild rugged country, the lowlands covered by a dense forest, and the highlands white with snow. These were the the foot-hills of the terminating Andes, a place well calculated to shelter the Cape Horn capital from the never-ceasing stormy blasts.

Early in the afternoon we rounded the point and at four o’clock we anchored in Sandy Point Road. The harbour presented an air of thrift quite out of proportion to the barrenness, sterility and gloomy wildness of the region. Five large ocean liners were at anchor, and many small coasting steamers, with a host of lighters and small crafts, were scattered about on the unruly waters; but the town from its distant appearance was a disappointment. One hears so much about this settlement, its rapid growth, and marvellous development, that one naturally expects to see a substantial city. “Thirty years ago,” said a native, “we were less than two hundred settlers here; to-day we number six thousand, and you have before you a good-sized city. Don’t you think our growth has been remarkable and quick?” One must naturally answer in the affirmative, and to the average European the phenomenon is wonderful; but to an American it is wonderful in quite another direction. The town is in most respects a miniature reproduction of the mushroom town of the western states: a wilderness of low wooden and sheet-iron huts which are quickly and cheaply constructed and as quickly destroyed. Punta Arenas has been building for thirty years. Towns of the western United States of a similar nature spring up in as many days. A Yankee, then, wonders not at the reported rapid growth, but asks, “Why has it taken so long?”

Terminating Ridge of the Cordilleras, Beagle Channel.

After we became accustomed to this appearance of cheapness and unstability which characterised the place, we found much of interest and some things absolutely astonishing. Punta Arenas has a character and a life which mark it at once as one of the most peculiar towns on the globe. We were boarded long before we came to anchor by agents of provision houses, boarding-houses, hotels, saloons, and health officers; but strangely enough no custom officers paid us even a friendly visit. Our business arrangements and not a few social arrangements had been made by Mr. Racovitza, who had preceded us, and shortly after we came to anchor we made our headquarters in the little French Hotel where a welcome bag of correspondence awaited our arrival.

CHAPTER VI
PUNTA ARENAS, THE SOUTHERNMOST TOWN

Ushuaia, Dec. 22, 1897.

We decided, before we left, that Punta Arenas, as a town, is very extraordinary in many ways when you come to know it. Aside from the fact that it is the world’s southernmost city, the metropolis of the lower end of the American continent, the dumping ground for so much of discontented humanity, the capital of Chilean Tierra del Fuego and Patagonia, and a host of other large sounding, but small meaning, names,—it is one of the most cosmopolitan towns of the universe. Its life and its business are absolutely astonishing.

There is a sort of effervescent interest which one quickly acquires in this little speck of bright life and its gloomy wilderness. The interest begins with its misty history and ends, perhaps, to-day with the modern re-discovery of Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego by sheep-farmers and gold-seekers. After Magellan discovered the Strait, and led the way across the jewelled waters of the Pacific, the enterprising Spaniards, with the important permission of the Pope, gathered easily and peacefully the accumulated wealth of the fertile islands and opulent empires of the South Sea. Any competition from other nations was forbidden by the Pope and prevented by the supposed danger of passing through the Strait. Both of these dangers were braved by the bold half-pirate, half-explorer, but entire seaman, Francis Drake.

Drake entered the Pacific through the Strait in 1578, and, with a scurvy-pestered crew, deprived the Spaniards of their gold and silver somewhat more easily than they had taken it from the Indians. To prevent this re-harvesting of their easy-gotten profits, Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa was despatched from Lima, in 1579, to survey the only supposed entrance into the Pacific, the Magellan Strait. Sarmiento advised a fortification of the straits, and, accordingly, two colonies were placed on commanding points. These were the cities Nombre de Jesus, near the first narrows, and San Felipe, at what is now called Port Famine. But eight months’ provisions were left these poor protectors of Spanish gold, and they perished miserably before relief was sent them. Only two survived to tell the tragedy, and these were rescued by the British seamen—the men whom the Spaniards were sent to destroy. Sarmiento, who placed the colonies, was captured by one of Sir Walter Raleigh’s cruisers on his return voyage to Spain.

As this first chapter in the history of the Magellan Strait closed, its importance also vanished, with the discovery of the passage around Cape Horn by the Dutch navigators, Schouten and Le Maire; and for two hundred and fifty years following the region was left to the possession of the arctic life with which nature had stocked it.

In 1843, with no knowledge of the real worth of the Magellanic regions, but with a sort of natural pride to possess the historic strait, Chile placed a colony at, or near, the ancient site of San Felipe. This was a penal settlement where political prisoners were sent. It was a sort of Chilean Siberia, just as Staten Island is to-day for Argentina, and thus the venture filled two missions: it held for Chile the Strait of Magellan, and placed the troublesome convicts far from the capital, Valparaiso. This was a particularly appropriate spot for that large class of Spanish-American citizens, the ever restless revolutionists.

But men whose occupation is revolt, whose life is a constant navigation of dangerous rapids, are not the proper sort of citizens to build a town. This was soon learned in “La Colonia de Magellanes,” by which name this antarctic exile colony was officially known. Anything which savoured of work was opposed to their natures. War, riot, massacre, brutal freedom, were more to their liking, and this revolting spirit was not a little fired by frequent famines, when the infrequent vessels from Valparaiso did not arrive. The place thus acquired, by hard experience, the name of Port Famine. One day the exiles rose to arms, killed the Governor, and took the town. For this they were all strung up by the necks from the yard arms of a Chilean gunboat.

The buildings of Port Famine having been fired, the Government, after deciding on a re-establishment of the colony, selected for the site of its town a long tongue of sandy ground a few miles farther north. This is the site of the present famous town, Punta Arenas, and it takes its name from the sandy point on which it rests. Punta Arenas, or Sandy Point, like the first colony, had as its principal reason for existence a penal settlement, and its population was composed of men of the same class—mental and moral outcasts, revolutionists and high-handed criminals. The new town met a fate similar to that of the first settlement. The prisoners revolted and, assisted by the soldiers who were sent to protect the town, they sought the Governor. But to keep his own blood from being spilled, this unworthy official deserted his wife and children, and left for parts unknown. They caught the commander of the garrison, and massacred him in a shocking manner, after which they took the town and held a sort of drunken festivity for three days. The Governor, in his retreat, had found a Chilean cruiser, and as this came in sight of the town the rioters, to save their necks, took to the pampas. Here most of the miscreants came to a miserable death by starvation, fatigue, and cold. A few reached the Chubut River and were taken to Buenos Aires, where the liberty for which they had struggled was given them.

This last destruction of the colony occurred in 1877. At this time Punta Arenas had already risen to some importance. It numbered, among its exile settlers, several independent citizens; and these were the creators of the true Magellanic metropolis. No more prisoners were sent. The town was left to live and flourish, according to its resources, or to die a natural death. Fortunately, its resources had already been discovered. Some of the desert-like pampas, upon which the liberators famished, had been stocked with sheep, and they thrived unexpectedly. Gold had been found in the creeks, coal had been found but a short distance off, the forest appeared inexhaustible, and steamers were beginning to cut the solitude of the Strait. Dissatisfied, rejected and venturous sailors cast in their lots with the builders of the town. Shepherds, gold-diggers, traders, adventurous wanderers, and striplings from the world’s population—a heterogeneous mixture—came to rest here as a last resort. The semi-Yankee life of Punta Arenas takes its origin from this mass, and the town owes its growth, very largely, to the fact that its site is a terminal morain to a restless stream of human life.

With this preliminary understanding of the causes for the metropolitan life of the Strait of Magellan, one is not so greatly surprised at the first glimpse of the strange street scenes. We naturally looked for some marks of nationality in the people we first met, but quite in vain. Spanish is the language of the place. At one street corner, however, one hears English; at another, German; at another, French; and at still another, Italian. Negroes are few, but Indians are quite numerous. One of our new acquaintances took us about town. He was, I believe, a German by birth, but he talked with us in French, and took us to a bar where he talked English; to a magazine where he addressed the clerk in Spanish; to the church where he addressed the Holy Father in Italian; and others told us that he could speak the various Indian tongues, and was not puzzled with Latin and Greek, though he never had had a college education.

The streets are ordinary country roads, in very bad order. They are most remarkable for their number of stagnant pools of water, and the various heaps of ashes and debris. Stumps of trees, broken carts, tin cans, packing boxes, dead dogs, and a host of other refuse serve to ornament and pave the sandy bottoms. Scattered about these, and usually not far from a bar, are groups of visitors in various attitudes. The most numerous of these are the cowboys or gauchos, as they are called some on horses with ponchos over their shoulders, and wearing huge, broad-brimmed hats, and loose pantaloons; others steeped in alcohol with a soft bed of sand for a couch, and a boulder for a pillow; and still others, in new suits, moving about like a girl in an Easter bonnet to display their annual acquirements. But the gauchos move in groups to themselves, discussing sheep and squaws and the hunting sports of the pampas. In another group one finds quite different types of humanity. Here are the gold-diggers, men of extremes, either without a copper or with a fat bag of gold, according to the luck of their past season. Unlike the cowboy, who is usually in neat attire, the miner is careless of dress, and, rich or poor, is rigged in rags; but he is a bit of a lion in his way. If he has found rich deposits, his pocket is the ambition of the local tradesmen, and his information is eagerly sought by all the loafers of the town. He discusses pay-diggings, nuggets, methods of washing gold, the relative qualities of food and drinks, and his last feminine acquaintances in Sandy Point. And then there are the groups of sailors, soldiers, and of tramps. The citizens of the town one rarely sees; they are always occupied within doors, for everybody who is anybody in Punta Arenas keeps a store and owns one or more sheep-farms.

The location of Punta Arenas is rather unique in its natural surroundings, and in its commercial advantages. To the west and north-west are the slowly rising forest-covered highlands, terminating in the high, ice-covered peaks of the Cordilleras. To the north-east and east are the endless undulating plains of Patagonia. To the south and south-east is the Strait of Magellan and beyond are the blue hills of the northern plains on the main island of Tierra del Fuego. To the south-west are the bleak islands belonging to the Fuegian group. This location has helped to make the town the trade centre of the great regions south of the Rio de la Plata.

Ona Women, in Full Dress, with Papoose Strapped to the Shoulders.

Ona Men on the Chase.

The two very important discoveries already alluded to have made life and a prosperous population just possible in this vast savage land. Only a few years ago all of South America south of the river Plata was believed to be a useless waste of barren ground, peopled by man-eating savages. Even to-day this is generally believed to be the state of affairs in Patagonia. But it is not true. The pioneers here are in better health and are accumulating gold more rapidly than in any other part of South America. The reasons for this great transformation are the discoveries that sheep will thrive and that gold is strewn on the various sandy beaches. The possibilities, thus afforded, have brought the people and the capital to America’s southern end, and have made Punta Arenas the centre of a population of pioneers, mostly rich in profitable land and in sheep, but poor in worldly comforts.

When the far-seeing Englishman, already referred to, brought the first sheep from the Falkland Islands about twenty-five years ago, they thrived so well in their new home, that soon many others did likewise. To-day almost every acre of available ground is stocked with sheep. This sheep-farming, however, is done on such an immense scale that even a Yankee farmer will be compelled to feel his littleness. Space will not permit me to dwell on this interesting subject, but a man owning ten thousand sheep is considered to be a small and poor farmer; one owning fifty thousand is quite ordinary; and men who have a hundred thousand are not uncommon. The Cape Horn millionaire is not noted by the number of dollars he possesses, but by the number of sheep he shears.

Gold mining is the occupation of the poor, and the idle population. This is not because gold is scarce or the occupation unprofitable, but because it requires little capital, and yields immediate returns. With a shovel and a pan, inexperienced men earn five dollars daily. The gold is widely diffused, but is seldom in very rich placers. Many of the creeks and the beaches of Patagonia, both on the Atlantic side and in the Strait of Magellan, are known to contain gold. The same is true of Tierra del Fuego. Even the mud of the streets of Punta Arenas is said to contain the yellow metal.

The architecture of Punta Arenas is similar to that of the mushroom towns of the western plains. The houses are made of corrugated sheet-iron, and are altogether uninteresting, except in that they are constructed of material brought six thousand miles, while within a thousand yards is a virgin forest of excellent wood. During the short time of one year, electric lights, telephone, and telegraph plants have been established, a really good theatre has been built and several churches are in the course of construction. Nearly every house sells intoxicating drinks. Alcohol is said to be served even in the churches. Indeed, alcohol is at the base of all the crimes and most of the pleasures of Punta Arenas.

Chief Colchicoli.

One of Colchicoli’s Wives.

Types of Onas.

Unlike the immigrants to the United States, the new-comers to Patagonia have remained as separate little colonies, and never made a homogeneous mixture as in our States. They await with yearly anticipation an opportunity of returning to their mother countries. The sheep-farmers and bankers are mostly British, the storekeepers generally German. The Anglo-Saxon is the ruling spirit, and in a very short time this long deserted no-man’s-land will be a gilded paradise stocked with the healthy mixture of northern races which has made the United States the most progressive of the new nations of the world. Southern South America is to be the Yankee land of the far south and for this, their absorption as stupidly suggested by Rhodes is entirely unnecessary. The people here are able to take care of themselves, and the Republican governments of Chile and Argentina are quite capable of managing their own affairs.

CHAPTER VII
FROM PUNTA ARENAS TO USHUAIA, THROUGH THE FUEGIAN CHANNELS

Ushuaia, Dec. 28, 1897.

After spending a fortnight at Punta Arenas, restocking and refitting the ship, studying the surrounding regions, and accepting the warm hospitality of the citizens, we tipped our anchor at midnight of December 14th. We then set a course almost due south for Famine Reach. The little gunboat Torro, detailed by the Chilean officials, escorted us for several hours. The early part of the night was clear, which permitted us to see Sandy Point, with its glittering sheet-iron houses, for a long time. In the morning we were off the northern shore of Dawson Island, and from this time until we reached Ushuaia the weather was extremely unsettled. Cold rains, drizzling fogs, and sweeping squalls of wind were the normal weather conditions. At 2 o’clock in the afternoon we anchored in Hope Harbour, a snug little cove at the entrance of Magdalene Sound. We soon assembled in small companies and went ashore to explore as best we could the regions about. Everything here had for us a special interest, for, in a scientific sense, all was unexplored. There were glaciers, unsealed mountain heights, unknown water depths, and a savage wilderness of land, with gold in many streams. We should have enjoyed a prolonged stay here but the time for exploration in the more icy south was already far advanced, and since this was the principal part of our work we must hasten to it. The afternoon was given to examinations ashore.

The narrow beaches were lined with mussel shells and in one place there were two bee-hive shaped frames of old Indian huts. There were a great many birds about, but we saw no large life. Where the land was so exposed that the vegetation was sheltered from the sudden squalls of winds, here called “williwaws,” there was a forest of large beech trees, and under these there was such a rank profusion of underbrush and moss that it was difficult, generally impossible, to force a passage. Near the open blast of the regular winds and the williwaws the land was mostly barren of trees but covered by a thick, velvety carpet of wet moss. It rained and snowed nearly all the time we were ashore, and we came back with our boots full of icy water, our clothing torn, soaked, and hanging to us like wet leather, and our heads bruised. We had made some notes and some studies, but altogether our personal discomforts were such that we were ready to throw science to the dogs. He who attempts to properly explore this region will find conditions to try his patience nearly as bad as at either pole.

On the following morning we steamed through Magdalene Sound. The scene was desolate but wildly beautiful. The westerly banks rose out of the waters with an easy slope, terminating in low hills of polished stones. The ravines, the gullies, and the shore-line were covered by a dense growth of stunted beech. The uplands, where soil and rooting surface was possible, were carpeted by heavy sheets of moss. The easterly banks, though far more barren, were of greater interest to us. Nine glaciers poured their crystal currents down from the majestic heights of Mount Sarmiento which was draped in a white mist. The glaring whiteness of these glaciers, separated by black weather-worn dome-shaped mountains of solid rock, made a scene of rare delight. At 11 o’clock we rounded Cape Turn, and then the interesting polished rocky slopes of the banks and islands of Cockburn Channel lay before us. Here we felt the disturbing influences of the airs coming out of the Pacific. A violent puff of wind struck us as we passed each break in continuity of the mountains, and this was followed by a rain squall and a choppy sea. We were indeed glad when we turned our backs to this region of battling storms to enter the less dreadful channels eastward. At 6 o’clock we were amid a labyrinth of uncharted islands in Whale Boat Sound. Severe storms came here also, and these, with frequent clouds of fog and increasing darkness, made navigation uncomfortable and dangerous. At midnight we dropped anchor on the eastern bank of Basket Island; but the bottom was rocky and both the wind and the sea were too dangerous to remain, so at 3 o’clock in the morning we started again to plod along as best we could. The chart was so imperfect that we were compelled to pick our way, as if exploring regions entirely new. We counted not less than twenty islands which we could not find on the charts. It would have been interesting also to linger here and explore this locality but we had a stronger interest ever pulling us on to regions farther south. As the sun rose and we advanced farther eastward, the atmospheric conditions were such that rainbows, complete and in fragments, were in the south and west almost constantly for several hours. The bows were generally arched over a chain of islands touched by bands of green and brown and gold, and altogether the effect was full of delightful colour and fascinating harmony.

An Ona Home.

Onas on the March.

At noon we anchored at the eastern end of Whale Boat Sound in a small bay on the northern shore of Londonderry Island. Soon after dinner we went ashore to bag specimens for the laboratory. The land around the bay is about a thousand feet high, rising rather abruptly from the waters, but the mountain crests are everywhere accessible. As we landed we found close to the water-line a number of old Indian fireplaces with great heaps of mussel shells about. These were the sites of ancient Indian huts. The lowlands were covered by a thick meshwork of vegetation, mostly mosses and grass. In sheltered places there were a few beech trees, but the tallest were not more than fifteen feet high. We had not ascended very far when we found everywhere evidences that the whole land had at one time been covered by glaciers. Massive boulders were seen in lines, and all the rocks were polished and scratched in a typically glacial manner. There were many lakes which marked the beds of old glaciers. Before dark we came down from the heights with our bags full of specimens and our note-books full of observations, but our clothing as usual was wet and torn. Near the shore we built a camp-fire, and then tried to dry our clothing and extract such comfort out of life as Indians, in a similar position, do. I think it was Darwin who said that the people of this region did not enjoy any of the comforts of home. Certainly he never built a fire in a cold, drizzling rain, and sat beside it to eat his lunch. If he had, he should have learned to enjoy the first comfort of the home of primitive man. We spent a few days in this neighbourhood, visited a glacier, and then steamed through the northern arm of Beagle Channel to Ushuaia, where we anchored late in the evening of December 21. After breakfast on the following morning we went ashore. The manner of our going was a matter of some anthropological interest. It portrayed our developing disregard for formality and our resignation to the savage life to which a constant force of circumstances drove us. At Rio we were done up in good style before we left the ship; dress suits when necessary, the newest thing in neckties, and neatly pressed trousers. At Montevideo our garments were crinkled and showed the effects of the sea. We began, here, to be a little indifferent in personal appearances. At Punta Arenas we did not even try to fix up, but walked about the town as careless of dress as bricklayers; and here at Ushuaia, well—the man who dressed and brushed his hair was an outcast; he was not regarded as an explorer.

Ona Archery.

Ushuaia is a small town of about twenty-five sheet-iron houses, built at the base of the terminating hills of the Cordilleras. The background of the town is savagely picturesque. Two chains of mountains run eastward parallel to each other along the southern border of the main island of Tierra del Fuego, and these mountains give the surroundings of Ushuaia a remarkably wild but pleasing effect. The town has in itself very little of importance. It is a military and convict station for the Argentine Republic, and at present there is a pier in construction from which vessels can coal.

The government of the Argentine Republic with commendable liberality offered us coal and supplies free of cost at their stations. At Lapataia, a neighbouring town, the Belgica remained a week to coal. At Ushuaia and at Harbourton, we took in our last supply of fresh provisions. We were indebted to the Argentine government for the kind treatment at her hands, and to Mr. John Lawrence and Mr. Thomas Bridges (now deceased) and their families, for valuable aid in furnishing supplies and help in making Indian studies. It will not be possible to give more than a passing notice of our work among the very interesting tribes of Indians of this region. The anthropological observations, measurements and vocabularies will be given separate publication. For the present, the reader must be content with a few notes on the Onas.

CHAPTER VIII
A RACE OF FUEGIAN GIANTS

Comparative Size of an Ona and a Caucasian.

Harbourton, Jan. 6, 1898.

The Fuegians have been described, from time to time, since the country was first sighted and named by Magellan in 1520; but to-day they still remain almost unknown. In connection with the voyage of the Belgica we had unusual opportunities for studying their wild life and their weather-beaten land. They are not, as it is generally supposed, one homogeneous tribe, but three distinct races, with different languages, different appearances, different habits and homes.

In the western Chilean channels, living in beech-bark canoes and in dugouts, using mussels, snails, crabs and fish in general as food, are the short, imperfectly developed Alaculoofs. These are met by many vessels navigating the Strait of Magellan and most of our reports of Fuegians are limited to hasty glimpses of these people; but they are now nearly extinct, and they were always the lowest and the most dejected of the Fuegians.

Closely allied in habits to the Alaculoofs are the Indians inhabiting the islands about Cape Horn and northward to Beagle Channel. These are called Yahgans. They have been the most numerous and the most powerful of the Fuegian people, but to-day they too are nearly extinct. They are dwarfed in stature, dwarfed in mental development and, like the Alaculoofs, live in canoes and feed upon the products of the sea.

The third tribe is a race of giants. They are called Onas by their neighbours, the Yahgans. The Onas have, thus far, evaded all efforts at civilisation, have refused missionaries, and have, to the present time, with good reason, persistently mistrusted white men. They have in consequence remained unknown.

The homes of the Onas are on the main island of Tierra del Fuego. For centuries they have fought to keep this as their preserve; but the Yahgans have been allowed to pitch their tents on the southern coastal fringe along Beagle Channel. In a like manner the Alaculoofs have been permitted to use the shore-line of the west. Neither the Yahgans nor the Alaculoofs, however, nor white men, until very recently, have dared venture into the interior. The great prairies of the north and the mountain forests of the middle of the island, with the still unknown lakes, have been guarded as hunting-ground exclusively for the Onas. The island is nearly as large as the State of New York. The boundary-line of Chile and Argentina, running from north to south through the centre of the island, gives each republic a nearly equal share of the country. Gold has been found in the sands along the beach of various parts of the land. This is being mined with considerable success. The pampas of the north and a part of the southern ground have proved to be some of the best sheep-farming country of the world. The gold-diggers and the sheep-farmers have thus re-discovered Tierra del Fuego as they have Patagonia. The mining camps and the wire fences are crowding the once ruling race of Onas into the useless forest-covered lowlands and the ice-covered highlands of the interior, where they must either starve or freeze or perish at the hands of Caucasian invaders. The old happy hunting-ground of the Ona has gone the way of all other Indian homes; but he has fought bravely for it, and he will continue to do so until the last skeleton is left to bleach on the wind-swept pampas.

The first sheep-farm was started here by Mr. Steubenrach, the British Consular agent, Punta Arenas. Steubenrach, anticipating trouble with the powerful Onas, who have always been the dread of white settlers in this vicinity, secured, as one of his shepherds, a missionary to preach the gospel and morality and some other things to the Indians. This mission service was a diplomatic stroke which was thought to be the most effective way of gaining the favour of the Chilean Government; which favour was a valuable aid in obtaining grants of land. It was also thought possible by this method to tame the aborigines and make shepherds of them. The good preacher tried to Christianise and civilise the Indians. During the day they congregated in large numbers to hear the new medicine-man. They were indeed interested; but they proved their interest in an unexpected manner. At night, when all was quiet and the shepherds were asleep, with confidence in the effect of their pious training upon the Indians, the wild hunters came among the herds, cut the wire fences, and drove off such numbers as suited their appetites. These night raids continued month after month, but the Indians came in fearlessly in increasing numbers to listen to the gospel pow-wows. At length, driven to distraction, the prospective makers of Christians sent to Punta Arenas for Winchester rifles. Preaching was then abandoned, and the murderous sound of firearms has taken its place ever since. The wire fences have been extended, the Winchesters have been multiplied, every available acre of Fuegian ground has been covered with sheep, while the Indians, never known and never understood, have been swept from their ancient homes.

In defence of the pioneers it should be said that the Indians from the first have waged a constant and relentless warfare. A mutual understanding has at no time seemed possible, and if the settlers would follow their business a vigorous defence was necessary. In spite of the destructive onslaughts of the Indians, however, the farms have flourished so well that to-day the number of sheep raised individually and collectively by the Fuegian rancheros is perfectly astonishing. There is one farm not yet quite stocked which will support six hundred thousand sheep. The profit over and above all expenses averages about fifty cents annually for each animal. This would give, for a farm of moderate size, a clear gain of $50,000 yearly, which is certainly a princely income for a farmer. The proprietors of these ranches are mostly men of large finances, who live in luxury and comfort in the cities of South America and Europe.

The Onas, as a tribe, have never been united in a common interest, nor have they ever been led by any one great chief. They have always been divided into small clans, under a leader with limited powers, and these chiefs have waged a constant warfare among themselves. Up to the present they have had their worst enemies among their own people, but now that sheep-farmers and gold-diggers want their country, they are uniting to fight their common enemy. But this enemy, these white men with Winchesters, will be their doom.

The Ona population, is at present about sixteen hundred, divided into sixteen tribes of about one hundred each. From this number there is a constant diminution. Many of the children have been taken from their wild homes bordering on the sheep-farms, and placed in European families about Punta Arenas. These children thrive well at first, and are capable of considerable education, but few reach adult age. The minor children’s diseases, such as measles and whooping-cough, are extremely fatal to them, and those who escape other diseases are almost certain to succumb to tuberculosis. For a number of years the Indians, watching the encroachment of white men upon their territory, have made it as uncomfortable as possible for the intruders. To bag a settler was quite as much sport as to secure game, and the white men in return have shot Indians with as much elation as if they were dropping panthers. Killing has been in vogue on both sides, but the battle is uneven. The Indian must vanish before the lead of Christians—such is the mission of modern civilisation.

Migration from one part of the island to another, and from one clan to another, has been common, but the Ona has seldom left his chosen land. A few have been found in Patagonia, and occasionally one has strayed over among the Yahgans and the Alaculoofs; but these have only been stragglers who, by accident, have been separated from the main island. The Onas possess no canoes with which to cross the Strait of Magellan, or the canals south and west; but they barter with the other Indians along Beagle Channel and the west, and within recent years they have extended these trading operations to the white settlers along the south. The men have a great admiration for women of other tribes, and this admiration induces them to make raids among the other tribes to capture women. So much was this done in the past that in the south-eastern part of the island there sprang up a new race, a hybrid mixture of Yahgans and Onas; but these are now extinct.

Physically the Onas are giants. They are not, however, seven or eight feet in height, as the early explorers reported their neighbours and nearest relatives, the Patagonians, to be. Their average height is close to six feet, a few attain six feet and six inches, and a few are under six feet. The women are not quite so tall, but they are more corpulent. There is, perhaps, no race in the world with a more perfect physical development than the Ona men. This unique development is due to the topography of their country and the distribution of game, which makes long marches constantly necessary. The Ona men are certainly the greatest cross-country runners on the American continent.

The mental equipment of the Ona is by no means equal to his splendid physical development. He understands very well the few arts of chase which he finds necessary to maintain a food-supply. His game in the past has been easily gotten; his needs have been few, which fact accounts for the lack of inventive skill displayed in his instruments of chase. The home-life, the house, the clothing,—everything portrays this lack of progressive skill. Instead of the children being well dressed and well cared for, as is the rule among savage races, they are mostly naked, poorly fed, badly trained, and altogether neglected, not because of a lack of paternal love, but because of the mental lethargy of the people. It is the same as to shelter and the garments. They have abundant material to make good tents and warm, storm-proof houses; but they simply bunch up a few branches, and throw to the windward a few skins, and then shiver, complaining of their miserable existence.

Ona Hunter Ready for Action.

It has never fallen to my lot to listen to a language so odd, so strikingly peculiar, as that of the Ona. Some of my companions on the Belgica used to amuse themselves at my expense by declaring that from a distance the talk of a group of Onas was like that of a group of Englishmen. To this I have protested, for that statement is certainly a libel upon English. This might be said, with considerable truth, of the Yahgan tongue, which is smooth and easy, but of the grunting, choking, spasmodic talk of the Onas it is decidedly untrue. Many of the words are not difficult of pronunciation, nor is the construction of sentences hard, but in every fifth or sixth word there is a sound impossible of reproduction by any one who has not had years of practice. These sounds offer sudden breaks in the flow of words and the speaker, by efforts which suggest the getting of sounds from the stomach, struggles for something far down in his throat. He hacks, and coughs, and grunts, distorting his face in the most inhuman manner momentarily, and then passes on to the next stumbling block, or hot potato, or whatever it is which makes the poor mortal suffer such tortures of speech. I always felt like giving an Ona an emetic when I heard him talk.

Like all the American aborigines the Onas feed principally upon meat, and this meat was, in former years, obtained from the guanaco. The guanaco roamed about in large herds upon the pampas and grassy lowlands; regions now in use as sheep-farms. The guanaco, like the Indian, is forced to the barren interior mountains, where life is a hard struggle against storms and barrenness and perennial snows. Owing to the present greater difficulty of hunting these animals and their reduced numbers, the Ona has taken most naturally to the sheep which have been brought to occupy these lands. That the sheep are owned by other men is a fact not easily recognised by Indians, to whom the world of Fuegian wilderness has always been free. The many thousands of guanaco blanco, as the Onas call sheep, grazing peacefully upon the Indian hunting-grounds, make a picture full of irresistible temptation, as the aborigines, hungry and half naked, look from icy mountain forests down over the plains. Shall we call them thieves if, while their wives and children and loved ones are starving, they boldly descend and, in the face of Winchester rifles, take what to them seems a product of their own country?

Unfortunately, the Indians have had so many causes for revenge against the white invaders, that they no longer capture sheep, as they did primarily, to satisfy the pangs of hunger, but to obtain vengeance. The wholesale manner in which they do this, however, would make a beggar of an ordinary farmer in a single night. In the neighbourhood of Useless Bay they have been known to round up two thousand sheep in one raid, and they seldom now take less than a few hundred at a time. While stopping at a farm on the Rio Grande I had an opportunity of being in close proximity to this kind of warfare. Two Indians came in and asked for an interview with the chief of the farm. The man in charge was a bright young fellow who knew the Indians very well. He treated the delegation kindly, fed and clothed them, and listened to their story.

A Bull Sea-Lion at Rest.

(Otaria Jubata.)

Den of Sea-Lions, Staten Island.