Enterprise and Adventure/A Sojourn with Giants
A SOJOURN WITH GIANTS.
During the first outbreak of the gold fever in America, consequent on the discovery of the abundance of that metal in California, a company of twenty-five men left the port of New Bedford, in the United States, in the schooner "John Allyne," for San Francisco. The vessel left the port on the 13th of February, 1849, and had a prosperous passage as far as Cape Horn. Here, on account of the delays and dangers incident to doubling the Cape, it was determined to attempt the passage of the Straits of Magellan, a route rarely attempted by vessels, on account of the intricacy of the navigation; but the "John Allyne" had been selected for her light draught of water and general fitness for river navigation. On the 30th of April they made Cape Virgin, and stood in for the straits, and anchored, about midnight, about twelve miles from the first narrows.
Very little is known of the immense tract of country called Patagonia, or of the great island of Terra del Fuego, as the Europeans name it, the coast of which forms the opposite side of the straits. Ships rarely send boats on shore there except for water and wood, when the crews are invariably armed against the treacherous attacks of the natives, who are described as a race of such high stature as to procure them, among sailors, the name of the Patagonian giants. They are commonly of as much as six feet five inches in height, and have no other clothing but skins, which they wear with the hair outward. Contrary to usage, however, Captain Brownell, the master of the schooner, determined to send ashore his mate, Mr. Bourne, and a small party of sailors, with instructions to procure fresh provisions if they were to be had. Knowing, from the reports of the whalers and others, something of the savage and inhospitable character of the natives, the mate was little inclined for the duty; but the captain made light of his objections and Bourne determined to comply.
Taking their guns, a bag of biscuit, and some tobacco, four of them accordingly started for the shore. As they approached the beach, a crowd of dark-looking savages, fully justifying the common report of their stature, came to the water's edge to gaze at the strangers. The men did not like the appearance of the giants, and lay on their oars a considerable time. A recollection of the many stories current about the Patagonians, did not fortify their confidence, or make them anxious for personal acquaintance with them. They accordingly lay off in their boat, and, hailing the Indians in Spanish, asked them if they had eggs, fowls, and beef. They replied, in broken Spanish, that they had plenty at their huts—thus evidencing, at least, that they had been accustomed to hold intercourse with Europeans. The sailors then told them to produce their stores, promising them plenty of biscuit in exchange, and, after some parley, the boat at length touched the shore. Bourne stood at the stern, gun in hand, endeavouring to keep the natives from stealing, and warned the men not to leave the boat, but they jumped ashore, promising not to stray from the spot. The Indians meanwhile offered skins for sale, which they paid for in bread. While the mate's attention was diverted from them by this barter, the Indians were coaxing his men away. He looked about, and found only one man near him, whom he immediately dispatched in pursuit of the others, and directed him to bring them without delay. The tide, at this point, rose and fell forty-two feet. It was now ebb tide, the boat was fast grounding, and, it being large and heavily loaded, he was unable to get off. The old chief and several other Indians now crowded into it, and once in could not be got out. Persuasion was useless, and they were too many to be driven away. In short, he was in their hands, and became immediately conscious of the difficulty and peril of his situation; his men gone he knew not where, the boat fast aground and crowded with savages, while nearly a thousand of the tribe congregated upon the beach.
What was before him, at the worst, he conjectured from the report. After a time, one of his men came back and asked permission to go to the Indian village, which, they had been told, was but a little way from the shore, and where they were promised the articles which they were in search of. Bourne refused his request, and bade him inform his comrades of his order to return immediately to the boat. In this suspense he remained some time, when, weary of waiting, he asked an Indian for the use of one of the miserable horses which they brought with them, and rode with all speed after the fugitives; but the men had become reckless and disobedient, and the Indians, having completely allayed their suspicions by a show of friendship and specious promises, the sailors persisted in going with them in spite of his peremptory orders. In this way they proceeded for some time, when it began to be evident that the savages deceived them. Their village, they had told them, was but a little way off, yet they had journeyed nearly a mile, and no house was yet in sight. Determined to go back if he went alone, Bourne now turned his horse's head; but at this point the mask was finally thrown off. The Indians having seized his bridle and arrested his progress, the party of sailors dismounted, with the intention of retreating on foot, but before Bourne could reach the man nearest to him, the Indians had robbed him of his gun. A struggle ensued, in which Bourne presented his pistol at the head of one of his assailants; but the weapon missed fire, and he was immediately seized by the wrist by the old chief, a man of gigantic stature, while others overpowered him by holding his legs.
The American now endeavoured to plead for life and liberty, by telling the old chief that he should have plenty of rum, tobacco, flour and beads, if he would take him to the boat again; and the latter appeared to be moved by his reasonings, and kept his companions off by nourishing an old cutlass. He then desired Bourne to get up behind him on his horse, an order which he obeyed with alacrity; but, whatever may have been the Indian's intention, he soon abandoned the idea of returning to the boat. One of the most audacious of the savages rode up, and insisted that he should not be allowed to return, affirming that Bourne was captain of the ship, and that if he were returned they should get none of the promised rum and tobacco. The prisoners then offered a large ransom, and, after some higgling, it was agreed that three of their number might be released, but that one must remain as a hostage, and Bourne was pointed out as the one. After a while the three released men returned with a portion of the ransom to the Indians who had accompanied them, and it was agreed that the remainder was to be brought at the daylight in the morning. Bourne was then hurried back into the country five or six miles to an Indian village, consisting of a few huts, in one of which the chief and his captive remained for the night.
The Indian lighted a fire of grass and sticks, which rendered the atmosphere of the hut scarcely endurable. A rude meal ended, he then lay down with others of his tribe, and being soon convinced by their breathing that they were asleep, the American found means of groping his way to the aperture, and escaping into the open air. Here, however, an unexpected difficulty awaited him. A great number of savage dogs, which the Indians kept about their encampment, suddenly rushed upon him, and he had great difficulty in defending himself with a stick, while the noise of their barking was so great that he was compelled to retreat into the hut again, for fear of awakening his jailers. The morrow, unfortunately, brought a still greater disappointment. A gale of wind had sprung up of such violence that a boat could scarcely live in the billows, and on approaching the shore, they found that all three vessels had dragged their anchors, and lay at some distance from their anchorage of the day before.
Early on the following morning they again visited the shore, and Bourne looked eagerly towards the anchorage, where all his hopes of deliverance centred. Not a vessel was in sight. Whether they had foundered, or were driven upon the shoal and wrecked, or had dragged out to sea in a disabled condition—whether his shipmates, the gale having subsided, had deliberately proceeded on their voyage, and left him a prey to cruel savages, and all the ills of this inhospitable shore—he was unable to conjecture; he only knew that they were gone, and that he was left alone to the tender mercies of the Patagonians.
Bourne was now compelled to accompany his captors on their wanderings, suffering numerous hardships, but acquiring a curious knowledge of their customs. They set out soon afterwards on a journey to the westward, keeping frequently near the coast—their object being, as they stated, to convey their prisoner to a place, the name of which sounded like "Holland," which afterwards appeared to be a corruption of the English word island. They told him that at that place there were twenty or thirty white men, and plenty of "rum and tobacco." Bourne knew, from their cruel habits, that nothing but the hope of a ransom had prevented their murdering him. But it soon appeared that they hoped to use him as a decoy for other sailors who might approach the coast. One morning a man of the tribe who had been brought down to the shore reported that his vessel had returned. This welcome information started the Indians on his track, but upon gaining a view of the straits, Bourne perceived that the vessel was a strange sail. Yet he knew that if he could succeed in boarding her, his escape would be certain. Night coming on, the Indian chief lay down under a clump of bushes, while his prisoner was ordered to replenish the fire with dry bushes.
At dusk, he observed the vessel hoisting sail, and beating up the bay. On this he began brandishing firebrands to attract notice, and walked to and fro on the beach for hours. The craft gradually approached, till her white canvas became distinguishable through the surrounding gloom. Fresh fuel was heaped on the fire, a bright blaze ascended, and the American took his station in front of it, holding out his coat, and frequently turning round, that his form might be more distinctly revealed. And now a shrill of joy electrified him, as he saw a light set on deck, which appeared to be stationary. There could be no doubt that the vessel had come to anchor directly opposite to them. Though hungry and weary with long watching, he hurried about, and gathered sticks and leaves in abundance to kindle a still brighter beacon-fire, in whose light and warmth anxiety began to expand to hope. At dawn of day, as the horizon lighted up, he could distinguish the vessel lying about a mile off, quiet as a sea-fowl on the calm surface. presently there was a movement on deck, the anchor was hove up, the fore and main sails were hoisted, and the object on which his hopes and ardent prayers had centred throughout the cold night, receded from his view, through the straits, bound, probably, for California. Bitterly disappointed, the captive watched the fast vanishing sail with tearful eyes; and the old chief, who had been on the look-out, started for his horse, that had been hampered, and turned out to crop among the scanty vegetation.
The Indians now renewed their journey; but the hope of reaching the strange land which they called "Holland," appeared to be more remote than ever. More than three months were spent in incessant wanderings, sleeping at night in dense forests or in low marshy countries, and by day obtaining a scanty subsistence by hunting wild animals. Bourne gradually became reduced to a pitiable condition. All his clothing was worn out, and he gladly accepted a raw skin with which to cover his shoulders, and protect him in some degree from the terrible storms of wind and rain so frequent in that country. Sometimes the tribe appeared to be weary of escorting him, and determined to put an end to his existence; but Bourne, with the aid of the Spanish language, and many Indian words which he had acquired, was now enabled to communicate with them freely, and he still contrived to stave off their designs by promises of large bribes. Resorting to stratagem, he gave them to understand that they were dealing with no inferior personage, but with one who was at home a great chief. He informed them that if they were good to him they would receive rewards, but that if they did him any harm, men would come from North America in great numbers to avenge his death. This kind of pardonable fiction generally had its desired effect of saving him from extreme violence, until at length they appeared to approach their destination. One day, having crossed a frozen marsh, and forded a river, they rested at dusk under a clump of bushes. "Waking early in the morning," says Bourne in his narrative, "I found my head and shoulders covered in a fleecy mantle of snow. Would the fortune of my expedition fall as lightly on me? I shook it off, turned up my coat-collar, pulled my more than half-worn-out cap over my ears, and so, partially protected from the storm, rolled over, and again sunk into a slumber. The storm ceased at dawn of day. I rose and went in search of fuel while my dark companions still slept profoundly. In an hour or two they roused themselves, and kindled a fire. Meat, from a store brought along for our provision on the way, was cooked, and served for breakfast," The scanty meal being dispatched, their horses were driven in, lassoed, mounted, and they resumed their journey, in a southeasterly direction. At the end of about three miles another halt was called, a fire was built to warm by, and the horses were watered. The order of arrangements was discussed, and a fresh edition of the promises and the speech critically listened to. Changing their course a little to the right, they soon struck the Santa Cruz, and, to his great joy, the Indians pointed far down the stream, and said, "There is Holland." He strained his eyes in the direction pointed out, and thought he could discern an island with several small huts upon it, and a mile or two further on the north bank brought them to the mouth of the river, in prospect of the Atlantic.
The Indians arranged that he was to hoist the English flag, the colours of an unfortunate brig named the "Avon," which had been shipwrecked on the coast, and which they had plundered some time before, and then to walk the shore to attract the islanders. They could just perceive the figures of men moving upon one part of the island, but although Bourne waved his signal all day he obtained no response. Snow, sleet, and rain fell during the night, increasing his misery, and on the morrow the weather continued squally. On the beach he found a strip of board, to which he fastened the colours, and planted them on the sands, while he kindled a fire of the bushes around, which had an oily leaf; but though they could still perceive objects moving on the distant island, no relief came. Another night passed in restless anxiety, while the Indians began to be impatient of the delay. "The weather," says Bourne, "had been fair during the night, but there were now indications of another snow-storm. I waited long and impatiently for my companions to awake, and at last started off in quest of fuel; on returning with which they bestirred themselves and kindled a fire, which warmed our half-benumbed limbs. There lay the little island, beautiful to eyes that longed, like mine, for a habitation of sympathizing men, about a mile and a half distant; it almost seemed to recede while I gazed, so low had my hopes sunken under the pressure of disappointment and bitter uncertainty. A violent snow-storm soon setting in, it was hidden from view; everything seemed to be against me. It slackened and partially cleared up; then came another gust, filling the air and shutting up the prospect. In this way it continued till past noon; at intervals, as the sky lighted up, I took a firebrand, and set fire to the bushes on the beach, and then hoisted the flag again, walking wearily to and fro till the storm ceased and the sky became clear."
After a time, to his great relief, he perceived a boat launched from the shore, with four or five men on board. It approached within an eighth of a mile, where the rowers lay on their oars. After a short parley with them, kept up by shouting through his hands, the strangers declined to approach on account of the Indians, and were about to row away. The critical moment had arrived. The promises and bribes with which he had sustained the hopes of his persecutors having failed, he knew that he had nothing to expect at their hands but a cruel death. His resolution, therefore, was soon taken. Dashing away from his savage companions, he plunged headlong into the sea, closely pursued by them, with their long knives in hand. His clothes and shoes encumbered him, and the surf, agitated by a high wind, rolled in heavy seas upon the shore. The boat was forty or fifty yards off, and as the wind did not blow in shore, it drifted, so as to increase the original distance unless counteracted by the crew. Whether the boat was backed up towards him he could not determine; his head was a great part of the time under water, his eyes blinded with the surf, and most strenuous exertion was necessary to live in such a sea. "As I approached the boat," says his narrative, "I could see several guns, pointed, apparently, at me. Perhaps we had misunderstood each other—perhaps they viewed me as an enemy. In fact, they were aimed to keep the Indians from following me into the water, which they did not attempt. My strength was fast failing me; the man at the helm, perceiving it, stretched out a rifle at arm's length. The muzzle dropped into the water, and arrested my feeble vision. Summoning all my remaining energy, I grasped it, and was drawn towards the boat; a sense of relief shot through and revived me, but revived also such a dread lest the Indians should give chase, that I begged them to pull away, telling them I could hold on."
After a little while, his deliverers were enabled to drag him into the boat, and safely convey him to the opposite shore. They proved to be a party of Englishmen who had settled on the island for the purpose of obtaining large quantities of guano which they had discovered there. After hospitably entertaining him for some months, during which they were in daily expectation of a hostile expedition against them from the giants, he was fortunate enough to obtain a passage to his native country, in the "Washington," a whaling vessel from the Falkland Islands.