Chapter XIV

Paz and Liebre begin work--Chronometers--Fish--Animals--San Blas
--Wrecks--River Negro--Del Carmen--Inhabitants--Indians--Trade
--Williams drowned--Port Desire--Gale--Salinas--Lightning--Bones
in Tomb--Trees--Dangers--New Bay--Cattle--Seal--Soil--River Chupat
--Drift Timber--Fertility--Wild Cattle--Valdes Creek--Imminent
danger--Tide Races--Bar of the Negro--Hunting--Attack of Indians
--Villarino--Falkner.

The Paz and Liebre parted company with the Beagle on the 18th of October 1832, and commenced their undertaking by a cursory examination of the entrance to False Bay, Green Bay, and Brightman Inlet. Lieut. Wickham and Mr. King, with Roberts and four men, were in the Liebre.[1] Messrs. Stokes, Mellersh, and Forsyth, with Harris and five men, were on board the Paz.[2] While they were northward of the Colorado, true bearings of the Ventana Mountain, and observed latitudes, made them independent of their five chronometers; but it was soon found that the rates of those useful machines were not injured even by the continual as well as sudden motions of so small a vessel. They were bedded in sawdust, wool, and sand,[3] within a large tub, which was secured to the deck under the cabin table of the Paz, not far from the centre of least motion.

In Brightman Inlet great quantities of fish were caught, by stopping up the mouths of small creeks with a net at high water, and when the tide ebbed many more were left ashore than were wanted. On Green Island they found good water by digging wells seven or eight feet deep. The island itself was overrun by deer and cavies: and on the main land the wild pig of the country (javali) was seen. On the 23d they entered the river Colorado, but had much trouble in warping to a safe berth, on account of the water being very shoal at the entrance which they had chosen. The principal mouth was a quarter of it mile further south, the stream being there “broad and rapid,” with two fathoms water when the tide was out; but beset, to seaward, by sand-banks, which shift with every south-east gale. Quantities of drift-wood, a kind of willow (sauci), lay about every where, indicating that the river sometimes overflowed its banks to a great distance, and brought down these trees from the interior country, as none grow within three leagues of the mouth. The river hereabouts is divided into many streams, forming a great number of small islands, which are nearly all of clay covered with rushes. From one of these streams or channels, the Cañada, there are creeks communicating at high-water with Union Bay. Here Lieut. Wickham’s party saw a wolf.

On the 27th they met a whale-boat (at Creek Island in Anegada Bay) from the River Negro, in search of sea-elephants. Next day they reached a snug creek in San Blas Bay, where they heard that the Indians had lately driven off all the cattle from the San Blas Estancia, had destroyed the houses, dismounted the guns, and broken the carriages. They were accompanied by a number of desperate criminals who had fled from justice at Buenos Ayres, and idle gauchos, who preferred robbery to work, and were unquestionably the most savage of the troop. On the 29th the Liebre was hauled ashore, to extract a piece of sauci wood that had run through her bottom: and a party was afterwards employed in erecting a conspicuous mark upon Hog Island; a very difficult task, because the loose sand, of which that island wholly consists, flies in clouds at every gust, and nowhere affords a solid foundation. By the help of casks filled with it, and spare anchors, they at length succeeded in securing an old spar upright, which was large enough to be seen ten miles round, in that low half-drowned country.

Deer were very numerous on Javali Island; but on the place called Deer Island, there was not one, though they were so plentiful there a few years before. Some dogs had been left there by a whale-ship, which have increased very much in numbers and are very savage: these dogs have exterminated the deer.

Any quantity of fresh water may be obtained in San Blas Bay, by digging wells six or eight feet deep; and fish are abundant: but it is no place for a ship to enter unless under favourable circumstances of weather, wind, and tide; and decidedly dangerous with a south-easter, because there is then a sea on the banks outside which confuses the pilot’s eye, and prevents his distinguishing the proper channel; besides which, thick weather, if not rain, is the general accompaniment to that wind.

On the 3d of December the Beagle anchored off San Blas (as formerly mentioned). Both schooners went out to her, and in returning at night into San Blas Bay, working to windward with a strong flood tide, they passed close to an unknown rock which would have made an end of their cruise had they touched it. The least water they had, however, was eight feet;[4] but both vessels were close to it, while the tide was running four or five knots. This rock is in the middle of the entrance to San Blas Bay. At midnight they reached their anchorage, without a dry article in either vessel.

On the 6th, Lieutenant Wickham remarked, while at anchor between San Blas and the River Negro, off Point Rasa, that the stream of tide began to set northward at half flood, and continued to run in that direction until half ebb, by the shore. “It is not at all uncommon on this coast,” he says, “to see wrecks of vessels above high-water mark, and spars strewed along the beach where the sea does not touch them.” These wrecks took place during south-east gales, when the sea was raised above its usual level in fine weather: and were the vessels spoken of in the previous chapter, as having been entrusted to ignorant or careless prize-masters, who ran for San Blas or the River Negro, not then knowing that so fine a port as Blanco Bay existed. Strong tides, shoals, a low coast, and bad weather would have perplexed professed seamen; but those difficulties were insurmountable to such unpractised craftsmen as those who were in charge of them, and most of the prizes were lost. One large ship of four or five hundred tons was taken, by a wiser master, to Port Melo, and there her cargo was discharged into small craft, which landed it safely in the River Negro. Many of these ill-fated vessels were never afterwards heard of; but from the numerous wrecks seen along the coast between the Colorado and the Negro, it may be inferred that they and their unfortunate crews perished in the surf occasioned by south-east gales, or were capsized by sudden pamperoes.

Running up the River Negro (on the 7th December), Lieut. Wickham found the ‘freshes’[5] strongly against him. The banks of the river afforded a pleasing contrast, by their verdure, to the arid desert around Anegada Bay. Most part of these banks was cultivated, and great quantities of fine corn was seen growing. Here and there were country houses (quintas) surrounded by gardens, in which apple, fig, walnut, cherry, quince, and peach trees, vines, and vegetables of most kinds were abundantly plentiful.

Although the banks of the river are so fit for cultivation, it is only in consequence of floods, which take place twice a-year--once during the rainy season of the interior, and once at the time when the snow melts on the Cordillera. These floods swell the river several feet above its banks, bringing a deposit of mud and decayed vegetable matter, which enriches the soil and keeps it moist even during the long droughts of that climate.

The plough used there is wooden, and generally worked by oxen, but it does not cut deeply. Manure is never used, the soil being so fattened by alluvial deposits.

The town of Nuestra Señora del Carmen, is about six leagues up the river, on its northern bank, upon a slightly-rising ground about forty feet above the water. It is irregularly built: the houses are small, one only having two stories; and glass windows are seldom seen: each house has a large oven. A square enclosure of some extent, formed by walls of unbaked bricks (adobes), is called the fort, and within it are the church, the governor’s house, lodgings for the officers, and public stores. This fort commands the neighbourhood, as well as the houses (or cottages) surrounding it; and of the hundred buildings which compose the town of Carmen, exclusive of about thirty huts on the south bank of the river, the fort is the oldest. It was built about 1763. Some houses, forty years old, are as fresh in outward appearance, as if built only a few years ago. In a population of 1,400, there are about 500 negroes. Altogether there may be in the town about two thousand inhabitants, but many of the poorer families and negroes live in caves, which were dug out of cliffs on the river’s bank by the first Spanish settlers. It is said that they served the Spaniards as a secure refuge from the Indians, who could only approach them by one path, easily secured. These caves, dug out of earthy clay, are not despicable dwellings, while there is a fire in them to expel damp.

About a league from the entrance of the river are the ruins of a large house, which was the “Estancia del Rey.” In former days 100,000 head of cattle were attached to that establishment, now there is not even a calf.

Some of the first settlers were living at Carmen in 1833, staunch royalists, every one looking back with regret to former times. One of them belonged to the crew of the Spanish launch that first entered the river. He said, that the Indians were then living in detached tribes along both banks of the river, and were very friendly to the Spaniards. This same old man afterwards made one of the exploring party, under Villarino, in 1786, when the natives were not only inoffensive, but gave them assistance. How different from the present day! when if a Christian is seen by the natives, he is immediately hunted, and his safety depends upon the fleetness of his horse. It has sometimes happened, that persons riding along near this river, have been surprized by a marauding party of Indians, and obliged, as their only resource, to leap off the banks (barrancas), whether high or low, and swim across to the other side. The Indians have never followed; hence this, though requiring resolution, is a sure mode of escape.

Prior to the conclusion of the war between Brazil and Buenos Ayres (1828), the settlers at Carmen lived tranquilly--undisturbed by Indian aggression (retaliation?) but since that time, they have been kept in continual alarm. Prisoners are often brought to Carmen to be ransomed, whom the Indians have taken from other places. They are generally women or children; and as the Indians often find out who their prisoners are, the ransoms asked are proportionably exorbitant. Men are usually put to death, if they do not die of their wounds. There is a tribe of friendly Indians living near Carmen, at the outskirts of the town, who do much hard work for the inhabitants for very trifling remuneration; but they are shamefully abused, cheated in every way by shopkeepers and liquor-venders, and harshly treated by other persons, who seem to consider them inferior beings--unworthy of any kind or humane consideration. Should one of these poor creatures fall by the knife of a passionate white man, no notice is taken of it by the authorities; the murderer boasts of his deed, and the poor relations suffer patiently the loss and the insult, which they dare not avenge. Having quitted the free tribes, seduced by promises never fulfilled, they would not be received among them again; and their own numbers, originally small, are reduced daily by disease and abominable drugs, which the publicans sell them in what is said to be spirituous liquor (agua ardiente). Mr. Wickham saw a poor Indian woman, between forty and fifty years of age, almost killed by a blow on the head from an ox’s skull (with the horns), given by a wretch, who had drawn his knife upon her husband for preventing his kissing a pretty girl, their daughter, who was walking with her. This scoundrel was seen by Mr. Wickham, a few days afterwards, betting at the race-course with the principal people of the place.

Thanks to the influence of Harris and Roberts, and their connections (both being married to daughters of Spanish settlers), our officers and men were exceedingly well treated. Every door was open to them; and the fruit in every garden was freely, as well as sincerely offered. Letters had been forwarded to the commandant or governor, from Buenos Ayres, desiring that we might have every facility and freedom in our operations; but the disposition towards us was such, that those letters were not required.

From the remains of former buildings, and accounts of the old men, Lieutenant Wickham thought that the Spanish settlers must have been far more industrious and ingenious than their creole descendants, who are idle, indolent, and ignorant. The height of their ambition is to make a show at the Sunday races, where they deceive, drink, wrangle, gamble, and quarrel. These Sabbath occupations are always attended by the female part of the population, who take that opportunity of displaying their finery; and though seated upon handkerchiefs on the sandy ground, without any defence from sun, wind, dust, or rain, every damsel displays silk stockings and a gaudy dress upon these occasions. The men do not go near them, notwithstanding their attire: they can beat a poor woman almost to death, upon occasion; but they cannot defer a bet, or risk losing a dollar, for the sake of female society.

The climate is so healthy, that illness of any kind is scarcely known; and the inhabitants, in general, live to a good old age. There is a stirring trade carried on in small vessels, between Buenos Ayres and this place. Salt, of excellent quality, hides, peltry, seal or sea-elephant oil, and skins, are the principal exports, in return for which are received manufactures, sugar, spirits, tobacco, &c.

The Indians, who live at the outskirts of the town in ‘toldos,’ which are neither wind nor water-tight, load vessels with salt; but the price of their labour is usually spent in some kind of spirituous liquor, which is made and drugged expressly for them--the publicans often saying, “that it is a sin to give an Indian good spirits.” When drunk, the howling of these poor wretches is quite frightful. Some of them are almost skeletons--the result, probably, of drinking.

Some leagues up the river coal is obtained, I was informed, but I did not see a specimen myself. Probably Mr. Darwin had an opportunity of examining its quality.

On the 12th, Lieutenant Wickham sailed for Blanco Bay, to deliver some letters from me (which I had received from Buenos Ayres) to the commandant Rodriguez.

13th. Off the banks in Anegada Bay there was too much sea (during a S.W. gale) for the Liebre to keep on her course any longer, having run as long as was prudent, and already shipped several seas. When hove-to, under a balance-reefed foresail, with the tiller unshipped, she was dry and easy, and lay about five points from the wind.

Mr. Wickham arrived at Argentina on the 16th, and left it on the following day. In sailing out of Blanco Bay, along the south shore, while it was dark, the Liebre grounded frequently; but her crew got overboard, and hauled her over the banks as often as she was stopped by them, and at midnight she was at sea. A south-east gale on the 18th drove her into the Colorado, where Lieutenant Wickham found a strong-outset, owing to the ‘freshes,’ even during the flood-tide.

On the 22d, the Liebre entered the river again, and anchored near Carmen.

At daylight on the 24th, Corporal Williams was missed, supposed to have fallen overboard in the night, while asleep. He slept on deck sometimes, when tormented by musquitoes; and as the Liebre’s weather-cloth rail was but a few inches above the deck, he might possibly have rolled overboard into the stream, which would immediately have carried him away. His body was found, about three miles down the river, at sunset the next evening (Christmas day). The governor (though a Roman catholic) allowed the burial to take place in the consecrated ground of the church, and the curate himself was present.

While the Liebre was absent, Mr. Stokes, in the Paz, surveyed many miles of the river, as well as the bar. No vessel drawing more than eleven feet water can enter without much danger: if at a favourable time any person should be induced to risk crossing the bar with a ship of greater draught, he should bear in mind that it is much more difficult to get to sea than it is to enter, because wind which is fair for approaching, raises the water; and the reverse. Although ships drawing fourteen feet have passed the bar, at unusually favourable times, others of only ten feet draught have been detained forty days in the river.

29th. Both our little vessels sailed, and on the 4th of January they anchored safely in Port Desire:--this was a bold stroke, but success attended it. They were thus placed at the southernmost point of the coast they were to survey, while the sun was farthest south; and as the days shortened, they would work along the coast northward. Recent traces of Indians were found; and the master of an American sealer told Mr. Wickham that they had been there in considerable numbers, about two months previously. The wells were all full; therefore much rain must have fallen during October, November, or December. I have mentioned elsewhere that although the eastern coast of Patagonia is usually an arid desert, there are periodical times, of short duration, at which rain falls abundantly.

11th. Having rated their chronometers, the little vessels stood out to sea, in company with the North American sealer; but they had not sailed many miles before the wind increased to a gale, and still becoming stronger, bringing clouds of dust and sand off the land, they were reduced to bare poles, and drifted fast off-shore, as well as northward. When the fury of the gale was over, their balance-reefed foresails were set, and with their tillers unshipped they made very good weather, until they were driven near the tide-races off Cape Blanco, where some anxious hours were passed, half-buried in foam, and the wind again almost a hurricane. Towards evening, the storm abated; our water-soaked explorers succeeded in regaining a position under shelter of the land; and anchored next morning under Cape Blanco, to dry themselves and take observations. In this severe gale, the North American schooner split two close-reefed foresails, lost a boat, and was otherwise damaged.

Lieutenant Wickham and Mr. Mellersh walked a long way from Cape Blanco, to trace the coast, and look out for shoals in the offing; in doing which, they found numerous ‘salinas’ (extensive hollow places filled with salt), where the solid mass of very white and good salt was several feet in thickness. Guanacoes were numerous, but shy. On the rocks some fur-seal were seen; too few, however, to be worth a sealer’s notice. The following week was passed in examining St. George Bay. Scarcely any stream of tide was found in its western part, though the rise amounted to nearly twenty feet. About Tilly road, where they landed, the mass or principal part of the soil, where visible in cliffs or ravines, is loose sandy clay (diluvium), with immense quantities of large fossil oyster shells imbedded in it. These shells were found every where, even on summits seven or eight hundred feet above the sea, and some of them weighed eight pounds.

A place honoured by the Spaniards with the name of Malaspina, and described as a port, was found to be a wretched cove, full of rocks, hardly safe even for the Liebre. While moored there, our party witnessed lightning set fire to bushes and grass. The flames spread rapidly, and for two days, the face of the country continued to blaze. Near Port Arredondo, Mr. Wickham went to the tops of several hills; he found the country unproductive, except of a few bushes, and yellow wiry grass. There were no traces of natives. Very heavy rain fell during the night of the 28th. I mention it thus particularly, because some persons have said that rain never falls on the east coast of Patagonia, in any quantity.

The cove called ‘Oven’ is a singular place, being a parting (as it were) in the solid rock, nearly a mile in length, but very narrow, with four fathoms water in it at low tide. Surrounded on all sides by precipitous hills, it is, indeed, an oven; and would injure a ship seriously, even more than other ports on this arid coast, if she were to lie long in it; as her seams would all be opened, and her planks split by the heat and drought. The water found here was so strongly impregnated with salt-petre, that it was not drinkable; but probably better might have been procured had they dug fresh wells. On the summit of South Cape an Indian tomb was found. The stones had been displaced, and some bones were lying about, a few of which were taken on board, but none could be got in a perfect state. Mr. Bynoe afterwards examined them, and informed me that they had belonged to a female of small stature.[6]

Off Ship Island, and thence to Cape Dos Bahias, the tide-stream was again felt strongly, running two, three, or, in some places, four knots an hour. At a little creek, in Camarones Bay, near Cape Dos Bahias, abundance of small wood, fit for fuel, was found; and plenty of fresh water in hollows of the rocks. A guanaco was shot, which weighed upwards of two hundred pounds. Not only is small wood plentiful about Camarones Bay, but the country is sufficiently covered with grass of good quality. Several Indian tombs were seen on the hills, whence it may be inferred that natives at times frequent the neighbourhood, although no recent traces were met with by our party. Unfortunately, not one of these tombs, simply irregular piles of stones, was found in an undisturbed state, neither were any more bones discovered: they are all similarly situated upon the most conspicuous, smooth, and round-topped hills.

At Port Santa Elena many tons of excellent water were procured from hollows in the rocks. (7th Feb.) Approaches to trees were found at this place, which though stunted as to height, much like thorn-trees in exposed situations, were of respectable dimensions. One measured more than three feet round the trunk, but its fellow was not seen.

After dusk, on the 10th, while endeavouring to enter New Bay, with a fresh wind and strong flood-tide, the Liebre got into a ‘race,’ and was hustled within a fathom of a rock, over which the tide was boiling furiously. Fortunately, the Paz saw the Liebre alter course and make more sail, and by immediately following her example, avoided the danger. They then hauled off, and passed the night at sea.

Next day (11th), they stood towards the bay again, the wind increasing fast, till it blew a gale from W.S.W., which being against a flood-tide stream, running at the rate of four knots through the entrance, raised a short hollow sea, dangerous for small craft. Battening down the hatches securely, and close-reefing, the little vessels worked through gallantly, though frequently obliged to lower their sails in squalls, or as they dived into a sea heavier than usual. The tide soon swept them beyond the narrow part, and then they were comparatively in safety.

Part of the west shores of New Bay seemed to be fit for cultivation, being covered with a fine dark soil; and there is abundance of fire-wood. Some small ponds of excellent water were found, over a clayey bed, in which were tracks of cattle. A guanaco shot here was superior to any killed elsewhere, as to condition. Many thousand seals were seen on the rocks, which did not take to the water as soon as disturbed--therefore they could not have been much molested by man.

On the 24th, Lieutenant Wickham discovered the river Chupat, and after waiting for the tide, anchored half a mile within the entrance. Next day he went a few miles up it in a boat, and found that, though free from drift-timber, it was shoal and narrow, few places being deeper than six feet at low-water, or wider than a hundred yards. The stream ran down two or three knots an hour. Many tracks of cattle were seen, but none of natives. As the river seemed to be free from sunken trees, and to have but few banks in it, Mr. Wickham decided to move the Liebre as far up as he could, and then make another excursion in his little two-oared skiff. Between pulling[7] and sailing, the Liebre was moved twelve miles up in one day, and was moored in the middle of the stream, lest Indians should be near.

Next morning, Mr. Wickham went in his boat, about eight miles further; but in a direct line he was then not more than twelve miles from the entrance. Along the banks on each side, as he had advanced, both he and those with him, were much struck by the richness of the alluvial land (caused doubtless by the river overflowing its low banks), and by the quantities of drift-timber, which actually looked like the stores in immense timber-yards. Among the drift-wood there were many large and sound trees left several hundred yards from the banks, therefore the periodical floods must be great.

At Mr. Wickham’s westernmost point “the river and the country round had a beautiful appearance, as seen from a rising ground on the south side--an excellent position for a settlement.” From this elevation the stream was traced to the westward, running with a very serpentine course, through level meadow land, covered with rich herbage. Several herds of wild cattle were seen, and their traces were observed every where in such numbers as to indicate a great abundance of animals.

Mr. Wickham returned on the 26th to the entrance, and found that a store of fish had been salted by the cook, while Mr. Stokes and others were going about, surveying the neighbourhood. These fish were a kind of bass, nearly as good as salmon.

I have no doubt that this is a river whose existence has been many years known by Spaniards, but of which the situation was intentionally concealed, on account of the lucrative trade some individuals hoped to carry on by means of hides and tallow obtained from the herds of wild cattle. The Spaniards used to anchor their vessels in Port San José, and thence ride in large parties to the Chupat; there they surrounded numbers of cattle, and drove them across the peninsula between San José and New Bay, where they slaughtered them at leisure. Numbers were probably killed nearer the river; but all that could be driven, had doubtless the privilege of conveying their own hides to the neighbourhood of their hunters’ ships. There was still living at the River Negro (in 1833) an old man, who was one of the few individuals that escaped during a dreadful massacre of Spanish settlers at Port San José. He said that the Indians were jealous of their encroachments, and seized an opportunity, while the Spaniards were attending the performance of mass, to fall upon them, and indiscriminately slay all, except three or four who were taken alive and kept as slaves.

That the Spaniards should have chosen San José for the place of their settlement instead of New Bay, or the Chupat itself, is easily accounted for, by mentioning that small vessels can generally run from the River Negro to Port San José without much risk and in a short time, whereas there are strong tides and dangerous ‘races’ off the peninsula of San José, and the entrance of the Chupat will not admit a vessel drawing more than seven feet: even this only at high-water. I think that the Chupat is the river alluded to by Falkner, as being in the “country of Chulilaw.”[8] He was told that it traversed the continent as far as the Andes, and judging from the drift-timber, as well as volcanic scoriæ brought down by it, there is ground for thinking that the Chupat[9] rises in the Cordillera. There is also reason to suppose that the river described and placed variously by different geographers, under the name of Camarones, is this Chupat, chiefly because the Indians who frequent the country bordering upon the south bank of the Negro, say that there is no river of consequence between that and the Santa Cruz, excepting the Chupat.

With this river so near at hand, the west side of New Bay would be an excellent situation for a settlement. There ships of any burthen might anchor in safety, and a communication be carried on with the interior by means of flat-bottomed boats, or barges, so constructed as to admit of being towed, or tracked, in the river, and capable of running up to New Bay before a fair wind. In the River Negro similar boats go a long way up the river for salt; they are towed by horses or oxen; and such vessels, even of thirty tons burthen, might enter the Chupat, if constructed so as to draw but little water. I need not dwell upon the possible advantages to be derived from opening a communication across the continent with Chilóe, which might be a means of diffusing Christianity, civilization, and commercial intercourse.

On the 3d, Lieut. Wickham and his party left the Chupat. Early on the 5th they entered Valdes Creek (by the Spaniards styled ‘port’), with the flood tide running nearly six knots into the narrow entrance: and on its shores found heaps of horns and bones, besides the wreck of a vessel.[10] These were indications of one of the temporary settlements maintained on the peninsula of San José for the purpose of obtaining hides. The carcases of the animals were invariably left to decay; a few delicate portions only being selected for food.

Until the 12th our little vessels were unable to quit this singular place, for the ebb tide set so strongly against the swell outside, raised by a S.E. gale, that they could not attempt to cross the bar. Sometimes the very narrow entrance of Valdes Creek is almost stopped up for a time by shingle and sand, after a S.E. gale has been blowing for a few days, therefore at such a time no vessel ought to run for it.

During the war between Brazil and Buenos Ayres (1825-9), Mr. Adams, of Carmen, was master of a merchant vessel hired by Vernet to convey settlers to the Falkland Islands. In returning thence, short of water and provisions, he thought to put into Valdes Creek, knowing that some people were there employed in collecting hides. He ran in for the land, with a fresh S.E. wind, and did not discover, until almost too late, that the bar was not passable. When close in he perceived a heavy sea breaking at the entrance, where he expected smooth water, and directly hauled off; but it was only by carrying a heavy press of sail that he cleared the land; and at the expense of passing through ‘races,’ which tore off the vessel’s bulwarks and otherwise damaged her materially. As our cock-boats crossed this bar, they had ten feet water, but on each side of it there were five fathoms. The Liebre, sharp built, plunged into each short swell; while the Paz, with her bluff bow, did not take in a single sea. The bar is a continuation of the long shingle spit, or bank, which forms the seaward side of the harbour; and is about nine miles long, though in some places not a hundred yards broad.

Towards noon the wind fell light, and the vessels were swept by a strong tide-stream towards a ‘race,’ whose noise might have appalled the crews of much larger and stouter barks. No bottom could be struck with the deep-sea lead, and no efforts of the crews at the oars had much effect in arresting their progress towards apparently inevitable destruction. Even at this awful time, habitual familiarity with danger, and zeal for the service, shewed their effects strongly in Mr. Stokes, who eagerly watched for the sun’s meridian altitude, with his sextant to his eye, while every now and then he caught a hasty glimpse of the foaming and roaring race towards which the little craft were fast approaching. At this crisis a breeze sprung up which just enabled them to pass clear; but no one who was in those vessels can ever forget that day, neither do I think they attribute their preservation to blind chance. Sailors see too many of these ‘chances’ to think of or reflect upon them lightly, and those who have had experience are not wont to forget, that to direct and to preserve are among the least efforts of Omnipotence--so far, at least, as our limited intelligence enables us to discern.

At five that afternoon the Paz and Liebre were about eighteen miles off shore, out of soundings with their lead-lines, and yet were only a mile and half from the eastern part of the race; therefore they still stood to seaward, to get as far as possible from a neighbourhood so dangerous at any time, but especially so at night. For two hours they passed through a rippling, but could strike no soundings with sixty fathoms of line.

In 1830 Mr. Harris (owner of the Paz) sailed from the River Negro in a vessel of about ninety tons, with some horses on board, which he had engaged to convey to a party of gauchoes who were employed on the peninsula of San José, in killing cattle for their hides. Within the Bay of San Matias, about six leagues N.W. of the port (San José), he got into one of these races,[11] and could not extricate his vessel. No soundings could be obtained: the sails were useless in consequence of the violent motion and want of wind, where the water was breaking so furiously, though elsewhere a fresh breeze was blowing; and nothing could be done. The crew took to the rigging, to avoid being washed overboard; and for almost three hours they were tossed about, like an empty bottle in a ripple, before the race abated, with the turn of tide, so as to admit of their sails acting enough to draw them a-head out of the commotion. The vessel, though a strong one, was so much shaken and damaged, the horses so much injured, and all hands so much ‘scared,’ as Harris honestly told me, that he steered back direct for the Negro, forfeited his agreement, and refused to go again.

On the 14th March the Paz and Liebre again crossed the bar of the River Negro, and next day they anchored a-breast of the town (Carmen). Lieut. Wickham found that an expedition had been sent from Buenos Ayres for the purpose of obliging the Indians to retire beyond (southward of) the Negro; and, if possible, deprive them of their horses. Bad weather and a heavy sea on the bar, caused by south-east gales, prevented the Paz and Liebre from sailing again until the 11th of April, when they went to Port San Antonio, and afterwards into Port San José. Plenty of firewood, and abundance of fish, were found at San Antonio; but no fresh water, except by digging wells. The tide-stream rushes into and out of Port San José in a violent manner, especially when opposed by wind; but after the narrow part of the entrance is passed, all agitation of the water ceases, except what may be caused by wind. It is a barren and desolate place, without wood or fresh water, and too large for a harbour. Our party saw proof of this assertion in the wreck of a small vessel at the north-east part of the port, which had been driven from her anchors and totally lost, though she was lying in a land-locked bay, or rather gulf.

On the 6th of May, while returning from San José to the River Negro, our little vessels got into a ripple, which did not break, but had almost the appearance of a whirlpool. There was a hollow short swell, and an irregular motion in every direction, exactly like the boiling of a pot, on a great scale. Here again they could touch no bottom with fifty fathoms of line and a heavy lead. These races and ripplings in such deep water, about the peninsula of San José, are very remarkable; chiefly because there are none such on any other part of the coast. They will be recurred to in a future page of this volume.

May 7th. The Paz and Liebre returned to the Negro, but could not reach an anchorage off Carmen until late the next day, owing to the ‘freshes.’[12] The next occupation for our party was examining and sounding the entrance and bar of the Negro, a task purposely deferred, as being of minor consequence. The mouth of a rapid river like this, subject to floods, and disemboguing at a place exposed to the full force of such a heavy sea as is raised on that coast by a south-east gale, must be frequently changed, as to the detail of its shoals and channels; therefore no plan, however exact at one time, can be depended upon after the lapse of a few years; and no vessel larger than a boat would be justified in attempting to enter without a local pilot, if one can be obtained. In one spot, near Main Point, where a small battery stood in 1826, there were two fathoms water in 1833; and within the same period the deepest water for a few miles within the entrance, changed gradually from the south side to the north. Mr. Darwin was told that the river was called Negro after a cacique of that name; but Falkner asserts that it was so called by the Spaniards, because the aborigines knew it by the name of ‘Cusu Leuvu,’ which means black river.[13]

In May, June, July, and August, the neighbourhood of this river swarms with wild fowl, which migrate from the south, for the winter, and return there to breed about September. The old people foretell a severe winter when they arrive early, and in greater numbers than usual. In 1833-4 they formed the staple article of food for the inhabitants of Carmen during the winter, as the Indians had deprived them of their cattle; in the summer cavies and ostriches supplied their tables. Hunting is a favourite amusement of the Carmenites. They sally forth in large parties on horseback, attended by a motley crowd of dogs, inclose a large extent of country, contract the circle gradually,[14] and at last drive a great number of ostriches, wolves, cavies, deer, foxes, and pumas, into a comparatively small space, when the indiscriminate attack commences--balls and lassoes flying in every direction. Many accidents happen to the horses in these hunts, owing to the ground being so undermined, in some places, by the ‘tucu-tucu,’[15] a little animal like a small rabbit; but the riders are so skilful, that they generally save themselves, however awkwardly their horses may fall. Pumas are an especial object of attack, not only for the risk attached to encountering them, but because they do so much damage to the young animals of all kinds: they have a peculiar method of instantly killing a young colt by breaking its neck with an adroit blow of one paw, while the poor creature is held fast between the other and a most formidably armed mouth. In 1779 there were numerous herds of cattle and horses near the town of Carmen, but incursions of the Indians have diminished them to but few.

During the time of the old Spaniards, after 1783, more than a thousand Indians attacked the settlement at one time. The inhabitants retreated to their caves,[16] where, defended by strong doors, with loop-holes for musketry, they were safe; but their houses were ransacked and burned, and all their animals driven away. Since that time the frequent predatory excursions of minor parties of Indians have prevented the settlers from again attempting to collect animals in large numbers, seeing that they would assuredly tempt the aborigines to repeat their attacks on a greater scale than ever. The old man, who was one of Villarino’s party,[17] gave Mr. Darwin some information about that expedition, which entirely corroborates the interesting account of Basilio Villarino himself, who made his way, by excellent management, and extreme perseverance, to the foot of the Cordillera, though surrounded by Indians suspicious of his intentions. He managed so dexterously as to make one tribe become his firm friends and assistants; and behaved so well himself, in his own enterprises, as well as in his conduct to those under him, as to have obtained their hearty co-operation during eight long months. But he was soon afterwards savagely murdered by the natives during another exploring expedition.[18] The old man said that Villarino was much guided by the account of an Englishman,[19] whose description of the river and Indian country was found to be very accurate. Mr. Darwin heard several anecdotes of the Indians, and their attacks upon the Christians (so they term all white men) which interested me very much; but as I suppose they will be found in his volume, it is unnecessary here to do more than allude to them.

On the 12th May Mr. Usborne, in the Constitucion, anchored in the river, and next day put himself under Mr. Stokes’s orders; to whom Lieut. Wickham gave up the charge of this branch of the survey, and then went on board the Constitucion to hasten towards Maldonado. On the 17th all three little vessels sailed, Lieut. Wickham steering for the Plata, and Mr. Stokes for San Blas.

From this time till the Paz and Liebre were discharged, in August,[20] Mr. Stokes and his party were most zealously occupied between the Negro and Blanco Bay; but time was too fully occupied in the uninteresting, though useful works, of sounding, measuring, observing, and chart-making, to admit of many notices of the country being obtained in addition to those already mentioned; indeed the nature of the coast, almost flat, uninhabited, without trees, and fronted by extensive sand-banks, precluded the possibility of acquiring much information not of a technical nature.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Nine tons burthen.

[2] Fifteen tons.

[3] Sawdust alone would have been better.

[4] The Paz drew five feet and a half, the Liebre four feet.

[5] Showing that this was the period of one of the two floods to which the Negro is annually subject.

[6] I gave them to Sir Francis Chantrey, by whom they were shown to several persons.

[7] Both the vessels had oars.

[8] Falkner, p. 87.

[9] Chupat is the Indian name.

[10] Of about two hundred tons burthen.

[11] The tide-races within the bay are less formidable than those off Point Norte, near which our vessels were.

[12] There are two floods annually: one about December or January, caused by snow melted on the Cordillera; and the other about May or June, occasioned by heavy rains in the interior country. These inundations are very variable.

[13] Falkner, p. 79.

[14] As in eastern countries.

[15] This Indian name, gutturally pronounced, expresses the curious sound made by these creatures while under ground--a noise somewhat like the blow of a distant hammer.

[16] Mentioned in p. 299.

[17] Bowman of his boat (lancha).

[18] Sir Woodbine Parish has given an abridged translation of Villarino’s Diary in the Journal of the R. Geogr. Society for 1836, vol. vi, part ii, pp. 136-167.

[19] Falkner evidently.

[20] Already mentioned, p. 288.