Through the Heart of Patagonia

During this interval, while waiting for a second opportunity of attempting to gain the extreme end of the North Fjord of the lake, we arranged to make a short voyage down the South Fjord, or, as it is locally known, to Lake Rica. By doing this, moreover, we should complete our circumnavigation of Lake Argentino. Before we left, reliable news came up from the settlements with some belated Christmas and other papers. We were very relieved to learn that the Franco-Russian combination was no more than a camp-scare, nor was Russia advancing on India, as the last rumours had told us. When one has lost so large a slice of the general history of the world as we did during the months passed on our expedition, it is hopeless to imagine one can ever make up the loss. The events of that period must always remain blurred and hazy in the mind, only a few ever attaining an accurate outline. And then how greedy one becomes of news after an abstinence so prolonged as ours from that daily mental excitement of civilisation! It is difficult to describe how one grips the strayed journal or periodical when one has been cut off for months from these "curses of modern life."

On April 11 we left Cow Monte Harbour and steamed westwards down the Punta Bandera Channel. In a short time the pump broke down and we had some trouble in putting it right again. In defence of our engineering skill I must say that we had against us the fact that a part of the pump had been taken away for repairs to Buenos Aires by the Commission. We camped at the mouth of a river coming down out of Mount Avellaneda. Above us the bare volcanic summits of the mountains rose starkly out of their circling forests, that were now turning crimson with the brilliant colours of autumn. We could also see the great glacier on the western side of the Canal de los Tempanos. Many deer-tracks were visible, but we saw only one huemul buck in the edge of the forest.

We made an early start next day, which luckily was calm, for the pump gave us a good deal of bother. We proceeded down a smaller fjord lying under Mount Avellaneda, which took us in a westerly direction, but presently curved southwards and ended in a large mountain covered with forest, which I named Mount Millais. The chief hindrances in these winding passages were the constantly veering winds that we encountered. Day and night we were obliged to keep up a constant struggle against them. This was all very well during the daylight, but to anchor the launch snugly and then to be waked by her bumping and straining at her cable perhaps ten times in the night, and to have to turn out in just what you happened to have on in the way of sleeping apparel supplemented only by "the mantle of the night,"—for there never was a moment to be lost at these junctures—was an experience which quickly became monotonous and wearing to strength and temper. During this South Fjord trip the launch certainly did herself proud in this direction; she seldom gave us a couple of hours' quiet rest, often forcing us to face the biting cold a dozen times between dark and dawn.

The forests about this part of the lake were immense, and contained trees and plants unknown in the outer Cordillera or, rather, I should say, the foothills.[29] A bush resembling holly was conspicuous, fuchsias also abounded.

I quote a short description of this region from my diary: "The mountains go in and out of the mist, now seen, now lost. The mist shrouds them at one moment, and the greyness reaches up to heaven and down to earth—into a man's soul it often seems; the next instant there may be gleams of a sad blue sky shining through the torn banners of the haze, and glaciers assume a wonderful goblin hue, a pallid violet." There was some sameness in our days, but the launch kept us alive with anticipation. She seldom lacked the chance of giving us some surprise. Often we asked each other, "Will she drown us after all? And when and where?" A cold death and a deep grave she had it in her power to give. The one good side to the situation was that when we landed, as we often did, in a sleety drizzle on a swampy camp, we forbore to grumble, but were, on the contrary, filled with a strong thankfulness to have escaped from her even for a little time.

We had one particularly bad night, when a series of squalls came down on us, and we spent the greater part of our sleeping-hours in poling the launch off the shore, but at last the wind got the better of us and literally hurled her on the beach.

How we managed to get her off it is impossible to describe; we did it somehow. The next morning was still windy, but we steamed along the Canal de los Tempanos under Mount Buenos Aires, and there it was that a fire broke out on the launch. This was an accident we always dreaded, for, having no room elsewhere, we were obliged to pile the fuel round her engine, with the result that it occasionally became dangerously heated.

We had some marvellous days of fine weather in the Cordillera, where on the mountain slopes, as winter drew on, the crimson shades crept deeper to mingle with and finally change the green. In due time we reached the South Fjord by water. The account of a previous visit on horseback has already been told. Then we turned homewards, and on the way I secured some good photos of the great glacier of the Canal de los Tempanos. As we passed down the canal, a big berg broke off from the glacier ahead of us and plunged into the water, sending up a huge wave, which luckily only touched us slightly. It was well we were no nearer. We witnessed after this the fall of several lesser pieces of ice, the noise of which resounded loudly among the gorges.

Our return voyage was eventless. While Bernardo was making our camp-fire upon landing, he called to me to come with my rifle. He said he had been attacked by a large Cordillera wolf, which snapped at his legs. He retaliated with an axe, but it got away. Following in the direction he indicated, I caught a glimpse of the animal crossing a patch of moonlight, and fired, hitting it far back.

There are many thousands of square miles of unexplored forest in Patagonia. It is a region unknown and mysterious, which has never been deeply explored by man. As has been said, no man lives in them, and it is a question whether man has ever lived there, for the one all-sufficient reason—the practical absence of game on which he might subsist.

I well remember my first sight of the forests, and the intense longing that took hold upon me to make my way into their virgin fastnesses. It is one of the traveller's most unquenchable desires, this hankering to go where no other man has yet been. It springs, I suppose, from the undefined thought that in the unknown everything is possible, though few things perhaps come to pass.

From afar the forests appear to rim the slopes and spurs of the Cordillera with a seemingly impenetrable mass of blackness, reaching towards and often running up into the snow-line; as you approach the colour assumes its true hue, a deep dense green, a green that seems to have the quality of absorbing light, so that, as you gaze upon the expanse of foliage stretching back into the distances, fold beyond fold, where the valleys and mountain-sides close in behind each other, an impression of gloom and mystery lays hold upon your mind. Upon still nearer inspection you find the trees ranked in heavy phalanxes, while between their close-set trunks has grown up an under-tangle of thorn. Old storms have overthrown many of the giants, so that they lie in tens and twenties, or lean against their yet quick companions awaiting the slow decay of things. But it is very hard to give any adequate idea in words of these vast and nameless tree-kingdoms. Most common among the trees was the antarctic beech. I observed also redwood and cypress.

The aspects of the various forests and the trees of which they were composed varied greatly. Some were bare and devoid of undergrowth as a northern forest; others were absolutely tropical in their heavy luxuriance. In one, a majestic place, the tall antarctic beeches were draped with long trailing Spanish moss, and on the carpet of moss beneath them lay here and there a dead tree.

Few places are more mournful than this region when rain is falling. After the rain ceases, mists arise and circle round you, shutting you in, these in their turn often being dissipated by a sudden fierce squall. In summer the climate is very humid, and many of the plants have the fat damp aspect seldom observable save in the tropics. The huge masses of rank vegetation seem to stifle you; once you have been in that great black insatiable woodland you can never quite shake off its influence.

In that particular forest was one glade by the outrunning of a little brook where the ground was thick with orchids.[30]

One reads of "virgin forests," but one must behold them to comprehend the reality that underlies the wording. For days you saw no living thing, heard no human tones, nothing but the immense voices of the thunder, the glacier and the everlasting wind. The solitude of Patagonia, its peculiar characteristic of lack of human life in the present and the past, was borne in upon one under that high dome of foliage, and in those aisles abysmally vast, stretching north, south, east and west. In any other country legends would have gathered round these places, some touch of man's presence and adventure humanised them, so to speak. In Patagonia the fancy had nothing to grip, to grow upon, no story of joy or of sorrow. Solitude reigned alone, and nature spoke only by the awful uninterpreted tongues of God's elements.

CHAPTER XX
DISCOVERY OF THE RIVER KATARINA AND LAKE PEARSON

Fears of winter coming on—Stormy days—Quiet nights—Picnics in Patagonia—Start by night—Hellgate by starlight—Camp on beach—Advance up North Fjord—Approach to River Katarina—Shallow water—Leave launch—Advance with canvas boat—Tameness of huemul—Anecdote of Canoe Indians—White-faced ducks—First sight of lake—Bernardo falls ill—Immoderate bags of so-called sportsmen—Problem of shrinkage of Lake Argentino—Discovery of Lake Pearson—Description—Bernardo better—Comet—Obliged to turn back—Hellgate by firelight.

After our return from our trip to the South Fjord the weather became very threatening, and I was beset with many anxious fears that the winter might set in rigidly, and entirely preclude any attempt to solve the problem of the yet unvisited and unknown river and lake whose existence was conjectured at the end of the North Fjord. Snow fell and blocked the pass to Punta Arenas,[31] which was our south road to the coast, but luckily a milder spell followed, the snow melted and I was encouraged to remain just a little longer to carry out my original idea of making another effort to thoroughly explore the North Fjord.

Storms, however, swept over the lake, and although we undertook a couple of short expeditions in the launch, we waited for better days before again facing the difficulties of the Hellgate passage. Again and again we saw squalls and waterspouts come curling down the channel between the frowning cliffs. Day followed day with heavy winds, the coming of the light seemed to be the signal for the gales to rise, whereas on many nights the weather was fairly still, and the water in consequence calmer. It was during this period of waiting that we arranged the following programme, which I find scribbled upon a page of my diary:

At length, weary of waiting on the wind's vagaries, we determined to start by night, during the quieter period we usually then enjoyed, and make what progress we could up the intricacies of Hellgate. Accordingly, at 1 o'clock P.M. on May 3, we began our voyage. We passed through Hellgate and left many silent bays behind us as we kept on our course just outside the inky shadow of the cliffs. The water was still working after the blow of the daytime, but on the whole we had favourable weather and the stars shone brightly. With dawn the wind arose and we were forced to put in to an anchorage on the east shore of the Fjord. Afterwards, travelling by day, we made our way to the peninsula, rocks often jutted out into the fairway, but these were easy to locate, as we had been through the channel before and had some knowledge of its reefs. A number of icebergs had been blown down out of the western channel, but the water had fallen considerably since our last visit, and when we reached the peninsula we found it impossible to resume our former camp there, so we were forced to pass an uncommonly cold night on a bare bit of beach without so much as a bush to shelter us.

From time to time we spent a good while on this peninsula. It was studded with erratic boulders, and the soil on it varied from six to twelve inches in depth. On this visit I saw a red-crested woodpecker. The views from the higher part of the peninsula were infinitely grand. The gigantic glacier, the dark forests, the innumerable icebergs floating below the black cliffs—all these combined to make up pictures which I should like to be able to reproduce.

In time the weather moderated, and we made a last essay to penetrate to the farther end of the main Fjord. As we proceeded the water became shallower, so that it was necessary occasionally to take soundings. There were also many rocks. We once more noticed dry sticks and leaves drifting past, and presently ahead of us, through a gap in the Cordillera, we caught a glimpse of flat country. This time we fulfilled our desire and attained to the termination of the Fjord, where we came to the mouth of a river of considerable size. It swung out from round the base of a cliff, and had thrown up a slight bar where it joined the waters of the lake. I named it the River Katarina.

We camped at this point and began at once to explore the valley of the river. It flowed over a stony bed, presenting much the appearance of a large Scotch trout-stream. The cañadon through which it passed was very wide, and the stream wound greatly. At the time of our visit the river was very shallow, and there was not water enough to float the launch, in fact a stone picked up from the bottom lodged itself between the blades of the propeller and we had to haul up for repairs. This business of repairing was one we often had to perform, and necessity being the mother of invention, the dodges we resorted to were original. The launch, if once hauled up on the beach and sunk in the sand, would have been too heavy for the three of us to get back into the water. On these occasions we therefore used to cut the largest tree-trunks available and roll them under the keel while still half in the water, then the two heaviest of us would go into the bows, which were, of course, in comparatively deep water, and our weight in this position served to raise the stern sufficiently to allow of the third man to execute the repairs needful to the propeller. In the present instance it was found that the machinery was severely strained, though fortunately no damage had been done to the blades of the propeller.

Though the river was shallow in May, we saw abundant evidence that it must carry a greatly increased volume of water in the earlier part of the year. But not finding it possible to take the launch up the channel, we decided on anchoring her as securely as we could and continuing our expedition in the small canvas boat. This we did a day or two later.

Our camping-ground on the bank of the Katarina was among high and rather coarse grass, which would have made excellent feed for horses, but I should not think it possible to keep horses in that cañadon, as, being encircled by hills, the sun would seldom reach it during the winter. There were many patches of wood, composed of rather stunted trees, but it was difficult to penetrate among them, their trunks grew so close together. A certain amount of game lived in the valley, huemules, guanacos, pumas and Cordillera wolves.

The extraordinary tameness of the huemul here was, of course, accounted for by their entire ignorance of man. During my wanderings from the camp I had opportunities of making many interesting observations on this point. They would almost always, if you kept still and made no attempt to approach them, advance timidly towards you. It was in this valley of the Katarina that I met with the most remarkable instance of boldness on the part of these animals. I have given this story in full in another chapter, but I may shortly allude to it here. I was some miles from the camp, among thick grass and scrub, when I perceived emerging from a thicket at a little distance the spiked horns and red-brown sides of a huemul buck; behind him were two does, half hidden in the thicket. Finding that they had perceived me, I lay down on the grass and watched to see what they would do. One could read in their movements and attitudes the battle between timidity and curiosity that was going on within them. A third half-grown doe now appeared, and all four began to drift, as it were, slowly in my direction, keeping their eyes fixed upon me all the time. Now and again they would stop, then move on a few steps nearer, but after a long time they grew courageous enough to come right up to me, and the younger doe sniffed at my boot, then started back some paces, her companions naturally following her example. I could easily have touched her with my hand during a good part of the time. At last the buck lowered his horns as if with the intention of turning me over, but the sun was now sinking, and I was obliged to take my way homewards. As I stirred the huemules made off, but halted at a short distance to stare again at the queer object which had for the first time in their lives entered within their ken.

That evening, as we sat round the camp-fire, Cattle told us an amusing story illustrative of the quickness with which the Canoe Indians of the western or Pacific coast pick up the art of bargaining. He with two companions was living in the eternal rain of the Chilian side of the Cordillera, when one afternoon they struck a camp of Canoe Indians, who ran away into the forest on seeing the boat of the white men coming up the fjord. After a time, however, curiosity overcame their terror, and an old woman advanced from under the trees and commenced to open communications with the travellers by means of signs. She was probably sent out on account of her uselessness to the tribe, as, in the event of the white men being evilly disposed, her loss would have been regarded as no great misfortune. By-and-by she was joined by the other Indians, and the party fell to bartering. One of the Englishmen bought a fine sea-otter's skin for a box of matches, and the old lady, who had made the first advances, was asked by signs if she had another to dispose of. She ran back into the forest and presently returned with the half of a skin in each hand. She demanded a box of matches for each piece, for, thinking to improve upon the last bargain, she had cut the otter-skin in two with a bit of glass!

Our next move was to trace the river up to its source. After assuring ourselves that the launch could not go up the stream, we made all ship-shape in the camp and prepared to go ahead by putting our bedding and food in the canvas boat. We set out one grey morning, following the left bank of the Katarina. Parallel with the course of the river ran a chain of small hillocks, and behind these again a series of reedy lagoons. These last were literally black with duck, especially the variety known locally as the "white-faced duck," otherwise the Chiloe widgeon. The lagoons contained brackish water, and I fancy the whole depression in which they lie is flooded in the spring.

On this day Cattle and I, from the top of a hillock, descried what we took to be water in the north end of the cañadon. This was our first sight of the lake the shores of which I afterwards reached.

In the evening we camped at a spot opposite to the mouth of a tributary of the Katarina that flowed from the hills on the eastern side. At this point Bernardo knocked up. He had had hard work all day with the boat, for the stream was full of shoals, and wind and current were strong against him. He had been in the river off and on, and as he was already suffering from a slight cold when we set out this treatment had not improved it. By night his chest seemed a good deal affected, and his breathing was difficult. The rain of the afternoon turned to snow in the night, and it became very cold, a comfortless position for a feverish man. Our means for dealing with illness were limited, but hot cocoa and rugs seemed the best treatment under the circumstances, and we further sheltered him under the canvas boat, which, being turned over, made a tolerable hut.

Having brought a certain amount of provisions with us, we did not shoot much. There can be little question that, had Patagonia been a country rich in trophies, its less remote valleys would long ago have known the crack of the rifle. Fortunately for its feræ naturæ, the small horns of Xenelaphus bisulcus do not offer sufficient attraction. There is no sport on earth finer than big-game shooting in moderation, but in all parts of the world I should like to see a universal law prohibiting any one sportsman or professional hunter from shooting more than a limited number of a particular animal in a year. This idea, as a universal law, is, of course, impossible of fulfilment, but surely in sport moderation and a due regard for the survival of the various kinds of game should be the guiding rule and principle. However, my pen has carried me away. I merely say that it would be well if public opinion trended more resolutely towards censuring the hunter who selfishly makes immoderate bags. At the present moment he is looked upon as rather a fine fellow by those who lack any real knowledge of the subject, for no man is more strongly opposed to such doings than the true sportsman.

Owing to the unfortunate accident of Bernardo's illness, the general advance of our party was out of the question. It only remained for me to push on alone, and to give up any attempt to take the boat farther. Cattle stayed with Bernardo, to look after him, while I went on up the valley along the banks of the Katarina.

There can be little doubt that all the cañadon of this river formed at one time part of Lake Argentino, and that the hills in the valley were merely small islands in the same. One of the most interesting facts in connection with Lake Argentino is the large volume of water that is precipitated into it by a number of rivers and mountain torrents. Besides the Rivers Leona and Katarina, there are two or three streams of considerable size and countless snow-fed cascades falling from the cliffs. On the other hand, the only large outlet is the River Santa Cruz, and though that river carries off an important amount of water to the Atlantic, the quantity is not sufficient to account for the fact that the great lake is surely if slowly shrinking in size. The North and South Fjords with their adjoining reaches of water at one time formed part of a wide-spreading lake, whose waters washed completely round the bases of the mountains—such as Mount Buenos Aires—and of hills that now stand upon out-jutting points of land or actually upon the present lines of the shores. The reason for this shrinkage of the lake, when appearances would seem to point rather to increase of size, is difficult to discover.

The features of the cañadon of the Katarina changed but little as I walked on deeper into it. I saw two huemul bucks, one accompanied by two, the other by three does; I also saw some guanacos. The Giant's Glacier, which crosses the head of Lake Argentino as far as the peninsula on which we camped, ran parallel behind the cliffs of the western shore, glimmering out palely in the north-west ahead of me. Presently I passed over a stream, and later topping a low bluff I found myself on the shores of a lake, the distant gleam of whose waters Cattle and I had seen on the previous day. I was, of course, very eager to take a photograph of it, but everything around was shrouded in mist, and I had with me only a binocular camera, the mechanism of which did not permit of long exposures.

I must admit that I was disappointed with the lake when I arrived at it, as I had expected a much larger piece of water. The nearer shores were somewhat low and covered with boulders, while upon the farther sides rose a semicircle of hills whose escarpments fell in places abruptly to the water. About the inferior spurs of a somewhat higher mountain to the north a dense black forest clung. The morning was grey and the water lay dark and ruffled under a chilling wind, while about the distant cliffs of the northern shore wreaths of cloud hung sullenly, only lifting at intervals here and there sufficient to give a glimpse of the bare crags behind them.

Towards the afternoon luck befriended me, for the sky cleared and the sun broke out for a short time, giving me the opportunity I had been hoping for. I made haste to use the camera with such results as will be seen on p. 285.

This lake I named Lake Pearson.

On my return to the camp I found the sick man improving, which was a relief, as under the circumstances we had very little to give him in the way of comfort. Bernardo was a cheery fellow, who met the disagreeables of his lot good-temperedly, and I have no doubt this helped towards his recovery. Eventually he became quite well.

During the night a comet was visible, hanging in the clear sky like a white sword, hilt downwards. It was very brilliant and very beautiful, seen as we saw it above the dark forest.

There were many reasons why I hoped to be able to push deeper into this region, but it was growing very late in the season, winter with its accompaniment of furious storms was almost upon us, and this fact, joined with the strained and weakened condition of the engine of the launch, compelled us to give up the thought of further exploration. We therefore took advantage of a spell of rather better weather to make our way back down the Fjord. The wind was blowing sulkily out of the north, but this gave us the benefit of a following sea. Once or twice during our passage squalls overtook us, but always blowing mercifully in the direction of our course. Thus we had a following sea right up to the cliffs of Hellgate. In one place a big iceberg had stranded beneath the cliffs.

We landed under the bluffs of Hellgate and lit a fire of Leña dura, which roared and crackled in the dusk, lighting up the gloom of Hellgate with red light. Later we ran across safely to our anchorage off the Burmeister Peninsula.

CHAPTER XXI
HOMEWARD

Winter comes on—Departure from Lake Argentino—Changed aspect of country—Snow-clouds—Indian encampment—Race with the snow—River Coyly—River Gallegos—Ford—Signs of civilisation—Gallegos—Taking passage in steamer—Lighted street—Good-bye to Bernardo—Meeting with Mr. Waag and Mr. Von Plaaten Hallermund on the Elena—What Patagonia taught me.

A fortnight before we started there was a couple of feet of snow on the high pampa. Beside the lake it had been blowing heavily, and storms of sleet followed each other in dreary succession. Every morning we saw the white cloak of winter throwing its snowy folds lower and lower upon the mountains. The severe season of the Cordillera and Southern Patagonia was fast shutting us in; already the Pass to Punta Arenas was closed feet deep in snow, and our only outlet for the south lay towards Gallegos. It had been my wish to remain as long as possible in the neighbourhood of the Andes, but I had overstayed the utmost limit I originally set myself, and now there was nothing for it but to make a rush for the coast while the journey could still be made.

On May 15 we started in heavy rain. The horses were in excellent condition; indeed, they were too fat, for of late they had not had enough exercise to prepare them for a very trying journey. We took three cargueros besides the horses for riding, and the party consisted of Mr. Cattle's shepherd, George Gregory, Bernardo and myself. At the second camp Gregory was obliged to turn back, as his horses—a troop of colts—had wandered during the night. This was at the River del Bote; from there Bernardo and I went on alone. We found the aspect of the country much changed since we had crossed it three and a half months previously. The green grass had grown yellow, the streams and the lagoons were drying up, numbers of guanaco had descended to the lower grounds. An Indian trader, accompanied by a few tents of Indians, had taken up quarters near the River Califate, a spot formerly inhabited by wildfowl only. For three days we followed the shore of the lake, but then our way led us up on to the high pampa, where we made our camp in a bushless cañadon beside a rocky pool. By this time the horses were beginning to lose their tricks, but at the outset they would hardly allow themselves to be caught, and they wandered every night. The cañadon was clear of snow, but the sky was heavy with the promise of it. We hoped most heartily that it would give us two more days' grace before it fell.

The next day we followed the cañadon, which was a shallow depression running south-west. There was no fuel to be found but the thin roots of the dark bush known as maté negra. The early frosts made travelling difficult, as it was necessary to off-saddle early, that the horses might not be turned out sweating into the cold. We covered sixty miles, changing horses three times, for it was quite clear that we must push on if we hoped to escape the snow. That was one of the most fatiguing marches we had during the whole expedition. About three o'clock I espied some herds of tame cattle in the distance by the side of a lagoon. These proved to belong to some tents of Indians. The men were absent hunting and the camp was given over to the women and decrepit dogs. An enormous china sat in the opening of the largest toldo; she must have weighed twenty odd stone! We learned from her that the season had been a good one for guanaco chicos.

In reply to our question as to how far we might be from the nearest white man's habitation on the next stage of our journey, the fat lady waved her hand picturesquely and vaguely towards the eastern sky but did not commit herself to figures.

The Indian encampment made a singular picture against a somewhat striking background. The western sky was piling up and bulged with snow-clouds, while the sinking sun glowed like a red-hot cannon ball on the rim of the pampa. Against this curtain of colour were set the brown tents of guanaco-skin. In one of these a small fire was burning with little flames about an old meat tin in which water was being boiled for maté. Around the women sat in silence—saving only the fat spokeswoman—inert and apparently content; occasionally one would grunt or shift the child at her breast, but otherwise one heard scarce a sound but the whimpering of the wind from the Cordillera or the plashing of the wildfowl in the swampy margin of the lagoon.

I need not describe at length the days which followed. In due time we came upon a wheeltrack and sighted the first fence. This was in the valley of the River Coyly, a good place for pasturing sheep, but inexpressibly desolate and monotonous in aspect. For two days we held along in this valley or on the pampa immediately above it, but, remembering our experiences near Santa Cruz, I resolved to sleep in no boliche until we reached Gallegos.

The cañadon of the Coyly was fenced at intervals, the grass eaten close to the ground by many sheep. Thousands of wild geese clamoured on the banks of the river. In this river valley we made our last camp in Patagonia. There was no wood for fire, and the horses found but little to eat, the sun set among sickly green lights, and presently rain came on. Altogether it made a dismal good-bye to the life we had led for so many months.

The following day, striking across the pampa for the River Gallegos, we knew ourselves to be entering on the last stage of our wanderings. And here we very nearly had a disastrous accident. Meeting two Gauchos, we asked them about the condition of the ford over the Gallegos, which they told us had been but hock-high when they passed through with their horses. Consequently, when we arrived at the ford half an hour later, we took our troop down into the water, but seeing it looked uncommonly deep for the description given us by the Gauchos, we returned to the shore, and, as there happened to be a house at no great distance, I sent Bernardo to make inquiries. He brought back the news that the tide was running strong and the ford quite impracticable, but it was possible that we might be able to cross higher up at another spot. We followed this advice and crossed in safety, I with my precious photographs tied round my neck; but had we tried the lower ford I am very sure I should have lost them all, which would have been a disappointment indeed, considering the circumstances under which they had been taken and the impossibility of replacing them.

Once across the Gallegos we emerged upon flat ground, and here we found a road with a line of telephone-posts running along one side of it. Gallegos was by that time only eighteen miles ahead, but with our tired horses that appeared a long distance. The country was absolutely featureless, the black posts sticking up against a dull sky, the brown earth absorbing such light as there was. A very cold wind blew across our faces, but there was one thing that cheered us, that told us our wanderings were over—the humming of the wind in the wires overhead.

The road dipped and rose over the long undulations, and at last, as we topped one of the many inclines, Gallegos straggled into sight, obviously a frontier town, all wire fences, wooden and corrugated-iron houses with painted roofs. The emotions with which one returns and feels the long wanderings over are not easy to describe. I rode slowly up the main street and passed the bank—for there is a bank at Gallegos, and the fact gave one a sensation of being very civilised indeed. I dismounted and went into the building to inquire about the steamer for Punta Arenas, where I hoped to pick up a homeward-bound boat. A steamboat was to have started for Punta Arenas that same morning, I was told, but as the captain was in gaol, her departure had been postponed for a day or so. The delay seemed a special dispensation for my benefit, for, had she adhered to her original date, I must have been too late to go by her. I understood that the captain's crime lay in having drawn up his anchor without waiting to receive a written permit.

Luckily I had not been preceded at Gallegos by any "lord," hence I drew the cash necessary for my passage and payments at the bank without any trouble. Then I went on to the hotel and put up my horse, the good little big-hearted Moro, who had carried me a hundred and fifty miles in three days and looked fat on it. Afterwards I bought a cigar, a very bad one, but a cigar for all that, and so proceeded down to the beach to secure my passage. Up on the shingle were several ships high and dry, and out in the fairway about the very smallest steamer I have ever seen, yet a good sea-boat, as I afterwards proved. She rejoiced in a brilliant green deck-house two storeys high, and the funnel was almost on top of the propeller!

When it grew dark it was strange to walk through the lighted streets and to see the faces pass and repass beneath the lamps. There was a delightful sense of newness about it all. But perhaps the most strange sensation was produced by a visit to the hairdresser's shop, where one could watch in the glass the swift transformation. Afterwards it was quite good to smoke a second execrable cigar, and to listen to the hotel-keeper in another room telling some of his friends how he had mistaken me for a camp-loafer owing to my patched clothes and the ragged remnants of my boots, and had, in consequence, led me to an outhouse, proposing to allow me to sleep there!

Best of all, perhaps, was the civilised dinner, despite the attentions of an intoxicated itinerant dentist, who kept on reiterating the same question, "Have you ever been to Nahuelhuapi?" the huapi ending in a wail—"w-a-a-a-pi." Bernardo had not turned up from the farm where we had left the horses, and a gentleman connected with the Government who was present, understanding that I wished to see him before sailing, offered to send a file of soldiers to look for him. Presently Bernardo arrived, and then we went away and lit our pipes for a last talk over it all.

Next morning on the wet shingle I said good-bye to him, and there he stood for a while as the boat shoved off and we rowed away. A wild figure was Master Bernardo, for he had not yet had time to clothe himself in the garments of civilisation. With his ragged blue jersey and his big boots of potro hide, surmounted by his pleasant bearded face, he watched us through the wind and the rain, and then he turned and walked away, passing out of sight among the sheds. He was going to Santa Cruz by the horse-track. Good luck to him, and may we meet again!

I went aboard, little guessing the pleasure that awaited me, for at the gangway-head I met Mr. Waag and Mr. Von Plaaten Hallermund, of the Boundary Commission, who were on their way down from Santa Cruz to Punta Arenas. Mr. Waag and I had just missed each other by a couple of hours on the pampa up country some months earlier. We were soon deep in talk about the Cordillera, and all that had happened to the three of us since we last met at the Hotel Phœnix in Buenos Aires. Mr. Waag had had a successful time about Lake Puerrydon, and Mr. Von Plaaten Hallermund at Lake San Martin. Meantime the Elena got in her anchor, and we were in the Magellan Straits by nightfall.

To turn for a moment to the personal point of view. I had landed in Patagonia with enthusiasm, and I left it not in the least damped or disheartened in that enthusiasm, but very much the opposite. I had learned many lessons of life, passed through many experiences, explored a small part of the earth's surface, and made some original observations with regard to the zoology of the country and other matters, but I am inclined to think that the most useful lesson to myself was one that sank deeper and deeper into my mind, I might say heart, with every day lived in these great solitudes—and that was the knowledge of my own ignorance. The long solitary days in the forests, on the pampas, and about the stormy fjords of the Cordillera brought me face to face with Nature. There are many voices in the silence of Nature. The stars above, the waters beneath, and the earth all spoke in a hundred tongues, and little enough of it all could I, with my lack of knowledge, interpret. "There are many kinds of voices in the world, and none of them is without signification," but so long as they spoke to me in unknown tongues how much was I the better? And there it was I learned the useful truth that, to be a traveller of any value, a man must also be an adequate interpreter.

A FEW WORDS ABOUT THE FUTURE OF PATAGONIA

It would be possible to write a very long chapter about the future of Patagonia. I do not, however, propose to do this, but to write what I have to say as briefly as possible.

To begin with, Patagonia can boast of a fine climate, for, though the winters are certainly hard, no endemic disease exists. The country is exceptionally healthy, nor are there any poisonous reptiles to endanger life on its far-reaching pampas. There are few parts of the earth of which so much can be said.

A large portion of the land is eminently suited for the support of sheep, as the enormous and prosperous sheep-farms to be found along the east and south coasts bear witness. Cattle and horse-breeding are also successfully carried on, and although a portion of the country is unsuited for agricultural purposes, it is equally certain that large expanses of ground of great fertility and rich promise are to be found here.

The tide of pastoral life from the thriving southern farms round and about Punta Arenas on the Straits of Magellan, and Gallegos on the Atlantic coast, is setting strongly north and west. The crying want of the country is capital to open up means of communication with the interior. At present there are no railways or other settled lines for the transport of produce, although I believe a steam-launch has lately been placed upon the River Santa Cruz. In consequence of this lack some farmers have to carry wool two hundred miles by bullock-cart to the coast; a few cover even a greater distance. To send wool two hundred miles in bullock-carts means at least three weeks of travel. To go and come from the farm to the coast would thus take up about two months of a farmer's time. Peones are necessary to look after the carts, and their wage is at least £5 a month and their keep. Then carts not infrequently break down upon the rough surfaces of the pampas and in the cañadones, hence more delay. Even when the port is reached difficulties have to be surmounted, for none of them, with the exception of Punta Arenas, are served by any steamship lines. This was so at the time of my being in Patagonia last year (1901). Government transports from Buenos Aires had the whole of the coast service of Argentine Patagonia in their hands, and these could boast of only very uncertain dates of departure and still more uncertain dates of arrival.

All these difficulties of transit do not make for prosperity. I understand that of late a German line has undertaken to call at some of the ports, and if they carry out their contract it should help events in Patagonia to get into the stride of success.

On the coast-farms, where ships could and did occasionally put in, especially in the wool season, money was made and men began to see fortune ahead. But far away in the interior, where a very few pioneers have made their homes beside a lake here and there, the wide and uninhabited pampas lie between the producer and his market. Until railways open up the land the position of these people cannot much improve. They are too heavily handicapped in the race.

It is almost impossible to tell what enormous numbers of sheep and cattle Patagonia could produce for the providing of the world if capital and enterprise would but pave the way. In the meantime the country remains the paradise of the middleman. At present there is little money in hand, much of the trade is carried on by barter, and on this system there is always an evil tendency towards profits accruing mostly to the storekeepers, who gradually become more or less masters of the situation. Many of the small farmers are deeply in debt to this class. A hard winter—and there are often very hard winters—fills the pocket of the storekeeper, for they advance provisions, without which no man can continue to live, and they, of course, thus secure mortgages on the farms.

This same unfortunate liability is observable in other countries where similar conditions obtain, but the opening up of the interior of Patagonia and the introduction of capital in the hands of employers of labour would probably lessen the pressure of hard times on the poorer farmers.

Beyond the pampas again tower the unnumbered peaks of the Cordillera, and among them all things, minerally speaking, are possible. Perhaps the future of Patagonia is to be found there. In a few years the Patagonian Andes may be as commonly known a seeking-place for fortune as Klondyke is to-day. But concerning this part of the subject I have nothing to say, being no prophet of El Dorados.

Although during our travels we had little time to spare for prospecting, or searching for the mineral wealth which may lie hidden in the Cordillera, yet there was one obvious source of riches that was always before our eyes in those regions.

The coast-towns of Patagonia are supplied with wood by sea from the woodlands of Tierra del Fuego, and this while many square miles about the bases of the Andes are covered with dense forests of magnificent growth. Here are to be found beech, cypress and redwood, not to speak of other trees, but the absolute absence of any means of conveying logs to the coast has so far left this store of wealth untouched. Until better means of transport can be developed, there are certainly one or two rivers which might be made use of in this connection.

I can only insist upon the fact that Patagonia is a great though at present undeveloped land; that it cries aloud to railway enterprise to become its salvation. Nevertheless, it is even now a good country for the man ready and able to work. A capable man will make £6 a month and his keep, but he must know the work required of him; a considerable time has to be spent in learning the skilled labour of camp life, and very hard labour that sometimes is. An emigrant does not consequently find it so easy to get employment. But, given vigorous health, an aptitude for hard work, and a small sum in hand to keep him going until he is broken in to the necessities of the life, and I know of few countries more favourable to the unmarried working man.

There is something further which I should like to suggest to intending emigrants of my own nation.

The greatest of British exports is, one might contend, Britishers.

The attitude of the young Britisher abroad towards the rest of the world in general is at once a source of great national strength and of serious national weakness.

First, as we know, he is a poor linguist, who prefers to go on speaking his own language, and, when not understood, attempting to enforce comprehension by the very simple expedient of shouting louder. The result of this uncompromising attitude, backed by a good national financial status, is that as the mountain will not go to Mahomet, Mahomet must needs come to the mountain, and the foreign Mahomet does come, wrestling his way through difficulties of pronunciation. By his attitude in this matter—an attitude dictated partly by a too common lack of the linguistic faculty and partly by a certain rooted conviction that a man who cannot speak English is a man of "lesser breed"—the Britisher has to a certain extent forced English upon a very unwilling world.

But whether this question of the one-language system is a loss or a gain to the country, it is very certain that there is another idiosyncrasy of the Englishman abroad which is an undoubted loss. Every country has its own ways and methods, not only peculiar to its inhabitants but adapted to their special needs. And here the brusque unadaptability of the Englishman becomes pitifully apparent.

He loses immensely by it. He will ride on his English saddle because he has been used to ride on it at home; he will wear his pigskin leggings for precisely the same reason.

You cannot teach him that he who walks in a noontide sun in latitudes near the equator is sometimes apt to contract a fever. Of course I refer chiefly to the "new chum," but we have an unfortunate gift of remaining new chums for an indefinite period.

Our young blood is very sure of himself, which is a first-rate national trait, and one to which as a nation we, no doubt, owe much. But it has its drawbacks. Thus, although he is physically excellent beyond his fellows, his death-rate is usually heavier, which in the nature of things it ought not to be.

But in cases where adhesion to the methods of the country to which he has migrated touches not himself but his goods and his work he needlessly—indeed, almost mischievously—handicaps himself. He takes pride in occupying a position of more or less splendid isolation.

The Britisher lacks adaptability. He lacks suavity. He often lacks common politeness. In fact, he is a good fellow when you know him, but you have got to know him first. An excellent reputation to possess, perhaps, apart from business, and when your position is assured. But in foreign countries, and in the case of dealing with strangers of other nations, who are very apt to like or dislike at first sight, its results are disastrous, for they rarely reconsider their first opinion.

The Continental races, on the other hand, aim at merging their individuality in that of their temporary hosts. Actuated by a sense of politeness or of self-interest—I do not know which—these peoples do not thrust forward the fact that they are aliens, but rather try to foster the idea that the land of their adoption is their own. But when the young Englishman comes along, his manner placards him with his nationality. He seems to say, "You fellows, I've got to live here, Fate orders it. But I am not of you. Apart from business, leave me alone."

He and his compatriots are sufficient unto themselves. And not infrequently also, though strangers in a strange land, they are a law unto themselves. Now this is all very well in its way, and we would not, I suppose, have it otherwise; yet, if the English youth abroad would modify their attitude towards the works of the alien, even while, if they so choose, preserving it towards the alien himself, they would rise to greater heights of success than they at present touch.

The fact is that the alien thinks the Englishman is a fool of a very notable kind, and in many cases he is right.

It is not in the excellence of their goods, or even in the cheapness of their tariff, that the Germans are forging ahead of us in trade. It is in their attitude towards those with whom they deal. They make an art of selling a yard of red flannel to an elderly negress. The negress feels the compliment, rather despises the complimenter, but likes it on the whole—and comes again.[32]

While the German studies the people who are to buy his goods in a spirit of subtlety, the Englishman makes up his mind without considering anybody save himself and his own ideas. In the days before competition assumed its present proportions this was all very well, perhaps; or at least it was not the commercial suicide that it certainly is to-day.

From the standpoint of the employer, the Englishman does not know his work. He has no money. He must, therefore, earn something. He expects to be allowed to earn and learn at one and the same time, which is an absurd notion.

The cause of all this is the same as that which sends out first-rate goods but to the wrong market.

The fact is, we do not study our markets seriously either for mercantile or for human exports.

If the South Sea Islanders want red cloth we send them yellow, and if in Patagonia there is an opening for men who are decent practical blacksmiths, we send them a stream of youths who have never fullered a shoe, but who are well up in the rudiments of Greek.

APPENDIX A

The expedition sent out to Patagonia under my charge by Mr. C. Arthur Pearson owed its origin to the discoveries made in that country by Dr. F. P. Moreno of certain remains of an animal, the Pampean Mylodon or Giant Ground Sloth, long believed to belong to the category of extinct prehistoric mammals. The marvellous state of preservation of the remains found at Last Hope Inlet seemed to give some ground for the supposition that the animal might possibly have survived to a recent period. Professor Ray Lankester, the Director of the British Museum of Natural History, in commenting upon the chance of the Mylodon being still alive in some remote and unknown region of Patagonia, said: "It is quite possible—I don't want to say more than that—that he still exists in some of the mountainous regions of Patagonia." These words from such an authority carried weight, and the question assumed an importance that made it worth all practicable examination. I have in the following pages put the whole case as clearly and as definitely as lies in my power.

To begin with, I give the story of Dr. Moreno's discovery as he himself told it to the Zoological Society, and the description of the remains by Dr. A. Smith Woodward, LL.D., F.R.S.

I. Account of the Discovery. By Dr. Moreno.

In November 1897 I paid a visit to that part of the Patagonian territory which adjoins the Cordillera of the Andes, between the 51st and 52nd degrees of South latitude, where certain surveyors, under my direction, were carrying out the preliminary studies connected with the boundary-line between Chile and Argentina; and in the course of this expedition I reached Consuelo Cove, which lies in Last Hope Inlet. In that spot, hung up on a tree, I found a piece of a dried skin, which attracted my attention most strangely, as I could not determine to what class of Mammalia it could belong, more especially because of the resemblance of the small incrusted bones it contained to those of the Pampean Mylodon. On inquiring whence it came, I was informed that it was only a fragment of a large piece of skin which had been discovered two years before, by some Argentine officers, in a cavern which existed in the neighbouring heights. Immediately on receiving this news, I hastened to the spot, guided by a sailor who had been present when the original discovery had been made. As, at that moment, I had no means of making more than a few hurried excavations, which gave no further traces of the discovery, I left orders that the search should be continued after my departure; but this once more also failed to give any ultimate results. Nothing could be found but modern remains of small rodents, and these chiefly on or near the surface of the ground. From the most careful inquiries which I set on foot, it appeared that, when the first discovery was made, no bones were found, the skin being half buried in the dust which had accumulated from the gradual falling away of the roof of the cavern, composed of Tertiary Conglomerate. It was only in the broad entrance to the cavern that were found a few human bones, borne thence to the shore of the Cove and afterwards broken up.

As already stated, the skin here presented to you formed but a small part of a larger one. One small piece had been carried off by Dr. Otto Nordenskjöld, and others by officers of the Chilian Navy, who later on had visited the spot. The inhabitants of the locality looked upon it as an interesting curiosity, some of them believing that it was the hide of a cow incrusted with pebbles, and others asserting that it was the skin of a large Seal belonging to a hitherto unknown species.

In Consuelo Cove, I embarked on board a small Argentine transport, which had been placed at my disposal to carry out the study of the western coast as far as Port Montt, in lat. 42°. At this latter place I left the steamer, which then proceeded to make a series of surveys. These lasted until her return to La Plata, at the latter end of July 1898, when she brought back to me the fragment of skin in question.

This is an accurate and true version of the discovery of this skin, which gave rise to the publication of Señor Ameghino's small pamphlet,[33] in which he gave an account of the discovery of a living representative of the "Gravigrades" of Argentina, distinguishing it by the name of "Neomylodon listai".

I have an idea that Señor Ameghino never saw the skin itself, but only some of the small incrusted bones, of which he had obtained possession. The vague form in which he draws up his account compels me to believe this suspicion to be true.

My opinion is that this skin belongs to a genuine Pampean Mylodon, preserved under peculiar circumstances resembling those to which we owe the skin and feathers of the Moa. I have always maintained that the Pampean Edentates, now extinct, disappeared only in the epoch which is called the "historical epoch" of our America. In the province of Buenos Aires, buried chiefly in the humus, I have found remains of Panochthus, and others of the same Mylodon from the seashore, all of which present the same characteristic marks of preservation as the remains of human beings discovered in the same spot. In this identical layer of the sea-shore, close to the bones I have also found stones polished by the hand of man, and flints cut like those found in the Pampean formation. In 1884, in a cavern near to the Rio de los Patos, in the Cordillera, I discovered some paintings in red ochre, one of which, in my opinion, resembles the Glyptodon on account of the shape of the carapace.

Ancient chroniclers inform us that the indigenous inhabitants recorded the existence of a strange, ugly, huge hairy animal which had its abode in the Cordillera to the south of lat. 37°. The Tehuelches and the Gennakens have mentioned similar animals to me, of whose existence their ancestors had transmitted the remembrance; and in the neighbourhood of the Rio Negro, the aged cacique Sinchel, in 1875, pointed out to me a cave, the supposed lair of one of these monsters, called "Ellengassen"; but I must add that none of the many Indians with whom I have conversed in Patagonia have ever referred to the actual existence of animals to which we can attribute the skin in question, nor even of any which answer to the suppositions of Señor Ameghino according to Señor Lista. It is but rarely that a few Otters (Lutra) are found in the lakes and rivers of the Andes, as in the neighbourhood of Lake Argentino, in the "Sierra de las Viscachas," and in the regions which I believe Señor Lista visited, there are only a few scarce Chinchillas (Lagidium), which have a colouring more dark greyish than those found to the north, and are in every case separated from these by a large extent of country.

The Pampean Edentata have in former days certainly existed as far south as the extreme limit of Patagonia. In 1874, in the bay of Santa Cruz, I met with the remains of a pelvis of one of these animals in Pleistocene deposits, and also remains of the mammals which are found in the same formation, such as the Macrauchenia and Auchenia. It would not be astonishing that the skin of one of these should have been preserved so long, because of the favourable conditions of the spot in which it was found.

The state of preservation of this piece of skin, at first sight, makes it difficult for one to believe it to be of great antiquity; but this is by no means an impossibility, if we consider the conditions of the cave in which it was found, the atmosphere of which is not so damp as one might at first imagine it to be, although it is situated in the woody regions near to the glaciers and lakes. It is well to mention that in 1877, under similar conditions, and in a much smaller cave, scarcely five metres from the waters of Lake Argentino, situated sixty miles more to the north, I discovered a mummified human body painted red, with the head still covered in part with its short hair wonderfully preserved, and wrapped up in a covering made of the skin of a Rhea, and holding in its arms a large feather of the Condor, also painted red; this was all covered up with a layer of grass and dust fallen from the roof of the cave. In another cave in the neighbourhood I discovered a large trunk of a tree, painted with figures in red, black, and yellow. The sides of the rock close to the entrance of the cave were covered with figures, some representing the human hand, others combinations of curved, straight, and circular lines, painted white, red, yellow, and green. Now, this mummy, which is preserved in the Museum of La Plata, does not belong to any of the actual tribes of Patagonia. Its skull resembles rather one of those more ancient races found in the cemeteries in the valley of the Rio Negro—a most interesting fact, since they belong to types which have completely disappeared from the Patagonian regions, and it is well known that the actual Tehuelches may be considered to have been the last indigenous races which reached the territory of Patagonia. Many a time the Tehuelches have spoken to me of these caves as abodes of the evil "spirits," and of the enigmatical painted figures they contained: some attributed the latter to these same "spirits," others to men of other races, of whom they have no recollection. In another cave, four hundred miles farther to the north, in 1880, I discovered other human bodies, more or less mummified and in good preservation, but of a different type, and beside them some painted poles which served to hold up their small tents, the use of which had already disappeared more than three centuries ago; together with the upper part of the skull of a child perfectly scooped out like a cup. And yet the historical Tehuelches, the same as all the indigenous races in the southern extremity of South America, hold their dead in great respect, and never use such drinking-vessels.

These proofs of the favourable conditions of the climate and of the lands near to the Cordillera, which are revealed to us by the preservation of objects undoubtedly dating from very remote epochs, strengthen my opinion that this skin of a huge mammal, which has long since disappeared, may well have been preserved till the present time.

I may add that a further careful search is now being made in the earth forming the floor of the cave, and I hope in due time to have the honour of communicating the results to this Society.

II. Description and Comparison of the Specimen.
By A. Smith Woodward.

(a) Description.

The problematical piece of skin discovered by Dr. Moreno measures approximately 0.48 m. in the direction of the main lie of the hair, while its maximum extent at right angles to this direction is about 0.55 m. The fragment, however, is very irregular in shape; and it has become much distorted in the process of drying, so that the anterior portion, which is directed upwards in the drawing, is bent outwards at a considerable angle to the main part of the specimen which will be claimed to represent the back. The skin, as observed in transverse section, presents a dried, felt-like aspect; but there is a frequent ruddiness, suggestive of blood-stains, while the margin exhibits distinct indications of freshly dried once-fluid matter, which Dr. Vaughan Harley has kindly examined and pronounced to be serum. Its outer face is completely covered with hair, except in the region marked C and above B, where this covering seems to have been comparatively fine and may have been accidentally removed. The inner face of the skin is only intact in a few places, the specimen having contracted and perhaps been somewhat abraded, so that a remarkable armour of small bony tubercles, irregularly arranged and of variable size, is exposed over the greater part of it. At one point there is an irregular rounded hole about 0.02 m. in diameter, which might possibly have been caused by a bullet or a dagger, but in any case was probably pierced when the skin was still fresh. Owing to its direction, this hole is partly obscured by the overhanging hair.

The skin in its dried state varies in thickness in different parts. The average thickness of the flattened portion, which must be referred to the back, is shown by the cleanly-cut right margin of the specimen to be 0.01 m. This is slightly increased towards the posterior (lower) end of the border, while above it the thickness becomes 0.015 m. The latter thickness also seems to be attained in the much-shrivelled corner marked C—a circumstance suggesting bilateral symmetry between at least part of the two anterior outer angles of the specimen. The thinnest portion preserved is the border above B; and the skin must also have been comparatively thin in the region of the accidental notch to the left, considerably below C.

The portion of skin above B is interesting not only from its relative thinness, but also from the occurrence of an apparently natural rounded concavity in the margin. This excavation, which measures 0.05 m. along the curve, is marked by the remains of a thin flexible flap, which is sharply bent outwards, and is covered with short hairs on its outer face. It is especially suggestive of the base of an ear-conch; and if this appearance be not deceptive, it is worthy of note that the dried skin hereabouts and in the region which would have to be interpreted as cheek (C) is much more wrinkled than elsewhere.