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Chapter Eighteen.
The Fuegian Dwarfs
The great continent of South America, tapering like a tongue to the southward, ends abruptly on the Straits of Magellan. These straits may be regarded as a sort of natural canal, connecting the Atlantic with the Pacific Ocean, winding between high rocky shores, and indented with numerous bays and inlets. Though the water is of great depth, the Straits themselves are so narrow that a ship passing through need never lose sight of land on either side; and in many places a shell, projected from an ordinary howitzer, would pitch clear across them from shore to shore! The country extending northward from these straits is, as already seen, called Patagonia; that which lies on their southern side is the famed “land of fire,” Tierra del Fuego.
The canal, or channel, of the Straits of Magellan does not run in a direct line from the Atlantic to the Pacific. On the contrary, a ship entering from the former, instead of passing due west, must first run in a south-west direction, – rather more south than west. This course will continue, until the ship is about halfway between the two oceans. She will then head almost at a right angle to her former course; and keep this direction – which is nearly due north-west – until she emerges into the Pacific.
It will thus be seen, that the Straits form an angle near their middle; and the point of land which projects into the vertex of this angle, and known to navigators as Cape Forward, is the most southern land of the American continent. Of course this is not meant to apply to the most southern point of American land, – since Tierra del Fuego must be considered as part of South America. The far-famed “Cape Horn” is the part of America nearest to the South Pole; and this is a promontory on one of the small elevated islands lying off the southern coast of Tierra del Fuego itself. Tierra del Fuego was for a long time regarded as a single island; though, even in the voyage of Magellan, several large inlets, that resembled channels, were observed running into the land; and it was suspected by that navigator, that these inlets might be passages leading through to the ocean. Later surveys have proved that the conjectures of the Spano-Portuguese voyager were well founded; and it is now known that instead of a single island, the country called Tierra del Fuego is a congeries of many islands, of different shapes and sizes, – separated from one another by deep and narrow channels, or arms of the sea, with an endless ramification of sounds and inlets. In the western part – and occupying more than three fourths of their whole territory – these close-lying islands are nothing else than mountains, – several of them rising five thousand feet above the level of the water; and stepping directly down to it, without any foothills intervening! Some of them have their lower declivities covered with sombre forests; while, farther up, nothing appears but the bare brown rocks, varied with blue glaciers, or mottled with masses of snow. The more elevated peaks are covered with snow that never melts; since their summits rise considerably above the snow-line of this cold region.
These mountain islands of Tierra del Fuego continue on to Cape Horn, and eastward to the Straits of Le Maire, and the bleak islet of Staaten Land. They may, in fact, be considered as the continuation of the great chain of the Andes, if we regard the intersecting channels – including that of Magellan itself – as mere clefts or ravines, the bottoms of which, lying below the level of the sea, have been filled with sea-water. Indeed, we may rationally take this view of the case: since these channels bear a very great resemblance to the stupendous ravines termed “barrancas” and “quebradas,” which intersect the Cordilleras of the Andes in other parts of South America, – as also in the northern division of the American continent.
Regarding the Straits of Magellan, then, and the other channels of Tierra del Fuego, as great water-barrancas, we may consider the Andes as terminating at Cape Horn itself, or rather at Staaten Land: since that island is a still more distant extension of this, the longest chain of mountains on the globe.
Another point may be here adduced, in proof of the rationality of this theory. The western, or mountainous part of Tierra del Fuego bears a strong resemblance to the western section of the continent, – that is, the part occupied by the Andes. For a considerable distance to the north of the Magellan Straits, nearly one half of the continental land is of a mountainous character. It is also indented by numerous sounds and inlets, resembling those of Tierra del Fuego; while the mountains that hang over these deep-water ravines are either timbered, or bare of trees and snow-covered, exhibiting glacier valleys, like those farther south. The whole physical character is similar; and, what is a still more singular fact, we find that in the western, or mountainous part of Patagonia, there are no true Patagonians; but that there, the water-Indians, or Fuegians, frequent the creeks and inlets.
Again, upon the east, – or rather north-east of Tierra del Fuego, – that angular division of it, which lies to the north of the Sebastian channel presents us with physical features that correspond more nearly with those of the plains of Patagonia; and upon this part we find tribes of Indians that beyond doubt are true Patagonians, – and not Fuegians, as they have been described. This will account for the fact that some navigators have seen people on the Fuegian side that were large-bodied men, clothed in guanaco skins, and exhibiting none of those wretched traits which characterise the Fuegians; while, on the other hand, miserable, stunted men are known to occupy the mountainous western part of Patagonia. It amounts to this, – that the Patagonians have crossed the Straits of Magellan; and it is this people, and not Fuegians, who are usually seen upon the champaign lands north of the Sebastian channel. Even the guanaco has crossed at the same place, – for this quadruped, as well as a species of deer, is found in the eastern division of Tierra del Fuego. Perhaps it was the camel-sheep – which appears to be almost a necessity of the Patagonian’s existence – that first induced these water-hating giants to make so extensive a voyage as that of crossing the Straits at Cape Orange!
At Cape Orange the channel is so narrow, one might fancy that the Patagonians, if they possessed one half the pedestrian stretch attributed to the giants of old, might have stepped from shore to shore without wetting their great feet!
Perhaps there are no two people on earth, living so near each other as the Patagonians and Fuegians, who are more unlike. Except in the colour of the skin and hair, there is hardly a point of resemblance between them. The former seems to hate the sea: at all events he never goes out upon, nor even approaches its shore, except in pursuit of such game as may wander that way. He neither dwells near, nor does he draw any portion of his subsistence from the waters of the great deep, – fish constituting no part of his food.
All this is directly the reverse with the Fuegian. The beach is the situation he chooses for his dwelling-place, and the sea or its shore is his proper element. He is more than half his time, either on it, or in it, – on it in his canoe, and in it, while wading among the tidal shoals in search of fish, mussels, and limpets, which constitute very nearly the whole of his subsistence.
It is very curious, therefore, while noting the difference between these two tribes of Indians, to observe how each confines its range to that part of the Magellanic land that appears best adapted to their own peculiar habits, – those of the Patagonian being altogether terrestrial, while those of the Fuegian are essentially aquatic.
We have stated elsewhere the limits of the Patagonian territory; and shown that, ethnologically speaking they do not occupy the whole northern shore of the Magellan Straits, but only the eastern half of it. Westward towards the Pacific the aspect of the land, on both sides of this famous channel, may be regarded as of the same character, though altogether different from that which is seen at the entrance, or eastern end.
West of Cape Negro on one side, and the Sebastian passage on the other, bleak mountain summits, with narrow wooded valleys intervening, become the characteristic features. There we behold an incongruous labyrinth of peaks and ridges, of singular and fantastic forms, – many of them reaching above the limits of perpetual snow, – which, in this cold climate descends to the height of four thousand feet. We have seen that these mountains are separated from each other, – not by plains, nor even valleys, in the ordinary understanding of the term; but by ravines, the steep sides of which are covered with sombre forests up to a height of one thousand five hundred feet above the level of the sea: at which point vegetation terminates with a uniformity as exact as that of the snow-line itself! These forests grow out of a wet, peaty soil, – in many places impassable on account of its boggy nature; and of this character is almost the whole surface of the different islands. The trees composing the forests are few in species, – those of the greatest size and numbers being the “winter’s bark” (drymys), of the order magnoliacae, a birch, and, more abundantly, a species of beech-tree, the fagus betuloides. These last-named trees are many of them of great size; and might almost be called evergreens: since they retain part of their foliage throughout the whole year; but it would be more appropriate to style them ever-yellows: since at no period do they exhibit a verdure, anything like the forests of other countries. They are always clad in the same sombre livery of dull yellow, rendering the mountain landscape around them, if possible, more dreary and desolate.
The forests of Tierra del Fuego are essentially worthless forests; their timber offering but a limited contribution to the necessities of man, and producing scarce any food for his subsistence.
Many of the ravines are so deep as to end, as already stated, in becoming arms or inlets of the sea; while others again are filled up with stupendous glaciers, that appear like cataracts suddenly arrested in their fall, by being frozen into solid ice! Most of these inlets are of great depth, – so deep that the largest ship may plough through them with safety. They intersect the islands in every direction, – cutting them up into numerous peninsulas of the most fantastic forms; while some of the channels are narrow sounds, and stretch across the land of Tierra del Fuego from ocean to ocean.
The “Land of Fire” is therefore not an island, – as it was long regarded, – but rather a collection of islands, terminated by precipitous cliffs that frown within gunshot of each other. Ofttimes vast masses of rock, or still larger masses of glacier ice, fall from these cliffs into the profound abysses of the inlets below; the concussion, as they strike the water, reverberating to the distance of miles; while the water itself, stirred to its lowest depths, rises in grand surging waves, that often engulf the canoe of the unwary savage.
“Tierra del Fuego” is simply the Spanish phrase for “Land of Fire.” It was so called by Magellan on account of the numerous fires seen at night upon its shores, – while he and his people were passing through the Straits. These were signal fires, kindled by the natives, – no doubt to telegraph to one another the arrival of those strange leviathans, the Spanish ships, then seen by them for the first time.
The name is inappropriate. A more fit appellation would be the “land of water;” for, certainly, in no part of the earth is water more abundant: both rain and snow supplying it almost continually. Water is the very plague of the island; it lies stagnant or runs everywhere, – forming swamps, wherever there is a spot of level ground, and rendering even the declivities of the mountains as spongy as a peat-bog.
The climate throughout the whole year is excessively cold; for, though the winter is perhaps not more rigorous than in the same latitude of a northern land, yet the summer is almost as severe as the winter; and it would be a misnomer to call it summer at all. Snow falls throughout the whole year; and even in the midsummer of Tierra del Fuego men have actually perished from cold, at no great elevation above the level of the sea!
Under these circumstances, it would scarce be expected that Tierra del Fuego should be inhabited, – either by men or animals of any kind; but no country has yet been reached, too cold for the existence of both. No part of the earth seems to have been created in vain; and both men and beasts are found dwelling under the chill skies of Tierra del Fuego.
The land-animals, as well as the birds, are few in species, as in numbers. The guanaco is found upon the islands; but whether indigenous, or carried across from the Patagonian shore, can never be determined: since it was an inhabitant of the islands long anterior to the arrival of Magellan. It frequents only the eastern side of the cluster, – where the ground is firmer, and a few level spots appear that might be termed plains or meadows. A species of deer inhabits the same districts; and besides these, there are two kinds of fox-wolves (canis Magellanicus and canis Azarae), three or four kinds of mice, and a species of bat.
Of water-mammalia there is a greater abundance: these comprising the whale, seals, sea-lions, and the sea-otter.
But few birds have been observed; only the white-tufted flycatcher, a large black woodpecker with scarlet crest, a creeper, a wren, a thrush, a starling, hawks, owls, and four or five kinds of finches.
The water-birds, like the water-mammalia, muster in greater numbers. Of these there are ducks of various kinds, sea-divers, and penguins, the albatross, and sheer-water, and, more beautiful than all, the “painted” or “Magellan goose.”
Reptiles do not exist, and insects are exceedingly rare. A few flies and butterflies are seen; but the mosquito – the plague of other parts of South America – does not venture into the cold, humid atmosphere of the Land of Fire.
We now arrive at the human inhabitants of this desolate region.
As might be expected, these exhibit no very high condition of either physical or mental development, but the contrary. The character of their civilisation is in complete correspondence with that of their dreary dwelling-place, – at the very bottom of the scale. Yes, at the very bottom, according to most ethnologists; even lower down than that of the Digger Indian, the Andaman islander, the Bushman of Africa, or the Esquimaux of the Arctic Ocean: in fact, any comparison of a Fuegian with the last-mentioned would be ridiculous, as regards either their moral or physical condition. Below the Esquimaux, the Fuegian certainly is, and by many a long degree.
In height, the tallest Fuegian stands about five feet, – not in his boots, for he wears none; but on his naked soles. His wife is just six inches shorter than himself – a difference which is not a bad proportion between the sexes, but in other respects they are much alike. Both have small, misshapen limbs, with large knee-caps, and but little calf; both have long masses of coarse tangled hair, hanging like bunches of black snakes over their shoulders; and both are as naked as the hour in which they were born, – unless we call that a dress, – that bit of stinking sealskin which is slung at the back, and covers about a fifth part of the whole body! Hairy side turned inward, it extends only from the nape of the neck to a few inches below the hollow of the back; and is fastened in front by means of a thong or skewer passing over the breast. It is rarely so ample as to admit of being “skewered;” and with this scanty covering, in rain and snow, frost and blow, – some one of which is continuously going on, – the shivering wretch is contented. Nay, more; if there should happen an interval of mild weather, or the wearer be at work in paddling his canoe, he flings this unique garment aside, as if its warmth were an incumbrance! When the weather is particularly cold, he shifts the sealskin to that side of his body which may chance to be exposed to the blast!
The Fuegian wears neither hat, nor shirt, waistcoat, nor breeches, – no shoes, no stockings, – nothing intended for clothing but the bit of stinking skin. His vanity, however, is exhibited, not in his dress, to some extent in his adornments. Like all savages and many civilised people, he paints certain portions of his person; and his “escutcheon” is peculiar. It would be difficult to detail its complicated labyrinth of “crossings” and “quarterings.” We shall content ourselves by stating that black lines and blotches upon a white ground constitute its chief characteristic. Red, too, is sometimes seen, of a dark or “bricky” colour. The black is simply charcoal; while the white-ground coat is obtained from a species of infusorial clay, which he finds at the bottom of the peaty streams, that pour down the ravines of the mountains. As additional ornaments, he wears strings of fish-teeth, or pieces of bone, about his wrists and ankles. His wife carries the same upon her neck; and both, when they can procure it, tie a plain band around the head, of a reddish-brown colour, – the material of which is the long hair of the guanaco. The “cloak,” already described, is sometimes of sea-otter instead of sealskin; and on some of the islands, where the deer dwells, the hide of that animal affords a more ample covering. In most cases, however, the size of the garment is that of a pocket handkerchief; and affords about as much protection against the weather as a kerchief would.
Though the Fuegian has abundance of hair upon his head, there is none, or almost none on any part of his body. He is beardless and whiskerless as an Esquimaux; though his features, – without the adornment of hair, – are sufficiently fierce in their expression.
He not only looks ferocious, but in reality is so, – deformed in mind, as he is hideous in person. He is not only ungrateful for kindness done, but unwilling to remember it; and he is cruel and vindictive in the extreme. Beyond a doubt he is a cannibal; not habitually perhaps, but in times of scarcity and famine, – a true cannibal, for he does not confine himself to eating his enemies, but his friends if need be, – and especially the old women of his tribe, who fall the first victims, in those crises produced by the terrible requirements of an impending starvation. Unfortunately the fact is too well authenticated to admit of either doubt or denial; and, even while we write, the account of a massacre of a ship’s crew by these hostile savages is going the rounds of the press, – that ship, too, a missionary vessel, that had landed on their shores with the humane object of ameliorating their condition.
Of course such unnatural food is only partaken of at long and rare intervals, – by many communities never, – and there is no proof that the wretched Fuegian has acquired an appetite for it: like the Feegee and some other savage tribes. It is to be hoped that he indulges in the horrid habit, only when forced to it by the necessities of extreme hunger.
His ordinary subsistence is shell-fish; though he eats also the flesh of the seal and sea-otter; of birds, especially the penguin and Magellanic goose, when he can capture them. His stomach will not “turn” at the blubber of a whale, – when by good chance one of these leviathans gets stranded on his coast, – even though the great carcass be far gone in the stages of decomposition! The only vegetable diet in which he indulges is the berry of a shrub – a species of arbutus – which grows abundantly on the peaty soil; and a fungus of a very curious kind, that is produced upon the trunks of the beech-tree. This fungus is of a globular form, and pale-yellow colour. When young, it is elastic and turgid, with a smooth surface; but as it matures it becomes shrunken, grows tougher in its texture, and presents the pitted appearance of a honeycomb. When fully ripe, the Fuegians collect it in large quantities, eating it without cooking or other preparation. It is tough between the teeth; but soon changes into pulp, with a sweetish taste and flavour, – somewhat resembling that of our common mushroom.
These two vegetables – a berry and a cryptogamic plant – are almost the only ones eaten by the natives of Tierra del Fuego. There are others upon the island that might enable them to eke out their miserable existence: there are two especially sought after by such Europeans as visit this dreary land, – the “wild celery” (opium antarcticum), and the “scurvy grass” (cardamine antiscorbutica); but for these the Fuegian cares not. He even knows not their uses.
In speaking of other “odd people,” I have usually described the mode of building their house; but about the house of the Fuegian I have almost “no story to tell.” It would be idle to call that a house, which far more resembles the lair of a wild beast; and is, in reality, little better than the den made by the orang-outang in the forests of Borneo. Such as it is, however, I shall describe it.
Having procured a number of long saplings or branches, – not always straight ones, – the Fuegian sharpens them at one end by means of his mussel-shell knife; and then sticking the sharpened ends into the ground in a kind of circle, he brings the tops all together, and ties them in a bunch, – so as to form a rude hemispherical frame. Upon this he lays some smaller branches; and over these a few armfuls of long coarse grass, and the house is “built”. One side – that to leeward of the prevailing wind – is left open, to allow for an entrance and the escape of smoke. As this opening is usually about an eighth part of the whole circumference, the house is, in reality, nothing more than a shed or lair. Its furniture does not contradict the idea; but, on the contrary, only strengthens the comparison. There is no table, no chair, no bedstead: a “shake-down” of damp grass answers for all. There are no implements or utensils, – if we except a rude basket used for holding the arbutus berries, and a sealskin bag, in which the shell-fish are collected. A bladder, filled with water, hangs upon some forking stuck against the side: in the top of this bladder is a hole, from which each member of the family takes a “suck,” when thirst inclines them to drink!
The “tools” observable are a bow and arrow, the latter headed with flint; a fish spear with a forked point, made from a bone of the sea-lion; a short stick, – a woman’s implement for knocking the limpets from the rocks; and some knives, the blades of which are sharpened shells of the mussel, – a very large species of which is found along the coast. These knives are simply manufactured. The brittle edge of the shell – which is five or six inches in length – is first chipped off, and a new edge formed by grinding the shell upon the rocks. When thus prepared, it will cut not only the hardest wood, but even the bones of fish; and serves the Fuegian for all purposes.
Outside the hut, you may see the canoe, – near at hand too, – for the shieling of the Fuegian universally stands upon the beach. He never dwells in the interior of his island; and but rarely roams there, – the women only making such excursions as are necessary to procure the berry and the mushroom. The woods have no charms for him, except to afford him a little fuel; they are difficult to be traversed on account of the miry soil out of which the trees grow; and, otherwise, there is absolutely nothing to be found amidst their gloomy depths, that would in any way contribute to his comfort or sustenance. He is therefore essentially a dweller on the shore; and even there he is not free to come and go as he might choose. From the bold character of his coast, there are here and there long reaches, where the beach cannot be followed by land, – places where the water’s edge can only be reached, and the shell-fish collected, by means of some sort of navigable craft. For this purpose the Fuegian requires a canoe; and the necessity of his life makes him a waterman. His skill, however, both in the construction of his craft, and the management of it, is of a very inferior order, – infinitely inferior to that exhibited either by the Esquimaux or the Water-Indians of the North.
His canoe is usually made of the bark of a tree, – the birch already mentioned. Sometimes it is so rudely shaped, as to be merely a large piece of bark shelled from a single trunk, closed at each end, and tied tightly with thong of sealskin. A few cross-sticks prevent the sides from pressing inward; while as many stays of thong keep them from “bulging” in the contrary direction. If there are cracks in the bark, these are caulked with rushes and a species of resin, which the woods furnish.
With this rude vessel the Fuegian ventures forth, upon the numerous straits and inlets that intersect his land; but he rarely trusts himself to a tempestuous sea.
If rich or industrious, he sometimes becomes the possessor of a craft superior to this. It is also a bark canoe, but not made of a single “flitch.” On the contrary, there are many choice pieces used in its construction: for it is fifteen feet in length and three in width amidships. Its “build” also is better, – with a high prow and stern, and cross-pieces regularly set and secured at the ends. The pieces of bark are united by a stitching of thongs; and the seams carefully caulked so that no water can enter. In this vessel, the Fuegian may embark with his whole family, – and his whole furniture to boot, – and voyage to any part of his coast. And this in reality he does; for the “shanty” above described, is to him only a temporary home. The necessities of his life require him to be continually changing it; and a “removal,” with the building of a new domicile, is a circumstance of frequent recurrence.
Not unfrequently, in removing from one part of the coast to another, he finds it safer making a land journey, to avoid the dangers of the deep. In times of high wind, it is necessary for him to adopt this course, – else his frail bark might be dashed against the rocks and riven to pieces. In the land journey he carries the canoe along with him; and in order to do this with convenience, he has so contrived it, that the planks composing the little vessel can be taken apart, and put together again without much difficulty, – the seams only requiring to be freshly caulked. In the transport across land, each member of the family carries a part of the canoe: the stronger individuals taking the heavier pieces, – as the side and bottom planks, – while the ribs and light beams are borne by the younger and weaker.
The necessity of removal arises from a very natural cause. A few days spent at a particular place, – on a creek or bay, – even though the community be a small one, soon exhausts the chief store of food, – the mussel-bank upon the beach, – and, of course, another must be sought for. This may lie at some distance; perhaps can only be reached by a tedious, and sometimes perilous water-journey; and under these circumstances the Fuegian deems it less trouble to carry the mountain to Mahomet, than carry Mahomet so often to the mountain. The transporting his whole ménage, is just as easy as bringing home a load of limpets; and as to the building of a new house, that is a mere bagatelle, which takes little labour, and no more time than the erection of a tent. Some Fuegians actually possess a tent, covered with the skins of animals; but this a rare and exceptional advantage; and the tent itself of the rudest kind. The Fuegian has his own mode of procuring fire. He is provided with a piece of “mundic,” or iron pyrites, which he finds high up upon the sides of his mountains. This struck by a pebble will produce sparks. These he catches upon a tinder of moss, or the “punk” of a dead tree, which he knows how to prepare. The tinder once ignited, is placed within a roundish ball of dry grass; and, this being waved about in circles, sets the grass in a blaze. It is then only necessary to communicate the flame to a bundle of sticks; and the work is complete. The process, though easy enough in a climate where “punk” is plenty, and dry grass and sticks can be readily procured, is nevertheless difficult enough in the humid atmosphere of Tierra del Fuego, – where moss is like a wet sponge, and grass, sticks, and logs, can hardly be found dry enough to burn. Well knowing this, the Fuegian is habitually careful of his fire: scarce ever permitting it to go out; and even while travelling in his canoe, in search of a “new home,” side by side with his other “penates” he carries the fire along with him.
Notwithstanding the abundance of fuel with which his country provides him, he seems never to be thoroughly warm. Having no close walls to surround him, and no clothing to cover his body, he suffers almost incessantly from cold. Wherever met, he presents himself with a shivering aspect, like one undergoing a severe fit of the ague!
The Fuegians live in small communities, which scarce deserve the name of “tribes,” since they have no political leader, nor chief of any description. The conjuror – and they have him – is the only individual that differs in any degree from the other members of the community; but his power is very slight and limited; nor does it extend to the exercise of any physical force. Religion they have none, – at least, none more sacred or sanctified than a vague belief in devils and other evil spirits.
Although without leaders, they are far from being a peaceful people. The various communities often quarrel and wage cruel and vindictive war against one another; and were it not that the boundaries of each association are well-defined, by deep ravines and inlets of the sea, as well as by the impassable barriers of snow-covered mountains, these warlike dwarfs would thin one another’s numbers to a far greater extent than they now do, – perhaps to a mutual extermination. Fortunately the peculiar nature of their country hinders them from coming very often within fighting distance.
