Description of the Strait.—Western Entrance.—Point Dungeness.—The Narrows.—Saint Philip’s Bay.—Cape Froward.—Grand Scenery.—Port Famine.—The Sedger River.—Darwin’s Ascent of Mount Tarn.—The Bachelor River.—English Reach.—Sea Reach.—South Desolation.—Harbor of Mercy.—Williwaws.—Discovery of the Strait by Magellan (October 20, 1521).—Drake.—Sarmiento.—Cavendish.—Schouten and Le Maire.—Byron.—Bougainville.—Wallis and Carteret.—King and Fitzroy.—Settlement at Punta Arenas.—Increasing Passage through the Strait.—A future Highway of Commerce.
The celebrated strait which bears the name of Magellan is generally pictured as the scene of a wild and dreary desolation; but though its climate is far from being genial, and its skies are often veiled with mists and rain, yet nature can smile even here.
A glance at the map shows us the extreme irregularity of its formation, as it is constantly changing in width and direction; now swelling almost to the magnitude of a Mediterranean Sea, and then again contracting to a narrow passage; sometimes taking a rapid turn to the north, and at others as suddenly deviating to the south. Islands and islets of every form—some mere naked rocks, others clothed with umbrageous woods—are scattered over its surface; promontories without number, from the Patagonian mainland or the Fuegian archipelago, protrude their bold fronts into its bosom, as if with the intention409 of closing it altogether; and countless bays and havens are scooped into its rocky shores, as if the sea in a thousand different places had striven to open a new passage to her waters.
The western entrance of this remarkable strait is formed by Queen Catherine’s Foreland (Cape Virgins) and Point Dungeness, the latter having been thus named from its resemblance to the well-known Kentish promontory at the eastern mouth of the channel. Although it rises at most nine feet above low-water mark, the snow-white breakers which the tides are constantly dashing over its sides render it visible from a great distance. It is generally the resort of a number of sea-lions. When the wind comes blowing from the north-east, the passing mariner—who, from the shallow nature of the shore, is obliged to keep at some distance from the Ness—hears their hoarse bellowing, which harmonizes well with the wild and desolate character of the scene. Albatrosses and petrels hover about them, while rows of grave-looking penguins seem to contemplate their doings with philosophic indifference.
Beyond these promontories the strait widens into Possession Bay, which at Punta Delgada and Cape Orange contracts to a narrow passage. This leads into a wide basin, to which the Spaniards have given the name of Saint Philip’s Bay, and which again terminates in a second narrow passage or channel, a formation resembling on a small scale the Sea of Marmora, which, as we all know, has likewise the semblance of a lake, receiving and discharging its waters through the Dardanelles and the Strait of Constantinople. During the rising of the flood, a strong current flows through all these bays and narrows from the west, so as to allow ships an easy passage, even against the wind; but during ebb tide the current turns to the east, so that at this time a vessel, even when favored by the wind, makes but little progress, or is even obliged to anchor to avoid losing ground. When Magellan, after sailing round Cape Virgins, penetrated into the strait, this circumstance at once convinced that great navigator that he was not in an inclosed bay, but in an open channel, which would lead him into another ocean. Thus far the country on both sides of the strait consists of nearly level plains, like those of Patagonia; but beyond the second Narrows the land begins to assume the more bold and picturesque appearance which is characteristic of Tierra del Fuego. Mountains rise above mountains with deep intervening valleys, all covered by one thick, dusky mass of forest; while farther to the east scarcely a bush clothes the naked soil. The trees reach to an elevation of between 1000 and 1500 feet, and are succeeded by a band of peat, with minute Alpine plants, and this again is succeeded by the line of perpetual snow, which, according to Captain King, descends to between 3000 and 4000 feet.
The finest scenery about the Strait of Magellan is undoubtedly to the east of Cape Froward, the most southerly point of the mainland of South America. This promontory, which consists of a steep mass of rock about 800 feet high, abutting from a mountain chain of about 2000 or 3000 feet in height, forms the boundary between two very different climates, for to the east the weather is finer and more agreeable than to the west, where wind and rain are almost perpetual.
410 On the Patagonian plains, the drought and the want of protection against the piercing winds almost entirely impede vegetation; but the country between Cape Negro—a little within the second Narrows—and Cape Froward, or the eastern shore of Brunswick Peninsula, is shielded by its situation against the almost perpetual storms from the west, and enjoys, moreover, a sufficiency of rain, and now and then serene weather. As, moreover, the soil in this central part of the strait consists of disintegrated clay-slate, which is most favorable to the growth of trees, the forests, from all these causes, are finer here than anywhere else.
The country about Port Famine is particularly distinguished for the richness of its vegetation; and both for this reason, and from its central situation, this harbor has become a kind of chief station for the ships that pass through the strait. Several unfortunate attempts at colonization have been made at Port Famine; here many a naturalist has tarried, and thus no part of the strait has been oftener described or more accurately observed.
“The anchorage,” says Dumont d’Urville, who, in December, 1837, spent several days at Port Famine, “is excellent, and landing everywhere easy. A fine rivulet gives us excellent water, and the neighboring forests might furnish whole fleets with the necessary fuel. The cliffs along the shore are literally covered with mussels, limpets, and whelks, which afford a delicious variety of fare to a crew tired of salt beef and peas. Among the plants I noticed with pleasure a species of celery, which, with another herb resembling our corn flower in form and taste, gives promise of an excellent salad.
“I made use of my first leisure to visit the romantic banks of the Sedger River, which discharges its waters on the western side of the port. At its mouth the swampy strand is completely covered with enormous trees heaped upon the ground. These naked giants, stripped of their branches, afford a remarkable spectacle: they might be taken for huge bones bleached by time. No doubt they are transported from the neighboring forest by the waters of the river, which, when it overflows its banks, after a deluge of rain, tears along with it the trees it meets with in its course. Arrested by the bar at the mouth of the stream, they are cast out upon its banks, where they remain when the waters sink to their usual level.
“Having crossed the river, I entered the large and fine forest with which it is bordered. The chief tree is the Antarctic beech (Fagus betuloides), which is often from sixty to ninety feet high, and about three feet in diameter. Along with this are two other trees, the winter’s bark (Winteria aromatica), and a species of berberis, with a very solid wood; but they are much less abundant, and of a much smaller size. With the exception of mosses, lichens, and other plants of this order, these forests afford but little that is interesting to the naturalist—no quadrupeds, no reptiles, no land-snails; a few insects and some birds are the only specimens to be gained after a long search. After collecting a good supply of mosses and lichens, I returned to the boat for the purpose of rowing up the river. Although the current was tolerably rapid, we advanced about two miles, admiring the beauty of its umbrageous banks. On my return I shot two geese that were crossing the river over our heads, and411 whose excellent meat amply supplied my table for several days. This, together with the little gobies which were abundantly caught with hand-lines, the large mussels we detached from the rocks, and the celery-salad, gave me dinners fit for an alderman. How often since have I regretted the plenty of Port Famine!”
In the month of February (1834), in the height of the Antarctic summer, Mr. Darwin ascended Mount Tarn, which is 2600 feet high, and the most elevated point in the vicinity of Port Famine. “The forest,” says our great naturalist, “commences at the line of high-water mark, and during the first two hours I gave over all hopes of reaching the summit. So thick was the wood that it was necessary to have constant recourse to the compass, for every landmark, though in a mountainous country, was completely shut out. In the deep ravines the death-like scene of desolation exceeded all description; outside it was blowing a gale, but in these hollows not even a breath of wind stirred the leaves of the tallest trees. So gloomy, cold, and wet was every part, that not even the fungi, mosses, or ferns could flourish. In the valleys it was scarcely possible to crawl along, they were so completely barricaded by great mouldering trunks, which had fallen down in every direction. When passing over these natural bridges, one’s course was often arrested by sinking knee-deep into the rotten wood; at other times, when attempting to lean against a tree, one was startled by finding a mass of decayed matter, ready to fall at the slightest touch. We at last found ourselves among the stunted trees, and then soon reached the bare ridge, which conducted us to the summit. Here was a view characteristic of Tierra del Fuego; irregular chains of hills, mottled with patches of snow, deep yellowish-green valleys, and arms of the sea intersecting the land in many directions. The strong wind was piercingly cold, and the atmosphere rather hazy, so that we did not stay long on the top of the mountain. Our descent was not quite so laborious as our ascent; for the weight of the body forced a passage, and all the slips and falls were in the right direction.”
To the west of Cape Froward the strait extends in a north-westerly, almost rectilinear direction, until it finally opens into the Pacific, between Cape Pillar and Cape Victory. Here a day rarely passes without rain, hail, or snow. Where the dreadful power of the prevailing winds has free play, the mountain sides are naked and bare, but in every sheltered nook the damp climate produces a luxuriant vegetation. The trees, however, do not attain any great height, and at Port Gallant the beech is already decidedly stunted in its growth. This is no doubt caused by the excessive humidity of the soil, which in all lower situations is converted by the continual rains into a deep morass. The trunks and the branches are covered with a thick layer of moss, and the tree becomes rotten in its youth. But many shrubs, herbs, and mosses thrive under the perpetual deluge; the latter particularly, covering large patches of ground with a spongy carpet. It may easily be imagined how difficult, or rather impossible it must be to penetrate into the interior of such a country. Yet even these wild inhospitable regions can boast of many a romantic scene. Thus the English Reach, which extends from Cape Froward to Carlos Island, is bounded on both sides by lofty412 mountains, their cones or jagged peaks covered with eternal snow. Its southern bank, formed by Clarence Island, is intersected with bays and channels, two of which, Magdalena Sound and Barbara Channel, lead through a maze of islands into the open sea. Several glaciers descend in a winding course from the upper great expanse of snow to the sea-coast, and many a cascade comes dashing down from rock to rock. Skogman24 draws an enthusiastic picture of the beauty of York Roads near the mouth of the small Bachelor River. To the south, behind Carlos Island, mountains rise above mountains, and snow-fields above snow-fields; to the north lies the jagged colossus, which from its solitary grandeur has been called Bachelor Peak, and at whose foot the crystal river now hides itself beneath a shady wood, and now rolls its crystal waters through a green lawn, decorated with clumps of fuchsias. But in spite of its romantic beauty, the want of life gives a melancholy character to this solitary vale. Beyond Carlos Island in Long Reach, the banks of the strait become yet more bare and desolate. Vegetation descends lower and lower into the valleys, and even here the trees are misshapen and dwarfish. But the mountain scenery has still all the majesty wh............