The Cruise of the Mary Rose | Page 5

that if they desire to keep the sabbath holy, they have a
curious way of so doing. Still I say, it would be easy to sail from place
to place and to condemn all we visit unheard. One thought occurs to me:
"Look to it that we fall not into like errors."
Proceeding south before rounding Cape Horn, we again made the land,
and standing in, anchored the ship in a sheltered cove. It was the
southern part of that region known as Patagonia. The captain, with
Phineas Golding and I, with a crew of eight men, well armed, took the
long boat and went ashore. The aspect of the country was not pleasant;
rocks, and trees, and marshes, but no signs of cultivation. Suddenly
from among the rocks some creatures appeared watching us. "Are they

men or are they baboons?" asked Phineas, levelling his musket; but the
master held back his arm. They approaching slowly and with hesitation,
we discovered that they were human beings, though marvellously
ill-favoured in aspect. Their skin, which seemed of a dark brown, was
covered with dirt, and their faces, which were flat with high
cheek-bones, were besmeared with red and yellow ochre. Their long
black coarse hair hanging down straight over their shoulders, their
small twinkling bleared eyes peeping out between it, like two hot coals.
They had spears in their hands and short clubs. They were nearly naked,
their chief garment consisting in a piece of sealskin, which they wore
on the side whence the wind blew. Again Phineas was about to shoot in
very wantonness.
"What's the harm?" he asked. "We have no chance of trading with such
people; and if we were to kill a few, what would it matter?"
"They have souls, Master Golding," said I, for I could not keep silence;
"and souls, I have learned, are precious things."
A scornful laugh was his reply, and he still kept his musket ready, as if
to fire. The savages, however, seemed in no way afraid, but lifted up
their hands, and made as if they too had muskets; and when we laughed
they laughed, and when we shook our fists they shook theirs; and so we
discovered that, though hideous, they were a harmless race, and great
mimics. They readily accepted beads, and knives, and coloured
handkerchiefs, and such like things.
These people, we learn from Tony Hinks, who has before been on the
coast (indeed where has he not been?) are different from the tribes of
Patagonians who inhabit the country to the north as far as the Spanish
settlements. These latter are a fierce race, often of large stature, though
not giants, as some suppose, and dress in skins and ride on horseback.
Again, there are other tribes whose dwellings are among the marshes
and inlets of the sea up the Straits of Magellan. They move about only
in their canoes, living on shell-fish, seals' flesh, and fish, their habits
being more filthy and disgusting even than are those of our present
friends. Phineas laughs at the notion of their being our fellow-creatures,
and says that they must have sprung from apes; but Tony, who has seen

many strange people, says that he would not give a fig for the
supercargo's opinion, for that he has known white men become almost
as brutish in their appearance, and much more brutish in their manners,
just from living a few years among born savages, cut off from all
communication with their fellow whites. A little practical experience
often shows the folly of these would-be philosophers.
On the Pacific coast of this end of America are found the unsubdued
tribes of the Araucanians in vast numbers, so that in this one small
portion of the continent are many hundred thousand savages, all lying
in the midnight of heathen darkness.
Phineas observes that it is a pity they cannot be swept away, and
civilised men, with whom it would be an advantage to trade, introduced
in their stead. He esteems men in proportion as they are able to
exchange gold dust, ivory, spices or precious stones, not knowing their
value, for glass beads and Brummagem knives and needles. I cannot
help thinking that all those savages have immortal souls, and regretting
that they should be allowed to pass away from this life without having
the light of gospel truth set before them. Year after year passes by,
thousands are swept away, and still darkness dense as ever broods over
the land.
Once more we are under weigh. With a fair breeze gliding over a long
heavy swell, we pass Cape Horn, which stands out boldly into the blue
waters, and enter the mighty Pacific. Tony Hinks tells us that, though
peaceable enough at times, he has seen here as fierce gales and heavy