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 intention 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. 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, and 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 lofty 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 which snow-fields and glaciers of a beryl-like blue impart to an Alpine landscape. As Sea Reach shows itself, vegetation is almost totally extinct, and on approaching the mouth of the strait, the mountains become lower, their forms are less picturesque, and instead of the stern grandeur which marks the middle part of the strait, low, rounded, barren hills make their appearance, which completely justify the name of South Desolation, which Sir James Narborough gave to this coast, “because it was so desolate a land to behold.”

It may easily be imagined that the prevailing winds beyond Cape Froward are extremely troublesome to ships sailing to the western mouth of the strait, and that if not entirely beaten back, they can frequently only force the passage after many efforts. Fortunately, the deeply indented coasts possess a number of small havens which may serve the mariner as stations during his gradual advance. Thus, close to the mouth of the strait, where, between Cape Victory and Cape Pillar, the sea during and after storms is so boisterous that even steamers require their utmost strength not to be dashed against the rocks, a secure port, appropriately called “Harbor of Mercy,” allows the vessels to watch for more tranquil weather, and to seize the first favorable opportunity for emerging into the open sea. But even these harbors and bays are subject to peculiar dangers from sudden gusts of wind that come sweeping down from the mountains, and are known among the seal-catchers who frequent these dangerous waters under the name of williwaws, or hurricane squalls. For when the wild south-west storms come rushing against the mountain-masses of Tierra del Fuego, the compressed air precipitates itself with redoubled violence over the rock-walls, and then suddenly expanding, flows down the valleys or gullies, tearing up trees by the roots, and hurling rocks into the abyss. Where such a gust of wind touches the surface of the water, the sea surges in mighty waves, and volumes of spray are whirled away to a vast distance. If a ship comes under its influence, its safety depends mainly upon the strength of its anchor ropes.

Some situations are particularly subject to williwaws, and then the total want of vegetation and the evident marks of ruin along the mountain slopes warn the mariner to avoid the neighborhood. In Gabriel Channel Captain King saw a spot where the williwaws, bursting over the mountains on the south side, had swept down the declivities, and then rushing against the foot of the opposite hills, had again dashed upward with such fury as to carry away with them every thing that could possibly be attached from the bare rock.

It was a memorable day in the annals of maritime discovery (October 20, 1521) when Magellan reached the eastern entrance of the strait that was to lead him, first of all European navigators, from the broad basin of the Atlantic into the still wider expanse of the Pacific Ocean. It was the day dedicated in the Catholic calendar to St. Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins, and he consequently named the promontory which first struck his view “Cabo de las Virgines.” The flood tide, streaming violently to the west, convinced him that he was at the mouth of an open channel, but he had scarcely provisions for three months—a short allowance for venturing into an unknown world, and thus before he attempted the passage he convoked a council of all his officers. Some were for an immediate return to Europe, but the majority voted for the continuation of the voyage, and Magellan declared that should they even be reduced to eat the leather of their shoes he would persevere to the last, and with God’s assistance execute the commands of his imperial master Charles V. He then at once gave orders to enter the strait full sail, and on pain of death forbade any one to say a word more about a return or the want of provisions.

Fortunately the winds were in his favor, for had the usual inclemencies of this stormy region opposed him, there is no doubt that with such crazy vessels, and such discontented crews, all his heroism would have failed to insure success. It was the spring of the southern hemisphere, and the strait showed itself in one of its rare aspects of calm. Many fish were caught, and, as Pigafetti, the historian of the voyage, relates, the aromatic winter’s bark which served them for fuel “wonderfully refreshed and invigorated their spirits.”

The fires kindled by the savages on the southern side during the night induced Magellan to give that part of the country the name of Tierra del Fuego, or Fireland; while from their high stature and bulky frames, he called the inhabitants of the opposite mainland Patagonians (patagon being the Spanish augmentative of pata, foot). Although several days were lost in exploring some of the numerous passages and bays of the straits, its eastern mouth was reached on November 28, and Magellan saw the wide Pacific expand before him.

In 1525 Charles V. sent out a new expedition of six vessels, under Garcia de Loaisa, to circumnavigate the globe. The vice-admiral of the squadron was Sebastian el Cano, who, after the death of Magellan, had brought the illustrious navigator’s ship safely back to Europe, and as a reward had been ennobled with the globe in his coat of arms, and the motto,“Primus circumdedisti me.” Loaisa entered the strait on January 26, 1526, but he was beaten back by storms as far as the River Santa Cruz. On April 8 he once more attempted the passage, and emerged into the Pacific on May 25. Simon de Alcazaba, who in 1534 attempted to pass the Magellans with a number of emigrants for Peru, was less successful, but in 1539, Alfonso de Camargo, having lost two vessels in the strait, passed it with the third, and reached the port of Callao.

Until now the Spanish flag had alone been seen in these remote and solitary waters, but the time was come when they were to open a passage to its most inveterate foes. On August 20, 1579, Francis Drake, commissioned by Queen Elizabeth to plunder and destroy the Spanish settlements on the west coast of America, ran into the strait, and on December 6 sallied forth into the Pacific.

To meet this formidable enemy, the Viceroy of Peru sent out in the same year two ships under Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa. His orders were to intercept Drake’s passage through the strait and then to sail on to Spain. Though he failed in the object of his mission, yet Sarmiento displayed in the navigation of the intricate and dangerous passages along the south-west coast of America, the courage and skill of a consummate seaman, and he gave the first exact and detailed account of the land and waters of Fuegia. His voyage, according to the weighty testimony of Captain King, deserves to be noted as one of the most useful of the age in which it was performed.

On his arrival in Spain, Sarmiento strongly pointed out the necessity of establishing a colony and erecting a fort in the strait (at that time the only known passage to the Pacific), so as effectually to prevent the recurrence of a future hostile expedition like that of Drake. Commissioned by Philip II. to carry his plans into execution, he founded a colony, to which he gave the name of Ciudad de San Felipe, but a series of disasters entirely destroyed it; and when, a few years later, Cavendish, who had fitted out three ships at his own expense to imitate the example of Drake, appeared in the strait, he found but three survivors of many hundreds, and gave the scene of their misery the appropriate name of Port Famine, which it has retained to the present day.

After Cavendish and Hawkins (1594), the Dutch navigators De Cordes (1599), Oliver Van Noort (1599), and Spilberg (1615), attempted, with more or less success, to sail through the strait with the intention of harassing and plundering the Spaniards on the coast of the Pacific.

Strange to say, no attempt had been made since Magellan to discover a passage farther to the south, so universal and firmly established was the belief that Fuegia extended without interruption to the regions of eternal ice, until at length, in 1616, the Dutchmen Schouten and Le Maire discovered the passage round Cape Horn. Two years later Garcia de Nodales sailed through the Strait of Le Maire, and, returning through the Magellans into the Atlantic, was thus the first circumnavigator of Fuegia. In 1669, Sir John Narborough having been sent out by King Charles II. to explore the Magellanic regions, furnished a good general chart of the strait, and many plans of the anchorage within it.

More than sixty years now elapsed before any expedition of historical renown made its appearance in the strait. The dangers and hardships which had assailed the previous navigators discouraged their successors, who all preferred the circuitous way round Cape Horn to the shorter but, as it was at that time considered, more perilous route through the strait. After this long pause, Byron (December, 1764) and Bougainville (February, 1765) once more attempted the Magellans. The difficulties encountered by them were surpassed by those of Wallis and Carteret. The former spent nearly four months (from December 17, 1766, to April 11, 1767) in a perpetual conflict with stormy weather while slowly creeping through the strait; and the latter required eighty-four days for his passage from Port Famine to Cape Pillar. No wonder that the next circumnavigators, LÜtke, Krusenstern, Kotzebue, preferred sailing round Cape Horn, and that adventurous seal-hunters became for a long time the sole visitors of these ill-famed waters. At length the British Government came to a resolution worthy of England, and resolved to have the Magellanic regions carefully surveyed, and to conquer them, as it were, anew for geographical science. Under the command of Captain King, the “Adventure” and the “Beagle” were engaged in this arduous task from 1826 to 1830: but such were the dangers they had to encounter, that Captain Stokes, the second in command, after contending for four months with the storms and currents which frequently threatened to dash his vessel against the cliffs, became so shattered in mind and body, that after his return to Port Famine he committed suicide in a fit of melancholy.

From 1831 to 1834 Captain Fitzroy was engaged in completing the survey of Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego, and the result of all these labors was a collection of charts and plans which have rendered navigation in those parts as safe as can be expected in the most tempestuous region of the globe.

While formerly the passage round Cape Horn was universally preferred, the more accurate knowledge of the Strait of Magellan, for which navigation is indebted to the labors of King and Fitzroy, has since then turned the scale in favor of the latter.

For a trading-vessel, with only the ordinary number of hands on board, the passage through the strait from east to west is indeed very difficult, and even dangerous; but in the opposite direction, the almost constant westerly winds render it commodious and easy particularly during the summer months, in which they are most prevalent.

For small vessels—clippers, schooners, cutters—the passage in both directions is, according to the excellent authority of Captain King, much to be preferred. Such vessels have far more reason for fearing the heavy seas about Cape Horn; they can more easily cross against the west winds, as their manoeuvres are generally very skillful, and they find in the Sound itself a great number of anchoring-places, which are inaccessible to larger vessels.

For steamers the advantage is entirely on the side of the Strait, and they consequently now invariably prefer this route. Here they find plenty of wood, which enables them to save their coals; and moreover, from Cape Tamar as far as the Gulf of Penas, an easy navigation for about 360 sea miles through the channels along the west coast of America.

As the trade of the Pacific is continually increasing, and the Strait of Magellan more frequented from year to year, we can not wonder that the old project of settling a colony on its shores should have been revived in our days. About the year 1840 the Government of Chili established a penal colony at Punta Arenas and Port Famine, which miserably failed in consequence of a mutiny; but in 1853 about one hundred and fifty German emigrants were settled at Punta Arenas, and when the “Novara” visited the strait in 1858, they were found in a thriving condition. Should the project of stationing steam-tugs in the strait, and of erecting lighthouses at Cape Virgins and at the entrance of Smyth Channel be executed, the Magellans would become one of the high-roads of commerce, and the dangers which proved so dreadful to the navigators of former days a mere tale of the past.