Tierra Del Fuego—“The Land of Fire,” as Maghelhaens christened it, from the number of beacons exhibited along its coast—is the home of a family of Indians properly known as Pesherahs. Whence they came no one can tell us, though some think them to be of Chilean origin; but they are—and have been, during the last four centuries—among the most degraded savages that the earth holds. This is, no doubt, partly owing to the barrenness of the archipelago and the almost animal simplicity of their lives which is a consequence of it; for though their brain development is certainly not extraordinary, it is probably as high as that of many savages who have yielded with comparative readiness to European influence.

All sorts of efforts at civilising the Fuegians have been made by philanthropists, scientists, and missionaries, but it is to be feared that they have met with little success. Not the least practical of these was an experiment made by the late Admiral Fitzroy, inventor of the nautical barometer that bears his name, and better known to readers in general as Darwin’s friend and at one time commanding officer.

From 1826 to 1830 this clever young sailor was in command of H.M.S. Beagle, which, with H.M.S. Adventure, was sent on a surveying expedition to the southern seas. During the early part of this cruise, while an exploring party was ashore in what is now called Beagle Channel, a number of Fuegians took advantage of the absence of the sailors to spring into their boat and row off with it.

Not wishing to lose the boat, and deeming it advisable to give the natives a lesson, Commander Fitzroy took another pinnace ashore and, with half a dozen bluejackets, made a descent on the nearest encampment, captured the first family he could lay hands on, and took them back to the brig to be held in pawn for the stolen boat. This move, of course, answered its purpose; the boat was restored and the hostages liberated. But of these there were three to whom the commander had taken a special fancy: a stalwart young fellow of nineteen whom (from the adjacent mountain which Cook had so named) he had dubbed “York Minster,” and a boy and girl of about fourteen. York and the girl, Fuegia, on being asked if they would like to come to England, joyfully accepted the offer; and the other boy was readily exchanged by his father for a pearl shirt-button.

The enthusiastic young commander brought these three home with him, endeavoured to teach them English, and dressed them respectably; and after he had been ashore for about two years, decided to take them back to their country as a pattern to their friends and relations. He engaged a missionary—a Mr. Matthews—and was on the point of chartering a 97 small vessel and taking the natives back at his own expense, when, to his joy, he heard that his old brig was to be sent a second time to the Horn and that he, now gazetted post-captain, was to have command of her. It was on this voyage that he took with him, as naturalist, Charles Darwin, a young fellow not long down from Cambridge.

In December, 1832, the brig anchored in the Bay of Good Success, and her arrival was hailed by a tatterdemalion group of Fuegians who piled their fires high and frantically waved their scanty garments as though to scare off the intruders. These people of the eastern side of the island were a far more robust set than the typical Fuegians of farther west; many of them were over six feet high, and all boasted some sort of clothing—usually a mantle of guanaco (llama) skin. Fitzroy and other officers went ashore, bearing presents, at sight of which the savages abandoned their distrustful and defensive bearing and showed every willingness to be friendly. Their chief had his hair confined by a rough head-dress of feathers, and his coppery face was painted with transverse bars, after the fashion of the Indians of the North.

The Englishmen distributed pieces of red cloth, which each recipient immediately tied round his neck. Thanks for these bounties were offered in a series of “clucks,” which a horse would assuredly have translated as “gee-up”; and further, by sundry pats on the breasts of the donors. After Captain Fitzroy had been thus patted three times by the chief, it occurred to him to return the compliment, a proceeding which highly delighted the whole tribe. But the most 98 exciting scene was when one of the sailors left in charge of the boat began to sing absently to himself. In an instant the Indians deserted the group of officers, rushed madly down the beach again, and almost grovelled before the singer, considerably to his amazement.

“All right; sing up, my man; let’em hear you,” cried Captain Fitzroy encouragingly; for the bashful performer had stopped somewhat abruptly on finding himself thus distinguished. “Bear a hand, you lads; he’s shy.”

Thus urged, the grinning bluejackets struck up a rousing sea-chorus, the effect whereof was to make even the important-looking chief stand open-mouthed and wave his hands in wonder and delight.

As the first meeting with the savages had been so successful, on his second landing the Captain was accompanied by York Minster and the other two natives, Jemmy Button, now a strapping fellow of eighteen, and Fuegia Basket, already a grown woman, and betrothed to York. The Indians’ attitude towards them was one of curiosity as intelligent as such people are capable of. They felt their English-made clothes and compared them half contemptuously with the bright-buttoned uniforms of the officers, and the chief, pointing to a few straggling hairs on York Minster’s chin, inquired why he did not shave them off after the Indian fashion. The colour of their visitors was the greatest mystery to them. Jemmy and York were dressed like white men, and had short hair, and yet were not white. York knew their language and Jemmy did not. This was very puzzling. Then—was Jemmy 99 the same colour “all over”? The chief made him strip his sleeve, but while this was being done something else happened to distract the savages’ attention. Mr. Bynoe, the ship’s surgeon, had been examining one or two bad sores on the face of a native, and now stepped back to a rock-pool to wash his hands.

That a man should dream of washing at all was a mystery to the Fuegians (in fact, during the whole of the brig’s cruise in these islands the practice never failed to attract admiration, though it does not seem to have gained converts), but the doctor had thrown off his pilot-jacket and rolled up his shirt-sleeves for the performance. This more than staggered the beholders, so that Jemmy saw himself rudely neglected; for the Englishman’s arms were a different colour from that of his hands!

It was the white men’s turn to be inspected again. Everyone, from the Captain to the boat’s crew, was implored to show his arms, and this only led to further mystification, for while the hands of the officers were tanned and their arms white, the brown on the seamen extended to the elbows. A full parliament was at once held, but the debate had to be abandoned; the matter was too abstruse for the Fuegian brain.

Mr. Darwin created a diversion by attracting the Captain’s attention to a very tall fellow among the group; and to settle an argument between them as to his abnormal height, Fitzroy called to him the tallest of the boat’s crew, and told him to stand back to back with the rival giant. With the natural vanity of the savage, the Fuegian seemed to guess in a moment what was being said about him, and no sooner was he 100 placed back to back with the seaman than he endeavoured, first to edge himself on to higher ground, and, failing that, to stand a-tiptoe. When York Minster explained to him that he was the taller by two finger-joints, he began to swagger about as if he had bought the island.

The old chief was very anxious that the three natives should at once take up their abode with that portion of the tribe; but neither Jemmy nor Miss Fuegia could yet make themselves understood; the parents of all three lived on the other side of the island, and further, the Captain was not at all satisfied that the chief’s hospitality arose from any higher motive than that of plunder, if not murder.

With a favouring wind they ran through the Strait the next day, and once more went ashore. Here Fitzroy found that his former visit had presumably been forgotten; for when he led an exploring party of thirty men into the nearest camp, the natives armed themselves with slings, stones, and fish-spears, and assumed altogether a very threatening front. These folk were the most debased of the islanders; not one man had a stitch of clothing on him, and whereas the other natives had shown such terror of the bluejackets’ muskets that they would not even lay a finger on them, these were not even inquisitive as to the weapons of the white men, and certainly mistook the amiable demeanour of the strangers for timidity. They dropped their arms, however, on some offerings of red ribbon being made.

But possession only whetted greed; and taking up their arms again, they began one and all to bawl 101 “Yammerskooner,” which, York Minster said, meant “give me,” but which sounded a great deal more like “your money or your life!” The more the sailors gave, the more did the Indians pester, till, with the hope of scaring them away, Fitzroy drew his sword and flourished it round the head of the chief; but he and those with him laughed jeeringly, as though this were only child’s fooling. Then the Captain, who was an excellent shot, pointed a pistol at—or rather half an inch above—the head of the noisiest of the party, and fired.

Every man stared at his neighbour; every man clapped his hands to his ears and uttered an ejaculation; but nobody thought of moving. Poor wretches; they were as ignorant of danger as the wild beasts.

“No good, Captain Sir,” said York Minster. “But you kill one—then all run.”

“Tell them they’re likely to get hurt if they go too far,” said the Captain. The interpreter obeyed, but they showed no more feeling at his remark than fear of the pistol.

It was growing late; the Englishmen were hungry and had yet to find a comfortable ground for the night’s bivouac. Fitzroy quietly told his men to draw off; but at the first movement of retreat, the savages grew bolder and more menacing. Nothing could be much more galling to Englishmen than retreat under such circumstances as these. Here were thirty white men, all well armed, and the majority of them experienced fighting-men, turning their backs on less than a hundred miserable specimens of humanity with scarcely brains enough to know the use of their own weapons. The 102 faster the sailors moved, the faster the Indians followed. To kill one or two of their number would have been to put the rest to flight; but unless actual violence should be offered, neither Fitzroy nor any of his companions were the men to disgrace their flag by the sort of “fighting” which has made the Spaniards and Dutch hated in East and West.

Arrived at a good spot, the Captain called a halt, and ignoring his persecutors, ordered a large fire to be made, and posted sentries at various points round the camp; then told York to try his eloquence with the natives once more. Meanwhile the stores were unpacked, and at sight of the strangers eating, a new begging chorus arose which was fortunately satisfied by a small distribution of ship’s biscuit.

At dark the natives were ordered out of the camp and warned by York that they must not attempt to pass the sentries. That lesson was impressed on the more obstinate by the sailors’ throwing them “neck and crop” beyond the boundary line. This sort of argument they could understand; and though some of them loitered round the camp all night, or lit their own watch-fires close to it, there were no attempts at trespass.

Young Jemmy Button, on being rallied by the officers on his disreputable connections, stoutly disowned them; he belonged to another tribe, he said. But soon after sunrise several dozen strange men and women appeared, summoned by the remainder, and among them were Jemmy’s mother and brethren. Darwin, who witnessed the reunion, says, “the meeting was less interesting than between a horse turned out 103 into a field and an old companion.” But those women who recognised Fuegia showed themselves very interested in her toilette.

It was now that the value of Fitzroy’s experiment was to be tested. Matthews, the missionary, asked to be left behind with three natives while the sailors continued their coasting trip; and it was plain enough that York and his bride and Jemmy asked nothing better than to be allowed to settle among their own people, from whom they had now been absent four years. Already Jemmy was recalling his language—which was a great mercy for him, for, as Fitzroy had said earlier, “he had forgotten Fuegian and never more than half learned English, so that he was as ignorant as a rational being could well be.”

The Captain’s surveying expedition lasted for some days, and when it was finished he ordered the boats to call at the spot where the missionary had been left, before they returned to the Beagle.

Mr. Matthews was awaiting them in a terrible plight: scarcely a rag of clothes on him, hungry, bruised, and wounded, and with a wretched tale to unfold. Jemmy had been robbed of everything he possessed; even York, strong man though he was, had had much ado to protect himself and his wife, while the missionary, left to fend for himself, had not dared to sleep during the whole time. He had been robbed, stoned, threatened with all manner of violence, and only saved from death by doling out buttons, studs, or coins which he had contrived to secrete.

Fitzroy, who knew that these people were not only ruffians but occasionally cannibals as well, sent the 104 missionary on board again, and was half tempted to take Jemmy with him also, particularly as the young man was loud in abuse of his family; but on the whole he was likely to be safe enough under York’s patronage now that he had nothing left to steal.

The brig made sail farther south, and a month or so later returned to her old anchorage. Before long a canoe put off from the shore, and a thin, haggard savage came paddling out to the vessel—Jemmy! Jemmy, without a rag to cover him!

“I think, sir, you’ll have to take him aboard again,” pleaded young Darwin.

“It does look like it,” said Fitzroy. “I’m afraid we’ve made a fish out of water of him,” and the two went forward to greet their old friend.

But Jemmy electrified everyone by the statement that he was perfectly happy, and had only come out to bring a couple of otter-skins to Lieutenant Sulivan and Dr. Bynoe—his favourites among the officers—and some neatly-carved arrows for the Captain; and further, to invite the ship’s company ashore to visit the tribe.

Mr. Button was fed, and loaded with presents; and later in the day Fitzroy, Sulivan, and Darwin went ashore. The first thing that was apparent was that Jemmy had taught the tribe some English words; the second was that that youth had reasons for not wishing to rejoin the Beagle. For, pointing to a modest-looking girl who stood in the background, the old chief tapped the Captain on the shoulder and observed, “Jemmy’s wife; Jemmy’s wife,” and the whole tribe, parrot-like, took up the cry.

Fitzroy never met his protÉgÉs again; but, in 1842, Captain Sulivan, who was cruising off the island, fell in with a British whaling skipper, and he told him that his men had seen a native woman who spoke excellent English. This could have been no other than Fuegia.