INSURRECTION AT MAGELLAN

Narrative of the Imprisonment and Escape of 
Capt. Chas. H. Brown, 
from the Chilian Convicts. 
Second Edition. 
Boston: published for the Author, 
by Geo. C. Rand, 3 Cornhill.
MDCCCLIV.



PREFACE 

The preface to a book is very often nothing more than a respectable cloak, 
allowed by the conventionalities of literature, in which an author may wrap his 
excuses and apologies for troubling the public with his lucubrations. This 
dressing up of excuses in order to introduce them into notice under another 
name, is a thing so tempting to poor human nature, such a pleasant little 
offering to self esteem and vanity, that it would be very hard if authors were 
to be debarred from a luxury in which all their fellow mortals indulge. Yet, if 
it be true that a good wine needs no bush, it is equally true that a good book 
needs no excuse; and in this age of ready writers, it is very certain that no 
excuse or apology can justify the publishing a bad one. To apologise for poor or 
careless writing, because there has not been time or opportunity to make it 
better, provokes the question, "What necessity was there for writing at all?" — 
a question not always easily answered.

But this is not an apology for my own book; it is simply a preface to the 
narrative of another person, in which I can claim no part except that of 
collecting the facts from different sources, of arranging and compiling them. If 
in performing this task, I have in any way "come tardy off," my excuses are due 
to both captain Brown and his readers.

In writing out this account, I have labored under the disadvantage of being able 
to hold no communication with captain Brown, except by letters. His legal papers 
connected with his claim for salvage, and his own concise narrative of his 
sufferings and escape, drawn up for Mr. Webster's information at the time the 
claim for salvage was first made, were put into my hands; and his letters from 
time to time have supplied me with the details. I have, in every case where it 
was possible, retained his own spirited language; but I feel that had it been 
possible for me to have seen and heard him, the narrative as taken down from his 
lips might have been, not, I believe, more correct as to facts, but perhaps more 
graphic and life-like as to detail.

Still, I am convinced that the simple account of his adventures, his sufferings, 
his unquenchable spirit, and the manner in which he sustained and did honor to 
the reputation of our American seamen, amid dangers before which the bravest 
might shrink, cannot be without interest to his countrymen, and especially to 
those of his profession; while every American must feel that his services to the 
Chilean government were received by them without even an acknowledgement of 
their value; his just and legal claims being refused almost with contumely. Had 
captain Brown's demand for salvage on the treasure rescued by him been backed by 
the presence of an American frigate, commanded by such a man as captain 
Ingraham, we should not have seen the British admiral allowed to carry it off 
from under the eyes of the Chilean authorities, while they feared to serve the 
process of detainer issued according to the law of the country; nor should we 
have seen an American brow-beaten by an English officer, while in discharge of 
his duty to his owners and to the government in whose employ he was sailing. An 
American frigate would have taught captain Stewart that no orders from the 
Chilean government could give him power to seize a vessel sailing under the 
American flag, commanded by an American citizen.

Such outrages and such injustice to our citizens will never occur when that can 
be said of the American navy, which one of our own authors has lately said so 
well of the British. "An English man-of-war seems to be always within one day's 
sail of every where. Let political agitation break out in any port on the globe, 
if there be even a roll of English broadcloth or a pound of English tea, to be 
endangered thereby, within forty-eight hours an English steamer or frigate is 
pretty sure to drop anchor in the harbor with an air which seems to say, 'here I 
am; does any body want any thing of me?'" /*/

Our country should be the guardian of her children, wherever the rights of 
civilized society are respected, that our citizens may be in danger of outrage 
and injustice only among savages and outlaws; and we may be assured that in such 
extremities, they will, for the most part, like captain Brown, be found fully 
able to protect themselves.

To return to my preface or apology: in offering this narrative to the public, 
let me repeat my assurance, that captain Brown is answerable only for the facts; 
for whatever literary defects there may be, I alone am responsible."

E. H. APPLETON
Cincinnati.
s
/*/ Six months in Italy. By George S. Hillard.





CHAPTER I.

Valparaíso — The barque Florida — Chartered by the Chilean government — 
Prisoners for convict colony put on board — Captain Ávalos and soldiers sent for 
protection — We set sail — Arrangement of the vessel — Mr. Shaw's sickness — 
Attempted insurrection among the prisoners — Prompt conduct of Captain Ávalos — 
All quiet again — We reach the Straits of Magellan — Williwaws — We anchor in 
Sandy Bay.

In the latter part of October, 1851, I was at the port of Valparaíso, Chile, 
having command of the barque Florida, of New Orleans, of about two hundred tons 
burden. My orders from my owners were to take the Florida through the Straits of 
Magellan to Rio Janeiro, where we were to take in freight for the United States; 
and my first business was to secure my officers and crew. One of my owners was 
now at Valparaíso, and would accompany me on the voyage.

To a sea-faring man like myself, such a voyage was no new thing, and I looked 
forward with some interest, but with no excitement, to the prospect of many 
days' tiresome battling with the wind and waves, to the annoyances of clearing, 
and to the perils and labors of a tedious navigation through the Straits. Had I 
known what perils and sufferings awaited me, with what different feelings should 
I have left the beautiful city where I had received much kindness and 
hospitality, and trusted myself to the treacherous elements, and to men far more 
treacherous than they! But, happily, Providence has given to us only a knowledge 
of the present, and the blessing of hope for the future, without any 
foreshadowing of coming evil.

The barque Florida was a long, low, straight-built vessel, and a fast sailer. 
She had been employed formerly in sailing between Panama and San Francisco, 
conveying passengers to and fro, and was well fitted up for that purpose, with a 
large cabin, extending as far forward as her mainmast, and fourteen well 
furnished state rooms. She was also furnished with four brass cannon, four 
pounders, and one iron swivel mounted forward. Her owners were Capt. John 
Lovett, of Beverly, Mass., and his brother-in-law, Mr. Benjamin G. Shaw; Mr. 
Shaw being the principal owner. On board of her were Mr. Shaw, the owner, and 
one cabin passenger, Mr. Ramon Buela, belonging to New Orleans.

The vessel having at that time no cargo we were applied to by the government of 
Chile, to convey certain State prisoners, charged with political offences, to 
the penal colony established by that government at Sandy Bay, Straits of 
Magellan. This was at the time when the Chileans, disaffected to the government 
at Santiago, had risen, under General Cruz, and had seized the Province of 
Concepción; and the political offenders whom we were to convey to Sandy Bay, 
were, some of them, implicated in that rebellion.

After some consideration, Mr. Shaw determined to accept the offer of the 
government, and to allow it to charter the Florida for the conveyance of the 
prisoners to Sandy Bay, where we were to leave them, and proceed on our voyage. 
The authorities were to send with the prisoners a sufficient number of troops to 
secure us against any disturbance during the voyage, and accordingly, Captain 
Pedro Ávalos, with a corporal and twelve soldiers were drafted on that service.
On the morning of October 30, I took command of the vessel, with the intention 
of getting her ready for sea the same evening, that I might be prepared to 
receive the prisoners, who were to be sent on board of her the same night. By 
hard work on my part, and plenty of pushing up my men, we were all ready by 
night, and at eleven o'clock, P. M., the prisoners began to come on board.
Hard featured, desperate looking men, some of them were, with the downcast, 
heavy look of criminals. Men were among them who had set law at defiance, whose 
hands had been against every man, and in whose hearts the kindly affections had 
long been deadened; and I felt as I looked at their countenances, made, perhaps, 
more repulsive to me by the dark, foreign cast of features which my early 
education and prejudices had taught me to associate with men of desperate 
fortunes, that there was no easy task before me. There were, however, among them 
men of high rank, who, for having joined in one of those political struggles 
which so constantly shake the South American Republics, were now condemned to a 
long imprisonment on the savage shores of Patagonia, in the society of convicts 
and felons of the worst kind; some sentenced for a tedious term of three years, 
some doomed to a life-long imprisonment.

On the evening of Sunday, November 3d, I received a notice from Commodore R. 
Simpson, acting Intendente of Valparaíso, by the captain of the port, that all 
the prisoners were now on board, the notice being accompanied by an order for me 
to proceed to sea at once, without any further communication with the shore. The 
Intendente evidently feared the escape of some of our prisoners, or perhaps some 
communication between them and their political associates.

The evening being calm, the sea breeze having died away, and no appearance of 
the land breeze springing up, I asked the captain of the port, to whom the 
regulation of all the shipping in the harbor belongs, for the assistance of two 
boats from the Chilean man-of-war which was lying in the harbor at the time to 
tow my vessel out to sea. They were sent, and assisted us till midnight, when a 
land breeze springing up, they left us, and returned to the harbor.

I had made every preparation to insure order and security during the voyage, had 
mounted two of the four pounders upon the poop deck, pointing forward so as to 
rake the whole deck, and kept them constantly loaded. The, prisoners, about 
eighty in number, were put into the hold of the vessel, and were only allowed to 
come on deck for air and refreshment, in small detachments. A sentinel was 
stationed at the gangway, and the deck was constantly guarded by seven soldiers 
and half my crew. The crew consisted of eight men before the mast, part 
Americans and part foreigners, first and second mate, cook, and cabin boy. Mr. 
Shaw, Captain Ávalos, Mr. Buela, the first and second mates, and myself shared 
the cabin.

The wind continued light until the afternoon of Monday, the 4th, when a fresh 
breeze sprung up from the southwest, right ahead: which head wind and rough sea 
continued through the first part of our voyage. Our little vessel was a fast 
sailer, but with these obstacles in our way, we made but slow progress, and our 
passengers began to feel the tediousness of a sea voyage. For my part, my 
responsibility was too heavy, and my avocations somewhat too numerous, for time 
to hang heavily upon my hands, for my officers were neither very efficient or 
entirely to be depended upon.

My anxieties and responsibilities were increased when we were some days out, by 
the sickness of Mr. Shaw, who was seized with a relapse of the Panama fever. My 
relation to Mr. Shaw was something more than the mere business connection 
between the owner and master of a vessel. We had been thrown together very 
closely and I had always found him ready and prompt with advice and sympathy in 
every difficulty that might arise, and most considerate in all business 
arrangements. We were Americans, from the same State, away from our families and 
friends, and bound together by many common subjects of interest; subjects which 
grow in importance when men are far away from their homes. His sickness, where 
so little could be done for his comfort, was a source of considerable anxiety to 
me, and deprived me of almost all society, for Captain Ávalos talked very little 
English.

We had been out about a fortnight when, as Captain Ávalos and myself were 
sitting in the cabin, we were startled by word being brought from the sentinel 
at the gangway, that one of the prisoners had informed him that there had been a 
proposition among the prisoners to rise and take the vessel.

I sprang upon the deck and called up all hands, while Captain Ávalos ordered up 
the soldiers who were not on duty. The soldiers were all under arms, and the 
captain proved himself soldier-like and efficient in any emergency; for his 
first order was, that in case of any disturbance among the prisoners, the first 
man that made his appearance was to be shot down. We waited in some anxiety, but 
all was quiet; then, ordering the soldiers and the crew to remain on their 
guard, Captain Ávalos and myself went to the gangway and inquired into the cause 
of the alarm.

It seems that the proposition to take the vessel had been made by one of the 
prisoners, — one of those confined for political offences. His plan had probably 
been to run the vessel into land, and join General Cruz and the revolutionary 
party in the province of Concepción; but few of the prisoners were ready to join 
him, and one of them had found an opportunity to communicate the design to the 
sentinel at the gangway.

We had no further difficulty, and I was glad that this little disturbance had 
occurred, as it gave me confidence in the promptitude and courage of my own 
crew, and in the presence of mind and soldier-like character of Captain Ávalos.
On the morning of November 24th, the weather was thick and foggy, and the 
running became difficult. I run till eleven o'clock, and then, judging myself 
near the western entrance of the Straits, I hove the main-top-sail aback, 
waiting for clear weather, so that I could see land. At twelve, the sun came 
out, clear and glorious, and I found myself within ten miles of the entrance, 
Cape Pillar bearing east from us. Mr. Shaw and myself congratulated each other 
on being near the end of the disagreeable part of our voyage, for there was 
something repugnant to us, in the idea of standing jailors, as it were, to men 
for some of whom our sympathies were enlisted; for the freedom of our political 
institutions makes the idea of imprisonment for political offences repulsive to 
an American; and, indeed, no free man likes to stand jailor to another, be his 
offences what they may.

We were, however, not so near our destination as we supposed, for the weather 
continued very much against us. I put the vessel before the wind, intending that 
afternoon to anchor in the harbor of Mercy, but on account of the thick, squally 
weather, I was unable to make the harbor, and ran past the entrance, which is so 
small that it may easily be overlooked. I was therefore obliged to run all 
night, and as the wind was blowing fresh, and the weather thick, I took in sail, 
and put her under double-reefed top-sails. At daylight on the morning of the 
25th, I set all sail, and during the day we had a fine, pleasant breeze from the 
westward. In the evening, not being able to make a harbor, we hove-to, for the 
night, a short distance from Cape Froward, a high point of land within the 
straits. These high lands I had learned to dread, as from off them, and out of 
the valley, come fresh, fitful winds, called by the Indians "williwaws," blowing 
sometimes with such violence as to take the masts out of vessels. These 
williwaws give you no warning, when your vessel is near shore, and require 
constant watchfulness.

The morning of the 26th broke, however, with a light breeze from the west, under 
favor of which I run along the shore until noon, when the wind suddenly canted 
to the northward, and blew so fresh and hard that at 3 P. M., the main-top-sail 
split, and we were obliged to reef it. At six in the afternoon we were glad to 
drop anchor in Sandy Bay, and to give notice of our arrival by a salute of two 
guns, which was answered from the shore.




CHAPTER II.

Sandy Bay Colony — Governor Benjamín Muñoz Gamero — Insurrection of Cambiaso — 
Forged Message from the Governor — Landing of Captain Ávalos — Escape of 
Governor Muñoz Gamero — Boat sent on shore — Return of the boat — Capture of the 
Florida — Mr. Shaw and myself seized — Taken on shore — Our imprisonment at the 
barracks — Privations — Mr. Shaw removed.

Sandy Bay Colony lies on the Patagonian side of the Straits of Magellan, on a 
level spot of ground which slopes down gently towards the water on the 
south-east. The settlement had formerly been made at Port Famine, at a short 
distance to the south-west of the present colony; but that situation was found 
to be very bleak, the site of the buildings being on a hill somewhat higher than 
the surrounding country, and exposed to the sweep of the williwaws. The change 
had been made under the direction of Don Benjamín Muñoz Gamero, governor of the 
colony, and the new site had been selected with great judgment. The land proved 
very fertile, being well fitted to raise all the crops which the short summers 
of that latitude will allow to come to maturity; and the governor had cleared a 
good deal of ground around the barracks, and laid out many gardens, which were 
cultivated by the convicts. A street ran in front of the barracks, towards the 
water, and on the slope of the shore were some very good houses. These houses 
were made of boards that had been sawed from logs by the convicts. They used 
hand-saws, and usually sawed about twelve or fourteen boards a day. As I looked 
towards the shore from the vessel, as the sun went down, on the evening of the 
26th, there was all around the quiet and peace of early summer, and the barracks 
shone out with the neatness that belongs to all buildings for military purposes. 
How little did I guess the violence and mutiny that were going on within!

There had been an insurrection in the colony about five days before, headed by 
one Cambiaso, second lieutenant of the troops stationed there; who, as I learned 
afterwards, had committed some offence and been imprisoned a short time before, 
by the order of the governor. At his liberation, he had declared that he would 
have his revenge, and I have some reason to suppose that he was instigated to 
seize the place by some of the political offenders confined there, who were 
adherents of General Cruz, and who still held some communication with the 
revolutionists in the province of Concepción. Cambiaso had been joined by most 
of the convicts and prisoners. This attack on the troops had been successful, 
but the governor, priest, some soldiers, and one woman, a wife of one of the 
soldiers, had escaped outside of the fort, and were then hiding in the woods. 
Cambiaso was in possession of the fort when we anchored in the bay, but of this, 
of course, I knew nothing.

Early in the evening, indeed as soon as it was dark, a boat put off from shore 
and came alongside, with five men in her, bearing a letter purporting to be from 
the governor of the colony, and signed Muñoz Gamero, desiring me to keep the 
prisoners on board until the next day, when I should receive assistance from the 
shore, in landing them.

I showed the letter to captain Ávalos, who, tired of his confinement on ship 
board, determined to go on shore for the night, taking with him some twelve 
prisoners in the boat which had been sent from the land, and leaving the 
remainder of the prisoners and the troops under my charge. 

About twelve at night, I was aroused by the firing of cannon from the shore, and 
I sprung upon deck, but I found all quiet in the vessel. In a few moments, 
however, the watch gave the alarm that a boat was coming near us, and crying for 
assistance. The wind blew so very fresh that it was impossible to hear what was 
said from the boat, (the voices being blown away from us) but I conjectured that 
the prisoners who were landed the evening before, and about whose security I had 
some doubts, had made their escape from captain Ávalos, and had probably stolen 
a boat and were trying to get on board, where, with the assistance of the other 
prisoners, they could seize the vessel and make their escape. I immediately 
ordered a gun to be fired in answer to those from the shore, to show that we 
were on the lookout, and then had the larboard quarter boat lowered away and 
sent her out with five men, armed with cutlasses, with orders to seize the shore 
boat.

After being gone for a whole hour, they returned, saying that they had not been 
able to find her. Soon after, the noise of firing from the shore ceased. In the 
boat were the governor, priest, some soldiers, and a woman, who had escaped from 
the barracks, and, seizing a boat, had put off, in hopes to reach me and warn me 
of the insurrection on shore. Having but one oar, however, and the wind blowing 
very fresh, they were unable to make the vessel, but drifted across the Straits 
and attempted to land on the Tierra del Fuego side.

As soon as captain Ávalos reached the barracks, he was seized, his papers taken 
from him, the prisoners who landed with him set at liberty, and himself put into 
double irons and thrust into a calaboose, as the buildings for confining the 
soldiers are called. During the evening, he could hear the prisoners whom he had 
brought on shore, in the full enjoyment of a drunken frolic. He told me 
afterwards that no answer was made to his inquiries as to the reason of his 
seizure, but that he obtained some idea of what was the real state of the 
colony, by overhearing the conversation of the drunken prisoners. Late in the 
evening, the door of the calaboose was opened, and five men, double ironed, were 
thrust into the room. These, he found, were the Secretary of the colony, a 
Brazilian by birth, the captain and first lieutenant of the troops of the 
colony, the apothecary, and governor's steward.

The escape of governor Muñoz Gamero had been discovered by Cambiaso, and these 
men were thrust into the calaboose with captain Ávalos, a guard of eighteen men 
stationed on the outside, with lighted torches in their hands, and with orders 
to set fire to the four corners of the building, and burn them alive, in case 
the Florida made her escape during the night. But the morning came, and the 
Florida, fortunately for them if not for us, was still at anchor. It would be 
inquiring somewhat too curiously of weak human nature, to ask if the prisoners 
felt any thing but joy at hearing of our fatal security. Captain Ávalos and Mr. 
Dunn (the secretary) told me afterwards, that during the night their guards were 
cursing their tiresome watch, and wondering why Cambiaso did not shoot them at 
once, or burn them, without waiting to know the result of the governor's escape. 
But Cambiaso was not so daring a villain as not always to remember the 
possibility of the re-taking of the fort.

Early in the morning of the 27th, I sent my boat on shore, with the first mate, 
Mr. Buela, the passenger, (he understanding Spanish) three seamen, and one 
soldier, with orders to bring off captain Ávalos, and to obtain from the 
governor orders with regard to the landing of the rest of the prisoners. These 
also were seized the moment they arrived at the barracks, and thrust into a 
little building about six feet square. 

The firing and disturbance during the night had roused some sense of uneasiness 
in my mind, lest all should not be right on shore; and early in the morning I 
had gone into the cabin to consult with Mr. Shaw. He was then quite unwell, and 
most anxious to reach the shore, where he supposed he would be able to obtain 
medical advice; while I hoped to land all the prisoners during the day, and be 
able to proceed that afternoon on our way to Rio Janeiro. 

We waited very anxiously, therefore, for the return of the boat, and at about 
nine o'clock she came alongside, but to my surprise, manned with six or seven 
men dressed as officers, who handed me a letter purporting to be from governor 
Muñoz Gamero, stating that my men were drunk, and not able to row the boat back 
to the ship. The letter also requested me to commence landing the prisoners. All 
this seemed to me very singular. I had never seen any disposition to drunkenness 
among my crew, and even if the seamen had been incapable of returning in the 
boat, the first mate and captain Ávalos would have been on board of her. I went 
into the cabin, and, holding out the letter to Mr. Shaw, said "Depend upon it, 
there is something wrong here. My men are not drunk, and if they are, where are 
Mr. P______n and captain Ávalos?" While I was speaking, a voice was heard on 
deck, the cabin door was burst open, and four of the officers rushed in, two of 
them with drawn swords. Mr. Shaw, who was sitting dawn, was seized at once. One 
of the officers struck at me with his sword, but his arm was caught by one of 
the prisoners, who rushed between us. In a few minutes I was secured, in spite 
of my struggles, and we were told that we were prisoners. I asked to whom, and 
by whose authority we were taken, but to this I received no answer. We were 
carried on deck, and I found that the prisoners had been freed. The struggle 
with the troops and the crew was still going on, but as the prisoners rushed up 
from the hold, it became every moment more unequal. The prisoners being unarmed, 
wrested the guns from the hands of the soldiers, and overpowered them by force 
of numbers. As I came on deck, the corporal called out that he would not give up 
his gun unless I ordered him to, for it seems the guns had at first been 
demanded of the soldiers by the officers who came the shore, and in the 
confusion some of them had given them up. As the corporal called to me, three of 
the officers threw themselves upon him, and after a long struggle he was 
disarmed, and put in irons. The whole attack was so unexpected, the rush of the 
prisoners from the hold so overwhelming, and the confusion so great, that I do 
not wonder that the soldiers and crew were overpowered.

Preparations were soon made for sending Mr. Shaw and myself on shore, and a 
sufficient guard was detached, to accompany us in the boat. While rowing to the 
shore, our captors were continually firing off their muskets, with shouts of 
"Viva la Cruz!" These cries gave me the first clear idea of what had happened in 
the colony, for they were the same which had met my ear during the insurrection, 
(previous to my leaving Valparaíso) of which struggle I had been a witness. On 
leaving, we were met by several soldiers on foot and horseback, one of whom 
seemed to be of some authority. This was García, one of the officers in the 
service of the governor, Muñoz Gamero, who had joined Cambiaso in his revolt, 
being compelled to do so, as he afterwards pleaded, by fear of his life. However 
that may be, I certainly found him much more gentle and humane in his actions 
and expressions than Cambiaso, and was indebted to him for several kindnesses. 
From him I gained the first idea of what had occurred in the colony. 

As we left the boat, I noticed Mr. Shaw's extreme weakness, and feared that if 
we were to be taken far from the shore, he would not be able to stand the 
fatigue. I therefore appealed to general García, as I afterwards learned to call 
him, and, calling his attention to Mr. Shaw's state of health, asked him if some 
arrangement could not be made by which he could ride. García ordered one of his 
soldiers to dismount, and Mr. Shaw took his place. We were taken up the slope 
from the water, towards the barracks, and passing by the platform, under the 
mouths of the cannon which were mounted upon it, entered the great gate of the 
fortification. As I looked around, military preparations met my eye on every 
side, but there was none of the order of a regular garrison; on the contrary, 
the shouts of drunken rioters, the quarrelling and swearing of the soldiers, the 
shrill screams of the women which struck my ear, gave me a tolerably correct 
idea of the sort of people into whose hands we had fallen. Conspicuous among 
them all, was their leader, Cambiaso, who cast contemptuous glances upon us as 
we passed, and who might be heard giving his orders, mixed with oaths and 
threats of punishment and death to those who did not obey him implicitly. He let 
us pass on, however, without addressing us, and it was only from his officer's 
dress and authoritative manner that we were able to guess at his rank.
Very little time, however, was given us for observation; for we were hurried 
across the open space, and thrust into one of the largest buildings used as 
barracks. My crew, the remainder of whom were brought away from the vessel at 
the same time with Mr. Shaw and myself, were put into one of the smallest of the 
barracks, where they, with Mr. Buela were confined in a room about six feet 
square, which was so crowded that they were obliged to take turns in lying down 
to rest. Mr. Shaw and myself were at first put into the same apartment, but we 
were not allowed to speak to each other; several soldiers standing guard over us 
the whole time. In about two hours, however, I was taken from this room, and put 
into a smaller one adjoining it. The apartment into which both Mr. Shaw's room 
and mine opened, was occupied by our guard, who ate and slept there, and who 
forbade all intercourse between us.

I looked around the room, which I felt would be my prison until I was led out to 
death, for I knew now into what hands we had fallen; and on my way up from the 
shore to the barracks, had been threatened with death if I did not at once 
inform them what treasure I had on board the Florida; and on my saying there was 
none, one of the officers said "he would soon find a way to make me find some." 
The room was without a floor, with a board nailed to the wall, looking like a 
shelf, but serving for a seat; the table was a board, supported by sticks driven 
into the ground; and these, with my mattress, formed the furniture. I had with 
me a small pocket looking glass about the size of my hand, and the miniatures of 
my wife and children, which I managed to hide within my shirt bosom. I had also 
in my pocket a pencil and a small piece of paper, which I used for the purpose 
of keeping my dates. My guards, however, always came and watched me when they 
saw me writing, and at last told me I must desist, as some harm might come of 
it. After this, I put down my dates when I was unobserved. This was not often. 
For the next two days I was near starving, nothing being given me to eat, except 
two ship biscuit, or "hard bread," as we sailors call them; and my only drink 
was the water which I helped myself to from the guard room.

On the morning of the 29th, two days after our capture, I was taken out by my 
guard, for a walk around the yard and on the platform which ran along the west 
side of the fort, and on which the cannon were mounted. I made the best use of 
my eyes and ears during my walk, and managed to speak to one or two of the 
prisoners who had been on the Florida with me, and whom I had made some 
acquaintance with during the voyage. It was by these prisoners that I was 
afterwards kept informed of what occurred outside of my prison. They would talk 
to me during my walks, and sometimes would come to my window and tell me what 
had occurred; sometimes in bravado, and with great exultation, and sometimes 
with expressions of sympathy. 

On returning from my walk, I met Mr. Shaw, leaving his room with his guard by 
his side; taken out, I supposed, for a similar purpose. I saw he was not looking 
well, and spoke to him, saying, "how do you feel this morning?" His answer was 
"pretty miserable;" and he seemed about to say something more, but my guard 
pushed between us, saying, with an oath, "We can't have any talking, captain; we 
have the general's orders against it." I was hurried into my room, and Mr. Shaw 
led away. This was the last time I ever saw him; for, for some reason which I 
never could learn, he was not brought back to the barracks, but confined in a 
building outside the fortification. It seemed to me, that with the sense of his 
nearness to me, I had lost my last friend; so lonely and miserable did I feel 
when he had left.




CHAPTER III.

My prison — My guards — An English hymn book — A fellow prisoner — Capture of 
the Eliza Cornish — Fears of the English mate — Death of Mr. Shaw — Of Captain 
Talbot and boy — Barbarity of their execution — The Chilean prisoners sympathize 
with us — Cambiaso's bravado — Captain Ávalos and others led out to view the 
dead bodies — Treacherous betrayal of Governor Muñoz Gamero — Execution of the 
traitor — My walk.

I now began to feel for a few days, some of the monotony of a prisoner's life. 
Shut up alone, without occupation, within hearing of the riotous conversation of 
my guard, but forbidden to speak to them, with hard fare, and no arrangements 
for my personal comfort or even cleanliness, except when I could take water 
enough from the guard room to wash my face, using my pocket handkerchief for a 
towel. 

Three or four days had passed, and I had lost the fear of immediate death, but 
my suspense and anxiety to know what Cambiaso's intentions with regard to us 
were, were very great. There seemed to me no motive that he could have for 
keeping us prisoners, after he had satisfied himself that we had no treasure on 
board the Florida, except the fear that we would carry the news of his revolt 
back to Valparaíso; and that danger to himself, it seemed to me, could be 
obviated only by putting us to death. It was in vain that I applied to my 
guards; they were evidently under orders to hold no communication with me, and 
the prisoners who visited me from time to time, knew nothing of Cambiaso's 
plans. To my entreaties to be allowed to see Mr. Shaw, no answer was given, 
except that it could not be allowed, that he had been sick, and was now very 
unwell. 

A few days after my imprisonment, an English book, containing prayers and hymns, 
was handed me by one of my guard, a man named Prieto, who probably could make no 
use of it himself. The hymns had little poetical merit, and probably at another 
time would scarcely have aroused my attention; but now the promises and 
consolations of religion which breathed through them, the spirit of Christian 
resignation and faith of which I was then so much in need, and which to me shone 
out in every part of them, were an unspeakable comfort. The first hymn to which 
I opened, seemed so very applicable to my situation, that it impressed itself 
upon my memory; and I insert it here, thinking that it may be interesting to my 
readers to see how the promises of Christianity are the truest consolation in 
all trials.

  To my complaint, O Lord, my God,
  Thy gracious ear incline;
  Hear me, distressed and destitute
  Of all relief but thine.

  Do thou, O God, preserve my soul
  That does thy name adore;
  Thy servant keep, and him whose trust
  Relies on thee, restore.

  To me, who daily thee invoke, 
  Thy mercy, Lord, extend;
  Refresh thy servant's soul, whose hopes
  On thee alone depend.

  To my repeated, humble prayer, 
  O Lord, attentive be;
  When troubled, I on thee will call, 
  For thou wilt answer me.

Some few days after Mr. Shaw's removal from the barracks, one evening the exact 
date of which has escaped me entirely, I was aroused by a great confusion in the 
fort, a noise of shouting, and, apparently, of rejoicing. While I was standing 
at my window, trying to discover the meaning of the uproar, my prison door was 
opened, and a man put in. He was in sailor's dress, was apparently an American, 
and looked terrified and bewildered.

I accosted him immediately, in English — asked who he was, saying that he was 
probably a prisoner, like myself. The guards in the next room were in such a 
state of excitement that they allowed us to converse unchecked.

He told me that he was the mate of an English brig, the Eliza Cornish, of 
Liverpool, bound from Valparaíso to Liverpool; that the vessel had anchored in 
Sandy Bay, intending to lay over for the night; that the captain, Capt. Talbot, 
of Liverpool, had landed in the brig's boat, with a boy, a son of his owner who 
was passenger on board, and one or two seamen; that they had been seized and put 
in irons the moment they were out of sight of the brig. The boat was then sent 
back to the vessel, with five or six men in her, who came on board and told the 
mate that the captain wanted him to come on shore; but that while he was 
hesitating what to do, they, seeing the small number of the crew, attacked and 
overpowered them, and took possession of the brig. They then demanded of him 
whatever money was on board, threatening him with instant death if he did not 
give it up at once. The brig had on board about ninety or one hundred thousand 
dollars, in bars of gold and silver, which they seized and brought on shore, 
together with the mate and crew. Some of the bars of gold were cut up before his 
eyes, and distributed around among the soldiers; and their exultation at the 
sight of their booty had raised the general shout which I had heard. This man 
was kept in my room during all the rest of our imprisonment. He was a well 
meaning fellow, but evidently not much accustomed to depend upon himself, and 
very much intimidated by the dread of approaching death, by these rebels. I 
constantly found it necessary to encourage him, and prevail upon him to show a 
bold face before our captors, were it only to command their respect. For myself, 
I was not really much afraid of them. I was afraid of dying, for my danger made 
me realize how unfit I was for another world; and my dread of death was such as 
a man might have during a dangerous illness.

At midnight, on December 2d, I was aroused from my sleep by the report of 
muskets, of which they seemed to me to number about ten or twelve. A short time 
afterwards there was another report, and our guards began to run out of the next 
room. The whole encampment seemed in great confusion, and I became alarmed, 
thinking some of our companions had been shot, and that our turn was coming 
next. I dared not ask any questions of the guard, some of whom I saw looking 
through the door of our room, which always stood open at night. The mate of the 
E. Cornish spoke to me, and said, "That is foul play, captain Brown; something 
desperate is going on. I am afraid my captain and Mr. Shaw are gone for it." 
Then, throwing himself upon his face, he began to cry.

His manner gave me a feeling of impatience, and I answered him pretty quickly 
that I did not doubt he was right, and that I supposed our turn would come next, 
but I did not want to hear the thing talked about; and at any rate, he might as 
well show as bold a face as possible, for the guard were watching us, and 
listening to our conversation. This roused him, and he sat up, and during the 
rest of the night we remained in anxious suspense. I believe I was too proud to 
ask any questions of my guard, nor would I allow the mate to ask any.

Soon after sunrise, some of the men who had come down with me as prisoners, came 
into our room and whispered to me in Spanish, "Your poor owner! poor English 
captain! poor English boy!" I questioned them closely and learned that Mr. Shaw 
and captain Talbot, with the young passenger, had been taken from their beds 
just before midnight, put in irons, both hands and feet, led out to a short 
distance from the barracks, and there tied to a tree, and shot. I afterwards 
gathered some particulars of their execution, which, for the sake of clearness, 
I will insert here.

Mr. Shaw had been very sick ever since we were separated; and I was told that on 
the 2d December he sent to Cambiaso, to ask if he might have some medical 
advice. Cambiaso's brutal reply was, "Pass him out and shoot him, for we have no 
time to attend to the sick!" When they were led out, captain Talbot entreated 
most earnestly that the boy's life might be spared, saying that he had been put 
under his care by his parents, that he was a mere boy, and could do no harm; but 
his prayers were not even listened to. He never asked once for his own life. The 
boy was about eighteen years old, a son of one of the owners of the E. Cornish, 
and had made the voyage as a pleasure excursion.

The first volley killed captain Talbot and the young man, leaving Mr. Shaw 
standing unharmed, not a shot having touched him. Then a whole volley was fired 
into him, killing him instantly. One of the soldiers was attracted by the 
glitter of a diamond ring on Mr. Shaw's finger, and as soon as he was shot, the 
soldier went up to him, trying to remove it, but finding that difficult, he cut 
off the finger with his cutlass. This ring I afterwards heard of, as being seen 
on the finger of one of the women about the fort, and on my return to 
Valparaíso, I offered twenty-five dollars to recover it, thinking it would be a 
gratification to Mr. Shaw's friends to obtain even so slight a remembrance of 
him, but I was not able to procure it. The bodies were afterwards taken down and 
hung by the neck to a tree, exposed to all the passers-by.

I never knew why Mr. Shaw was shot, hut I have every reason to suppose that what 
I was told of Cambiaso's reply to his request for medical advice was the truth. 
It would have been too much trouble to take care of a sick man. The same fear of 
trouble probably decided the poor boy's fate. Why captain Talbot was executed, 
while I was reserved, is also a mystery to me. I never saw captain Talbot, but 
from his mate's remarks about him, I felt that he was a man of some spirit and 
character. Perhaps his high spirit led him to say things that exasperated 
Cambiaso. He gave some expression of this spirit at the time he was seized. Two 
officers (Chileans) were handling him rather roughly, when he indignantly told 
them they need not look so surly, and at the same time drew a dirk knife from 
the waist of his pantaloons. But it was immediately taken from him.

Mr. Shaw's death was a great shock to me, and is still a matter of deep grief. 
We had been friends for some time, and I had the highest respect for him. He was 
indeed a young man of great promise, and his loss to his family and friends is 
one which cannot easily be replaced. I grieved for them, even there in my 
prison, while I expected each day to be my last, and while I remembered the 
agony of my own family, when the news of our sad fate should reach them; and now 
that a kind Providence has restored me to them, I grieve to remember him who met 
so cruel a death from such barbarous hands, on a desert and far distant shore.

I was told by one of the men who came into my cell that morning, that the bodies 
were to be left hanging until we had all seen them. Accordingly, about one 
o'clock that afternoon, three of the prisoners (I think they were captain 
Ávalos, with the captain of the regular troops, and Mr. Dunn) were taken from 
their prison, their irons knocked off, and, when they were unshackled, Cambiaso 
walked up to them, and with much mock politeness asked them to accompany him for 
a walk. They were in no situation to refuse, but accompanied him in silence, 
followed by a file of soldiers as guard. He led them out of the barracks, toward 
the vessels. As they passed under the trees on which hung the bodies of Mr. 
Shaw, captain Talbot, and the young lad, Cambiaso pointed to them, and laughing, 
said, "You see what happens to such villains when they fall into my hands; it 
will be your turn next." After compelling them to pass round the tree, so as to 
view the bodies from every side, he conducted them back to the barracks and to 
their crowded prison.

The mate of the E. Cornish and myself spent that morning in a state of anxiety, 
expecting every moment to be called for — perhaps to be led out to death, 
perhaps to be shown the dead bodies of our friends, and to be conscious that any 
emotion we might show would be watched by eyes that would interpret it into an 
expression of unmanly fear. My feeling was a sort of indignant pride; my own 
honor and the honor of my country seemed to me to depend upon my bearing before 
these pirates and desperate men; and I repeatedly requested the mate, whose 
power of self control I began to doubt, to be bold, whatever might happen to 
him. I remember thinking that if he did not, all around him would attribute it 
to a cowardly disposition. Towards three o'clock we heard the report of 
fire-arms, and a general hurry and bustle in the yard. At the report, the mate 
sprung to his feet, saying "Good God, captain! who has gone now?" We listened 
anxiously, but all was quiet again, and I ventured to ask our guard what the 
disturbance was. They answered, carelessly, "it is only a soldier who was shot; 
he is a traitor." In about two hours my guard called me out, saying that the 
mate and I were to walk in the yard. I refused, at first, telling them that I 
did not need a walk, I was well enough as I was, and so forth; but one of the 
soldiers, with an oath, exclaimed that they had the general's orders, and that I 
had better come, or worse might happen to me. I rose, and walked out quietly 
with the mate. The first thing that struck my eyes, as I reached the door of the 
guard room, was a temporary gallows, on which was suspended the body of a poor 
soldier. Near it was a tree, the bark of which was torn with bullet-holes, and 
the ground below, which was soaked with blood. I turned sick at the sight; but, 
summoning up all my all resolution, I walked quietly up to the body, and asked 
who it was. One of my acquaintances, a Chilean prisoner who came with us, and 
who was sauntering around, walked up to my side and said, "You need not feel 
pity for him, captain Brown; he was a traitor, not worth caring for. Our 
general has served him right." 

I questioned the man further, and found that this was the body of one of the 
soldiers who had escaped from the barracks with the governor, and who, worn out 
by suffering and the fear of starvation, had appeared at the gate that morning, 
and delivered himself up, offering to give Cambiaso information of the 
governor's hiding place, if he would promise him safety, and the sum of five 
hundred dollars. Cambiaso promised, and as soon as he had gained what he wanted 
from him, had him ironed, and led out and shot. I felt that he had deserved his 
fate, but remembering the proverb, "honor among thieves," could not but think 
that it was not at Cambiaso's hands that he should have met it.

His story was, that after the boat in which they had left the shore on the night 
the Florida arrived, had drifted past our vessel, and they had found it 
impossible to make us understand what they wanted, they drifted on through the 
night, paddling as well as they could till they reached the Tierra del Fuego 
shore, soon after daylight. There they attempted to land, but were prevented by 
a party of Indians, who fired on them, and wounded one of the soldiers. The 
weather then being calm, they paddled to the westward, and crossed the Straits 
again to Port Famine, the former site of the colony. There they had concealed 
themselves in the bushes, and for the last week had been living on nothing but 
roots, and were being now in a state of starvation.

All this I gathered from my guards and visitors, after I returned to my room 
from my walk, in company with the mate, although we had never expected to see it 
again. 



CHAPTER IV.

Capture of the Governor — His execution — I am led out of my prison —The burning 
of the bodies — Governor Muñoz Gamero's character — His intercourse with the 
native tribes —The Priest Acuña — Arrival of H. B. M. war steamer Virago — Mr. 
Dunn, the Secretary — Cambiaso plans the capture of the steamer — He fears her 
force and discipline — The officers invited on shore — No suspicions aroused — 
The Virago sets sail

On the afternoon of the day of these executions, Cambiaso sent out two or three 
parties of soldiers, well armed, under one of the chief officers, and all on 
horseback, with directions to take the governor and his party, and bring them in 
dead or alive. They had accurate information of their hiding place from the 
traitor, and by surrounding the bushes, and gradually beating in, they succeeded 
in capturing them, and about sunset brought them in, and they were soon heavily 
ironed.

I heard that they were terribly emaciated, and scarcely able to stand, from 
weakness, having lived for nearly a week on nothing but roots and berries. 
Cambiaso ordered them to be served with a good dinner, saying that they should 
go with a belly-full, and then thrust them into the calaboose, where captain 
Ávalos and the other prisoners were confined. Captain Ávalos told me afterwards 
that neither the governor or the priest showed any signs of fear, but when he 
asked them if they knew their fate, they answered coolly, "Oh, yes!" Cambiaso 
seemed to intend to surround this execution with all the pomp and solemnity that 
he could command. About nine, in the evening, there was a general rush through 
the camp. The bugles sounded the death march, the drums beat, the soldiers were 
all ordered under arms, and governor Muñoz Gamero and the priest Acuña were led 
out of the barracks. All was still in the yard after they left, and in a short 
time I heard the report of their death shots. They were shot under the same 
trees to which Mr. Shaw and captain Talbot had been tied.

In about an hour I was called out of my room, and told that I was wanted in the 
yard. I went out doggedly, for this day of excitement had worn me down into a 
sort of indifference as to my fate; but the scene that lay before me when I 
reached the platform, which, raised above the rest of the yard, commanded a view 
of the land beyond the fortification, roused me at once from my indifference. In 
the field north of the barracks, was dug a deep hole, in which a large fire was 
kindled, which threw its red light on all around. On the trees, to the right, 
hung the dead bodies of Mr. Shaw, captain Talbot, and the boy, and beneath them 
were dimly seen the bleeding corpses of the governor and priest. The rebels were 
busied around the fire and the bodies, and Cambiaso, with some mounted 
officers, were to be seen giving directions. Soon I saw a cart driven up to the 
fire, and a dead body thrown from it into the flames, with as little ceremony as 
one would treat a dog. One of my guard standing by me, said, "There goes the 
governor." The bodies of Mr. Shaw, captain Talbot, and the poor English boy were 
one by one cut down, and thrust into the fire.

The women of the camp had pleaded with Cambiaso to allow the body of the priest 
to be buried, and he, having perhaps some feelings of reverence for his sacred 
office, had allowed it to be given into their hands. More fuel was now heaped on 
the flames, and their lurid light showed me a scene which makes me shudder as I 
recall it.

The soldiers danced round the fire, singing the national hymn of Chile, and 
mingling with it shouts and curses, imprecations on the governor, and threats of 
vengeance against the remaining prisoners; especially against captain Salas, the 
commander of the troops under Muñoz Gamero, and against captain Ávalos, whose 
rank as an officer under the government of Chile seemed to be his only crime. 
The darkness of the night, the lurid glare of the flames, the fantastic dancing 
of the soldiers, the mingled shouts and curses that met my ear, made every thing 
appear to me like some revelry in hell, where the souls of the damned make merry 
over their fellow sufferers. On this evening the barque's papers, also my 
private papers, were burnt, with shouts of joy. 

I was kept on the platform until the flames had died down, when three cheers 
were given by the soldiers around the fire, and answered by those within the 
yard; and soon after, I was ordered back to my prison, to endure another night 
of anxiety. 

The mate eagerly asked me what I thought was going to happen next, but I 
answered him shortly, and turned from him, for I felt the necessity of calming 
my mind, after such excitement.

That night I passed in close communion with myself, strengthening my soul to 
meet whatever might be before me, and rousing my energies to seize every 
opportunity to escape from the hands of such blood-thirsty fiends. The morning 
found me calmer, and more full of energy and determination, than any moment 
since my captivity. If Cambiaso ordered me to be brought out on the platform in 
order to intimidate me, he did not know his man. The sight, instead of 
depressing me, roused in me a spirit of revenge, and determined me to retaliate 
the wrongs which I had seen inflicted on my friend.

Governor Muñoz Gamero was a post captain in the Chilean army; his name, Benjamín 
Muñoz Gamero. I afterwards heard him spoken of as a man of fine character, and 
of excellent judgment. Under his directions, the colony had grown in prosperity 
and in discipline. He had built some very comfortable barracks for the soldiers, 
and some good houses for the officers. The convicts had been employed in 
clearing and cultivating the ground, and intercourse and trade with the Indians 
of the country had been encouraged.

The native tribes around the colony had always shown themselves friendly to the 
settlement; and, as I learnt, had been in the habit of coming down to the 
barracks about once a month, bringing with them game, and other articles, which 
they were anxious to exchange for flour, bread, and so forth. They generally 
formed themselves on a line, on the north side of the barracks, and the governor 
would range his troops upon the platform, above the fence, and put in their view 
the two cannon, the noise of which they had often heard, and of which they had a 
superstitious dread. The chiefs would then come forward and meet the governor 
outside the fence, and arrange their terms of barter.

Of the clergyman, Acuña, I know but little. The reverence of the women of the 
colony for him, certainly speaks in his favor.

The morning of the 4th of December, while the mate and myself were eating our 
scanty allowance of hard bread, washed down by the water which we had taken from 
the dirty buckets in the guard room, a shout rose in the yard, "A steamer! a war 
steamer, with the English flag!" My heart leaped to my mouth, as I sprung to my 
feet, and the mate seemed to gather courage from the very sense of the vicinity 
of his countrymen and from his confidence in the protection of his flag. One 
moment's glance showed me that even amidst their excitement, some of the guards 
were watching us from the other room; and managing to caution the mate by a 
glance, I endeavored to assume as natural an air as possible, listening and 
asking questions as if from mere curiosity. I gathered from the guard and from 
the idlers round the camp who flocked in, that Cambiaso had expressed his 
determination to attempt to capture the steamer; that the Chilean flag had been 
run up at the flag-staff, and a gun fired to attract the attention of the 
steamer, and induce them to come into the harbor and drop anchor. At last, she 
was seen to make for the harbor, and to be evidently making preparations to 
anchor. Her name, they told me, was the Virago.

During the last hour, the mate and myself had been forming a thousand plans by 
which we hoped to attract the attention of the officers or men of the steamer, 
when they landed, and warn them of their own danger, and of our situation; but 
our plans were quickly frustrated; for no sooner had the steamer come to anchor, 
than the mate and myself were hurriedly taken from our room, and led across the 
yard towards a smaller building. In vain I questioned those who were leading me, 
as to where I was going; my only answer was hasty oath, and an order to be 
quiet. The door of the little calaboose was opened, and we were pushed into a 
room about eight feet square, and the bolts drawn behind us. Before me, sitting 
or lying on the floor, were six haggard looking men, heavily ironed. I spoke to 
them in Spanish, but was answered by one of them in good English, who said "You 
are the captain of the American barque?" I started with surprise, for I 
immediately thought him an American; and I saw that he was a gentleman, or 
something beyond a common sailor. And what American could be confined there, not 
belonging to the Florida? Could there have been another vessel captured by these 
pirates, of which I had heard nothing? "Who are you?" I eagerly asked; "are you 
an American? How came you in this wretched place?"

He answered that his name was Dunn, and that he was a Brazilian, who had been 
employed by governor Muñoz Gamero as his secretary. That he had been seized by 
Cambiaso's orders, at the time of his insurrection, and confined in that filthy 
den ever since.

While he was speaking, one of our guard knocked on the door, and ordered 
silence, saying that he would shoot down the first one of us who troubled him 
again.

The next three hours we spent in anxious listening to what was going on without; 
Mr. Dunn and myself now and then exchanging a word in a whisper. Every attempt 
that we made to look from our little window was prevented by our guard, who 
stood closely gathered about both door and window, every now and then looking in 
upon us. Without, all was very still and orderly; no noisy rioting to be heard, 
nothing, save every now and then the tread of soldiers, or the usual noises 
attending the regular military duty of a barrack yard. We expected every moment 
to hear the noise of firing, or some shout of exultation, if the officers of the 
Virago were entrapped as we had been; but all was quiet.

Towards the middle of the afternoon, the English mate and myself were taken out, 
and conducted to our old prison. All was quiet in the yard, and as I glanced 
around, I saw no new faces, no change in the arrangement of the soldiers, no 
building guarded but those which I had been accustomed to recognize as prisons 
for my crew, the crew of the E. Cornish, and the room where captain Ávalos, and 
the prisoners with him, were confined.

Arrived at our old home, the guard became more communicative, and told me that 
our prison had been changed to keep us out of sight of the English officers, who 
had come on shore, visited the barracks, and the Florida, and had left the 
harbor without having their suspicions excited. This chance of escape was lost 
to us then. I felt very indignant at what seemed to me the unparalelled 
stupidity of the officers of the Virago, and yet it is very possible that had 
their suspicions been excited, we might all have fallen victims to the 
revengeful spirit of the rebels, before any thing could have been done for our 
rescue.

During that evening and the next day, I managed to extract from my guard and 
from one or two of my fellow voyagers, the Chilean prisoners, who had now become 
almost regular visitors to my room, an account of all that had occurred during 
the visit of the Virago to the colony.

On the steamer's casting anchor, Cambiaso had manifested a great desire to 
capture her; probably expecting something of a prize on board of her, and 
perhaps wishing to have in his hands so powerful a vessel. He had called a 
meeting of his officers, to consult upon the most advisable plan to pursue, to 
accomplish the capture. The first plan proposed, was that which had been so 
successful in our case and that of the English brig: to seize the officers as 
they came on shore, and kill them at once, to avoid the necessity of employing 
men to guard them; then to board the steamer and take her, having first enticed 
away as many of the officers and crew as possible. The sight of the big guns, 
which showed their teeth all along the side of the steamer; their knowledge of 
the excellent discipline on board a British man-of-war; of the capability of 
even the smallest midshipman to take command of the crew in case of the absence 
of the superior officers, all deterred the pirates from attempting this plan of 
capture.

The difficulties in the way of the capture were, I heard, discussed very freely; 
general García being most earnest in insisting upon them. The chief, or rather 
the first difficulty suggested by him, was that the officers might come on shore 
so well attended that a fight might be necessary, to overcome them; and that the 
noise of the struggle might excite the suspicions of those on board, when the 
whole colony would be at the mercy of the guns of the Virago. This plan was put 
to the vote among the officers, and after voting upon it nine times, it was 
rejected. Once, I was told, it came within one vote of being accepted.

The next proposition was worthy of the blood-thirsty wretches. It was that such 
officers should be invited to dine with Cambiaso, he supporting the character of 
governor of the colony; and that poison should be mingled with some of the 
dishes of which the officers were to partake, but this plan also was rejected. 
The rebels must have felt that it was too uncertain, even if human nature did 
not make them feel something revolting in it. It was then proposed that some of 
the officers of Cambiaso should be sent on board the steamer, with an invitation 
to the captain to land, and that they should, on their return, report the 
appearance of things. This was agreed to, and the spies were sent; but their 
report of the order and discipline on board, the well manned guns, the well 
drilled marines, determined Cambiaso to give up all hopes of capturing the 
vessel, and to confine himself to attempting to elude suspicion. The officers of 
the Virago landed, and were shown through the fortification and the colony, 
Cambiaso attending them.

I was told that one of the prisoners, Mr. Dunn, who talked both English and 
Spanish, was taken from his prison, and after being threatened with instant 
death if he revealed the true state of things, was employed to interpret for 
Cambiaso; while at the same time two of the rebels who had some knowledge of 
English, were ordered to watch him, and report any thing which might sound 
suspicious.

The captain of the Virago asked what vessels those were lying at anchor. 
Cambiaso answered that they belonged to him; remarking that the brig had 
prisoners on board of her — some of the convicts whom he had not the 
conveniences for keeping in close confinement on shore; and that as the vessel 
was only used as a prison, there would be nothing interesting to them in going 
on board of her.

The captain and officers afterwards visited the Florida, from which all my crew 
had been removed except the steward, a negro man, and on board which were living 
five or six of Cambiaso's followers. How the English officers could be so blind 
as not to read on the stern of the barque the name, "Florida, of New Orleans," 
and on the brig, "Eliza Cornish, of Liverpool," or not to have their suspicions 
excited, if they did read those names, is incomprehensible to me. It would seem 
that their own common sense would have told them that such a colony could not 
hold vessels; or if it did, that the vessels would be Chilean — not American, or 
English. I was told that Cambiaso made the captain a present of eighty or ninety 
tons of coal, of which the Virago was in need; but I could not but think there 
must be some mistake about this. The coal was perhaps bought by the Virago. 
Surely, Her British Majesty's vessels do not accept such presents as that from 
the governor of a small penal colony, on the shores of Patagonia. So large a 
quantity of coal would be a very valuable gift in such a place as that, where 
all the fuel, except the brush-wood from the scrubby forests around, must be 
brought from abroad.

Cambiaso told the captain, whose name I afterwards learnt was Stewart, that 
several of his prisoners had escaped, and were now lurking about the woods at 
Port Famine; and if, on the steamer's anchoring there to take in some of this 
coal, which lay on the shore, any of these prisoners should wish to be taken on 
board the Virago, he wished captain Stewart to order his men to drive them away, 
and to hold no communication with them. Some of the soldiers who escaped with 
the governor, had, it appears, never been re-taken, and Cambiaso feared their 
report to the English vessel.

It seems to me another instance of stupidity in captain Stewart, that he should 
have swallowed unsuspiciously this story of Cambiaso's. Would it not have been 
much more probable that Cambiaso would have asked their assistance in 
recapturing his prisoners, and requested the Virago to retain them until he 
could send for them? I could not but feel that all these things, or indeed half 
of them, would have been enough to have opened the eyes of even a moderately 
"cute" Yankee. But perhaps some allowance for my impatience at the blindness of 
the English officers is to be made, when we consider how much this chance of 
escape was to me, and how bitterly I lamented its loss. 

My fellow prisoner and myself were sad enough during the rest of that evening, 
as we heard that the Virago had left Port Famine, and was now out of sight.




CHAPTER V.

We are better treated — Captain Ávalos again — His privations — The sergeant 
shot — Mr. Buela — Cambiaso's discipline — His code of laws — Personal 
appearance — His vanity — Threats of poison — Improved fare — The coffee — The 
mate secures the E. Cornish — Cambiaso and García visit me — I go on board the 
Florida — My steward.

After the departure of the steamer, the severity of our imprisonment was very 
much relaxed. The prisoners were allowed to walk about every day, accompanied by 
a guard, and were even allowed some communication with each other. I saw captain 
Ávalos again, and shook hands earnestly with him. He told me that he had thought 
that I had been shot with captain Talbot and Mr. Shaw. Captain Ávalos had been 
confined in the same building, with captain Salas, and with the first lieutenant 
of the troops under Muñoz Gamero, of whom Cambiaso had been second lieutenant. 
He told me that captain Salas had made several attempts to hold communication 
with some of the soldiers under his command, but that they had been strictly 
watched by Cambiaso, who feared treachery. One morning, before the execution of 
Mr. Shaw and the governor, a sergeant who had formerly been a convict, but had 
been promoted for good conduct was detected receiving a bottle of brandy from 
captain Salas, and was immediately seized, tried by a summary court martial, and 
put to death as a traitor, under the sanguinary code established by Cambiaso. 
After this, the officers in confinement had been more strictly watched, and 
forbidden to hold any communication with the soldiers on duty.

Mr. Dunn, the secretary, I often met in my walks, and we generally managed to 
exchange a greeting, and to convey some information to each other in English, as 
we passed. Mr. Buela I also saw again at this time. He had suffered much 
privation, being confined in the same room of six feet square in which he was 
first put with my crew, where they were so crowded that they were obliged to 
stand up most of the time.

It was good policy in me to cultivate all friendly relations with my captors; 
and for this reason, I began, at this time, to mingle in their sports, at least 
as a spectator. In the evenings, the men and women would often collect under a 
large tent, and dance the Fandango, the so well known Spanish dance. They danced 
it with handkerchiefs, waving them as each couple separated and retired to the 
right and left. One evening Cambiaso came up to me as I was standing by the tent 
ropes, and asked me to join the dance. I had no heart to do this, but pleaded in 
excuse my American ignorance of the figures. These evenings generally ended with 
a feast — a pig or calf barbecued.

One night's rude and cruel amusement I cannot even now think of without a 
shudder. All the dogs of the encampment were driven into a circle, and then 
chased with clubs. The cries of the poor frightened animals, the howlings of 
those who were knocked down, rang in my ears all night; and next morning their 
carcasses could be seen lying around on every side.

I also did my best, during my walks, to keep up my friendly intercourse with the 
prisoners I had brought down to the Straits with me, and who had been allowed 
their liberty, on swearing allegiance to Cambiaso. Some of them were very 
friendly, and brought me such information as they thought would interest me. 
From them I learnt much of the discipline which Cambiaso had established, and of 
the sanguinary code of laws which he had drawn up.

Immediately after the escape of the governor, and the success of the 
insurrection, Cambiaso was proclaimed Commandante by the rebels. Afterwards his 
title was Major General, and García's, General, or little general, as he was 
called by most of the soldiers, by way of distinction. On the same day, by order 
of Cambiaso, the hospital, chapel, with all the sacred vessels on the altar, the 
house and robes of the priest, were burnt; Cambiaso declaring that he would have 
nothing to do with any religious rites. A red flag was hoisted, having upon it a 
skull and cross-bones, with the motto, "I give no quarter;" and upon it the 
soldiers and released convicts all swore fidelity. This flag I often saw raised 
in the colony, on parade days, during my imprisonment. I give below the code of 
laws, a copy of which I afterwards obtained at Valparaíso. Of its atrocity I 
need say nothing, as it speaks for itself. 

  MILITARY CRIMES,
  AND THEIR CORRESPONDING PUNISHMENTS.


  ARTICLE I.
  Every inferior who speaks disrespectfully of his superior officer, shall be 
  immediately shot.

  ART. II.
  Every inferior who should raise his hand against his superior officer, shall 
  be immediately hung.

  ART. III. 
  If an inferior strikes his superior officers, with or without arms, he shall 
  he burnt alive.

  ART. IV.
  He who should be a traitor to the flag we have sworn, shall be cut in pieces, 
  alive, and afterwards burnt.

  ART. V.
  He who is guilty of perjury, incurs the same punishment.

  ART. VI.
  He who communicates with the enemy, incurs the same punishment.

  ART. VII.
  He who speaks against the service, incurs the same punishment.

  ART. VIII.
  ROBBERY. He who steals any object, money, or any article whatsoever, shall be 
  hung.

  ART. IX.
  WANT OF PUNCTUALITY. If any person in the military service, (no matter in what 
  capacity,) be wanting in his duty, and does not present himself in the place 
  and at the hour at which he has been ordered to appear, he shall be tried and 
  shot.

  ART. X.
  COWARDICE. Every man who, for want of courage, flies from the enemy, shall be 
  put to death by the bayonet; and his eyes shall be taken out to prove the 
  fact. The body of a coward shall be burnt.

  ART. XI.
  If any traitor be seized, his tongue shall be cut out, it being the instrument 
  of his falsehood. He shall be burnt with a red hot iron, and he shall 
  afterwards suffer the punishments he has incurred, according to Articles 4th, 
  5th, and 6th.

  ART. XII.
  Sentinels found asleep at their posts, shall be immediately hung; they being 
  the only persons responsible for said post's security. Therefore, the 
  sergeants are requested to visit the posts every ten minutes, for the 
  observation of this article.

  ART. XIII.
  He who in battle gives quarter to an enemy, out of pity, or any other 
  consideration, shall be immediately shot.

  ART. XIV.
  The officer, sergeant, or soldier who is not vigilant when on guard, shall be 
  tried and shot.

  ART. XV.
  The infractor of any of these laws, if an officer, shall be hung; if a 
  soldier, shot.

  ART. XVI.
  All military persons are charged with the fulfilment of the preceding 
  articles. This is particularly recommended to superior officers: and they are 
  requested to inform their troops that want of information on this head will 
  not excuse them from undergoing the punishments expressed.

  ART. XVII.
  He who should steal or hide (or abet another in so doing,) any powder, balls, 
  or article of war, shall be burnt alive.

  ART. XVIII.
  He who in battle or on march should throw away the cartridges given him, 
  desirous of not injuring the enemy, or of relieving himself of their weight, 
  shall be cut in pieces alive, joint by joint, beginning in preference with the 
  fingers of the right hand. His remains shall afterwards be burnt.

  ART. XIX.
  If, on arriving in any province, a Montista be discovered, his house shall be 
  sacked, and the owner or tenant thereof shall be burnt in the said house.

  ART. XX.
  If any person in the troops under my command sells any article with usury, he 
  shall receive one hundred lashes.

  ART. XXI.
  The chiefs of this division, desirous of preventing all fraud, prohibit, under 
  pain of the gallows, any attempt to give money or gage, or with any kind of 
  interest.

  ART. XXII.
  He who, from this time forward, should lend money on gage, [to lend against 
  security; to take in pawn, Ed.] shall lose all right to the gage given him; 
  losing also what he gave on it, and receiving two hundred lashes in 
  punishment.

  ART. XXIII.
  The sentinel or advanced post who on seeing the enemy approach, does not give 
  the alarm, shall be cut in pieces alive; considering that from his omission 
  great danger may arise.

  ART. XXIV.
  The chief, officer, sergeant, or soldier who shall not defend his post unto 
  death, shall be burnt alive; no excuse to be admitted on account of the 
  greater force of the enemy, the bad state of the armament, or any thing else 
  tending to cover his cowardice.

  ART. XXV.
  Any officer ordered to assault a post, shall take it, or lose his life in the 
  attempt; if he returns unsuccessful, though he have lost all his soldiers, he 
  shall be immediately shot.

  ART. XXVI.
  If any sentinel gives the "qui vive," and does not receive in answer, "General 
  Cruz," he shall immediately fire at the person interrogated.

  ART. XXVII.
  This government, desirous that every individual shall preserve his money, and 
  employ it for useful objects, prohibits all kinds of hazardous games; and if 
  any is resorted to in order to while away time, it must be lottery, and 
  without interest. He who infringes this article, shall be hung.

  ART. XXVIII.
  An ounce of gold shall be given to every body who gives information of the 
  infringement of the preceding Article.

  ART. XXIX.
  Any sentinel who abandons the post committed to his care, shall be pinched 
  with red hot tongs until he expires. After this, his body shall be exposed 
  publicly during eight days; after which it shall be burnt, and its ashes cast 
  into the air.

  Given in the camp of Punta Arenas,
  December 13, 1851.

On reading over this code of laws and punishments, many proofs may be seen of 
either present or intended communication with the insurgents in the province of 
Concepción, under general Cruz. Articles 18, 19, and 25 would indicate that 
Cambiaso had in contemplation a march through the country, to join his forces 
with those of the revolutionists. By "a Montista," is meant an adherent of the 
government at Santiago, under President Montt.

At this time, I very frequently saw Cambiaso; sometimes on horseback, surrounded 
by his aids; sometimes walking on the parade ground. He rode well, and generally 
on a very spirited horse; and always went armed with sword, dirk knife and 
pistol. His personal appearance was fine; — an open forehead, a fair complexion, 
with a profusion of dark hair, an ample moustache, and heavy beard. His nose was 
aquiline, and his profile finely marked, and what an artist would call the 
coloring of his face was admirable; the bright red lips, fair forehead, and dark 
hair, softened down by the lighter colored beard and moustache, gave a beauty to 
his face that would have been a study for a painter. But his eyes revealed the 
evil passions hid under that fair exterior. They were long, and dark, and hid 
under their lashes, from beneath which he cast sudden and covert glances. When 
he was talking to me, he never looked steadily at me, but after ending his 
remarks, would give me a sideway glance, as if marking the effect of what he 
said; and in that glance there was something to me stealthy and cat-like. After 
I observed this, I always took care, during our conversations, to look him 
directly in the eye, as if afraid I might lose a word, but in fact because I 
felt and knew that he could not endure any look, much less one so intently 
given.

From my observation of his character, I should not have called him a brave man. 
He was very vain, very fond of being admired, and often to gain the applause of 
his own men, would assume an air of bravado; and doubtless the same love of 
admiration would have led him into daring acts; but he talked too much of his 
valor, to impress me with any strong belief in it. He doubtless had the animal 
courage which belongs to an uneducated man, and one brought up in the profession 
of arms; but I am convinced that in any situation calling for self reliance and 
presence of mind, his boasted courage would have failed him. But I am giving now 
rather the conclusions I drew from all I ever knew of him, than any opinion I 
could form at this time.

Cambiaso was a young man, not more than twenty-five or six years of age; in 
person, rather thin than stout, and of not more than middle size. He was vain of 
his beauty, and fond of ornaments. The day after my capture, he sent word to me 
that he wanted my watch and chain. I handed them to the officer who brought the 
message. The watch I never saw again; but the chain I sometimes recognized among 
the ornaments on Cambiaso's person.

Indeed, it was no uncommon thing for me to recognize my own pistols, cutlasses, 
and so forth, carried by the officers and guards who surrounded me. And I am 
conscious of a singular feeling of indignation, — or, to use a more accurate 
word, of impatience — which would cross my mind whenever I reflected that I 
might at any moment receive my death-wound from a stroke or a shot from one of 
my own weapons. At this time I was destitute of even a change of clothing; my 
trunks, with those of all my passengers, being left on board the Florida, and 
soon broken open and rifled of their contents, by Cambiaso and his men.

In my conversations with Cambiaso, which now occurred very frequently, I often 
begged permission to go on board my vessel, and be under guard there, knowing 
that some of his followers, with their wives, were living on board the Florida; 
but his answer constantly was, "No: I am making up my mind what to do with you 
all." At times he would threaten to shoot us at once; this was when he was made 
angry by reports of the trouble which the care of us gave. These threats were 
reported to me by the Chilean prisoners; but during his conversations with me, 
he never broke out into violent expressions, but seemed rather to keep a control 
over himself, as if to impress me with a sense of his self command.

A few days after the visit of the Virago, I was told that Cambiaso had been 
heard to say that he had made up his mind to poison me. This seemed to me so 
idle a threat, when he had me so completely in his power, that it did not make 
much impression upon me, until I found that a great difference was made in our 
fare. We were allowed to eat with the guards in the outer apartment, instead of 
having our food brought to our own room; and the dishes put before us were much 
better than I had formerly seen served to the soldiers.

I told my suspicions to the mate, and we determined to taste only those dishes 
which we saw the soldiers eat of. This, however, it was difficult to do when any 
new dish was sent to us, for the guard being first served, would eat ravenously 
of the delicacy, and often leave nothing for us.

One morning, a cup of coffee was sent to me, and to me alone, from Cambiaso's 
own table. I put it down before me, and hesitated; for the conviction flashed 
across me that the poison was in this coffee; but looking up, I saw the eyes of 
all the soldiers and the mate fixed upon me. They had all heard of Cambiaso's 
threat, and probably the same idea was in their minds as in mine. Their fixed 
gaze roused my pride, and reflecting that I might as well drink it first as 
last, and indeed, that my death by Cambiaso's hands in one way or other was 
almost certain, I raised the cup and drank the coffee at one draught. No evil 
consequences followed, and from that time a cup was sent me every morning; but I 
never could divest myself of the idea that into some of them the poison would be 
put.

The weather throughout the time of our imprisonment had been very warm, but 
interrupted by heavy north-west winds, which swept from between the hills, and 
sometimes drove across the harbor. The E. Cornish and the Florida had been 
anchored by the rebels, with two anchors each; but this was done in a very 
unseamanlike manner, and in one of these high winds the E. Cornish began to drag 
her anchors. This was reported to me by some of the friendly Chileans, who had 
been on board, and I began to fear that we should lose the brig. Not that I had 
any definite idea of any succor which could arise to us from Cambiaso's 
retaining the vessels, but they seemed a tie between ourselves and our homes; 
and as long as they were safe, we had at least the means by which we could leave 
the place, in case it was ever in our power so to do. I therefore advised the 
mate to send word to Cambiaso by one of his guards, that if he was allowed to go 
on board his vessel, he could remedy the difficulty; and at the same time I told 
all our visitors, who were quite plenty at this time, that they should use their 
influence with the general, to allow the mate to secure the brig for them.

Cambiaso immediately sent an order for the mate to be sent off to the E. Cornish 
in one of the shore boats, accompanied by three or four of his soldiers, as 
guards. This was in the evening; and after he left, I was visited by several of 
the officers, and at last by Cambiaso himself. I fancied I saw some anxiety 
amongst them, with regard to the mate's proceedings. They were so ignorant of 
all that pertained to navigation, that I believe they thought it possible for 
one man to navigate a vessel by himself, and had some idea that the mate's 
request to go on board was part of a concerted plan between us, by which he 
could make his escape, and bring succor to the other prisoners. The next morning 
the wind shifted, and blew directly in shore very fresh, with a heavy sea. 
Cambiaso at once ran up a flag on the flag-staff, as a signal for the boat to 
return to shore. I was walking on the platform at the time, and saw her leave 
the vessel, with four men in her; but the distance was too great for me to 
distinguish whether or no the mate was among them. As the boat neared the shore, 
and got among the breakers, I could see that she was rowed very unsteadily, as 
if by landsmen. Suddenly she was capsized, and the men in the water. Three of 
the men struggled to the shore, but the fourth was drowned. He never rose after 
the first struggle. As the remainder came into the barracks, I pressed eagerly 
forward, to see if my fellow prisoner was with them, and learned that he had 
remained on the brig. The circumstance of his remaining, added to their half 
formed suspicions, and during the rest of that day, I was obliged to calm the 
hourly increasing excitement, by assuring each new visitor to my prison, that 
the mate was doubtless doing his best to make the brig hold to her anchors; that 
it was not yet safe for him to leave her, and so forth. That evening, to my 
great relief, he made his appearance, and I immediately gave him his cue as to 
what account he should give of his delay. I felt, however, that I had run a 
great risk, which no thing but the strongest necessity should make me incur 
again.

During the third week in December, I had frequent visits from Cambiaso and 
García, during which they questioned me very closely in regard to my knowledge 
of navigation, sometimes turning to the English mate, and comparing his answer 
with mine. They asked what I knew of the navigation of the Straits; and would 
often seem to be cross-examining me with regard to the lay of the shore, and the 
appearance of the headlands.

I took advantage of their visits, to beg for more indulgence to my crew, who 
were still shut up in the crowded place where they had first been put, and 
deprived of almost the necessaries of existence; but it was evident, from 
Cambiaso's answers, that he had not yet determined what course to take with 
regard to us.

About the 20th of the month, I received permission from Cambiaso to go on board 
my vessel, and remain there; and on the same day my crew were released from 
their prison, and allowed to run at large in the yard, and cook for themselves. 
After my long confinement in the barracks, under the constant supervision of the 
guard, never allowed to eat or sleep without being watched, the Florida seemed 
like home to me, and the face of my steward like that of an old friend. He had 
been kept on board to cook for the men who were living in the Florida, at the 
head of whom was an officer by the name of Tapia, (the one who brought my first 
and second letters to me,) and his wife. My steward had often asked for me while 
I was on shore, and Tapia would sometimes tease him, by telling him that I was 
shot or hung, that he would never see me again, and so forth; at which he would 
cry like a child; and when he saw me come on board, he danced and skipped around 
me with a true negro-like expression of delight.

I asked him if he wanted to stay in that country with those rebels and pirates. 
"No, massa; no, massa Captain," he replied, "I want to be with you; I feel safe 
while you are by me." 




CHAPTER VI.

Comparative comfort — The American ensign — Christmas day — My visit to the 
barracks — The Indian boys — Cambiaso's rage — Execution of the Indian woman — 
The cattle slaughtered — Escape of the Indians — Fears of the rebels — 
Preparations for leaving — The Florida re-christened — Interview with Cambiaso — 
The embarking of the Colonists — Prisoners sent to the Florida.

After my removal to the Florida, I made myself comparatively comfortable, with 
the help of my steward Tom, who seemed as if he could never do enough for me. I 
was allowed to take possession of my state-room, and found some few of my 
personal effects lying about the vessel, which I took the liberty of taking 
possession of. Tom had two of my shirts, which he had washed in his best manner, 
and hid for me. The luxury of a change of clothes and a good bath, was 
delightful to me. Tom was allowed to do my cooking at the same time that he did 
Tapia's, our rations being brought from the barracks. I used to eat my meals, 
sitting on the deck, it being then the height of summer, and very warm most of 
the time, in the cabin.

One morning, in loitering on the deck, I saw the American ensign, which had been 
ignominiously thrown behind a coil of rope. I glanced around, and finding that 
no one was observing me, raised it, and hurried with it to my state room, 
concealing it beneath my mattress.

I found the Florida much injured by the neglect and rough usage she had 
undergone. Many of her sails were destroyed, her running and standing gear cut 
up, and one of her quarter boats lost. This grieved me very much; and with Tom's 
aid, I endeavored gradually to repair such of the injuries as it was in my power 
to mend, thinking that the time might come when the vessel might enable us to 
make our escape.

The morning of Christmas Day dawned, bringing to me so many sad recollections 
that I became nervously restless, and unable to remain quietly on board my 
vessel. Every thing seemed to remind me of home, by the very force of contrast; 
the wild, foreign faces around me; the strange language, made harsh by oaths and 
curses, which greeted my ear; the summer vegetation; the heat — all so opposed 
to every thing associated with the season in my mind; the recollection of the 
terrible scenes I had passed through; of my present danger and of what might be 
still before me — all pressed upon me, until some change of place seemed to me 
absolutely necessary.

I determined to go on shore; so, taking a boat, accompanied by Tapia and some of 
his men, we rowed ashore, and soon reached the barracks.

Here, every thing was in confusion — such confusion, that I quickly wished 
myself back again on board the barque. The soldiers were mostly under arms, the 
released prisoners and my crew standing in groups on the parade ground; and, 
looking towards Cambiaso's house, which was in the middle of the yard, I saw him 
standing at the door, talking to García, and apparently in a state of great 
excitement. Not willing to come under his notice in his present mood, I passed 
quietly around the yard, looking for somebody from whom I could obtain 
information. Mr. Dunn I could not see, he being still under guard, confined with 
captains Ávalos and Salas; but I soon met my old fellow-prisoner, the English 
mate, and from him and some of the Chileans I gathered the cause of the uproar.

There had been several visits from the Indians during the last week or two, and 
there was some reason to suppose that some of these late visitors had come as 
spies. The herdsmen who had the charge of the cattle belonging to the colony, 
had reported that they had of late seen Indians, armed, lurking around the 
cattle, and hanging about the woods which surrounded the cantonment. This had 
roused Cambiaso's suspicions, and on the day after I removed to the Florida, he 
had seized two Indian boys who had been living some time in the barracks, and, 
apparently with the design of intimidating the Indians, had ordered them to be 
conveyed to a point about two miles distant, at a place where the Indians were 
accustomed to pass, on their way to the barracks. There they were hung by the 
neck to the trees, and lanced to death, their cheeks and noses being cut off.

On Christmas morning, an Indian woman had appeared at the gate, requesting to 
enter and visit her son, who was in the barracks. She was carried before 
Cambiaso, and being questioned by him as to the movements of the Indians, and 
when they were coming to make another visit for barter, she contradicted herself 
continually. She confessed that she had seen the bodies of the Indian boys, but 
being asked who was with her when she saw them, she at first said, "No one;" 
then said she had been sent to the yard by one of the chiefs, — then that he was 
angry about the death of the boys. While she was being questioned, the herdsmen 
came hurrying into the camp, with the news that the Indians were killing the 
cattle, and carrying them off.

Cambiaso mustered his mounted troops hurriedly, arming them with muskets and 
clubs; and then, leaving the Indian woman under guard, he hastened out with his 
men in pursuit of the marauders. The Indians soon took the alarm, and mounting 
their swift horses, were off before him, leaving the slaughtered cattle lying on 
their pasture ground. He, however, soon put his men on the track, and leaving 
them to follow the Indians, returned on the gallop to the barracks, terribly 
exasperated. He rode in and called to the guard to bring out the Indian woman, 
crying, "Drag her out! kill her! shoot her down, she shall tell me no more 
lies!" She was dragged out before him, resisting with all her might, and 
pleading for her life, asking for her son, praying for his help. Her prayers 
were useless, and were not even listened to. Cambiaso himself collected a file 
of soldiers, and ordered her to be dragged to a tree and tied there. He gave the 
order to fire himself. Six or eight bullets struck her, but still she writhed in 
agony, and continued her shrieks for help. One of the soldiers, at a nod from 
Cambiaso, walked up to her and struck her on the head with a club, which 
silenced her for ever. Her dead body was hanging to the tree when I entered the 
yard.

The English mate, from whom I got most of this information, and who had been 
suffered to go at large almost unwatched since I left the barracks, told me that 
he had never seen Cambiaso in such a fiendish passion; that García had tried to 
quiet him, but without the least effect.

The troops were still out, following the Indians, and great anxiety was 
expressed in the yard that they might overtake and capture them. The general 
opinion seemed to be that the Indians, seeing the weakened and disorderly state 
of the colony, had formed the plan to make a sudden attack upon them, and 
massacre them all, for the sake of the booty which they would secure. From what 
I gathered, I concluded that a party of Indians had come down the pass on their 
way to visit the barracks, when, finding the dead bodies of the boys on their 
road, they had sent the woman on as a spy. Why they had commenced slaughtering 
and driving off the cattle, without waiting for her return, I could not tell, 
unless the herdsmen were so few and so easily to be overpowered that the 
temptation was too great for them.

At about one in the afternoon, I succeeded in persuading Tapia and his men to 
put off again for the barque, and happy indeed was I to find myself again on 
board of her.

I determined not to go ashore again unless I was compelled to, and to keep as 
much out of Cambiaso's way as possible. Fifty plans of escape had crossed my 
mind. Sometimes to leave the vessel, and strike across the country among the 
Indians — but from that, the fear of starvation deterred me; sometimes to get 
enough of my crew and of the prisoners friendly to me on board the vessel to 
navigate her, and make our escape in that way; but the Florida lay right under 
the guns of the fort, and the impossibility of getting her under weigh was too 
evident. Besides, I felt a great reluctance to any plan of escape which would 
leave my fellow sufferers, Mr. Dunn, captain Ávalos, and so forth, still in the 
hands of the pirates. There seemed to be nothing but to wait the course of 
events, and avail myself of any favorable circumstance that might occur.
On the morning of the 26th, several men from the barracks came on board to visit 
us, as they sometimes did, and from them we learned that the soldiers sent after 
the Indians had returned without being able to overtake them, after following 
them for twelve hours; and that there was a good deal of anxiety on shore, lest 
the Indians should come up in force and attack them in the night.

I had felt some desire to see one of the native Patagonians, having still my 
school-boy belief that they were giants, as our geographies generally inform us. 
During my imprisonment at the barracks, one or two of the men had visited the 
yard, and I had seen them from my window. They were certainly large in stature, 
but by no means came up to the measure of my boyish imagination. They had 
heretofore shown themselves friendly towards the colonists, being probably kept 
in awe by governor Muñoz Gamero, and the strict discipline which he enforced; 
but they were said to be very far from cowardly, and very savage and inhuman 
when roused by the excitement of fighting. I had often thought that Cambiaso had 
some dread of them, judging from two or three remarks about them which he had 
made to me from time to time.

For two or three days after this disturbance by the Indians, a sharp look-out 
was kept by Cambiaso, and every visit to the Florida from the shore gave me 
accounts of the alarm of the rebels. At last, I heard that we were all to leave 
the place, and the settlement was to be abandoned. I eagerly asked Tapia, from 
whom I heard this, if he would tell me where we were going; but I found he knew 
no more of our destination than I did: indeed, it was only from what he had 
observed on shore, and from the surmises of the men around him, that he had 
drawn his conclusion. I felt very anxious to go on shore and try to discover for 
myself how much truth there was in this report, but the remembrance of my last 
visit and its risks deterred me. I could only question Tapia, who went to the 
fort very often, and who seemed as anxious as myself to know what was to be 
done. It was evident that the men did not trust Cambiaso; that they feared his 
securing the treasure and one of the vessels, and abandoning them to the mercy 
of the Indians or to the Chilean government, when the news of the insurrection 
should reach Valparaíso. This seemed not improbable; but for myself, I judged it 
more likely that Cambiaso was making some preparation to join the insurgent 
party under general Cruz, in the province of Concepción, for I was convinced 
that he had in some way held communication with them before he rose against 
governor Muñoz Gamero. He had several times in his conversations with me, 
declared himself a sworn partisan of general Cruz; and once, in answer to my 
complaint of the outrages committed against my vessel and myself, he had said 
that if general Cruz succeeded in overthrowing the government at Santiago, 
everything connected with my case should be satisfactorily adjusted, and that I 
should have no reason to complain. In speaking thus, he must of course have 
referred to my pecuniary losses. No reparation could be made to me or to his 
friends, for the barbarities inflicted upon my friend, Mr. Shaw; but in 
Cambiaso's scale of injuries, the loss of property probably stood highest. 
Somewhere about the 29th or 30th of December, several workmen were sent on board 
the Florida, evidently for the purpose of making preparation for her departure. 
Her name, which was beautifully painted on her stern, was smeared over, a fresh 
coat of paint put on, and the word "Inesperado" (the unexpected,) inserted in 
its place. Wood, water and provisions in great quantities were sent to the 
Florida and the Eliza Cornish, and the two vessels were put in as good order as 
could be expected from such unseamanlike workmen.

These workmen took the opportunity to ransack the two vessels, secreting 
everything of value that they could lay their hands on, and throwing overboard 
what they thought useless. Among other things, they came across some bags of 
silver ore which had been overlooked in the former searching of the Eliza 
Cornish, and doubtless would have appropriated this treasure to the deep, if the 
English mate had not been standing by them at the time of the discovery, and 
threatened to inform against them. The bags were worth about two hundred dollars 
apiece.

On the morning of the last day of the year, Cambiaso himself came on board, 
attended by his aids, fully armed, and evidently intending to surround himself 
with all that could impress us with an idea of his authority. He went into the 
cabin, and then sent for me to come to him. When I entered, he was seated by the 
table, with his pistols lying before him, and dressed in his full regimentals. 
He received me with much politeness and offered me a seat; then commenced by 
telling me that the marks of hostility shown to the colony by the Indians, and 
the difficulty of obtaining supplies for his followers, had determined him to 
abandon the place, and that he had made up his mind to keep me with him, to 
navigate the vessel; and that he expected me to use my utmost skill, and to obey 
his orders to the letter, with regard to the course of the vessel. I answered 
him very coolly, that he had left mes no choice; since I was entirely in his 
power, I must perforce obey his orders; that with regard to using my utmost 
skill, I had too much regard for my own life and the lives of my crew in that 
perilous navigation, not to do my best. My coolness did not seem to offend him, 
for he smiled as I spoke, and rising, said, "You shall be well watched, Sir 
Captain, and it will go hard with you if you give any cause for suspicion." 
After going through the vessel and giving some orders to his workmen, he 
prepared to leave, when I said to him that if he would give me authority, I 
would give directions to the workmen in regard to such repairs as the vessel 
might need to render her sea-worthy. To this he assented, apparently with much 
satisfaction, and entering the boat, his men pushed off for the shore.

New Year's Day dawned, clear, bright, and summer-like, and early in the morning 
the boats were all busily engaged in bringing off the colonists to the two 
vessels. My crew and the crew of the Eliza Cornish were sent on board their 
respective vessels, and my old companion, the English mate, was put in command 
of the E. Cornish.

We had a busy time of it on that New Year's Day. Men, women, children, 
provisions, water, camp furniture, and so forth, were crowded on board our 
vessels, and my ingenuity was taxed to the utmost to make stowage for them all. 
About two hundred of the colonists were put on board the Eliza Cornish, and 
nearly two hundred and sixty on board the Florida. Cambiaso, with García, and 
his other officers, took possession of the cabin and state-rooms, taking with 
them Mr. Dunn, captain Ávalos, and some others. The rest were crowded into the 
hold with the common soldiers. I was allowed to retain my state-room, as captain 
of the vessel, and my mates and crew were put under my command. The treasure was 
stored in Cambiaso's state-room, or near there, nailed up in heavy wooden boxes. 
I found that all the prisoners of any importance were to be put in the Florida, 
probably to retain them under Cambiaso's own supervision. Captain Salas, 
however, was sent to the E. Cornish.

Among our passengers were about a hundred goats; and as we had no pens to 
confine them in, a few dogs were sent with them as guards, whose duty it was to 
keep them within bounds. Two dozen hogs were to share the privileges of the deck 
with the goats.

On the evening of the 1st of January I managed to exchange a few words with 
captain Ávalos and Mr. Dunn, who had been sent on board just before dark. They 
told me that everything of value had been taken from the fort, what was portable 
sent to the vessels, and any things too heavy to carry away, and too valuable to 
be left to the Indians, had been buried in different spots around the cantonment 
and in the yard of the barracks, by order of Cambiaso. It seemed to them that he 
meditated a return to the colony, in case he met with any difficulties in 
navigating the vessel, and that therefore he was unwilling to abandon any thing 
to the Indians. We were not able to talk long, as some of the officers were 
standing by, and evidently watching us.



CHAPTER VII.

Cambiaso's orders — We set sail — Wood's Bay — The old French ship — A drunken 
riot — The officer condemned — García's interference — Men deserted at Wood's 
Bay — The Eliza Cornish left behind — Stormy weather — Sandy Bay again — The 
Indians — Cape Gregory — Interview with Cambiaso — His promises — Conversation 
with Mr. Dunn — My determination.

The 2d of January saw us all ready for sea, and early in the morning Cambiaso 
came on board. He called me into his state-room, and after renewing his threats, 
in case he saw any signs of my disobeying his orders, he gave me a written 
paper, on which were my directions for navigating the vessel. I opened it before 
him, thinking that if I saw the necessity of making any remarks about them, it 
would be better to do it at once. The paper directed me to go westward through 
the Straits to Cape Pillar; thence west-by-north 1-4 north to 82 deg. west 
longitude; then northerly to the latitude of the island of Marica; [presumably, 
Isla Mariquina, Ed.] thence for that island, coming to anchor on the east side, 
and waiting for further orders. The Eliza Cornish was to follow the Florida, and 
at night both vessels were to display a signal lantern at mast head.
He remarked, when I had finished reading, that these were only my general 
directions; that I must look to him for more particular orders from day to day; 
and that while the vessels were within the Straits, he should often want to 
anchor at different points.

At about ten o'clock in the morning, a signal gun was fired from the Florida, 
and both vessels weighed anchor and got under way for the westward. We made but 
slow work and little progress, both vessels being somewhat out of repair from a 
month's neglect, and the standing and running rigging being very much chafed and 
worn. On Saturday, the 3d, we reached Port Famine, and there were ordered to lay 
over till Monday morning, during which time the men were employed in getting in 
more wood and water, while I was fully occupied in stowing our numerous 
passengers more closely, and if possible, more comfortably. In this labor I 
received much assistance from Mr. Dunn and captain Ávalos, whose situation I 
endeavored to render as comfortable as possible, and whose fare I supplied from 
my own mess.

Sunday evening, as I was standing on the deck, one of the men from the hold 
passed me with a bundle under his arm, and approaching the side of the vessel, 
was about to throw it over. I stopped him, asking what it was. He carelessly 
turned down the covering and showed me the body of a child who had been born the 
evening the colonists came on board, and who had died that morning. The brute, 
who I suppose was the father, had attached pieces of iron to the cloth which 
covered the poor little thing, to insure its sinking. I compelled him to go on 
shore and bury it, ordering him by my authority as captain of the ship. I took 
every occasion to exercise this authority, thinking it might be of advantage to 
me in the future. The mother died during our voyage.

We got under way again on Monday morning, and reached St. Nicholas Bay by the 
evening of the 6th. Here we lay over all night, and on Wednesday morning 
continued our course westward until Thursday afternoon, when we came in sight of 
Wood's Bay, Cape Holland. Cambiaso sent for me as we neared the harbor, and 
informed me that he intended to lie in this anchorage for some time. His object 
was to get some liquor out of an old French ship which, had been wrecked there 
some time ago, and which still lay with the greater part above water. We came to 
anchor in the evening, and the next morning the soldiers were sent on shore to 
unload the wreck, and rescue what liquor was still untouched by the water.

Some barrels and casks were brought out whole, and immediately transferred to 
the Florida; but many were stove in, either purposely or by accident, and then 
commenced a scene of drunken rioting and disorder which lasted for three or four 
days. Officers, men, sailors — all were intoxicated: and Cambiaso and García 
seemed to have as little control over them as I had. Indeed, the temptation 
sometimes proved too strong for Cambiaso himself; and Mr. Dunn, García, and 
myself were almost the only men who preserved full possession of our senses.

I remember one case in which I used my authority as master of the ship somewhat 
rashly. The occupant of one of the state-rooms, the doctor of the colony under 
governor Muñoz Gamero, and a Frenchman, had drank enough to make him noisily 
troublesome, both in the cabin and on deck. At last he went out on the jib-boom, 
hallooing and shouting. I called to him to come in, but finding he paid no 
attention to me, I sent the only seaman I had on board out after him. This 
proved equally unavailing, and, losing all patience, I sprang out myself, 
collared him, and thrust him into his state-room. I fully expected that he would 
complain of me to Cambiaso, and that I might have to suffer for my rash 
assumption, of authority; but I never heard from him again.

By Sunday night the rioting seemed to have worn itself out, and the men, having 
slept off their intoxication, began to return to their duty. That night, 
however, Cambiaso was in a terrible humor, swearing at all around him, and 
giving most contradictory orders, which it was impossible to observe. One of 
officers unluckily offended him by venturing to remonstrate, when Cambiaso in 
his half drunken passion, ordered him to be put in irons and sent on board the 
Eliza Cornish, accompanied by a file of soldiers, and at twelve at night to be 
tied to the mast and shot down. The men obeyed; but I noticed the muttered 
indignation of the other officers, and general García, after Cambiaso had 
retired to the cabin, stepped forward to the officer under whose direction the 
removal was made, and who was to control the execution, and, under the plea that 
Cambiaso was under the influence of liquor and might alter his order, he gave 
the officer authority to delay the execution for an hour or two, or at least 
till he heard again from himself. I watched the countenance of the condemned man 
as he went towards the boat, but could read nothing on it but sturdy, obstinate 
defiance and indignation, until, just as he was leaving the deck, a woman's 
scream was heard. It was his wife, who, occupied in the hold of the vessel, had 
heard nothing of what was going on until this moment, and now rushed on deck 
with her children hanging round her. The man's face twitched as she flung 
herself into his arms, crying most piteously; but the soldiers quickly took her 
away from him, and hurried him on board the boat. I went up to the woman and 
endeavored to console her, by telling her of general García's interference, but 
between my broken Spanish and her sobs, I am afraid very little of what I said 
reached her mind.

García had left the deck and gone to Cambiaso's state-room, where he remained 
for about two hours, soothing Cambiaso and pleading for the officer's life. At 
last he came out successful. A boat was sent to the Eliza Cornish, the officer 
brought back and restored to his wife. This and other humane actions of general 
García, made much impression on me at the time, and inclined me to believe his 
assertions made afterwards that he had only joined Cambiaso on compulsion, and 
from fear for his life.

Monday, the 12th, a terrible storm raged; but in the afternoon, Cambiaso began 
to send some of the men on shore, as he said, to wash their clothes. This seemed 
to me a strange proceeding, and I watched his movements in some anxiety. By 
night about forty-four were landed, and on the last return of the boat, it was 
hoisted up and put in its place. Cambiaso then, under his own directions, had 
our four-pounders and swivel gun loaded with two balls each —the swivel gun 
pointed towards the stern. When this was accomplished, orders were sent to the 
Eliza Cornish to weigh anchor and go in shore. The Eliza Cornish had but two 
guns on board, and was not utterly defenceless. It was said by Cambiaso that if 
the poor mate should attempt to follow the Florida, his brig should be fired 
into and sunk, while I was ordered to get under way and go to the eastward. I 
understood his plans now. The men landed at Wood's Bay were to be left behind to 
starve or fall a prey to the Indians; the Eliza Cornish and her two hundred 
passengers were to be left to their fate; while the Florida, (on board of which 
was all the treasure and Cambiaso's chief followers,) was to be used to convey 
the pirates to some place of security. I shrank from being even compelled to be 
accessory to such cruelty, and ventured to remonstrate with Cambiaso; not, 
however, on his barbarity, — that, indeed, would have been useless, — but on the 
risk the Florida would run in attempting such dangerous navigation on a night so 
thick and murky, with the wind blowing heavily in shore. I told him that it was 
not safe to start, that I could not answer for our not being ashore before 
morning; but he would not even listen to me, saying he believed I was a coward, 
and angrily commanded me to obey orders.

It was, indeed, as much as I could do to keep the vessel from the shore that 
night, the storm continuing till daylight, and I expected every moment that we 
should be driven in shore. I do not know that I dreaded it much. It seemed to me 
as well to fall into the hands of the Indians, as to remain with these fellows, 
and our chances of escape were as good on land as at sea.

Tuesday morning, however, saw us again opposite Sandy Bay, and at nine o'clock I 
hove-to off the harbor, by Cambiaso's orders. The boat was then cleared away 
ready for lowering, and some of the men were ordered to go ashore to bring off 
some provisions which had been left behind; but they, perhaps mistrusting 
Cambiaso's intentions, and fearing that they would be abandoned, as their 
companions had been at Wood's Bay, refused to land, declaring that they saw some 
Indians prowling about the barracks. I saw, by the help of my spy-glass, that 
what they took, or pretended to take for Indians, were only barrels and stumps 
of trees, but I prudently said nothing. Cambiaso stormed and threatened, but the 
men were stubborn and immovable, and García again interfering, he sullenly 
ordered me to proceed, and retired to his state-room. That evening I anchored 
under Cape Gregory.

Towards ten o'clock, when the night watch was set, and all was quiet on the 
vessel, Mr. Dunn and myself were sent for to Cambiaso's state-room. Mr. Dunn had 
of late always been called upon to accompany me when Cambiaso sent for me to 
deliver orders; my broken Spanish seeming to irritate him, and Mr. Dunn serving 
as interpreter to render my orders more clear to me. Cambiaso received us very 
cordially, asked us to be seated, and began by expressing himself very well 
satisfied with the skill I had shown in navigating the vessel. He was even 
jocose, asking me if I was a good shot with a pistol, since he had an idea of 
fighting a duel with me; then, pointing to a bottle of champagne which stood on 
the table, he said, "That is the pistol I mean we shall exchange shots with;" 
and drawing the cork, he made us both drink with him. Then turning to Mr. Dunn, 
he said, "My good friend Sir Captain is troubled about the rascals I left at 
Wood's Bay; he does not know, as you and I do, that there's only one way to get 
along with such men. They are devils, and nothing is too hard for them. One must 
take care of himself in this world."

Mr. Dunn told him that I had hesitated about putting out from the harbor because 
the night was so murky, and the navigation intricate; and that I was afraid of 
running the vessel on the shore. Cambiaso shook his head: "No, no; you are both 
of you tender-hearted as women. I suppose you would be frightened now, if you 
saw blood shed, but one can always get along without it."

I answered that I could fight as well as another man, when I saw need for it; 
but that I did not like leaving the English mate and crew, nor even his 
followers to starve, or fall into the hands of the Indians. This made him laugh 
heartily; but suddenly changing the subject, he asked me if I had a wife and 
children. “Yes," I said, "in my own country." "How many little ones?" he 
rejoined; "and I suppose you would like to see them again? Well, you must do 
without that for some time yet; but if you will follow my orders, you shall go 
home with money enough to stay with them always."

I answered that I had obeyed his orders since I had agreed to, and that I should 
continue to navigate the vessel as well as I could, if that was what he wanted 
from me. "Yes," replied he, when my friend had interpreted this answer to him, 
"Yes, yes, that is what I want of you for the present, and I promise you both 
that I will not give you any fighting to do; all I ask of you is to stand by, 
and not be frightened if you see any blood spilled." We made no reply to this; 
when, after pausing a moment, and glancing at us from under his long, veiling 
lashes, he said, "I will make it worth your while, captain Brown, to follow me, 
and yours too, Sir Secretary. If you obey my orders, and land me safe at my 
destination, you shall go home to your wife and little ones with twenty thousand 
dollars, captain; and you (to Mr. Dunn,) shall have six thousand, if you 
interpret for me faithfully." He rose as he said this, and pointed out of the 
cabin, saying as we left him, that all he wanted was that we should be true to 
him.

It was then late into the night, but instead of retiring, Mr. Dunn and myself 
walked to the side of the vessel, out of hearing of the watch and the few 
soldiers listening about the deck, to talk over our interview with the general. 
We knew that those around us were aware that we had been sent for by Cambiaso, 
and, had been with him for some time; therefore it would be natural for them to 
suppose that we would wish to talk of what we had heard from him, and it was 
very seldom we had an opportunity of exchanging even a few words without feeling 
that we were suspected by our watchful jailors.

I told Mr. Dunn at once that I did not like Cambiaso's conversation; I did not 
trust his apparent friendliness for a moment; indeed, I believed that it was all 
assumed to deceive us, and hide his real intentions.

"But," replied Mr. Dunn, "he cannot do without you as long as he remains on 
board the Florida, and now that he has abandoned the colony and left the brig 
behind, he must have some port in view." "Yes," said I, "he will use us as long 
as he wants us; but depend upon it, he will never let us escape alive to any 
place where we can put the officers of justice on his track. Depend upon it, all 
this was to blind us; he has some devilish plan in his head; he will do 
something with us very soon."

Mr. Dunn looked anxiously serious as he said, "I more than half agree with you; 
the villain was half intoxicated this evening, and let out more than he meant 
to. Did you see his face when he promised us the money? But what plans can he 
have? What port does he intend to make?"

This brought to my mind a conversation I had held a few days before with one of 
the officers, Cambiaso's chief adviser and confidant, and a man who before this 
had scarcely exchanged a word with me. He, through the help of one of the 
sailors, a Chilean, but who talked English tolerably well, had questioned me 
about the lay of the shore around Rio Janeiro, and the approach to that port, 
the landing, and so forth. This I repeated to Mr. Dunn, and putting that 
conversation with Cambiaso's entire change of orders since we first left the 
colony, his evident intentions of continuing his course eastward, the amount of 
food which he had stored in the Florida, and other slight indications of the 
same sort, we felt that Rio Janeiro was his destination, and that we had some 
clue to his plans.

Still, I was convinced, and at last succeeded in convincing Mr. Dunn, that his 
friendly expressions towards us, and his offers of money were entirely 
insincere; his bids were altogether too high. I knew that all the treasure on 
the vessel did not amount to more than eighty thousand dollars, and of that he 
would hardly give twenty-six thousand to men whom he had entirely within his 
power; and give it, too, when he had no longer any further use for them. Long 
afterwards, and on my return to Valparaíso, I found that my suspicions were 
correct; for I learned from García and the other officer of Cambiaso, both of 
whom were pardoned by the Chilean government, that Cambiaso's plan had been to 
take the Florida to some part of the Brazilian coast that was uninhabited, 
probably on the inhospitable shores of the province of Santa Catharina, there to 
compel most of his followers and prisoners to land and shift for themselves; 
using some such stratagem as that which had been so successful at Cape Holland; 
and to keep on the vessel only his intimate friends, and myself and crew. On 
reaching the harbor of Rio Janeiro, and coming near enough to gain the shore in 
the boats, he and his companions were to murder myself and crew, scuttle the 
vessel, and with the treasure, make their escape to the port; there, dividing 
the booty, they were to disperse, Cambiaso himself intending to take passage in 
the steamer for Europe, and his officers to seek whatever foreign country might 
please them and seem a safe refuge for them.

Mr. Dunn and myself parted, with our distrust of Cambiaso confirmed, and with a 
renewed determination to strain every nerve to escape from his hands. After I 
reached my berth, and as I lay tossing and revolving our perils, the thought 
struck me that it might be possible to re-take the vessel. A thousand 
difficulties and dangers started up to intimidate me, but the possibility of 
success seemed to overbalance all uncertainties, and I spent the rest of the 
night in laying my plans, in measuring the chances of resolution and fidelity 
amongst my crew, and in estimating the probability of our being joined by any of 
the released prisoners.

By the morning, I had made up my mind to the attempt, and rose with a 
determination to lose no time, but to effect it, if possible, that very day.  



CHAPTER VIII.

The re-taking of the vessel planned — Mr. Dunn — Captain Ávalos — Prieto — The 
corporal — Three bells — The struggle — Cambiaso overpowered — García — Cheers 
for victory — The crew swear fidelity to me — Our course — Cambiaso put in irons 
— His cowardice — The prisoners from the hold — River Gallegos — Voyage round 
Cape Horn — Attempted outbreaks — Our danger — We reach Ancud.

Wednesday, the 14th of January, we left Cape Gregory behind us, and continued 
our course eastward, towards the eastern entrance of the Straits. I sought Mr. 
Dunn early in the morning, and communicated my determination to him. I found him 
ready and willing to sustain me in the attempt, and that he agreed with me that 
the sooner it was made, the better; so, determining to hurry things on, we 
parted — he to sound such of the prisoners and soldiers as we thought would join 
us.

There were several of my crew in whom I could not put confidence, they being too 
frequently seen holding confidential conversations with Cambiaso's followers; so 
that after some deliberation, I determined not to entrust our plans to any of 
the men, lest those whose fidelity we doubted should hear of them, and betray us 
to Cambiaso; but in the course of the morning I spoke to those whom I could 
trust, and asked them separately if they would stand by me in trouble, and obey 
my orders. They all answered that they were ready; and one of them, with an 
oath, added, "Till death, captain!" Captain Ávalos we managed to speak to during 
the morning, and found him as ready as we were.

The day wore on anxiously enough for us, for we felt that the struggle that was 
approaching was a matter of life and death with us; one false step, and we were 
lost; one careless or treacherous word breathed by those whom we were compelled 
to trust, and we were at the mercy of those villains, whom no sense of humanity 
could restrain. The weather was fine, and the wind favorable; and, between eight 
and nine o'clock in the evening, we passed Cape Possession, leaving it to the 
north-west. I was on deck with the larboard watch, when Mr. Dunn told me that he 
had secured the assistance of twelve besides myself. These were some of the 
soldiers under captain Ávalos; some prisoners who had come down with us, and who 
had proved themselves so friendly during our confinement at Sandy Bay; and one 
or two of Cambiaso's own followers, who had expressed dissatisfaction at his 
tyranny, and to whom Mr. Dunn had held out the prospect of pardon, if we should 
succeed in our undertaking. Among them was my former guard, Prieto, to whom I 
was indebted for the hymn book, which proved so great a source of consolation. 
We laid our plans most cautiously. Captain Ávalos and his soldiers were to 
secure the officers in the cabin, while Mr. Dunn and myself were to guard the 
deck. To the corporal who had defended himself so bravely at the time the 
Florida was seized, and who refused to deliver up his gun except to my order, I 
gave the attack on Cambiaso himself; for during our whole imprisonment, he had 
manifested such a detestation of him that I really believed he would have eaten 
him up alive, if he could have got at him.

During the evening, Cambiaso and his officers sat around the table in the after 
cabin, engaged in their usual occupation of gambling; and every glance which I 
cast in upon them showed me their dark, fierce countenances, while the sound of 
their oaths and laughter struck my ear. Without, all was still and peaceful; the 
barque gliding swiftly through the water, with a free wind and a pleasant 
breeze. I watched the strange looking southern stars which looked down upon us 
from their quiet skies, with a strange impatience at their peaceful calmness.

By eleven, the gamblers began to rise from the table, and one by one retired to 
their state-rooms; and when the sound of eight bells proclaimed midnight, all 
was still and quiet around us. I sent the larboard watch below, telling them 
only that they must be prepared to come on deck if they heard me call. The 
starboard watch then came up, but I did not inform them of my plans then. The 
signal was to be three bells, or as a landsman would say, the striking of 
half-past one in the morning. The forward hatch was closed, and the guarding of 
the after hatch was to be given to Mr. Dunn and myself. Two bells told us that 
one o'clock had arrived, and all were at their posts, — captain Ávalos and his 
men ready at the cabin door. Not a sound was to be heard save the ticking of the 
watch in the cabin, and the rustling of the water as it broke round the bows of 
the vessel. Both sounds struck on my ear with painful acuteness. At last, three 
bells rung out, and the rush was made in the cabin; — at the same moment I 
shouted, "All hands tumble up!" and in a moment my crew was around me. Mr. Dunn 
and myself were at the after hatch, and as the noise of the struggle reached the 
men between decks, we shouted that we were armed, and had the vessel, and that 
the first one who appeared at the gangway should be shot down.

The struggle in the cabin went on. Ávalos had stationed his men so that each 
state-room door was broken in at the same moment, and some of the occupants were 
secured before they were well awake. Cambiaso struggled hard, but was at last 
overcome and bound with cords, for irons we had none. During the fifteen minutes 
that the struggle below lasted, we were in suspense, on deck, not daring to 
leave our posts, but knowing that all depended on captain Ávalos's success. At 
last he appeared, with a shout; all were secured without the loss of a life — 
not even a drop of blood spilled. Then rose three times three cheers for our 
victory, which rung through the vessel, and announced our success to the 
prisoners below.

But our work was not over. Captain Ávalos and his men collected all the pistols, 
cutlasses, guns, and so forth, which could be found, and carried them into the 
cabin, loading the muskets and pistols, while I called my men aft, and asked 
them if they would stand by me in defending the vessel and taking her into port. 
They promised with most eager anxiety; and Mr. Dunn and captain Ávalos coming 
forward, added to their enthusiasm by pledging their lives to sustain me in 
holding the vessel, and putting themselves entirely under my orders.

I then hove the main-top-sail to the mast till our course was decided, and 
called a council as to our best course. Some of the party proposed returning to 
Sandy Bay, where we could defend ourselves in the barracks; others to push on 
for the coast of Brazil and make the first port there; but I told them we had 
not water enough to go very far, and suggested that we should make for the 
nearest watering place, the river Gallegos, lying in lat. 51° 39' S. — lon. 69° 
W., on the east coast of Patagonia; there take in a fresh supply of water, and 
shape our course round Cape Horn for Valparaíso. To return to Sandy Bay seemed 
to me to put ourselves directly into the hands of the pirates who were behind 
us, and who could easily overpower us, and release their leaders and companions. 
If we attempted to reach the coast of Brazil, it seemed to me impossible that we 
should be able to hold the vessel during so long a voyage, as we had no irons to 
secure our prisoners, and no men to spare to guard them; whereas, the telling 
them that we were taking them to Valparaíso would probably satisfy all but the 
ring-leaders.

My plan was adopted; and as we had a fair wind, I squared the yards and started 
at once for the river.

The whole forenoon of the 15th was spent in preparing irons for Cambiaso, 
García, and others confined in the state-rooms. When they were finished, the 
corporal and some others entered Cambiaso's state-room to put them on his hands 
and feet. He lay on his bed, bound hand and foot with cords, and as we entered 
and commenced putting on the irons, he said, "Are you going to shoot me? Let me 
have fifteen minutes to prepare." They gave him no answer; but after securing 
him they left the state-room, and placed his enemy the corporal, with another 
soldier, well armed, at his door, with orders to shoot him at once if any 
disturbance should break out amongst the prisoners.