Biblioteca Patagónica

(Note: Text dealing with natives is displayed with a contrasting background colour.)

EXCITING ADVENTURES.

Tommy Riordan, seaman of the steamer San Pedro, just arrived at a U.S. port, is one of ten men lost by the ship Balaklava during a terrible storm off the coast of Patagonia last summer. He tells the following story of his experience:— "The Balaklava encountered very stormy weather before my companions and myself were washed overboard. The sea had been running high for several days, but the day of the disaster it was running in long, heavy, and powerful swells, which, had they been higher, would have washed the vessel into kindling wood. It was growing dark, and it was thought advisable to take in sail. Just as were about to execute the command a heavy sea washed over our vessel. I saw it coming, but it was too late to get out of danger, and I went down in the trough of the sea, and must have been slightly stunned, for I don't know how it happened. When I came to, I was holding on to a portion of the mast with all the strength that was in me. It is impossible for me to relate what I suffered in that cold water. I floated on the piece of wreck for two days, and then I lost all consciousness. It is queer how I was washed ashore, but I was flung up by the surf on the only decent portion of coast line there is in Patagonia. When I regained consciousness a band of the most hideous-looking beings I ever saw were dancing around me. The men were giants in size, and I could not tell whether they were cannibals or not. As I opened my eyes I tried to think where I was and what had happened. Shouts of joy were uttered by all, and two big bucks raised me up and carried me with ease a long distance into the interior over a miserable country to their camping ground. I was well guarded, and a council was held to see what should be done with me. I imagined all the most horrible deaths and determined to escape, and I did that night. I still retained a little clasp-knife that all sailors wear, but it was impossible for me to get at it until my hands were liberated. On guard were two big men who watched me closely, while others slept by the fire. I kept working my hands until they were free. One guard sat down and began to nod, and the other walked back and forth. When his back was turned I severed the cords which bound my feet and then I [was] free for action. The snoring of the sleeping sentinel became louder and louder and at last I felt satisfied that he was fast asleep. The next instant I was on my feet and creeping up slowly behind the other guard. My left hand was on his throat, and with my right I plunged my knife into his breast, and he fell over, a dead Indian, without a struggle or uttering a cry. It was a terrible experience, but I at last reached a place up the coast that gave some evidence of civilisation, this inspired me to fresh efforts. I don't know how I lived. I caught some fish, and these kept life in me. I at last sighted a canoe, and hailing it, the Chilian master took me up the coast, where I was put aboard a small sailing vessel in Chiloe Island. The British barque Valdivia took me up the coast to Chili, and others have brought me here."