The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1888-02-02
[From the Cornhin Magazine.l
The Story of the One Pioneer OF
TERRA Del Fuego.

Modern ideas Of unexplored lands
are limited almost entirely to the
north and south poles, whittier costly
expeditions are constantly being des.
patched; while in South America
alone there are the interiors Of Gui.
ana, Brazil, Patagonia, and TERRA del
Fuego, besides smaller patches Of only
half explored land, all call,
ing for more attention than they have
hitherto received.
The whole of Brazil has indeed
been explored in superficial sort OF
way; that is to say, there are certain
narrow lines Of explored land, chiefly
along rivers which intersect the coun-
try; but only two people from all the
civilized world have ever penetrated
beyond the coast of TERRA del Fuego,
though the coast itself has been well
surveyed, and whalers' boats frequent
ly land there for water.
One Of these two pioneers is Chi
lian lady who was shipwrecked on the
coast, and saved alive by the chief of
Fuegan tribe which murdered all
her companions. She was seen alive
and happy by the other pioneer, a sea-
man, by name Thomas Thorold, who
spent nearly six months in the in the
interior Of this strange country, and
came safe home to England again. 1t
is his story that propose to tell.
Less than six weeks ago an English
sailing ship, homeward bound from
Valparaiso, foundered off the west
coast of TERRA del Fuego during the
cruel wintry month of July. The
crew got into three boats and pulled
to the shore, which was not far dis
tant. After rounding a headland,
they found themselves in compare
lively smooth water, surrounded by
bare, bleak hills, beneath which there
was broad sandy beach, which would
afford them easy landing.
But on this beach and about the
foot of the hills they saw what above
all things they dreaded-the signs of
the doom they felt must sooner or
later be theirs-the stunted forms of
Fuegan natives, standing and lying
about their rude huts and canoes.
As soon as the Fuegans espied them,
they crowded into their canoes and
rowed out towards them, while their
shouts brought a multitude of natives
to the beach, where they clustered like
a flock of vultures lowering over their
prey.
The Fuegans are small race, with
a dark, copper-colored skin. The men
are mostly clad in old vests and trou-
sers that they have acquired from
some shipwrecked crew, or from the
steamers passing through the Straits
Of Magellan; others wear deer or
guanaco skins. The women are dressed
more simply in single garment re-
sembling poncho, made of some
skin; simple square, with hole in
the middle for the head.
Their boats have none of the grace
full gliding of the North American
canoes, but are simply made Of pieces
of bark or wood clumsily tied together
with cores, and are awkwardly rowed
with oars formed of poles with fiat
pieces of wood tied on to the end.
The only manufacture in which these
men-the lowest type of humanity
at all excel, is that of barbed spear
heads, which they make with consid-
cradle skill of an almost transparent
sort Of flint, very similar to some of
the arrow-heads used by the wild Bu-
gres Of Brazil. These, dipped in poi
son and fixed on to long wooden
shafts, become dangerous weapons for
poor weary sailors to face who have
nothing to defend themselves with
but oars and stretchers.
Before the three doomed boats were
within half mile Of the shore, they
surrounded by seven or eight crammed
with these gibbering aborigines, be-
fore whom the sailors were perfectly
helpless, for from considerable dis
tance the unefring spears came hurt
ling towards them. The miserable
men tried in vain to parry them One
by one they dropped into the bottom
Of the boat and died in agony, as the
fiery venom eo1rsed through their
veins.
Suddenly, when there were only
two or three left untouched in each
of the boats, one of the Fuegans, who
seemed to be a chief among them,
gave shout that made all the others
stand motionless, with spears poised
in their hands; and he spoke to them
in their loud, cracked language for
minute or more; it seemed years to
the helpless men waiting to be killed.
At the helm of the boats sat the
mate, Thomas Thorold, tall, strong
man Of about thirty, towards whom
the chief pointed several times as he
was speaking. Soon he stopped ges-
ticulating, and again the spears came
whizzing from the strong savage
arms.
But change had taken place; the
weapons were aimed at all the sailors
except Thomas Thorold. He sat there
untouched, expecting every moment