The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1904-04-14

forced all the officials and peaceabl,
inhabitants to fly to the forests. Fol
a time pandemonium prevailed, until
by some lucky accident, a Gillian wal
vessel reached Sandy Point, while dis
order was at its height, when the in
surgents were speedily overpowered
and the ringleaders executed. II
happened, fortunately, that the wealth.
er continued unusually mild for this
climate so that the houseless refugees,
among whom were many women and
young children, suffered less that
might have been expected while new
homes were being constructed. After
this lesson to the authorities no more
| convicts were sent to Punta Arenas.
Now that the mail steamers plying be-
tween Europe and the west coast of
South America had adopted. this route
through the Strait of Magellan, bring
ing rapid increase of traffic, the pa
ternal government recognized its i'm
portaDce as station of call and supply.
Soon afterwards liberal grants of land
were made to immigrants and a new
Governor was sent out with three hun
dred settlers Timber for building
purposes was taken along, and plenty
of supplies to last until the immigrants
could clear and cultivate farms for
themselves. During the next war with
Peru, when Chill found herself in need
of all the soldiers she could muster,
the military guard was withdrawn from
the old convict station, and all the
prisoners who would consent to fight
the PeruvianS got an honorable dis
charge and ticket-of-leave and marched
gaily away with their late keepers, to
cut the Threats of their neighbors
on the north. In 1868 the population
of Punta Arenas was hardly 200; in
1888 it was 2000. In 1888 the district
was organized into a province of Chill
its nineteenth) and now it is no dis
grace, though somewhat inconvenient,
to be Punta Arenian. A Washington
newspaper man who recently visited
Sandy Point says this of it: "The
town is interesting because it is the
only one in the Strait. 1t is about
1000 miles from the southernmost
town on the west coast of South Amer
lea to the first port on the eastern
coast-a voyage which ordinarily re-
quiles fifteen days, and as Punta Are
mas is about midway of that long dis
lance it naturally presents attractions.
There are few decent people here,
ship agents and traders, who come here
for business reasons; a consul or two,
and among them an Irish physician,
Doctor Fenton, who is the host and
oracle sought by every stranger who
arrives. Occasionally some yachting
party stops here on its voyage around
the world, or a man-of-war cruising
from one ocean to the other; and steam
ers bound from Europe to the Pacific
ports of South America pass every day
or two, so that communication is kept
up with the rest of the universe and
the people who live at this antipodes,
where the sun is seen in the north, and
the Fourth of July comes in the depths
of winter, are pretty well informed as
to affairs at the other end of the globe.
The emotions that come with the con-
temptation that you are about as far
from anywhere as you can possibly go,
are novel: but in the midst of them you
are comtorted by the older fact that
the world is not so large as it looks to
be, for here is man who used to live
where you came from, and another who
worked in the office where you are en-
ployed There is news stand in Punta
Arenas where you can purchase New
York and London papers, often three
or four months old, but still fresh to
the long voyager; and shops in which
Paris confectionery and other Injuries
of life can be had at Patagonian prices.
How does the place look? Well,
there is a sandy beach in front of a
high ridge of hills, with some rising
ground intervening. Several hundred
houses are set in the mud and slush
along this beach and on the rising
ground behind it-mostly one-storied,
built of wood, without regularity, yet
disposed in lines SO as to form streets
and miserable attempt at a plaza
There is fort, a big, bare church, a
custom house, and few other public
buildings-not emitting the post Office,
at which every traveller in this region
drops letters to far-away friends, simp-
ly because they will bear the nearest
possible post mark to the South Pole.
The Governor now resides in what was
once the convict barrack, and horses
are corralled in what used to be the
stockade. Adjoining the town are des-
olate, wind-swept fields covered with
the wet, spongy moss peculiar to Pata-
gonia; the low hills back of them are
blackened by charred timber, and the
range of mountains beyond, though
not more than a thousand feet high,
are buried in perpetual snow. There