Byron's Narrative of the Loss of the Wager: With an account of the great distresses suffered by himself and his companions on the coast of Patagonia from the year 1740 till their arrival in England 1746Byron, John
History
Byron's Narrative of the Loss of the Wager: With an account of the great distresses suffered by himself and his companions on the coast of Patagonia from the year 1740 till their arrival in England 1746
Byron, John
Chiloé (Chile); Patagonia (Argentina and Chile); Wager (Ship)
and threw them away, making me to understand that they were poisonous.
Thus, in all probability, did these people now save my life, who, a few
hours before, were going to take it from me for throwing away a shell.
In two days after, I joined my companions again; but do not remember
that there was the least joy shewn on either side at meeting. At
this place was a very large canoe belonging to our guide, which would
have required at least six men to the oar to have made any kind of
expedition: instead of that, there was only Campbell and myself,
besides the Indian, his companion, or servant, to row, the cacique
himself never touching an oar, but sitting with his wife all the time
much at his ease. Mr. Hamilton continued in the same canoe he had
been in all along, and which still was to keep us company some way
further, though many of the others had left us. This was dreadful hard
work to such poor starved wretches as we were, to be slaving at the
oar all day long in such a heavy boat; and this inhuman fellow would
never give us a scrap to eat, excepting when he took so much seal that
he could not contrive to carry it all away with him, which happened
very seldom. After working like galley-slaves all day, towards night,
when we landed, instead of taking any rest, Mr. Campbell and I were
sometimes obliged to go miles along shore to get a few shell-fish;
and just as we had made a little fire in order to dress them, he has
commanded us into the boat again, and kept us rowing the whole night
without ever landing. It is impossible for me to describe the miserable
state we were reduced to: our bodies were so emaciated, that we hardly
appeared the figures of men. It has often happened to me in the coldest
night, both in hail and snow, where we had nothing but an open beach
to lie down upon, in order to procure a little rest, that I have been
obliged to pull off the few rags I had on, as it was impossible to get
a moment's sleep with them on for the vermin that swarmed about them;
though I used, as often as I had time, to take my clothes off, and
putting them upon a large stone, beat them with another, in hopes of
killing hundreds at once; for it was endless work to pick them off.
What we suffered from this, was ten times worse even than hunger. But
we were clean in comparison to Captain Cheap; for I could compare
his body to nothing but an ant-hill, with thousands of those insects
crawling over it; for he was now past attempting to rid himself in the
least from this torment, as he had quite lost himself, not recollecting
our names that were about him, or even his own. His beard was as long
as a hermit's: that and his face being covered with train-oil and dirt,
from having long accustomed himself to sleep upon a bag, by the way of
a pillow, in which he kept the pieces of stinking seal. This prudent
method he took to prevent our getting at it whilst he slept. His legs
were as big as mill-posts, though his body appeared nothing but skin
and bone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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