Sextant

by David Barrie

  Stokes commented that they had often been compelled to anchor in places where they were “exposed to great risk and danger” but he judged that their present situation was “by far the most perilous” to which they had yet been exposed. Any sailor will sympathize with this judgment. The Beagle’s three anchors could not safely be relied on, as the “terrifically violent” squalls to which they were exposed might pluck them all out of the ground at any moment. Astern of the Beagle, at a distance of only three hundred feet, lay rocks and rocky islets “upon which a furious surf raged.”9 If the anchors once started to drag, the ship would be on the rocks in minutes, and the chances of anyone surviving would be negligible. All they could do was to wait.

  Eventually the wind eased and the Beagle was able to escape her terrifying predicament. The surgeon then advised Stokes that the “long-continued succession of incessant and heavy rain, accompanied by strong gales” was seriously affecting the health of the crew and that if the many who were suffering from respiratory and rheumatic complaints were to get well, they needed to have some rest.10 Stokes agreed to this proposal, but it was not just the crew who were suffering. The gruelling mission was proving too much for him. He shut himself in his cabin, becoming listless and inattentive to what was going on around him. His choice of the quotation from The Seasons by the Scottish poet James Thomson (1700–1748)—not Thompson, as Stokes gives it—is all too revealing of his state of mind, especially if read in its context:

  Thus Winter falls,

  A heavy gloom oppressive o’er the world,

  Through Nature shedding influence malign,

  And rouses up the seeds of dark disease.

  The soul of man dies in him, loathing life,

  And black with more than melancholy views.

  By the time the ship returned to Port Famine (in the middle reaches of the Straits of Magellan), where the Adventure was awaiting her, their food supply was exhausted and Stokes was dangerously depressed. King could see at once that he was not himself, though he did not fully appreciate the seriousness of his condition. On August 1, 1828, poor Stokes shot himself in the head, though the wound was not immediately fatal. “During the delirium that ensued,” King reported, “his mind wandered to many of the circumstances, and hair-breadth escapes, of the Beagle’s cruise.” After rallying briefly, and “lingering in most intense pain,” Stokes died on August 12. King wrote that the “severe hardships of the cruise, the dreadful weather experienced, and the dangerous situations in which they were so constantly exposed—caused, as I was afterwards informed, such intense anxiety in his excitable mind, that it became at times so disordered, as to cause the greatest apprehension for the consequences.”11

  The next commander of the Beagle was a remarkable young officer named Robert FitzRoy. Born in 1805, he was a descendant of King Charles II, and his uncle Lord Castlereagh had served as foreign secretary during and after the Napoleonic Wars. But FitzRoy was not the sort of man to rely on influence to advance his career. He was highly intelligent, extremely hardworking, and very serious-minded. He passed the Royal Naval College in 1825 with full marks in the final examination (the first person ever to do so), which guaranteed his immediate promotion to the rank of lieutenant at the early age of nineteen. By this time FitzRoy already had five years’ experience at sea, including cruises in the Mediterranean and South America. After serving as first officer of the frigate Thetis he was given the coveted post of flag officer to Admiral Sir Robert Otway aboard the Ganges, based in Rio de Janeiro. Despite being only twenty-three and having no previous survey experience, he was appointed by Otway in October 1828 to supersede one of the Beagle’s own officers (Skyring), who had been given an acting promotion following the death of Stokes.

  This was an awkward beginning, but FitzRoy—though touchy and hot-tempered—was a quick learner, physically tough, very determined, and a natural leader who commanded instant respect from his officers and crew. During the next two years they made a series of significant discoveries among the complex network of islands and channels north and south of the Straits of Magellan, as well as exploring much of the seaward coast of Tierra del Fuego. The conditions they encountered were very demanding, but FitzRoy relished the challenges he faced and even found time to admire the scenery as the Beagle headed west toward Lyell Sound on April 19, 1829:

  The night was one of the most beautiful I have ever seen; nearly calm, the sky clear of clouds, excepting a few large white masses, which at times passed over the bright full moon: whose light striking upon the snow-covered summits of the mountains by which we were surrounded, contrasted strongly with their dark gloomy bases, and gave an effect to the scene which I shall never forget.12

  Later, as he headed into the unknown waters on the north side of the Straits of Magellan in a twenty-four-foot open boat, he complained that “some voyagers” had exaggerated the grimness of these coasts:

  it is true that the peaks of the mountains are covered with snow, and those sides exposed to the prevailing west winds are barren, and rugged; but every sheltered spot is covered with vegetation, and large trees seem to grow almost upon the bare rock. I was strongly reminded of some of the Greek islands in winter, when they also have a share of snow on their mountains.13

  FitzRoy and his men had the advantage of the newly invented tinned meats, but their meals might not have satisfied a gourmet, and the southern winter was closing in:

  After dark, we returned to the cutter and partook of a large mess, made of the swan we had shot, the coots, some limpets, and preserved meat. The shortness of the days was becoming very inconvenient . . . but some of the nights were so fine, that I got many sets of observations of the moon and stars.14

  There were, of course, moments of great danger. Returning in the cutter from Skyring Water (named after the very able lieutenant whom FitzRoy had superseded), they were caught in a gale on a lee shore in Otway Water in freezing temperatures. After taking in reef after reef, they were at last forced to drop the sail and row. The shore, on which a high surf was breaking, offered no prospect of shelter and to have attempted to land would have been “folly.” At three in the afternoon they were embayed and unable to get clear except by rowing even harder. FitzRoy’s boat was deeply laden, and as their clothes and bags got soaked, progress became more and more difficult. They threw a bag of fuel overboard, but kept everything else to the last. At sunset the sea was higher, and the wind as strong as ever:

  Night, and having hung on our oars five hours, made me think of beaching the boat to save the men; for in a sea so short and breaking, it was not likely she would live much longer. At any time in the afternoon, momentary neglect, allowing a wave to take her improperly, would have swamped us; and after dark it was worse. Shortly after bearing up, a heavy sea broke over my back [FitzRoy must have been rowing in the bows], and half filled the boat: we were baling away, expecting its successor, and had little thoughts of the boat living, when—quite suddenly—the sea fell, and soon after the wind became moderate. So extraordinary was the change, that the men, by one impulse, lay on their oars, and looked about to see what had happened. Probably we had passed the place where the tide was setting against the wind. . . . About an hour after midnight, we landed in safety at Donkin Cove; so tired, and numbed by the cold, for it was freezing sharply, that we could hardly get out of the boat.15

  At last, after an absence of six weeks in an open boat, in the depths of winter, FitzRoy and his crew returned safely to the Beagle on June 8:

  I never was fully aware of the comfort of a bed until this night. Not even a frost-bitten foot could prevent me from sleeping soundly for the first time during many nights.16

  In late November 1829, on their return from the island of Chiloé, the Beagle began her examination of the southernmost part of the coast from Cape Pillar all the way round Cape Horn itself. This was an area that Cook had touched on in December 1774, but his chart consisted largely of dotted lines. FitzRoy was determined to obtain as much detailed information as
possible about this wild and desolate shoreline, but it was impossible to conduct a running survey:*

  On that coast the weather was so continually bad, there was so much swell, and the water near the steep precipitous shores always so deep, that anchorage (except in harbours) was impracticable: boats were seldom able to assist (while under way), and the bearing compass, though particularly good, and well placed, was of very little use: it was therefore never trusted for important bearings. Another impediment, and not a slight one, was the current: which set irregularly from one knot to three knots an hour, along the shore.17

  FitzRoy noted, however, that “the stormy and desolate shores of Tierra del Fuego are broken into numerous islands, about which anchorages are abundant, and they are excellent.” Although entering or leaving these havens was difficult and often risky, once safely anchored within them it was possible to conduct a survey by taking accurate bearings of distinct marks on the high, rocky shore or “the sharp peaks of more distant heights.” He declared—with some bravado—that the coast was not nearly as rugged and harsh as he had expected, though “the number of islets and breakers is quite enough to give it a most dangerous character.”18 With the help of the barometer, in the use of which FitzRoy followed in the pioneering footsteps of Flinders, they were usually able to take shelter from the worst of the weather, though finding reasonably safe anchorages was itself a risky business.

  To the northeast of Noir Island, where Anson had so nearly been wrecked almost ninety years earlier, and in the neighborhood of Cape Kempe and the Agnes Islands, lay the “many perils” of “Breaker Bay”:

  Having approached as near as we could, and sounded, and taken angles, we steered so as to pass outside of some very outlying rocks, near the middle of the bay; for in-shore of them, I saw from the mast-head numerous breakers, rocks and islets, in every direction. A worse place for a ship could scarcely be found; for, supposing thick weather to come on when in the depth of the bay, she would have lurking rocks and islets just awash with the water, on all sides of her, and no guide to take her clear of them, for soundings would be useless.

  . . . the chart of it, with all its stars to mark the rocks, looks like a map of the heavens, rather than part of the earth.19

  This fearsome stretch of water matches the description of “the Milky Way” on which Joshua Slocum’s Spray came close to being lost seventy-odd years later.

  Once the Beagle was safely at anchor, shore parties climbed the surrounding hills and mountains—often with great difficulty—to obtain theodolite bearings, while the ship’s boats explored the complex networks of islands, taking soundings, sextant angles, and compass bearings (though local magnetic anomalies sometimes made the latter problematic). The crews of the boats faced many dangers and privations, too, not least because in some places the natives were hostile. Whenever the weather permitted, sextant sights were taken for latitude and to check the chronometers. Gradually FitzRoy was able to connect his new chain of observations with those made by his colleagues farther to the north, thereby extending the reach of the survey to embrace many prominent features of Tierra del Fuego. A climb to the top of Mount Skyring proved especially useful:

  as the day was perfectly clear, and free from clouds, every point of land was visible, which can at any time be seen from that summit. Mount Sarmiento appeared in all its grandeur, towering above the other mountains to at least twice their height, and entirely covered with snow. Having set the theodolite to a painted post, fixed on shore near the Beagle (five miles distant), from which I had previously obtained the exact astronomical bearing of the spot on which the theodolite was placed; I obtained a most satisfactory round of angles, including most of the remarkable peaks, islands, and capes, within a range of forty miles from this mountain.20

  The theft by natives of a crucially important whaleboat caused a great deal of trouble. Her crew found themselves marooned in the freezing cold and with no means of returning to the Beagle. In desperation they enterprisingly constructed a coracle out of sticks woven together, lined with canvas and daubed with mud. In this frail conveyance two men somehow managed to get back to the ship after paddling for thirty-six hours through heavy seas. FitzRoy then rescued the remaining members of the boat’s crew and spent weeks trying to recover the missing craft. There is something almost manic about the fury and determination with which he pursued this goal, and there is a hint here of the mental illness that was later to trouble him so deeply. One native was killed in a skirmish, and FitzRoy ruthlessly kidnapped three children to use as hostages. But it was all in vain. In the end, they found a quiet anchorage in Christmas Sound (so named by Cook), where the carpenter set about building a new whaler, while the remaining boats continued their survey work—discovering, without fully exploring, an important new passage later named the Beagle Channel.

  On April 18, 1830, the Beagle reached St. Martin’s Cove on Hermite Island, just to the northwest of Cape Horn. The weather was fair, and after a preliminary reconnaissance FitzRoy set off in a boat with five days’ provisions, a good chronometer, and all the other instruments—including “two good sextants”—to Horn Island itself. They pitched camp for the night, and the next day left a “memorial” of their visit to the southern tip of South America in a stone jar:

  At daybreak [on April 20] we commenced our walk across the island, each carrying his load; and by the time the sun was high enough for observing, we were near the summit, and exactly in its meridian; so we stopped while I took two sets of sights and a round of angles. Soon afterwards we reached the highest point of the Cape, and immediately began our work; I and my coxswain, with the instruments; and Lieut. Kempe with the boat’s crew raising a pile of stones over the memorial. . . . We drank the health of His Majesty King George the Fourth, and gave three hearty cheers, standing round the Union Jack.21

  The Beagle then sailed out to the Diego Ramírez Islands, which had been discovered in 1619 by a Spanish expedition and named after the navigator, Diego Ramírez de Arellano. They lie menacingly almost sixty nautical miles to the southwest of Cape Horn: “The two largest are about two hundred feet high . . . there is a shingle beach on one . . . where a boat may be hauled up in safety. . . . A furious surf breaks against the west shore, and sends spray over the whole island. There is no sheltered anchorage for a vessel.”22 Having fixed their position, FitzRoy returned to the mainland before rounding Cape Horn in “beautifully fine weather, more like the climate of Madeira than that of fifty-six south latitude.”23 He closely examined the coast to the northeast as far as the Le Maire Strait and Staten Island, as well as the eastern part of the Beagle Channel, and then the Beagle headed north, with three young Tierra del Fuegians aboard. FitzRoy had—quixotically—decided to take them to England in the hope of educating them before returning them to their home, where they might, he fondly hoped, civilize their compatriots. The Beagle caught up with the Adventure in Rio de Janeiro and the two ships sailed together for England on August 6, arriving in Plymouth on October 14, 1830, “after a most tedious passage.”

  FITZROY HAD MADE his mark, but this was just the first phase of his career as a naval hydrographer. In 1831, at age twenty-six, he was ordered by the Admiralty to survey the parts of the coasts of Argentina, the Falkland Islands, Chile, and Peru that remained uncharted, and then to return home via the Cape of Good Hope. An additional purpose was to return the Tierra del Fuegians, who had by now received an education in Walthamstow (then a village on the northern edge of London) at FitzRoy’s expense.* He invited a young naturalist named Charles Darwin to accompany him on the voyage of circumnavigation. FitzRoy’s aim in doing so was partly to ensure that the many opportunities for scientific discovery were put to good use and partly to alleviate the loneliness of command: he may already have been aware of his own depressive tendencies, and the miserable fate of Stokes would surely have served as a warning to him. Darwin described FitzRoy as his “Beau Ideal” of a captain, and greatly admired his dedication and professionalism. He wrote to his
sister that he had never before come across a man he “could fancy being a Napoleon or a Nelson”:

  I should not call him clever, yet I feel convinced nothing is too great or too high for him. His ascendancy over everybody is quite curious: the extent to which every officer and man feels the slightest rebuke or praise, would have been before seeing him, incomprehensible.24

  FitzRoy’s instructions run to almost twenty pages in the published account of his voyage, amounting to a formidable list of requirements. In addition to the extensive but—by comparison with his previous experience—largely routine survey work, the commander was to obtain “a series of well-selected meridian distances [that is, differences in longitude]in traversing the Pacific Ocean.” The Beagle’s famous voyage embraced the Galapagos Islands, Tahiti, New Zealand, Australia, the Cocos-Keeling Islands, Mauritius, the Cape of Good Hope, as well as various Atlantic islands, including the Azores—and FitzRoy discovered a few new Pacific islands on the way. One of his very first tasks, however, was to determine the exact longitude of Rio de Janeiro, which even at this date—more than three hundred years after the Portuguese had first visited it—was still a matter of dispute:

  A considerable difference still exists [the orders state] in the longitude of Rio de Janeiro, as determined by Captains King, Beechey, and Foster, on the one hand, and Captain W. F. Owen, Baron Roussin, and the Portuguese astronomers, on the other; and as all our meridian distances in South America are measured from thence, it becomes a matter of importance to decide between these conflicting authorities. Few vessels will have ever left this country with a better set of chronometers, both public and private, than the Beagle; and if her voyage be made in short stages, in order to detect the changes which take place in all chronometers during a continuous increase of temperature, it will probably enable us to reduce that difference within limits too small to be of much import in our future conclusions.25