FIRST PASSING THROUGH HELLGATE 263 



therefore, to get me out in the morning. The false dawn was 

 still lingering in the sky when the wind fell and we were off in 

 double quick time, heading in a northerly direction, and steering 

 by a clump of Lena dura bushes on a promontory, behind which 

 lay Hellgate. 



The swell of the previous night was yet big upon the water, 

 and the launch crawled over it at about three knots. The entrance 

 to Hellgate is possibly one of the most menacing and sinister- 

 looking spots in South America. The great grooved cliffs tower 

 over the yeasty cauldron of water, and down the channel between 

 them, as I have said, the wind hurtles as through a funnel. On 

 this particular morning a squall had darkened the great and house- 

 less unknown beyond. Several icebergs were huddled together, 

 stranded upon the shallows of the eastern shore. 



After running through the black throat of Hellgate we put 

 in, beneath a big rock, in order to take shelter from the squall 

 that was fast coming down upon us. We had started on a matd, 

 and so, while we waited, a roast was got under way. As we were 

 eating, the squall that had brooded so ominously in the west broke 

 over the lake, and after raging for a few minutes passed with a 

 shiver that you could follow with the eye, till it lost itself in the 

 distance of the early morning waters. Then the sun glowed out 

 suddenly, as if some gigantic power had lifted an extinguisher 

 from its glory. The farther and middle distances were peopled 

 with snow-peaks, rising in minarets above their girdles of dark 

 forest, which last stretched downwards until they lipped the 

 black water at the mountain bases. For a moment after the 

 outburst of radiance the water alone remained black and angry, 

 and then the squall flicked away its skirts and passed from 

 view, leaving a picture of cold and austere purity extending to the 

 rim of sight. In words I cannot give you any reflection of the 

 scene, and no photograph could ever do more than reproduce its 

 outlines, and yet I suppose few human eyes will ever look upon it. 



To describe the kaleidoscope of colours and the scenery through 

 which we passed in that north-west passage of Lake Argentino 

 would merely leave me a beggar in adjectives. Suffice it to say 

 that for that day at least the mist and gloom of the clouds shared 



