2 64 THROUGH THE HEART OF PATAGONIA 



short watches with the gold and white of flying sunshine. For 

 the first time in our experience of her the launch played us no 

 tricks, and our progress went on at a steady three knots. Soon a 

 gigantic glacier showed in the channel, seeming to block all farther 

 advance. The Fjord looked full of icebergs ; there must have 

 been three thousand of them lying, an inanimate fleet, in their 

 mountain-bound harbour of wind and mist. 



A nasty squall caught us as we dodged among the ice, the 

 smallest ripple set us gripping our frail craft, and I am afraid that 

 a moderate sea would have drowned her fires and sent us to 

 explore downwards rather than onwards. Indeed, our entire life 

 on the launch was one long history of danger-dodging. I do not 

 give the details, because some of the same sort have already been 

 written, and repetition is needless. I grant there was more risk 

 in taking the launch and using her in such waters than, perhaps, 

 wisdom would have approved. Without her, however, we could 

 have had no chance of exploring the North Fjord and solving the 

 mystery of the "river with clear waters." Moreover, those who 

 accompanied me went of their own free will, and I must here 

 record my gratitude to Mr. Cattle, who willingly risked his life on 

 our voyages in the launch, and also to Burbury — who accompanied 

 me on my first journey — as well as to Bernardo, who was with me 

 throughout the whole of my Lake Argentino experiences. Wher- 

 ever I may travel in the future, I can wish for no better com- 

 panions. 



Bernardo, the most willing of men, kept our .nerves in a state 

 of less than pleasurable excitement. He drove the launch, when 

 I took my eye off him, with 145 lb. of steam in her worn-out boiler 

 — her safety-limit at the best of times had been 1 30 lb. On shore he 

 succeeded in firing off my jungle-gun by mistake, narrowly missing 

 killing himself at close quarters and myself at some few feet distance. 

 But even after this involuntary attempt at manslaughter one could 

 not be angry with him, he was so genuinely sorry, yet one could 

 not help foreseeing that he was eminently likely to do something 

 of the sort again. He was, to use slang, such a " decent chap," he 

 never grumbled when he had nothing to eat, or a bout of bitter cold 

 labour when we were obliged to turn out in the night to get up the 



