Fuegian was examined, they recognized their first hostage: the man taken from the canoe because he had appeared to be in possession of the missing boatâs leadline; who had seemed so happy with clothes and a red hat.
FitzRoy may have misread the Fuegiansâ docility, but he felt genuine remorse at having killed one. âThat a life should have been lost in the struggle, I lament deeply; but if the Fuegian had not been shot at that moment, his next blow might have killed Elsmore, who was almost under water.â
It was the first record of such a death at British hands, as FitzRoy surely knew, and this undoubtedly distressed him. He was there for survey work, and killing the locals was an unsanctioned departure from his job description, however he might justify it. It would not commend him to his superiors. But there was more to his regret than that, as his later actions would prove.
The prisoners appeared anxious to tell the Englishmen where the missing boat was, pointing now in another direction, to the southeast, not to Courtenay Sound. But with twenty-two people in a 25-foot whaleboat, FitzRoy was not going on another long chase. They headed instead for the Beagle , reaching it two days later, on February 15. The hostages were fed and clothed, and the Beagle weighed anchor and sailed southeast to Cape Castlereagh, in the direction the hostages had last indicated, and also where his survey might continue.
On February 17, FitzRoy and Murray set out to search again, in two boats, with a weekâs provisions and Fuegian hostage-guides in each, including two stout women, mothers of children left aboard the Beagle . âAs far as we could make out, they appeared to understand perfectly that their safety and future freedom,â and the safety of their children aboard the ship, âdepended upon their showing us where to find the whaleboat.â
Tantalizingly, in the first cove he came to, only two miles from where the Beagle was now anchored, FitzRoy found another piece of the missing boatâs leadline in a âlately desertedâ wigwam. They found more signs of a large party of Fuegians among several islands nearby, and he became hopeful that he would soon find his stolen boat. They camped ashore, and again FitzRoy decided not to tie up his prisoners for the night, reasoning that the children back aboard the Beagle would bind the women more securely than any rope.
I kept watch myself during the first part of the night, as the men were tired by pulling all day, and incautiously allowed the Fuegians to lie between the fire and the bushes, having covered them up so snugly, with old blankets and my own poncho, that their bodies were entirely hidden. About midnight, while standing on the opposite side of the fire, looking at the boats, with my back to the Fuegians, I heard a rustling noise, and turned round; but seeing the heap of blankets unmoved, satisfied meâ¦another rustle, and my dog jumped up and barking, told me that the natives had escaped. Still the blankets looked the same, for they were artfully propped up by bushes.
For another week the two boats searched the Stewart and Gilbert Islands, a labyrinth of coves and channels where they now believed the stolen whaleboat might be. They saw fires, found deserted camps, they even saw Fuegians running off at their approach, but no boat. They finally returned to the Beagle on February 23, to learn that all the shipâs hostages, except for three children, had escaped.
Thus, after much trouble and anxiety, much valuable time lostâ¦I found myself with three young children to take care of, and no prospect whatever of recovering the boat.
But the search for the boat, the continuing attempt to second-guess its thieves, the constant confoundment of all his expectations of the Fuegiansâ behavior, had sown in FitzRoy a seed that would grow to a major preoccupation. For weeks, and then months, references to his surveying workâhis sole
FitzRoy may have misread the Fuegiansâ docility, but he felt genuine remorse at having killed one. âThat a life should have been lost in the struggle, I lament deeply; but if the Fuegian had not been shot at that moment, his next blow might have killed Elsmore, who was almost under water.â
It was the first record of such a death at British hands, as FitzRoy surely knew, and this undoubtedly distressed him. He was there for survey work, and killing the locals was an unsanctioned departure from his job description, however he might justify it. It would not commend him to his superiors. But there was more to his regret than that, as his later actions would prove.
The prisoners appeared anxious to tell the Englishmen where the missing boat was, pointing now in another direction, to the southeast, not to Courtenay Sound. But with twenty-two people in a 25-foot whaleboat, FitzRoy was not going on another long chase. They headed instead for the Beagle , reaching it two days later, on February 15. The hostages were fed and clothed, and the Beagle weighed anchor and sailed southeast to Cape Castlereagh, in the direction the hostages had last indicated, and also where his survey might continue.
On February 17, FitzRoy and Murray set out to search again, in two boats, with a weekâs provisions and Fuegian hostage-guides in each, including two stout women, mothers of children left aboard the Beagle . âAs far as we could make out, they appeared to understand perfectly that their safety and future freedom,â and the safety of their children aboard the ship, âdepended upon their showing us where to find the whaleboat.â
Tantalizingly, in the first cove he came to, only two miles from where the Beagle was now anchored, FitzRoy found another piece of the missing boatâs leadline in a âlately desertedâ wigwam. They found more signs of a large party of Fuegians among several islands nearby, and he became hopeful that he would soon find his stolen boat. They camped ashore, and again FitzRoy decided not to tie up his prisoners for the night, reasoning that the children back aboard the Beagle would bind the women more securely than any rope.
I kept watch myself during the first part of the night, as the men were tired by pulling all day, and incautiously allowed the Fuegians to lie between the fire and the bushes, having covered them up so snugly, with old blankets and my own poncho, that their bodies were entirely hidden. About midnight, while standing on the opposite side of the fire, looking at the boats, with my back to the Fuegians, I heard a rustling noise, and turned round; but seeing the heap of blankets unmoved, satisfied meâ¦another rustle, and my dog jumped up and barking, told me that the natives had escaped. Still the blankets looked the same, for they were artfully propped up by bushes.
For another week the two boats searched the Stewart and Gilbert Islands, a labyrinth of coves and channels where they now believed the stolen whaleboat might be. They saw fires, found deserted camps, they even saw Fuegians running off at their approach, but no boat. They finally returned to the Beagle on February 23, to learn that all the shipâs hostages, except for three children, had escaped.
Thus, after much trouble and anxiety, much valuable time lostâ¦I found myself with three young children to take care of, and no prospect whatever of recovering the boat.
But the search for the boat, the continuing attempt to second-guess its thieves, the constant confoundment of all his expectations of the Fuegiansâ behavior, had sown in FitzRoy a seed that would grow to a major preoccupation. For weeks, and then months, references to his surveying workâhis sole
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