raits of Magellan, not far from
Port Famine, at Sandy Point--the "Punta de Arenas" of the old Spanish
navigators. The colony is Chilian, and was established as a penal
settlement, though it is now only nominally so. The population is about
fourteen hundred.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A FUEGIAN FISH-HUNT.

Yes, the savages are once more in sight, a canoe-full of them just
appearing around the point of the cliff, closely followed by another,
and another, till four are under view in front of the cove. They are as
yet far out on the sea-arm; but as they have come along it from the
west, the castaways suppose them to be some of their late assailants,
still persistently continuing the pursuit.

But no! Captain Gancy, quickly sighting through his binocular, declares
them different--at least, in their array. They are not all men, more
than half being women and children, while no warlike insignia can be
discerned--neither white feathers nor chalked faces.

Seagriff, in turn taking the glass, further makes out that the men have
fish-spears in their hands, and an implement he recognises as a
_fizgig_, while the heads of dogs appear over the gunwales of the
canoes, nearly a dozen in each.

"It's a fishin' party," he pronounces. "For all thet, we'd best make a
hide of it; thar's no trustin' 'em, anyway, so long as they think they
hev the upper hand. A good thing our fire has gone out, else they'd 'a'
spied it afore this. An' lucky the bushes be in front, or they'd see us
now. Mebbe they'll pass on along the arm, an'--No! they're turnin' in
toward the cove!"

This can be told by the apparent shortening of the canoes, as they are
brought head around toward the inlet.

Following the old sealer's advice, earnestly urged, all slip back among
the trees, the low-hanging branches of which afford a screen for
concealment like a closed curtain. The bundles are taken away, and the
camp-ground is cleared of everything likely to betray its having been
lately occupied by white people. All this they are enabled to do
without being seen by the savages, a fringe of evergreens between the
camp-ground and the water effectually masking their movements.

"But shouldn't we go farther up?" says the skipper, interrogating
Seagriff. "Why not keep on over the hill?"

"No, Captin'; we mustn't move from hyar. We couldn't, 'ithout makin'
sech a racket ez they'd be sure to hear. Besides, thar's bare spots
above, whar they mout sight us fr