uch a
catastrophe--nature itself, as it were, betraying them?

Yet to their pleased surprise it proves otherwise, and on the dust
settling down, they see the savages still in their canoes, with not a
face turned toward the land, none, at least, seeming to heed what has
happened. The old sealer, however, is not surprised at their
indifference, guessing its cause. He knows that in the weird forests of
Tierra del Fuego there is many a tree standing, to all appearance sound
in trunk, branches, everything, yet rotten from bark to heartwood, and
ready to topple over at the slightest touch, even if but a gun be rested
against it. The fall of such trees being a thing of common occurrence,
and the natives accustomed to it, they never give it a second thought.
The fishers in the canoes have not heeded it, while the sneezing of
Caesar has been unheard by them amid the noises made by themselves,
their dogs, and the shrieking seabirds still in full _fracas_ overhead.

In the end, the very thing by which the castaways feared betrayal proves
their salvation; for the Fuegians do land at length, and on the ledge.
But, luckily, they do not stay on shore for any great time--only long
enough to make partition of their spoil and roughly clean the fish. By
good luck, also, the bits of fish thrown to them fully engage the
attention of the dogs, which otherwise would have strayed inland, and so
have come upon the party in hiding.

But perhaps the best instance of favouring fortune is the tree pushed
down by "the doctor," this having fallen right over the ground of the
abandoned camp, and covered under a mass of rotten wood and dust the
place where the tent stood, the fire-hearth, half-consumed faggots,
everything. But for this well-timed obliteration, the sharp-eyed
savages could not have failed to note the traces of its recent
occupancy. As it is, they have no suspicion either of that or of the
proximity of those who occupied it, so much engrossed are they with the
product of their fish-hunt, a catch unusually large.

Still, the apprehensions of the concealed spectators are not the less
keen, and to them it is a period of dread, irksome suspense,
emphatically a _mauvais quart d'heure_. But, fortunately, it lasts not
much longer. To their unspeakable delight, they at length see the
savages bundle back into their canoes, and, pushing off, paddle away out
of the cove.

As the last boat-load of them disappears around the point of roc