e pools between.

"Fur-seals they are," [Note 3] pronounces Seagriff, his eyes fixed upon
them as eagerly as were those of Tantalus on the forbidden water, "an'
every skin of 'em worth a mint o' money. Bad luck!" he continues, in a
tone of spiteful vexation. "A mine o' wealth, an' no chance to work it!
Ef we only had the ship by us now, we could put a good thousan'
dollars' worth o' thar pelts into it. Jest see how they swarm out
yonder! An' tame as pet tabby cats! There's enough of 'em to supply
seal-skin jackets fur nigh all the women o' New York!"

No one makes rejoinder to the old sealer's regretful rhapsody. The
situation is too grave for them to be thinking of gain by the capture of
fur-seals, even though it should prove "a mine of wealth," as Seagriff
called it. Of what value is wealth to them while their very lives are
in jeopardy? They were rejoiced when they first set foot on land; but
time is passing; they have in part recovered from their fatigue, and the
dark, doubtful future is once more uppermost in their minds. They
cannot stay for ever on the isle--indeed, they may not be able to remain
many days on it, owing to the exhaustion of their limited stock of
provisions, if for no other reason. Even could they subsist on
penguins' flesh and tussac-stalks, the young birds, already well
feathered, will ere long disappear, while the tender shoots of the
grass, growing tougher as it ripens, will in time become altogether
uneatable.

No; they cannot abide there, and must go elsewhere. But whither? That
is the all-absorbing question. Ever since they landed the sky has been
overcast, and the distant mainland is barely visible through a misty
vapour spread over the sea between. All the better for that, Seagriff
has been thinking hitherto, with the Fuegians in his mind.

"It'll hinder 'em seein' the smoke of our fire," he said; "the which
mout draw 'em on us."

But he has now less fear of this, seeing that which tells him that the
isle is never visited by the savages.

"They hain't been on it fur years, anyhow," he says, reassuring the
Captain, who has again taken him aside to talk over the ticklish matter.
"I'm sartin they hain't."

"What makes you certain?" questions the other.

"Them 'ere--both of 'em," nodding first toward the fur-seals and then
toward the penguins. "If the Feweegins dar' fetch thar craft so fur out
seaward, neither o' them ud be so plentiful nor yit so tame. Both sort
o'