open-mouthed, and each mouth showing a double row of glittering teeth.

A weird, fear-inspiring procession it is, as they go floundering past,
crowding one another, snapping, snorting, and barking, like so many
mastiffs!

Fortunately for the spectators, the creatures are fur-seals, and not the
fierce sea-lions; for the fur-seal is inoffensive, and shows fight only
when forced to it. These are but acting in obedience to the most
ordinary instinct, as they are seeking self-preservation by retreat to
the sea--their true home and haven of safety.

The flurry lasts for but a brief while, ending as abruptly as it began.
When all the seals have passed, our party resume the ascent and continue
it till all stand upon the summit. But not _all_ in silence; for
turning his eyes north-eastward, and seeing there a snow-covered
mountain--a grand cone, towering thousands of feet above all the
others--Seagriff plucks off his hat, and, waving it around his head,
sends up a joyous huzza, cries out, "Now I know whar we are better 'n a
hul ship full o' kompa an' kernometors kud tell us. _Yon's Sarmiento_!"

CHAPTER NINE.

AN UNNATURAL MOTHER.

"Yis, Capting, thet's Sarmiento, an' nary doubt of it," pursues the old
sealer. "I'd reck'noise thet mountin 'mong a millyun. 'Tair the
highest in all Feweego. [Note 1.] An' we must be at the mouth o'
Des'late Bay, jest as I wor suspectin'. Wal, 'ceptin' them ugly things
I told ye 'bout, we kudn't be in a better place."

"Why?" inquires the Captain, dubiously.

"'Kase it ain't a bay at all; but the entrance to a soun' bearin' the
name o' `Whale-Boat Soun'.' An' thet's open water too, communicatin'
wi' another known ez `Darwin Soun''--the which larst leads right inter
the Beagle Channel."

"But what of all that, Chips? How can it help us?"

"Help us! Why, 'tair the very i-dentical thing ez 'll help us; our
coorse is laid out to a p'int o' the kompiss! All we'll hev to do is to
run east'ard through the Beagle Channel, an' then 'long the open coast
to good Success Bay, in the Straits o' Le Maire. Thar we'll be a'most
sure o' findin' some o' the sealin' vessels, thet bein' one o' thar
rendeyvoos when they're fishin' roun' Staten Land."

"You think that better, then, than trying to the northward for the
Straits of Magellan?" inquires Captain Gancy.

"Oceans o' odds better. To reach Magellan we'd hev to work out seaward
ag'in, an' back past the `Furies,' whar thar's all sorts