ome miles. The road was a difficult one, and our
progress was but slow, being often impeded by a morass or by the trunk
of a tree which had fallen right across the path, and was now rapidly
rotting into touchwood under the influence of the damp atmosphere and
incessant rain. Lichens of every colour and shape abounded, and
clothed the trunks gracefully, contrasting with the tender spring
tints of the leaves, while the long hairy tillandsia, like an old
man's beard, three or four feet long, hung down from the topmost
branches. The ground was carpeted with moss, interspersed with a few
early spring flowers, and the whole scene, though utterly unlike that
presented by any English forest, had a strange weird beauty of its
own. Not a sound could be heard; not a bird, beast, or insect was to
be seen. The larger trees were principally a peculiar sort of beech
and red cedar, but all kinds of evergreens, known to us at home as
shrubs, such as laurestine, and various firs, here attain the
proportions of forest-trees. There is also a tree called Winter's Bark
(_Drimys Winteri_), the leaves and bark of which are hot and bitter,
and form an excellent substitute for quinine. But the most striking
objects were the evergreen berberis and mahonia, and the Darwinia, the
larger sort of which was covered with brilliant orange, almost
scarlet, flowers, which hung down in bunches, of the shape and size of
small outdoor grapes.

[Illustration: Fuegian Bow and Arrows.]

On our way back we took a sharp turn leading to the sea-shore, to
which the forest extends in places, and rode along the beach towards
the town. It was low water, or this would not have been possible, and
as it was, we often had considerable difficulty in making our way
between wood and water. The day was bright and clear, with a bitterly
cold wind and occasional heavy showers of rain; a fair average day
for Sandy Point. It is further west, they say, that the weather is so
hopeless. Lieutenant Byron, in his terribly interesting account of the
wreck of the 'Wager,' says that one fine day in three months is the
most that can be expected. I wonder, not without misgivings, if we
really shall encounter all the bad weather we not only read of but
hear of from every one we meet. Though very anxious to see the
celebrated Straits, I shall not be sorry when we are safely through,
and I trust that the passage may not occupy the whole of the three
weeks which Tom has been advised to allow