erything--are screened on the water side by a thick
curtain of evergreens. Their fire is always out during the day, and so
there is no tell-tale smoke to betray them.

Soon Captain Gancy observes what further allays apprehension. With the
glass still at his eye, he makes out the savages to be of both sexes and
all ages--even infants being among them, in the laps of, or strapped to,
their mothers. Nor can he see any warlike insignia--nothing white--the
colour that in all other countries is emblematic of peace, but which, by
strange contrariety, in Tierra del Fuego is the sure symbol of war.

The people in the canoes, whoever they may be, are evidently on a
peaceful expedition; possibly they are some tribe or community on its
way to winter quarters. And they _may_ not be Ailikoleeps after all;
or, at all events, not the former assailants of Whale-boat Sound.

These tranquillising reflections occur while the Fuegians are yet
far-off. When first sighted, they were on the opposite side of the
strait, closely hugging the land, the water in mid-channel being rough.
But, as they come nearer, they are seen to change course and head
diagonally across for the southern side, which looks as if they intended
putting in at the old wigwam. Doubtless some of them may have once
lived in it, and eaten of the molluscs, the shells of which are piled
upon the kitchen midden.

The castaways note this movement with returning alarm, now almost sure
that an encounter is inevitable. But again are they gratified at seeing
the canoes turn broadside toward them, with bows set sharp for the
southern shore, and soon pass from sight.

Their disappearance is caused by the projecting spit, behind which they
have paddled, when closing in upon the land.

For what purpose have they put in there? That is the question now asked
of one another by the boat-builders. They know that, on the other side
of the promontory, there is a deep bay or sound running far inland; how
far they cannot tell, having given it only careless glances while
gathering cranberries. Probably the Fuegians have gone up it, and that
may be the last of them. But what if they have landed on the other side
of the spit to stay there? In this case, they will surely at some time
come round, if but to despoil the kelp-bed of its shell-fish treasures.

All is conjecture now, with continuing apprehension and suspense. To
put an end to the latter, the two youths, alike impatient a