l, then," says the Captain, after reflection, "I suppose we'll have
to be guided by circumstances. And from what has passed, we ought to
feel confident that they'll still turn up in our favour."

This remark, showing his continued trust in the shielding power of an
Omnipotent Hand, closes the conversation, and all soon after retire to
rest, with a feeling of security long denied them. For, although lately
under the protection of Eleparu, they had never felt full confidence,
doubting, not his fidelity, but his power to protect them. For the
authority of a Fuegian chief--if such there be--is slight at the best,
and made nought of on many occasions. Besides, they could not forget
that one fearful moment of horror, to be remembered throughout life.

Having passed the night in peaceful slumber, they take their places in
the boat as soon as there is light enough to steer by. There is still a
fog, though not so dense as to deter them from re-embarking, while, as
on the day before, the wind is all in their favour. With sail filled by
the swelling breeze, they make rapid way, and by noon are far along the
Beagle Channel, approaching the place where the Murray Narrow leads out
of it, trending southward. But now they see what may prove an
interruption to their onward course. Through the fog, which has become
much less dense, a number of dark objects are visible, mottling the
surface of the water. That they are canoes can be told by the columns
of smoke rising up over each, as though they were steam-launches. They
are not moving, however, and are either lying-to or riding at anchor.
None are empty, all have full complements of crew.

As the canoes are out in the middle of the channel, and right ahead, to
pass them unobserved is impossible. There is no help for it but to risk
an encounter, whatever may result; so the boat is kept on its course,
with canvas full spread, to take the chances.

While yet afar off, Captain Gancy, through his glass, is able to
announce certain facts which favour confidence. The people in the
canoes are of both sexes, and engaged in a peaceful occupation--they are
fishing. They who fish are seated with some sort of tackle in hand,
apparently little rods and lines, short as coach-whips, with which at
intervals they draw up diminutive fish, by a quick jerk landing them in
the canoes. All this he made out through the glass.

But the time for observation is brief. The boat, forging rapidly
o