critters air jest what they sets most store by--yieldin' 'em not only
thar vittels, but sech scant kiver as they're 'customed to w'ar. No,
Capting, the savagers hain't been out hyar, an' ain't a-goin' to be.
An' I weesh, now," he continues, glancing up to the sky, "I weesh 't wud
brighten a bit. Wi' thet fog hidin' the hills over yonder, 'tain't
possybul to gie a guess az to whar we air. Ef it ud lift, I mout be
able to make out some o' the landmarks. Let's hope we may hev a cl'ar
sky the morrer, an' a glimp' o' the sun to boot."

"Ay, let us hope that," rejoins the skipper, "and pray for it, as we
shall."

The promise is made in all seriousness, Captain Gancy being a religious
man. So, on retiring to rest on their shake-down couches of
tussac-grass, he summons the little party around him and offers up a
prayer for their deliverance from their present danger, not forgetting
those in the pinnace; no doubt the first Christian devotion ever heard
ascending over that lone desert isle.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1. It is the soft, crisp, inner part of the stem, just above the
root, that is chiefly eaten. Horses and cattle are very fond of the
tussac-grass, and in the Falkland Islands feed upon it. It is said,
however, that there it is threatened with extirpation, on account of
these animals browsing it too closely. It has been introduced with
success into the Hebrides and Orkney Islands, where the conditions of
its existence are favourable--a peaty soil, exposed to winds loaded with
sea spray.

Note 2. _Cathartes jota_. Closely allied to the "turkey-buzzard" of
the United States.

Note 3. _Otaria Falklandica_. There are several distinct species of
"otary," or "fur-seal"; those of the Falkland Islands and Tierra del
Fuego being different from the fur-seals of northern latitudes.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

A FLURRY WITH FUR-SEALS.

As if Captain Gancy's petition had been heard by the All-Merciful, and
is about to have favourable response, the next morning breaks clear and
calm; the fog all gone, and the sky blue, with a bright sun shining in
it--rarest of sights in the cloudlands of Tierra del Fuego. All are
cheered by it, and, with reviving hope, eat breakfast in better spirits,
a fervent grace preceding.

They do not linger over the repast, as the skipper and Seagriff are
impatient to ascend to the summit of the isle, the latter in hopes of
making out