Yes, the savages are once more in sight, a canoe-full of them just
appearing around the point of the cliff, closely followed by another,
and another, till four are under view in front of the cove. They are as
yet far out on the sea-arm; but as they have come along it from the
west, the castaways suppose them to be some of their late assailants,
still persistently continuing the pursuit.
But no! Captain Gancy, quickly sighting through his binocular, declares
them different--at least, in their array. They are not all men, more
than half being women and children, while no warlike insignia can be
discerned--neither white feathers nor chalked faces.
Seagriff, in turn taking the glass, further makes out that the men have
fish-spears in their hands, and an implement he recognises as a
_fizgig_, while the heads of dogs appear over the gunwales of the
canoes, nearly a dozen in each.
"It's a fishin' party," he pronounces. "For all thet, we'd best make a
hide of it; thar's no trustin' 'em, anyway, so long as they think they
hev the upper hand. A good thing our fire has gone out, else they'd 'a'
spied it afore this. An' lucky the bushes be in front, or they'd see us
now. Mebbe they'll pass on along the arm, an'--No! they're turnin' in
toward the cove!"
This can be told by the apparent shortening of the canoes, as they are
brought head around toward the inlet.
Following the old sealer's advice, earnestly urged, all slip back among
the trees, the low-hanging branches of which afford a screen for
concealment like a closed curtain. The bundles are taken away, and the
camp-ground is cleared of everything likely to betray its having been
lately occupied by white people. All this they are enabled to do
without being seen by the savages, a fringe of evergreens between the
camp-ground and the water effectually masking their movements.
"But shouldn't we go farther up?" says the skipper, interrogating
Seagriff. "Why not keep on over the hill?"
"No, Captin'; we mustn't move from hyar. We couldn't, 'ithout makin'
sech a racket ez they'd be sure to hear. Besides, thar's bare spots
above, whar they mout sight us from out on the water; an' ef they did,
distance wouldn't sarve us a bit. The Feweegins kin climb up the
steepest places, like squir'ls up a tree. Once seen by 'em, we'd stan'
no chance with 'em in a run. Ther'fore, we'd better abide quietly hyar.
Mebbe, arter all, they mayn't come ashore. 'Tain't one o' thar
landin'-places or we'd 'a' foun' traces of 'em. The trees would 'a'
been barked all about. Oh, I see what they're up to now. A fish-hunt--
surround wi' thar dogs. Thet's thar bizness in the cove."
By this, the four canoes have arrived at the entrance to the inlet, and
are forming in line across it at equal distances from one another, as if
to bar the way against anything that may attempt to pass outward. Just
such is their design, the fish being what they purpose enfilading.
At sight of them and the columns of ascending smoke, the pelicans and
other fishing-birds take flight in a chorus of screams, some to remain
soaring overhead, others flying altogether out of sight. The water is
left without a ripple, and so clear that the spectators on shore, from
their elevated point of view, can see to its bottom, all around the
shore where it is shallow. They now observe fish of several sorts
swimming affrightedly to and fro, and see them as plainly as through the
glass walls of an aquarium.
Soon the fish-hunters, having completed their "cordon," and dropped the
dogs overboard, come on up the cove, the women plying the paddles, the
men with javelins upraised, ready for darting. The little foxy dogs
swim abreast of and between the canoes, driving the fish before them, as
sheep-dogs drive sheep, one or another diving under at intervals to
intercept such as attempt to escape outward. For in the translucent
water they can see the fish far ahead, and, trained to the work, they
keep guard against a break from these through the enclosing line. Soon
the fish are forced up to the inner end of the cove, where it is
shoalest, and then the work of slaughter commences. The dusky
fishermen, standing in the canoes and bending over, now to this side,
now that, plunge down their spears and fizgigs, rarely failing to bring
up a fish of one sort or another; the struggling victim shaken off into
the bottom of the canoe, there gets its death-blow from the boys.
For nearly an hour the curious aquatic chase is carried on, not in
silence, but amid a chorus of deafening noises--the shouts of the
savages and the barking and yelping of their dogs mingling with the
shrieking of the seabirds overhead. And thrice is the cove "drawn" by
the canoes, which are taken back to its mouth, the line re-formed, and
the process repeated till a good supply of the fish best worth catching
has been secured.
And now the spectators of the strange scene await with dread
anticipation the approaching crisis. Will the savage fishermen come
ashore, or go off without landing? In the former event, the castaways
have small hope of remaining undiscovered. True, they are well
concealed, not an inch of face or person is exposed; the captain and
Seagriff alone are cautiously doing the vidette duty. Still, should the
Fuegians come on shore, it must be at the ledge of rocks where of late
lay the boat, the only possible beaching-place, and not half a stone's
throw from the spot where they are concealed.
"The thing we've most to be afeerd of is thar dogs," mutters Seagriff.
"Ef they should land, the little curs'll be sure to scent us. An'--
sakes alive!--what's that?"
The final exclamation, though involuntarily uttered aloud, is not heard,
even by those standing beside him. Had it been the loudest shout it
could not have been distinguished amid the noise that called forth and
accompanied it, for it is drowned by the noise that called it forth. A
thundering crash, followed by a loud crackling which continues for
several seconds, and during its continuance drowning all other sounds.
There is no mystery about it, however; it is but a falling tree--the one
behind which "the doctor" had been standing, his hands pressed against
it for support. Yielding to curiosity, he had been peering around its
trunk contrary to orders, a disobedience that has cost him dear; for, as
if in punishment, his bulky body has gone along with the tree, face
foremost, and far down the slope.
Lost to sight in the cloud of dust that has puffed up over it, all
believe him killed, crushed, buried amid the _debris_ of shattered
branches. But no! In a trice he is seen on his feet again coming out
of the dust-cloud, no longer with a black skin, but chocolate-brown all
over, woolly pate and clothing included, as though he had been for days
buried in tan-bark! sneezing too, with violence. It is a spectacle to
make the most sober-sided laugh, but the occasion is not one for
merriment. All are too alarmed for that now, feeling sure of being
discovered by the savages. How can it be otherwise, after such a
catastrophe--nature itself, as it were, betraying them?
Yet to their pleased surprise it proves otherwise, and on the dust
settling down, they see the savages still in their canoes, with not a
face turned toward the land, none, at least, seeming to heed what has
happened. The old sealer, however, is not surprised at their
indifference, guessing its cause. He knows that in the weird forests of
Tierra del Fuego there is many a tree standing, to all appearance sound
in trunk, branches, everything, yet rotten from bark to heartwood, and
ready to topple over at the slightest touch, even if but a gun be rested
against it. The fall of such trees being a thing of common occurrence,
and the natives accustomed to it, they never give it a second thought.
The fishers in the canoes have not heeded it, while the sneezing of
Caesar has been unheard by them amid the noises made by themselves,
their dogs, and the shrieking seabirds still in full _fracas_ overhead.
In the end, the very thing by which the castaways feared betrayal proves
their salvation; for the Fuegians do land at length, and on the ledge.
But, luckily, they do not stay on shore for any great time--only long
enough to make partition of their spoil and roughly clean the fish. By
good luck, also, the bits of fish thrown to them fully engage the
attention of the dogs, which otherwise would have strayed inland, and so
have come upon the party in hiding.
But perhaps the best instance of favouring fortune is the tree pushed
down by "the doctor," this having fallen right over the ground of the
abandoned camp, and covered under a mass of rotten wood and dust the
place where the tent stood, the fire-hearth, half-consumed faggots,
everything. But for this well-timed obliteration, the sharp-eyed
savages could not have failed to note the traces of its recent
occupancy. As it is, they have no suspicion either of that or of the
proximity of those who occupied it, so much engrossed are they with the
product of their fish-hunt, a catch unusually large.
Still, the apprehensions of the concealed spectators are not the less
keen, and to them it is a period of dread, irksome suspense,
emphatically a _mauvais quart d'heure_. But, fortunately, it lasts not
much longer. To their unspeakable delight, they at length see the
savages bundle back into their canoes, and, pushing off, paddle away out
of the cove.
As the last boat-load of them disappears around the point of rocks,
Captain Gancy fervently exclaims, "Again we may thank the Lord for
deliverance!"