As soon as they are convinced that the canoes are gone for good,
Seagriff counsels immediate setting out on the journey so unexpectedly
delayed. It is now noon, and it may be night ere they reach their
destination. So says he, an assertion that seems strange, as he admits
the distance may be but a few hundred yards, certainly not over a mile.
They are about taking up their bundles to start, when a circumstance
arises that causes further delay; this time, however, a voluntary and
agreeable one. In a last glance given to the cove ere leaving it, two
flocks of gulls are seen, each squabbling about something that floats on
the surface of the water. Something white, which proves to be a dead
fish, or rather a couple of them, which have been overlooked by the
hunter-fishermen. They are too large for the gulls to lift and carry
away; hence a crowd of the birds are buffeting their wings in conflict
above them.
"A bit of rare good luck for us!" cries young Gancy, dropping a pair of
oars he has shouldered. "Come, Harry! we'll go a-fishing, too."
The English youth takes the hint, and, without another word, both rush
down to the water's edge, where, stripping off coats, shoes, and other
_impedimenta_, they plunge in.
In a few seconds the fish are reached and secured, to the great grief
and anger of the gulls, who, now screaming furiously, wheel round the
heads of the swimmers until they are on shore again.
Worth all their trouble is the spoil retrieved, as the fish prove to be
a species of mullet, each of them over six pounds in weight.
Now assured of having something to eat at the end of their journey, they
set out in much better spirits. But they make not many steps--if steps
they can be called--before discovering the difficulties at which the old
sealer has hinted, saying, "ye'll see." Steps, indeed! Their progress
is more a sprawl than a walk; a continuous climb and scramble over
trunks of fallen trees, many so decayed as to give way under their
weight, letting them down to their armpits in a mass of sodden stuff, as
soft as mud, and equally bedaubing. Even if disposed, they could no
longer laugh at the cook's changed colour, all of them now showing much
the same.
But no place could be less incentive to laughter than that which they
are in. The humid atmosphere around them has a cold, clammy feel, and
the light is no better than shadowy twilight. A weird, unearthly
silence pervades it, only broken by the harsh twitter of a diminutive
bird--a species of creeper--that keeps them company on the way, the
dismal _woo-woo-a_ of an owl, and, at intervals, the rattling call-note
of the Fuegian woodpecker. The last, though laugh-like in itself, is
anything but provocative of mirth in those who listen to it, knowing
that it is a sound peculiar to the loneliest, gloomiest recesses of the
forests.
After toiling up the steep acclivity for nearly two hours, they arrive
at a point where the tall timber abruptly ends. There are trees
beyond--beeches, like the others, but so dwarfed and stunted as to
better deserve the name of bushes. Bushes of low growth, but of ample
spread; for in height, less than twenty inches, while their branches
extend horizontally to more than that number of feet! They are as
thickly branched as the box-edging of a garden walk, and so interwoven
with several species of shrubs--arbutus, berberis, chamatis, donaria,
and escalonia--as to present a smooth matted surface, seemingly that of
the ground itself, under a close-cropped sward.
Mistaking it for this, the two young men, who are in the lead, glad at
having escaped from the gloom of the forest with its many obstructions,
gleefully strike out into what they believe to be open ground, only to
find their belief a delusion, and the path as difficult as ever. For
now it is over the tops of growing trees instead of the trunks of fallen
ones, both alike impracticable. Every now and then their feet break
through and become entangled, their trousers are torn and their shins
scratched by the thorns of the berberries.
The others, following, fare a little better, from being forewarned, and
proceeding with greater caution. But for all it is a troublesome march,
calling for agility. Now a quick rush, as if over thin ice or a
treacherous quagmire; anon, a trip-up and tumble, with a spell of
floundering before feet can be recovered.
Fortunately, the belt of Lilliputian forest is of no great breadth, and
beyond it, higher up, they come upon firmer ground, nearly bare of
vegetation, which continues to the summit of the ridge.
Reaching this at length, they get a scenic view of "Fireland," grander
than any yet revealed to them. Mountains to the north, mountains to the
south, east, and west; mountains piled on mountains all around, of every
form and altitude. There are domes, cones, and pyramids; ridges with
terraced sides and table-tops; peaks, spires, and castellated pinnacles,
some of them having resemblance to artificial masonwork, as if of
Titans! In the midst of this picturesque conglomeration, towering
conspicuously above all, as a giant over ordinary men, is the snow-cone
of Mount Darwin, on the opposite side of the strait, fit mate for
Sarmiento, seen in the same range, north-westward. Intersecting the
mountain chains, and trending in every direction, are deep ravine-like
valleys, some with sloping sides thickly-wooded, others presenting
facades of sheer cliffs, with rocks bare and black. Most of them are
narrow, dark, and dismal, save where illumined by glaciers, from whose
glistening surface of milky-white and beryl-blue the sun's rays are
vividly reflected. Nor are they valleys at all, but are arms of the
sea, straits, sounds, channels, bays, inlets, many of them with water as
deep as the ocean itself. Of every conceivable shape and trend are
they; so ramifying and communicating with one another, that Tierra del
Fuego, long supposed to be a mainland, is but an archipelago of islands
closely clustered together.
From their high point of view on the ridge's crest, the castaways see a
reach of water wider than the sea-arm immediately beneath them, of
which, however, it is a continuation. It extends eastward beyond the
verge of vision, all the way straight as an artificial canal, and so
like one in other ways as to suggest the idea of having been dug by the
same Titans who did the masonwork on the mountains. It occupies the
entire attention of Seagriff, who, looking along it toward the east, at
length says, "Thet's the Beagle Channel; the way we were to hev gone but
fur the swampin' of our boat. An' to think we'd 'a' been runnin' 'long
it now, 'nstead o' stannin' helpless hyar! Jest our luck!"
To his bitter reflection no one makes response. Captain Gancy is too
busy with his binocular, examining the shores of the sea-arm, while the
others, fatigued by their long arduous climb, are seated upon rocks at
some distance off, resting.
After a time the skipper, re-slinging his glass, makes known the result
of his observation, saying, "I can see nothing of the canoes anywhere.
Probably they've put into some other cove along shore to the westward.
At all events, we may as well keep on down."
And down they go, the descent proving quicker and easier than the
ascent. Not that the path is less steep or beset with fewer
obstructions, but their tumbles are now all in the right direction, with
no backward slidings. Forward falls they have and many; every now and
then a wild up-throwing of arms ends with a fall at full length upon the
face. They succeed, however, in reaching the water's edge again without
serious injury received by any, though all are looking very wet,
draggled, and dirty.
At the place where they have now reached the beach, there is a slight
curving indentation in the shore-line; not enough to be called a bay,
nor to interfere with their chance of being seen by any ship that may
pass along the strait. It might be supposed they would choose the most
conspicuous point for their new encampment. But their choice is
influenced by other considerations; chief of these being the fact that
near the centre of the curve they find a spot altogether suited to their
purpose--a little platform, high and dry, itself clear of trees, but
surrounded and sheltered by them.
That they are not the first human beings to set foot on it is evinced by
the skeleton of a wigwam found standing there, while on the beach below
is a heap of shells recognisable as a "kitchen midden." [Note 1.]
These evidences of former occupancy also proclaim it of old date. The
floor of the wigwam is overgrown with grass and weeds, while the
shell-heap is also covered with greenery, the growth upon it being wild
celery and scurvy-grass, two species of plants that give promise of
future utility. Like promise is there in another object near at hand--a
bed of kelp, off shore, just opposite, marking a reef, the rocks of
which will evidently be bare at ebb-tide. From this shell-fish may be
taken, as they have been before, being, no doubt, the _raison d'etre_ of
the wigwam and "kitchen midden."
In addition to these advantages, the beech-apples and berries are as
plentiful here as at the encampment in the cove, with still another
species found not far-off. At the western extremity of the indentation
a slightly elevated ridge projects out into the water, treeless, but
overgrown with bushes of low stature, which are thickly covered with
what at a distance appear to be bunches of red blossoms, but on closer
inspection prove to be berries--_cranberries_.
_Per contra_ to all these advantages, other indications about the place
are not so pleasing. The wigwam tells of their still being in the
territory of the hostile tribe from which they so miraculously escaped.
"Ailikoleep!" is the exclamation of Seagriff, as soon as he sets eyes on
it; "we're in the country o' the rascally savagers yit!"
"How do you know that?" inquires the skipper.
"By the build o' thet wigwam, an' the bulk of it. Ez ye see, it's
roun'-topped, whereas them o' the Tekineekers, an' other Feweegins, run
up to a sharp p'int, besides bein' bigger an' roomier. Thar's another
sign, too, of its bein' Ailikoleep. They kiver thar wigwams wi'
seal-skins, 'stead o' grass, which the Tekineekas use. Ef this hed been
thatched wi' grass, we'd see some o' the rubbish inside, an' the floor
'd be hollered out--which it's not. Yes, the folks that squatted hyar
hev been Ailikoleeps. But 'tain't no surprise to me, ez I heern some
words pass 'mong the fishin' party, which show'd 'em to be thet same.
Wal," he continues, more hopefully, "thar's one good thing: they haven't
set fut on this groun' fur a long while, which air some airnest o' thar
hevin' gi'n the place up fur good. Those dead woods tell o' thar last
doin's about hyar."
He points to some trees standing near, dead, and with most of the bark
stripped from their trunks.
"They've peeled 'em fur patchin' thar canoes, an' by the look of it,
thet barkin' was done more'n three years ago."
What he says does little to restore confidence. The fact of the fishing
party having been Ailikoleeps is too sure evidence that danger is still
impending. And such danger! It only needs recalling the late attack--
the fiendish aspect of the savages, with their furious shouts and
gestures, the darting of javelins and hurling of stones--to fully
realise what it is. With that fearful episode fresh in their thoughts,
the castaways require no further counsel to make them cautious in their
future movements.
The first of them is the pitching their tent, which is set up so as to
be screened from view of any canoe passing along the sea-arm; and for
their better accommodation, the wigwam is re-roofed, as it, too, is
invisible from the water. No fire is to be made during daylight, lest
its smoke should betray them; and when kindled at night for cooking
purposes, it must be done within the wood, whence not a glimmer of it
may escape outward. A lookout is to be constantly kept through the
glass by one or another taking it in turns, to look out, not alone for
enemies, but for friends--for that ship which they still hope may come
along the Beagle Channel.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. These shell-heaps, or "kitchen middens," are a feature of
Fuegian scenery. They are usually found wherever there is a patch of
shore level enough to land upon; but the beach opposite a bed of kelp is
the place where the largest are met with. In such situations the
skeletons of old wigwams are also encountered, as the Fuegians, on
deserting them, always leave them standing, probably from some
superstitious feeling.