The Fuegians are not bearded.
So much for the first day among the savages.

I came to anchor at midnight in Three Island Cove, about twenty miles along from Fortescue Bay.

I saw on the opposite side of the strait signal-fires, and heard the barking of dogs, but where I lay it was quite deserted by natives.
I have always taken it as a sign that where I found birds sitting about, or seals on the rocks, I should not find savage Indians.

Seals are never plentiful in these waters, but in Three Island Cove I saw one on the rocks, and other signs of the absence of savage men.
[Illustration: A brush with Fuegians] On the next day the wind was again blowing a gale, and although she was in the lee of the land, the sloop dragged her anchors, so that I had to get her under way and beat farther into the cove, where I came to in a landlocked pool.

At another time or place this would have been a rash thing to do, and it was safe now only from the fact that the gale which drove me to shelter would keep the Indians from crossing the strait.