Sailing again on the following day, she fetched Borgia Bay, a few miles on her course, where vessels had anchored from time to time and had nailed boards on the trees ashore with name and date of harboring carved or painted.

Nothing else could I see to indicate that civilized man had ever been there.

I had taken a survey of the gloomy place with my spy-glass, and was getting my boat out to land and take notes, when the Chilean gunboat _Huemel_ came in, and officers, coming on board, advised me to leave the place at once, a thing that required little eloquence to persuade me to do.

I accepted the captain's kind offer of a tow to the next anchorage, at the place called Notch Cove, eight miles farther along, where I should be clear of the worst of the Fuegians.
[Illustration: A bit of friendly assistance.

(After a sketch by Midshipman Miguel Arenas.)] We made anchorage at the cove about dark that night, while the wind came down in fierce williwaws from the mountains.