The island is of volcanic formation. The cliffs which we examined displayed a section, fully 1,000 feet deep, of various layers of tuff, laterite, and scoriæ, which, for the most part, stretched out horizontally, and were intersected in every conceivable direction by dykes of basalt. In some places ridges or spurs of rock projected like buttresses from the vertical cliff; and where we landed the spur was composed of a vertical dyke of basalt flanked by a crumbling scoriaceous rock, which latter was being worn away by the action of waves and weather much more rapidly than its core of basalt. The columnar blocks of which the basalt was composed were bedded horizontally; i.e., at right angles to the plane of the dyke, so that the appearance of the whole was strikingly suggestive of an immense stone staircase. After a stay of an hour and a half we were signalled to return on board, as Captain Maclear was obliged to get under way, and accordingly at half-past twelve we were sailing away to the southward, leaving this comparatively unknown island as a prize for future explorers.

In the course of this cruise we were followed by great numbers of petrels, among which were the giant petrel (Ossifraga gigantea), the Cape pigeon (Daption capensis), and two species of Thalassidroma (I think T. leucogaster and T. wilsoni). I noticed on this, as on several subsequent occasions, that the little storm petrel is in the habit of kicking the water with one leg when it is skimming the surface in searching for its food. This movement is usually seen most clearly when the sea presents a slightly undulating surface; and when the bird strikes the water in performing a slight curve in its flight, one can see that it is invariably the outer leg that is used. The object of this manœuvre seems to be to give the body sufficient upward impulse to prevent the wings from becoming wetted in rising from near the surface. I have often observed the Atlantic storm petrels steady themselves on the water with both legs together, but have never seen them perform this one-legged "kick," like their congeners of the Pacific. There are contradictory statements in natural history works as to whether petrels do or do not follow ships during the night time. Those who adopt the negative view of the question maintain that the birds rest on the waves during the night and pick up the ship next morning by following her wake. For a long time I was in doubt as to which was the correct view to take, although I had often on dark nights, when sitting on the taffrail of the ship, fancied I had heard the chirp of the small petrels. At length I became provoked that after having spent so many years at sea I should still be in doubt about such a matter as this, so I began to make systematic observations, in which I was assisted by the officers of watches and quartermasters, who were also interested in the matter. The result is that I am now quite certain that the storm petrel and Cape pigeon do follow the ship by night as well as by day, and that, moreover, the night is the best time for catching them. Every night, for a time, I used to tow a long light thread from the stern of the ship; it was about sixty yards long, and fitted at the end with an anchor-shaped piece of bottle wire, which just skimmed along the surface of the water and yet allowed the thread to float freely in the air. I found this device a great improvement on the old-fashioned method of using several unarmed threads, and in this way I caught at night-time, and even on the darkest nights, both storm petrels and Cape pigeons; the latter, however, usually breaking my thread and escaping. If I sat down quietly and held the line lightly between my finger and thumb, I would feel every now and then a vibration as a bird collided with it. On moonlight nights, moreover, one could always, by watching carefully, see the big Cape pigeons flitting about the stern of the ship.

My experience of petrels and albatrosses is that whenever they are having a really good meal, they invariably sit down on the water. This is especially noticeable about noon, when mess garbage is thrown overboard, and in perfectly calm weather I have even seen a flock of storm petrels settle down on the surface as if meaning to rest themselves, and remain as still as ducks on a pond, basking in the sunshine. One day also in moderately fine weather I thought I saw a Cape pigeon dive. This surprised me so that I watched, and saw the manœuvre repeated again and again. Some refuse had been cast overboard which scarcely floated, and this petrel, being desirous of possessing some morsels of food which were submerged, dived bodily down, apparently without the least inconvenience.

Before quitting this subject, I shall say a few words on a somewhat hackneyed but still open question, viz.,—"the flight of the albatross." I have had many opportunities of watching the yellow-billed species (D. melanophrys), and I have noticed that it sometimes uses its wings to raise or propel itself in such a manner that to a superficial observer it would then appear to be only soaring with wings stationary. It does not "flap" them, but depresses them rapidly towards the breast, so that it seems as if the body were being raised at the expense of the wings, whereas, in reality, the entire bird is elevated. The movement does not resemble a flap, simply because the return of the wings to the horizontal position is accomplished by a comparatively slow movement. By resorting to this manœuvre occasionally, it is able to maintain a soaring flight for periods which, without its aid, might be considered extraordinarily long. Of course, when it wants to gain a fresh stock of buoyancy and momentum, it gives three or four flaps like any other bird.

During our return stay at Valparaiso from the 1st to the 21st of August, I made a trip to Santiago, the capital of Chili. Santiago is built on the great plateau which lies between the coast range of hills and the Cordillera, and is 1,500 feet above the sea level. The distance by rail from Valparaiso is about 120 miles, but as the railroad makes the greater part of the ascent within a distance of 50 miles, the average gradient of the incline is considerable. The train follows the line of the seashore for a distance of about 3 miles to the northward of Valparaiso, when it reaches the mouth of a wide valley running inland, the windings of whose right bank it follows until a station called Llallai (pronounced "Yayai") is reached. It then makes a steep ascent along the side of a mountain, and here on one side a precipitous wall of conglomerate rock faces the carriage windows, while on the other the eye gazes into the depths of an ever-receding valley, above which the train seems poised as if by magic. While one is still lost in contemplation of this abyss, a short tunnel in a buttress of the mountain is traversed, and the train suddenly sweeps round a sharp corner, and crossing the valley by a light iron bridge which here spans a part of it, constricted to a narrow chasm, enters a highland defile on the opposite side. This place is known as the "Mequin Paso." The train now pursues a meandering track among the hills of Montenegro, where the summit level of the railway is reached, and then inclines gradually downwards to the great plain of Santiago.

After establishing ourselves in the Oddo Hotel, which is situated in the middle of the city, close to the "Plaza De Armas," we commenced our explorations, and first proceeded to the Natural History Museum. It lies on the outskirts of the town and occupies a spacious building which was originally constructed for the Exhibition of 1875, and to which the Natural History collections were transferred in 1877. Favoured by a letter of introduction, we were here fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of Dr. Phillipi, the distinguished naturalist, who has for many years had charge of the museum; and to whose courtesy and good nature we were much indebted. The collections illustrative of South American ornithology and ethnology were particularly fine. The herbarium seemed to be very extensive, and was so excellently arranged as to afford ready access to any groups of specimens. In the spacious hall devoted to this department, we saw a section of a beech tree from Magellan which was more than seven feet in diameter, and the silicified trunk of a tree fifty centimetres in diameter, which had been found near Santa Barbara. The mammalian collection included two specimens of the Huemul (Cervus chilensis), one of which was said to be the original figured by Gay in his "Historia Physica y Politica de Chilé." Among the human crania were some very curious specimens illustrating the extremes of dolichocephaly and brachycephaly. It is to be regretted that the subsidy voted by the Chilian government for the maintenance of this admirable museum does not exceed £100 a year, and Dr. Phillipi may well be congratulated on the results of his self-sacrificing labours.

About the centre of the town of Santiago is a remarkable hill called Santa Lucia, whose summit affords a very extended view. It is a mass of columnar basalt rising abruptly from the plain to a height of about 300 feet, and presenting on all sides boldly scarped faces in which several flights of stone steps have been ingeniously cut, so as to lead by various labyrinthine routes to the summit. We made the ascent towards the close of day, and were well repaid for our trouble by the really magnificent view. The town lay extended at our feet with its various buildings and monuments standing up in bold relief. As we raised our eyes, its outskirts dwindled into the broad plain of Santiago valley, which here seemed to form an immense amphitheatre, surrounded in the distance by a chain of lofty hills whose snow-capped summits were at this hour illumined with the lovely roseate colours so characteristic of sunset in the Cordilleras.

On the following day we visited the site of the church of La Compania, where the fire took place in the year 1863, when some 2,000 people, mostly women, were burnt to death. The church was never rebuilt, but in its place now stands a handsome bronze monument to commemorate the victims of this dreadful calamity. Immediately adjoining are the splendid buildings in which the sittings of congress are held.

The morning of our return was cold and frosty, and the plain of Santiago was enveloped in a dense mist, from which we did not emerge until the train had entered the mountain valleys, through which it wound towards the heights of Montenegro. Here we rose above the gloomy mists, and were gladdened by the bright and warm rays of a sun whose beams were as yet screened from the lowlands. Wild ducks were to be seen in the marshes near the railways, scarcely disturbed by the passage of the train; flocks of doves rose from the bushes here and there; owls hovered about in a scared sort of way, as if ashamed of being seen out in the honest sunlight; and on many a tree top was perched a solitary buzzard or vulture. Later in the forenoon small flocks of the military starlings were frequently sighted, their brilliant scarlet plumage showing to great advantage against the pale green bushes of the hill sides. After passing the summit level we rattled down the incline towards Llallai, at what seemed to me to be a very high speed. I kept looking out of the window at first, watching the engine disappearing from sight as it suddenly swept round an abrupt curve and entered a cutting, and admiring the wriggling of the train as it swiftly threaded its way in and out among the hills. Sometimes our route would seem to lead us into a cul-de-sac of the hills, and when apparently almost at the end of it, the engine would abruptly alter her course and sweep away in a direction nearly at right angles to its former course, dragging the docile and flexible chain of carriages away with it. I had missed all this on the upward journey—I suppose because our slower speed then made curves and cuttings look less alarming. After a while, I began to reflect on the probable consequences of our suddenly coming upon a flock of heavy cattle in one of these nasty cuttings, and the more I pondered the more I became convinced that although the cow-catcher of our engine was well able to cope with a single bullock or even two, yet that in the case of our colliding with a flock of half-a-dozen or so, something unpleasant must surely happen. This was not a cheering subject of thought, so I turned away from the window and tried to interest myself in the contents of a Chilian newspaper. A few days previously, I heard that a single bullock had been met with on this same incline, and had been satisfactorily accounted for by the "cow-catcher." The body was smashed to pieces and thrown off the track, but the people in the train (one of whom was my informant) experienced only a very slight shock. At Llallai station we stopped for breakfast, for which the cold air of the morning had sufficiently prepared us, and in the afternoon we arrived comfortably at Valparaiso.

We again stayed at Coquimbo from the 23rd to the 30th of August, having been obliged to return there on account of a court-martial. The appearance of the country had changed very much since our previous visit. Bare tracts of sand had given place to an uniform coating of verdure, and a great variety of flowering plants were visible in full bloom. There was a species of Aristolochia very common on the rocky hills, whose large pitcher-shaped perianth frequently imprisoned a number of flies of different species, and I found that I could add materially to my entomological collection by examining these plants, and despoiling them of their living prey, for most of the pitchers contained living flies, and some of them the remains of insects apparently in a half-digested state. This flower constitutes a very effectual fly-trap; and I once noticed a great bluebottle-fly endeavouring in vain to work his way over the "chevaux-de-frise" of white hairs, which, with their ends pointing inwards, studded the interior of the tube.

During this stay I made a trip to the copper mines of Brillador, which are worked in connection with the smelting houses at Compañia. Both establishments are the property of Mr. Lambert, an English gentleman residing at Swansea, whose Chilian manager is Mr. Weir, to whom I have already alluded. I went by train to Compañia, which is the terminus of that branch of the line, and spent the night at the residence of Mr. Weir, by whose kind invitation I was enabled to make this interesting excursion. On the following morning we started on horseback, and rode over the hills to Brillador. The mines are eight miles distant from Compañia, and are situated at an elevation of 1,500 feet above the sea level. Here we put ourselves under the guidance of Mr. Richards, the courteous engineer, who clothed us in canvas mining suits, and supplied each of us with an oil lamp hung on gimbals at the extremity of a long stick; and thus equipped we entered one of the adit levels opening on to a steep hillside, and bade adieu for some hours to the friendly daylight. One of the peculiarities of a Chilian mine is that the ordinary ladder of civilization is replaced by a notched pole, and that, by means of a succession of these poles, the descent and ascent of the shaft of the mine is accomplished. Another is that the ore is conveyed from the works at the bottom of the shaft in sacks of hide, each man thus carrying on his shoulders the enormous weight of 200 lbs. The miners whom I saw employed in this work were naked to the waist, and exhibited splendid muscular development of chest and arm. I examined one of the sacks of ore, and found that I could barely raise it off the ground. These fine athletic fellows are fed principally upon maize, figs, and bread, few of them eating meat. Three kinds of copper ore are found in this mine. Near the surface is a light green carbonate of copper which is easily smelted, and when rich in metal (i.e., free from extraneous mineral matter) is in much request; but even when of low percentage it can be advantageously used for the manufacture of sulphate of copper. Next in order of depth is found a purple ore, which is a double sulphide of copper and iron; and at the bottom of the lode is the yellow sulphide of copper, commonly known in Chili as "bronce." Here we saw a most ingenious "rock drill," working at the end of a new level cutting. The apparatus, which is simple and most effective, consists of a solid piston working in a very strong cylinder and driven to and fro by compressed air, whose action is regulated by a slide valve. The drill is fitted directly into the end of the piston rod, and by an ingenious arrangement it is made to perform a partial movement of rotation during each backward motion, so that it may strike the rock in a new direction each time. The working pressure of air was 50 lbs. per square inch. We noted the time while a boring was being made, and found that it took exactly nine minutes to make a hole nine inches deep, through the hard rock. The power is originated by a double-acting steam-engine, situated at the inner extremity of the main adit level, from whence a supply of compressed air is conveyed in flexible pipes along the various tunnels in which boring is being done. In subsequently blasting the rock, gunpowder is used in preference to dynamite or other explosives, I believe on account of the toughness of the ore, which therefore yields more satisfactorily to a comparatively gradual explosive. In the evening we rode back to Mr. Weir's residence at Compañia, and on the following day I returned on board the ship, which weighed anchor the same afternoon, and proceeded southward towards Talcahuano.

Talcahuano, where we lay from the 4th of September to the 4th of October, is the most important seaport in southern Chili, and possesses an excellent and roomy anchorage. It is situated in a fertile and picturesque country; and it is in direct communication by rail, not only with Concepcion and all the more important towns of the south and central provinces, but also by branch line with an extensive grain-producing territory bordering on Araucania, whose produce it receives. Concepcion, which takes rank as the third city in the Republic, is nine miles from Talcahuano, and lies on the bank of the Bio Bio, a broad, shallow, and sluggish river. The houses and public buildings there have the appearance of considerable antiquity, although in reality the greater number must have been rebuilt since the great earthquake of 1835, when the city was reduced to ruins. Penco, the old Spanish capital of the province of Concepcion, was situated in the eastern extremity of the Bay of Concepcion; but when it was destroyed by a tidal wave in 1730, the people moved inland and established themselves near the site of the present city. However, by the cataclysm of 1751, the newly-founded city of Concepcion shared the fate of Penco, but was soon rebuilt, as it was again, in great part, after the earthquake of 1835.

We had intended to make only a short stay at Talcahuano, but on the day preceding our arrival there, a case of small-pox appeared among the crew, followed by a second and third, and we were therefore obliged to remain in this harbour until our patients should be sufficiently well to return on board.

There was a long, low, sandy island (Isla de los Reyes) lying across the head of Talcahuano Bay, and inhabited only by a couple of shepherds who were looking after a herd of cattle and horses. There being no available hospital to which our patients could be sent, we obtained leave from the Chilian authorities to establish a temporary quarantine station on the island. Accordingly, on the day of our arrival we set up tents on an unfrequented and particularly airy part of the island, and having supplied them with provisions and all the necessary appliances, we installed our patients in their new quarters. They made good recoveries. My medical duties required me to make frequent visits to this little establishment, and I found it convenient to make it the centre of my afternoon rambles. On the mainland immediately adjoining the island, I found a great marshy plain of many miles in extent, and intersected in various directions by deep muddy ditches which communicated with the sea, and at high tide brought supplies of sea-water to a chain of broad, shallow lagoons, the home of multitudes of waterfowl. Pintail ducks, widgeon, herons, curlew, flamingoes, turkey-buzzards, gulls, lapwings, and sandpipers found here a congenial home. The shrill, harsh cry of the spur-winged lapwing (the "terutero" of the Pampas so graphically described by Darwin) was for ever scaring the other peacefully-disposed birds, and at the same time invoking maledictions from the sportsman. The plumage of this bird is very handsome, and the bright crimson colour of the iris and eyelid during life gave it a strange fascinating appearance, which can hardly be realized from a stuffed specimen.

When the first ebb of the tide left bare the mudbanks in the lagoons, the gulls and curlews collected in vast numbers for their diurnal meal. Of the gulls only three kinds were seen, viz., L. dominicanus, L. glaucoides, and L. maculipennis. The latter were in various conditions of plumage; some birds having a deep black hood, and others with a head almost entirely white, while between these two extremes, there was every gradation. The turkey-buzzards derived a plentiful supply of food from the bodies of fish stranded on the beach. For some reason or other dogfish were constantly coming to grief in this way, bodies of fish, two and three feet long, being met with sometimes, all along the beach, at average distances of about one hundred yards apart.

One day we made an excursion up the river Andalien, which flows into Talcahuano Bay, near the village of Penco, and which at high tide is navigable for boats to a distance of seven miles from its mouth. Our main object was to see something of the nutria—a large rodent (Myopotamus coypu), which is common in some of the rivers of southern Chili, and which the natives call "Coypo." In a deep, narrow, ditch-like tributary of the Andalien, we came across several of these animals, swimming and diving about, some half-immersed clumps of bushes. At first sight their manner of swimming and diving would lead one to imagine that they were otters, but on closer inspection the broad muzzle with its long bristly whiskers, and foxy-red hair, reveal their true character. The "coypo" is distinguished from its northern ally, the beaver, in having the scaly tail round instead of flat, and from the Chilian river otter, the "huillin" (Lutra huidobrio), it is easily known by its dental characters as well as by its tail and feet. The hind feet are webbed as in the beaver. I dissected one which we shot, and found the stomach full of green vegetable matter, and in the abdominal cavity, which was a good deal injured by the shot, were fragments of a large tapeworm. This specimen weighed 10 lbs., and measured 2 ft. 10 in. from snout to extremity of tail.

Some days subsequently I accompanied Captain Maclear on a railway trip up the country, Mr. Lawrence, the superintendent of the line, having, with the courtesy so characteristic of English residents in Chili, invited the captain and one other officer to join him in a tour of inspection which he was about to make along the Angol branch of the South Chilian railway. We started from Concepcion at 9 a.m., on a small locomotive which was set apart for the use of the superintendent. It was a lightly built affair, partly "housed in" and partly open, and was fitted to accommodate two or three passengers besides the driver and fireman, so that it afforded us an exceedingly pleasant method of seeing something of the country. This swift little vehicle was called the "Quillapan," in commemoration of a distinguished native chief of that name. Our driver was a most intelligent and well-informed Englishman named Clark, who had lost his foot about three years previously in a railway accident, at which I understood that Lady Brassey, of the Sunbeam, had been present; and he spoke gratefully of the kind attention which she paid to him. His wooden leg did not seem to be much impediment to his engine-driving, for he rattled us along round curves and down inclines at a speed which, while possessing all the charms of novelty, had also in no small degree the excitement of danger. However, we soon got used to this, as well as to the jumping and jolting of the light little engine.

For the first ten miles after leaving Concepcion, our route lay along the right or northerly bank of the Bio Bio river. Here most of the railway cuttings were through a clay-slate rock, which alternated with bands of black shale, and occasionally exhibited thin seams of coal. Further on, and throughout the rest of the journey to Angol, the cuttings were through banks of sand exhibiting horizontal stratification, and being apparently of fluviatile origin. A run of two hours brought us to the junction station of San Rosendo, from whence the northerly line to Chillan, Talca, and Santiago, and the S.E. line to Angol diverge. Here we breakfasted, and stretched our legs by a stroll. Immediately on resuming our journey we crossed the Lara,—a tributary of the Bio Bio,—and then continued our course along the right bank of the main river, until we had just passed the station of Santa Fé. Here the line made a short semicircular sweep, and crossed the Bio Bio by a low wooden bridge of about two hundred yards in length. Clark, the driver, told us that during freshets the water rose about fifteen feet above this bridge, completely stopping the traffic. On asking him why they did not build a strong high level bridge, he replied that a rude wooden structure such as the present one cost little, and when swept away could be readily and cheaply replaced; but that a bridge of durable style would take too long to pay the cost of its own construction. This explanation may not at first sight seem very lucid, but it is worthy of consideration, for the principle which it involves is, I fancy, applicable to many of the affairs of Chili.

We had now entered the great central valley of the country, a broad plateau interposed between the coast range and the Cordillera, and extending in one unbroken sheet of fertile land from here to Santiago. Before us now, as far as the eye could penetrate, lay a straight level track, so Mr. Clark turned the steam full on, and the "Quillapan" responded to the tune of forty-five miles an hour. When about a mile or two from a desolate station called "Robleria," we were rapidly approaching a long wooden bridge, when we saw a man appear on the track just on our side of the bridge, and step leisurely from sleeper to sleeper. On hearing our whistle he looked round in a startled attitude; but to our astonishment, instead of jumping to one side of the line, he lost his head, and passing on to the bridge made frantic efforts to cross before our engine came up. The bridge was an open framework, consisting simply of wooden piles, span-beams, and sleepers, and was so narrow that there was no room for a foot-passenger at either side of a passing train. The wretched man's misery must have been extreme, for as he crossed the bridge he had to jump continually from sleeper to sleeper, and could not of course look back again behind him to see how things were going on. It was a moment of intense suspense to us also, for it was now too late to stop the engine, Clark not having calculated on the man attempting to cross before us. However, he gained the off buttress of the bridge just in time to throw himself down a bank on one side of the line, while the "Quillapan" sped on like a whirlwind.

We reached the Angol terminus at 1.30 p.m., and on coming to a standstill, found ourselves the centre of a small admiring crowd, consisting of Chilian peasants and Araucanian Indians. The latter wore very scanty clothing, in which the only distinctive feature which I noticed was a band of red cloth tied round the forehead and occiput. In stature and regular features they somewhat resembled the Chilians, but their distinctly coppery colour marked them out at once. Angol is now one of the frontier settlements established recently by the Chilian Government in Araucanian territory, and it is fortified against the marauding expeditions of these hardy warriors by a chain of forts which overlook the settlement, and are garrisoned by regular Chilian troops. The district is of great value, on account of the richness of the soil and its suitability for the cultivation of wheat, which has now become the staple article of commerce in the southern provinces of the Republic. Our stay at Angol was, unfortunately, very short, as the station-master told us that a train due at Angol that afternoon was even then telegraphed as waiting at one of the upper stations until our return, when the line would be clear for it to move on.

On our journey back we narrowly escaped colliding seriously with a herd of bullocks. We had just passed Robleria, when we noticed some distance ahead of us a solitary bullock standing quietly on the line. On the whistle being sounded he at once left the track, so that the steam, which had been momentarily turned off, was again put on, and the engine resumed her usual speed. We had now approached to within forty yards of the place where the animal had been, when suddenly from a dense clump of bushes to the light there emerged a herd of half-a-dozen bullocks, who with one accord began leisurely to cross the line. Quick as thought Clark with one hand turned on the whistle, while with the other he reversed the engine, leaving the steam valve wide open; and immediately there was a great rattle of machinery below the platform, and the engine checked her way considerably. And now at the last moment, and when the cattle seemed to be almost under the buffers of the engine, they, suddenly coming to a sense of their danger, scattered, and sheered off; but not quickly enough to prevent one unlucky animal being caught by the hind quarters and chucked off like a football, its body rolling down the embankment to the left in a cloud of dust as we whirled by. Clark coolly replaced the reversing lever, and let the engine rush ahead again as if nothing had happened. He remarked that if he had been on one of the regular big engines he would not have bothered himself about the beasts at all, but that half-a-dozen bullocks were rather too much for the little "Quillapan."

Another trip which we made was to the Island of Quiriquina, which lies in the entrance of the bay at about five miles' distance from the anchorage of Talcahuano. An hour's run in the steam-cutter brought us near the northern extremity of the island, where we landed with difficulty in the Bay of Las Tablas. This name has reference to the tabular form of the blocks of sandstone which have fallen from the face of the cliffs and lie strewn on the beach, in which position they resembled the blocks of concrete which one often sees near a pier or breakwater in course of construction. Close to where we landed we found portions of the silicified trunk of a tree, resting on the débris at the foot of the cliff, its fractured ends exhibiting a jagged appearance, as if the fragment had not long previously been broken from the parent stem. It was two and a half feet long by a foot in diameter, and presented well-marked sections of the concentric rings of growth. In one of the rock pools closely adjoining we found also a smaller water-worn fragment, which we were able to annex as a specimen. The sandstone cliff above us exhibited well-marked lines of stratification, dipping to the southward at an angle of about 15°, and in the talus at its base were several large globular masses, which consisted almost entirely of fossil shells, bound together by a matrix of soft clayey sandstone. Conspicuous among these shells were examples of the genera Baculites and Cardium. While the lowest rock in the series of strata was a hard grey sandstone, full of fossil shells, and forming a kind of level terrace skirting the beach, and a wash at high tide, on the north side of the bay this last-mentioned rock was continuous with another horizontal terrace, which ran at a somewhat higher level, as if introduced there by a fault in the strata. It was a coarse, unfossiliferous conglomerate, composed of angular pieces of shingle bound together by a hard but very scanty matrix.

CHAPTER V.
OUR SECOND SEASON IN PATAGONIAN WATERS.

On the evening of the 4th October, our small-pox patients being then sufficiently well to return on board, we sailed from Talcahuano, and proceeded to the southward in order to resume our surveying work in the Trinidad and Concepcion channels.

We entered the Gulf of Peñas on the afternoon of the 9th October, and as it was a clear, bright, sunshiny day, we had a good view of Cape Tres Montes, which forms the northern horn of the gulf, while ahead of us, and towards the S.E. bight, lay the Sombrero, Wager, and Byron Islands, the first of which marks the entrance of the Messier Channel. When we had got fairly inside this channel, a Fuegian canoe of the customary pattern was seen approaching from the western shore. We stopped to allow her to communicate with us, and, of course, the usual bartering of skins for knives and tobacco took place between the natives and our seamen. There were about twelve persons in the canoe, all of whom looked more than usually plump in regard to their bodies, but had the characteristically stunted legs of this wandering race. On leaving us they appeared to be quite sold out, and were almost entirely naked, some of them completely so; however, they seemed well pleased with the bit of traffic which they had accomplished.

We anchored for the night in Island Harbour. On the following morning we got under way at an early hour, and steamed down the Messier Channel and through the English Narrows, reaching Eden Harbour about dusk.

We passed several small icebergs, which had probably reached the channels from a glacier in Iceberg Sound. The largest was about twenty yards across, and projected about six feet above the surface. Most of the hills in this latitude were snow-clad as far as the 1,000 feet line.

On the evening of the next day, the 11th October, we reached the Trinidad Channel, and established ourselves for a time at Cockle Cove, an anchorage on the south shore of this channel, of which the survey was as yet incomplete.

It was now spring time on the west coast of Patagonia, but the weather was as chilly and wet as it had been in the autumn of the previous year, when we were moving north towards our winter quarters; indeed, from the accounts furnished to us by the sealers, as well as from our own experience, I am inclined to think that there are no marked seasonal changes in the weather on the west coast, whither the constant westerly winds are continually delivering the burden of aqueous vapour which they accumulate in their passage over the Southern Ocean. On the other hand, the condition of the fauna and flora indicate the natural two-fold division of the year as decisively as it is observed in the same latitude in the northern hemisphere.

In the month of October at Cockle Cove the kelp geese and steamer-ducks were preparing their nests, and the cormorants were assembling at their rookeries; the holly-leaved berberry (Berberis ilicifolia) was already displaying its gorgeous clusters of globular orange flowers, and the giant creeper (Campsidium chilense) was also in bloom, its scarlet bell-shaped flowers peeping from aloft among the branches of the beech-trees, where they appear to seek a position in which they may flourish safe from intrusion. Many of the mosses and Jungermanniæ were also now in full fruit.

We dredged several times at Cockle Cove. The bottom was muddy, and abounded in a species of Mactra, which the men were fond of eating; and as they commonly called these shells "cockles," the anchorage was given a name which would recall the memory of these much-esteemed comestibles.

We also obtained numbers of a pale rose-coloured Gephyrean. On placing one of these creatures in a globe of fresh sea-water it seemed to feel quite at home, protruding its tentacles and puffing out its worm-like body until it looked like a tiny jam-roll with a star-fish attached to one end. These tentacles, which are eight in number and surround the mouth, are each one provided with from eight to ten finger-like processes. When there is only the former number, the organ looks remarkably like a hand, and the resemblance is rendered more striking when the tentacle is extended, and grasps some minute particles in the water, which to all appearance it conveys to its mouth. The usual shape assumed by this protean animal is that of a long cylinder with rounded ends, but it sometimes shows an annular construction about the middle of the body, and sometimes the whole anterior half of the body is retracted so as to give the animal a telescopic appearance. These changes of shape are produced by the action of two distinct systems of contractile fibres, transverse and longitudinal, the fibres of the former being disposed closely together like minute hoops, and girding the body from end to end, while the longitudinal fibres are arranged in five broad and well-marked equidistant bands, which extend uninterruptedly from one end of the cylindrical body to the other.

One night a small petrel flew on board, into one of the hoisted-up boats, where it was found by one of the seamen in the usual apparently helpless state. It is odd that some species of the family of petrels should find such difficulty about rising on the wing from a ship's deck. A freshly-caught Cape pigeon, placed on its legs on the deck, seems to forget utterly that it possesses the power of flight, and does not even attempt to use its wings, but waddles about like an old farmyard duck. The petrel above referred to was the little diver (Pelecanoides urinatrix), a bird not uncommon in the channels, but yet very difficult to obtain. During the previous season on the surveying ground, Sir George Nares, who was the first to notice it, reported one day that he had seen one of his old arctic friends, the "little auk," which indeed in its habits it strongly resembles. It usually (at all events during the day-time) sits on the surface of the water, and on the least sign of danger takes a long dive like a grebe, and on rising to the surface again flies away some few hundred yards, keeping all the while close to the surface. Its flight is like that of the grebe, but more feeble. In the Falkland Islands the habits of this bird are somewhat different. The bill is peculiarly broad and of a dark horn colour, the breast and belly of a dull grey, and the upper parts black; the tarsi and feet lavender. The body is short and plump, and is provided with disproportionately short wings. Speaking of this bird, Mr. Darwin says that it "offers an example of those extraordinary cases of a bird evidently belonging to one well-marked family, yet both in its habits and its structure allied to a very distant tribe."

There was a "rookery" of the red-cered cormorant (Phalacrocorax magellanicus) near Cockle Cove, but the nests were placed on almost inaccessible ledges in the face of the rocky cliff, which was streaked all over with vertical white lines from the droppings of the birds. This species of cormorant is very abundant throughout all the channels. A second species, a jet black bird (Phalacrocorax imperialis), builds its nest in trees; and there was a characteristic "rookery" of this tree cormorant at Port Bermejo, where we anchored in the month of November. It was in a quiet sequestered place, where two old and leafless beech trees overhung the margin of an inland pond. The nests were constructed of dried grass, and were placed among the terminal branches of the trees. These funereal-looking birds, sitting on or perching by their scraggy nests on the bare superannuated trees, formed a truly dismal spectacle. They uttered, too, a peculiar cawing sound, which was not cheerful, and so remarkably like the grunting of a pig, that before I saw the rookery I was for some time peeping through the bushes and looking for tracks, imagining myself in the neighbourhood of some new pachydermatous animal. It seemed as if the birds took the grunting business by turns, only one at a time giving tongue.

I was surprised to see how neatly they alighted on the branches. There was none of the awkward shuffling motion of wings and feet which they exhibit when alighting on the ground or on the water; but, on the contrary, each fresh arrival soared on to its perching place as smoothly and cleverly as a hawk, and grasped the branch firmly with its claws. At another tree rookery in Swallow Bay I noticed that when some of the birds on flying in observed my presence, they would rise high above the tree, and remain soaring around in circles till I had gone away. The method of soaring was to all appearance as smooth, steady, and devoid of effort as that of a vulture. And yet the cormorant is a heavy short-winged bird, that rises from the ground with difficulty, and whose ordinary method of flight is most laborious.

The handsomest bird in this region is the kingfisher (Ceryle stellata). It is commonly to be seen perched on some withered branches overhanging the water, where it will remain in a huddled-up sleeping attitude, its head turned sideways, but with an eye all the time fixed intently on the water beneath, until it espies a fish, when it drops like a stone, cleaving the water with a short sharp splash, and a moment afterwards emerges with an upward impulse, which raises it clear of the water, and enables it to fly away at once without any preliminary shaking or fluttering. It is an exceedingly unsuspicious and fearless bird, and when perched on its place of observation, will often allow one in a boat to approach within arm's reach of it. Mossy banks overhanging low sea cliffs are its usual nesting places, and there it excavates a tunnel through the soft moss and turfy soil, and at a distance of more than two feet from the aperture forms its nest.

There is a very peculiar and constant feature in the scenery of the woodlands about the summits of the low hills, which has given rise to much speculation amongst us. It is that many of the rounded bosses of syenite rock, which project for a few feet above the level of the swampy land, exhibit on their highest parts isolated mossy tufts, which look at a little distance like small piles of rubbish placed artificially in prominent places as landmarks, or like the marks which mountain climbers are so fond of setting up on rocky pinnacles as records of their feats. The usual shape is that of a cylinder about eighteen inches high and ten inches in diameter, with a rounded top; and it adheres to the rock by a well-defined base of matted fibres. It is composed of a very compact moss (Tetraplodon mnioides), which is of a rich green colour on the summit of the tuft when it is in a flourishing condition, and whose decaying remains, converted into a peaty mould entangled in a fibrous network of roots, form the body and base of the tuft. When this moss is in fruit, its long spore-bearing stalks, which rise to a height of three inches above its surface, are of a dark-red colour where they emerge from the green surface, this colour gradually changing into a beautiful golden-yellow above, where the spore-cases are supported. It is then an exceedingly pretty object. If one of these tufts be torn away from its rocky foundation, which is very easily done, and is a most tempting work of destruction, a white scar is left on the rock which will catch the eye at the distance of a mile, and which strongly resembles the small white-washed marks set up on the coasts by our surveyors for shooting theodolite angles at. Now the question is, why does the moss establish itself in this peculiar position, on the otherwise bare and exposed rock? It is all the same whether the rock be dome-shaped, as it most commonly is on the low hill-tops, or pyramidal, or wedge-shaped, the tuft—if there is one present—is invariably to be found perched on the highest part of it. I can only attribute this to the peculiar habit of growth of the moss, adapting it specially to this shape and this situation; a situation to which moreover it gives a decided preference, for I have not observed it growing elsewhere. Sometimes on climbing a rocky mountain hereabouts, one sees from afar off one of these tufts perched on a commanding pinnacle at the summit; then one thinks that surely this must be a cairn erected by some desolate traveller, and it is only on approaching closely that the delusion vanishes. It will then, perhaps, be found that the tuft stands alone, surrounded in all directions by a sloping surface of bare rock which isolates it by a radius of forty yards from all other vegetation; the little tuft bearing itself up bravely as if in obstinate defiance of the wind and rain, which one is at first inclined to think must have swept away an old uniform mantle of vegetation from the rocky surface, leaving the mossy tuft on the summit the sole survivor.

There is another peculiar form of vegetable growth which is a characteristic of the landscape in certain parts of this region, and which I have not noticed to the same extent elsewhere. It is this. Whenever a mass of bushes happens to be exposed to the prevailing westerly wind, as in the case of promontories which receive the unbroken blast on one of their sides, or of exposed islets in mid-channel, it will be seen that the bushes not only lean away permanently from the direction of the prevailing wind (as is usual everywhere), but that their summits are cut off evenly to a common plane which slopes gently upwards, and thus presents as trim an appearance as if the bushes had been carefully clipped to that shape with a gardening shears. Our surveying parties have sometimes been disappointed at finding that a headland, which seemed from a short distance to be covered with an inviting mantle of short grass, and which therefore looked a convenient place on which to establish an observing station, was in reality defended by a dense growth of bushes, which exhibited the phenomenon in question, and over, under, or through which it was almost impossible to get. Sometimes one could get over these bushes by lying down at full length and rolling sideways down the incline; but this method was objectionable, for it was sometimes ten or fifteen feet from the surface to the hard ground beneath. The reason of this curious growth is obvious enough. Each aspiring leafy twig that happens by a too luxuriant growth to shoot above its fellows, is cut down by the relentless blast before it can acquire strength enough to make good its footing; and those branches alone survive in the struggle which grow uniformly with their neighbours, and which thus present a sufficiently compact surface to withstand the blighting influence of the westerly gales.

One day, when we were lying at our old anchorage in Tom Bay, I saw a cormorant rise to the surface with a large fish in its mouth, which, for several minutes, it vainly attempted to swallow. I noticed it chucking the fish about until it had got hold of it by the head, but even then it seemed unable to "strike down" the savoury morsel. A flock of dominican gulls now appeared on the scene, and seeing the state of affairs at once swooped down on the unlucky cormorant, but the wily bird discomfited them by diving and carrying the fish with it. It was now most ludicrous to witness the disappointed appearance of the gulls, as they sat in a group on the water looking foolishly about, and apparently overcome with grief at their inability to follow up the chase by diving. After an interval of about half-a-minute the cormorant reappeared some distance off with the fish still in its mouth, and now one of the gulls succeeded at last in snatching the fish from its grasp, and flew away with it rapidly up a long winding arm of the sea. At this critical moment a skua (Stercorarius chilensis), hove in sight, and gave chase to the fugitive gull, until, unfortunately, a turn in the creek concealed both birds from our sight, but left us to safely conjecture that the last comer had ultimately the satisfaction of consuming the wretched fish.

I have often wondered at the apparently stupid manner in which long files of cormorants will continue on their course over the surface of the water without deviating so as to avoid a dangerous locality until they are close to the place or object to be avoided. Many persons are doubtless familiar with the appearance of these birds as they fly towards a boat which happens to lie in their route, and may remember the startled way in which, when about twenty or thirty yards off, they will alter their course with a vigorous swish of the tail and sheer off confusedly from the danger. Again, how eager they are to take advantage of the (probably) acuter vision of terns and gulls, when they observe that either of the latter have discovered a shoal of fish. Is it not therefore probable that cormorants are naturally short-sighted?—a disadvantage for which they are amply compensated by their superior diving powers.

The required survey of the Trinidad Channel was completed by the middle of the month of December; but before leaving this part of the coast, one day was devoted to an exploration of the "Brazo del Norte," a sound running in a northerly direction from the Trinidad Channel, and piercing the so-called Wellington Island. We got under way from Tom Bay early in the morning, and steaming across the Trinidad Channel, entered "Brazo del Norte," and explored it to a distance of twenty-six miles from the entrance. We were then obliged to turn back in order to reach Tom Bay before nightfall. It was a great pity that time did not permit us to trace this magnificent Sound to its northern extremity; for so far as we could judge there seemed every probability of its communicating directly with the Fallos Channel, which is known to extend southwards from the Gulf of Peñas to within a few miles of the place where we turned back. In this event it would prove a good sheltered route for vessels using the Straits of Magellan, and if free from the objectionable restrictions which close the Messier Channel route to large steamers, would be used not only in preference to it but to Trinidad Channel itself, whose approach from seaward is at least uninviting, if not hazardous.

On leaving Tom Bay we moved gradually down the Concepcion and Inocentes Channels, always anchoring for the night, and sometimes stopping for a day or two in order to examine some new port.

At Latitude Cove a black-necked swan (Cygnus nigricollis)—besides which only one other was ever seen by us in the western channels—was shot. It proved to be a male bird, weighing only seven pounds, and was in poor condition, having strayed far from its own happy hunting grounds among the lagoons of central Patagonia.

We anchored at Sandy Point in the Strait of Magellan on the 2nd January, and remained there eleven days in order to provision the ship, and to give the crew a change of air.

Here I made the acquaintance of the master of a sealing schooner, an intelligent man named John Stole—a Norwegian by birth—from whom we obtained much interesting information about the natives of Tierra del Fuego. At the time of our visit he was laid up with a bad leg, on account of which he had had to relinquish the command of his vessel the Rescue for this season's cruise. His favourite sealing ground was among the rocky islets about the S.W. parts of Tierra del Fuego; but in the course of his wanderings he had visited most of the islets and coasts extending from the mouth of the river Plate on the eastern coast to the Gulf of Peñas in the westward. During his last cruise, he had the misfortune to be attacked by a party of natives in the Beagle Channel, at a place not far from the missionary station of Ushuwia. He gave us a most graphic description of the affair. His schooner had been lying quietly at anchor in a rather desolate part of the channel, having at the time only five men, including himself, on board, when a canoe containing ten Fuegians—eight men and two women—came alongside. Not suspecting any treachery, he went below to have his tea, leaving one man on the forecastle to look after the vessel. Presently hearing a scuffle on deck, he put up his head through the small hatch of his cabin, when a native standing above made a blow at him with a canoe paddle. The blow failed to take effect, as he had just time to duck his head under the boom of the mainsail which was secured amidships over the hatchway. He now retreated to his cabin, snatched up a revolver which was lying ready loaded, and returning to the hatch quietly shot the native who was waiting to strike another blow at his head. Two others now followed up the attack, armed with heavy stones, but they were shot in quick succession, one of them falling overboard and capsizing the canoe. As Stole now raised himself through the hatch, a fourth native attacked him from behind, but he turned half round, rested the barrel of the revolver on his left arm, and fired into his assailant's eye, the entire charge passing through the wretched creature's head. In the meantime the crew were successful in expelling the four natives who had attacked the fore part of the vessel, and all of whom were killed. The two women in the boat had been passing up stones as ammunition for their male companions, and when the canoe capsized one of them was drowned. When the fight was over, the deck presented a ghastly sight, being sloppy all over with blood in which were lying the bodies of the dead and dying savages, as well as quantities of stones which before the attack began had been passed up from the canoe to be expended in storming the hold of the vessel. Of the ten natives, eight men had been killed, and one woman drowned, the surviving woman being taken prisoner. The sealers now got under way, and proceeded to the mission of Ushuwia, where they reported the matter to Mr. Bridges, the manager of the station. He investigated the case, and on finding that the account given by the sealers was corroborated by the evidence of the surviving woman, exonerated the former of any misconduct in the energetic measures which they had taken to defend their lives, and to defeat the object of the natives, which of course was to obtain the possession of the schooner.

The first of the small sealing fleet to arrive at Sandy Point this season was the Felis, of Stanley, a small rakish schooner, commanded by an Irishman named Buckley. He had a cargo of 500 sealskins, which he sold to a German dealer on shore, at the rate of 30s. a skin, this being considered a good price for Sandy Point, and generally only given for the first arrivals in port; cargoes arriving late in the season not realizing more than 25s. a skin. In the present state of the home market, furs being in request, these skins, on being landed in England, whither they are conveyed by the mail-steamers, are bought by the furriers for about £4 apiece; so that the dealers at Sandy Point make a large profit by their share in the trade. Sealers fitting out at Sandy Point also usually get their stores and provisions on credit, and at an exorbitant valuation, from the same dealer to whom they subsequently sell their skins. The produce of the skins, moreover, as they are sold to the dealers at Sandy Point, is divided into three equal lots, of which one is divided among the crew, while the remaining two go to the owner, out of which he has to pay for the provisions and stores consumed on the cruise. It is calculated that the outlay on the stores swallows up about one-third of the entire sum, so that eventually about one-third of the value of the skins remains as the profit of the owner. In a very good season, the master and owner of a sealing schooner of thirty tons will make a clear profit of as much as £2,000, while each man of the crew (usually twelve in number) would get a share amounting to £80, on which to spend the blank eleven months of the off-season in idleness and debauchery.

The Magellan sealing season extends over the months of December and January. In or about the last week of November, the fur seal (Arctocephalus falklandicus) and the sea lion (Otaria jubata) "haul up" on the rocks of the outer coasts, and bring forth their young. The breeding places, or "rookeries," which they usually select, are small, low-lying, rocky islets, which are exposed to the swell of the great ocean, and over which, in heavy weather, the sea makes a more or less clean sweep. Situated as these rocks are, it is often a very difficult and dangerous matter to effect a landing, so that, to make sure of it, a sealing master usually arranges his cruise so that he may reach the vicinity of the rookery about a month before the breeding time. He then takes advantage of the first fine day to land a party of men on the rock with fuel, camping arrangements, and a large supply of provisions. The latter is essential, for it may be two or three months after the season is over before he can get a favourable day for embarking the men and the stock of skins. Cases have occurred where men have been weather-bound on the rocks for months, and reduced to the brink of starvation, although making use of seal-flesh and shell-fish as long as they could get them. The different sealing captains are, of course, very careful to conceal from each other the position of the "rookeries" of which they know; and they have got so much into the habit of deceiving each other in this respect, that it may be laid down as a safe rule, that if a sealing master says he has landed his men on some rocks to the northward, it is more than probable that the real locality is somewhere in a southerly direction. After the camping parties have been established at the "rookeries," the sealing vessel with the crew, now reduced to a very small number, is employed for the next month or two in cruising in search of new hunting-grounds. In this pursuit they sometimes wander for hundreds of miles from the place where the men have been landed, traversing unsurveyed channels and islets, trusting confidently that at night time they can always find some sheltered place where they can either anchor close in shore, or, if the water be too deep, as it generally is, make fast to a tree. When cruising in this way, they kill numbers of the Magellan sea-otter (Lutra felina), an animal which they include in their line of business, although not at all to the same extent as the fur seal. The fur of the otter when dressed is of great beauty; but as it is not now in fashion in Europe, it commands a very small price in the market, the salted skins, on delivery in England, only realizing about 2s. apiece. When the long brown hairs which form the animal's apparent coat have been removed, the underlying fur is seen to be of a beautiful golden-yellow colour. The otters are obtained by sealers in a great measure by bartering with native canoes (the Fuegians catching them with dogs), and also by shooting them, as they swim through the kelp close to the beach. Both the otter and sealskin are salted dry,—that is to say, each skin is spread out flat, salt is sprinkled plentifully over the inside, and the skin is then rolled up with the hair outside, and tied up into a round bundle. The old fur seals are killed just as they are met with, and without any regard to the preservation of the stock. The sealers commonly call the females "claphatches," and the males "wigs;" the skin of the former is much the more valuable of the two. The sea lions (another species of seal) are seldom meddled with; but occasionally a sealer, in default of the regular article, will kill them for the sake of the oil, and take some of the hides, for which there is a certain demand for making "machine belting."

Buckley, the master of the Felis, told us that he had observed that in the case of the fur seal there was an interval of only one or two weeks between the date of parturition and that of coupling, and that, in the case of the "hair seal," coupling took place almost immediately after the young were brought forth. If this be true, the period of gestation cannot be less than eleven months.

Buckley presented the captain with a young fur seal—a male, six weeks old—which had been caught on the rocks, and nursed carefully by one of his crew, an Italian seaman, who had been "bottle-feeding" it with milk, and had taught it to answer to the call of a whistle. It trotted about our decks in a most lively manner, its hind feet, when trotting or walking, being turned forwards and outwards in the manner peculiar to seals of its genus. On whistling to it, it uttered a strange cry—half wail, half bark—and came to the call like a dog. When taken up in the arms and petted like a child, it lay quite still, closed its eyes and seemed to go off into a gentle sleep. It, unfortunately, died on the following day—perhaps through fretting for its Italian nurse—and its body then came into my hands as a zoological specimen.

Dr. Fenton, whose acquaintance we had made on our first visit just a year previously, was still residing at Sandy Point as medical officer of the settlement, and, with great good nature, put his house and horses at our disposal. He told me of an experiment he had been trying on the flying powers of a condor, which had been caught alive. He perforated the quills of the wing and tail feathers, so as to allow the ingress and egress of air, and on then throwing the bird up in the air found that it could neither fly nor soar. The inference is that the bird derives its buoyancy in a great measure from the formation of a vacuum in the quills of these feathers, and consequently, on air being admitted, the flapping of the wings, unaided by the buoyancy derived from the rarefied air, was insufficient either to raise or support the bird's weight. If this theory be correct, it is probable that the mechanism by which this vacuum is produced is actuated by the wing muscles, which thus discharge a two-fold office.

From the 13th of January to the 25th of March, after leaving Sandy Point, we proceeded to the western part of Magellan Straits, where we were for about nine weeks, occupied in making additions to the old surveys, principally in the narrow and tortuous part of the Strait which is called the "Crooked Reach." The scenery here is remarkably fine, and on a dry clear day—an event, however, of rare occurrence—one can fully realize the truth of old Pigafetta's remark, that "there is not in the world a more beautiful country, or better strait, than this one."

We made several stays, each of a day's duration, at Tilly Bay, a small land-locked anchorage on the north shore of Santa Ines Island, and immediately opposite to the mouth of the Jerome Channel, which leads into the Otway Water. At the head of the bay a stretch of open moorland, dotted here and there with clumps of cedar trees, led by a gentle ascent to a sort of upland plateau, formed of moss-covered undulating land with sheets of still water occupying the hollows. Not a trace of a bird was to be seen, and I was never more struck with the extreme paucity of animal life in the interior of these islands than when standing on the shore of one of these desolate lakes in Santa Ines Island.

We frequently noticed, in the deep spongy moss over which we walked, the nests of a Trap-door Spider. They appeared externally as round apertures in the surface of the moss, about an inch and a half in diameter, which were covered over with a closely woven disc of web. On removing the cover from one of them, and clearing away the surrounding moss, I found that the burrow descended vertically for a distance of about eight inches, and was lined throughout with a silky network of spider web, so that the entire web structure, i.e., the tube and lid combined, resembled in general shape some of the commoner forms of Aspergillum. At the bottom of the hole lay a great spider, embracing with its legs a spherical cocoon, three-eighths of an inch in diameter, which it seemed resolved on defending to the last extremity. I examined other nests with similar results.

While we were at Tilly Bay, a small party of Fuegians came in and took up their quarters in an old camping place close to the ship. They were a comparatively friendly lot, and had no hesitation about coming on board, especially about our meal hours, which they very soon got to understand. The party consisted of one adult man, a boy aged about seventeen, a woman about nineteen, with four small children, and two or three dogs of the usual kind. The canoe was made of planks, and was of the same build as those which we had seen about the Trinidad Channel. Lying in the bottom of the canoe were the putrid remains of two seals, a sea lion, and a fur-seal, whose heads I obtained. We got on such intimate terms with this family, that little by little we induced them to show us all their properties, even to the much-cherished materials for producing fire. These were kept in a wooden box somewhat of the shape of a small band-box, and made of Winter's bark sewn together roughly with strips of hide. The tinder, which seemed to consist of dried moss, was stowed away carefully in little bags formed of dried seal's intestines tied up at the ends.

I also obtained by barter two very dirty bits of iron pyrites which they used for igniting the tinder, and on striking them together they certainly emitted showers of sparks. The box also contained glass arrow-heads, glass spear-heads, bone harpoon-heads, a noose made of a strip of baleen and apparently intended for trapping otters, and a very strong net made out of seal-hide, which the old man gave us to understand was used for catching seals. The net was nearly square, measuring about six feet both ways, and the meshes were about eight inches across. This last was evidently considered a great work of art, for as the old man displayed it his eyes glittered with pride, and he assumed an air of importance, as if to imply—"See that and die!"

Subsequently two more canoes turned up, bringing a large party of natives, and as I was curious to ascertain the method by which they fashioned their glass implements, I visited the encampment one day, bringing with me an empty pickle bottle, and intimated by signs that I wished to have it broken up and to see a spear-head or arrow-head made. They understood readily enough what was required, and one of the men, coming forward, took hold of the bottle, smashed it against the stones, and selecting a suitable fragment, set to work at it. He held the piece of glass firmly in his left hand, protecting the fingers with a bit of cloth, while, with his right, he grasped a chipping tool, which consisted of a large blunt-pointed iron nail fixed in a stout wooden handle, serving the double purpose of a chipping tool and a means of caulking the seams of the canoe. Holding it with the iron point directed towards his waist, he made steady pressure against the fractured edge of the glass, so as to make small chips flake off from the edge towards the smooth side surface. In effecting this he was able to use great force, because, while the left hand, which held the glass, was supported rigidly against his chest, the manner in which he held the fashioning tool enabled him to bring the whole strength of his wrist to bear upon the edge of the glass. After having bevelled off one side of the edge, he turned the glass round and bevelled the other side in a similar manner. Having once imparted a double bevel to the edge, he was easily able, by operating on each side alternately, to reduce the substance of the margin in any one place until the glass had assumed the outline required. Proceeding in this way, the formation of the barbs and the recessing of the base for the ligature which would secure it to the shaft, were effected to all appearance with the greatest facility. The most difficult part of the business was now the formation of the fine point, as the chipping and flaking had to be conducted with the greatest nicety. However, after half-an-hour's steady work, he triumphantly produced a spear-head two and a half inches long, and of the form shown in the annexed sketch. The arrow-heads are made in the same way, and are about one inch in length.

We had the chipping operation repeated on many subsequent occasions, and by various individuals, and found that all adopted the same method; the essential feature of which was that the fashioning of the glass was effected entirely by pressure, and that no striking implement was used. I induced one of the men to try an old flat file, instead of his own chipping instrument, but he soon discarded it; however he found a blunt-edged ship's knife very convenient for giving the finishing touches to the point of the spear-head. With the experience gained from the Fuegians, I soon learnt to turn out very fair imitations of their work; and after practising on various kinds of glass, I found that the easiest to work with was black bottle-glass, and the most difficult plate-glass. Green pickle bottle-glass is about a mean between the two, and as it is tolerably thick the natives prefer it for their spear-heads; but for the arrow-heads they use the black glass. Crown-glass was easy to work, but flaked off in rather short pieces. I also experimented with some black flint, which happened to be on board, and found it could be worked in precisely the same way as the glass, but was certainly more difficult to fashion into shape. Then I tried different kinds of working tools, and soon found, to my surprise, that hard steel was the worst of all, for it scratched and slipped off the edge of the glass without chipping it at all; whereas soft iron, which was much preferable, could be manipulated so that it would bite only the extreme edge of the glass, and by this means very thin and broad flakes could be detached. Even an old bone harpoon-head answered very well indeed, but of course was worn away more rapidly than the soft iron.