This apparition, emerging from the depths of the bay, must have filled the superstitious natives with panic. They had fled, Matt reasoned, but had plucked up heart when the monster had failed to attack them and had drawn closer.
In grim silence the warriors surveyed the youth. They made no attempt to attack, but watched with glittering eyes, their steel-pointed arrows ready.
"That's a layout for you!" came the voice of Glennie from below. He was looking into the periscope, and had as good a view of the canoes and warriors as Matt had himself. "Don't let them get a whack at you, Matt," the ensign cautioned. "They're a treacherous lot of savages, and many a good ship they have coaxed to her doom by lighting fires on shore in stormy weather. It was those false beacons that gave their land the name of Terra del Fuego—the Land of Fire."
"I thought the country was named that because of the habit the natives have of carrying fire with them to keep them warm."
"Some say one thing and some another, but——"
"No use debating that question now. What I'd like to know is where have those other Chilians gone?"
"Can't you see them? They're beyond the canoes in a boat of their own, and pulling ashore."
The periscope ball, being fifteen feet above the deck of the Grampus, afforded Glennie a wider view than Matt had from the top of the tower. Matt climbed higher up the ladder and looked shoreward over the heads of the savages in the canoes.
He saw the two Chilians. They were in one of the rough boats and getting hastily toward the shore of the bay.
"How do you suppose they ever managed to get that canoe and pass through the circle of Fuegans?" asked Glennie. "Why, the savages are not even chasing them!"