INDIAN GRAVE 179 



The second day after our return to the anchorage, a party of 

 officers and myself went to ransack an old Indian grave, which I 

 had found on the summit of a neighbouring hill. Two immense 

 stones, each probably weighing at least a couple of tons, had 

 been placed in front of a ledge of rock about six feet high. At 

 the bottom of the grave on the hard rock there was a layer of 

 earth about a foot deep, which must have been brought up from 

 the plain below. Above it a pavement of flat stones was placed, 

 on which others were piled, so as to fill up the space between 

 the ledge and the two great blocks. To complete the grave, 

 the Indians had contrived to detach from the ledge a huge frag- 

 ment, and to throw it over the pile so as to rest on the two 

 blocks. We undermined the grave on both sides, but could not 

 find any relics, or even bones. The latter probably had decayed 

 long since (in which case the grave must have been of extreme 

 antiquity), for I found in another place some smaller heaps, 

 beneath which a very few crumbling fragments could yet be 

 distinguished as having belonged to a man. Falconer states, 

 that where an Indian dies he is buried, but that subsequently 

 his bones are carefully taken up and carried, let the distance be 

 ever so great, to be deposited near the sea-coast. This custom, 

 I think, may be accounted for by recollecting that, before the 

 introduction of horses, these Indians must have led nearly the 

 same life as the Fuegians now do, and therefore generally have 

 resided in the neighbourhood of the sea. The common prejudice 

 of lying where one's ancestors have lain, would make the now 

 roaming Indians bring the less perishable part of their dead to 

 their ancient burial-ground on the coast. 



January gth, 1834. — Before it was dark the Beagle anchored 

 in the fine spacious harbour of Port St. Julian, situated about 

 one hundred and ten miles to the south of Port Desire. We 

 remained here eight days. The country is nearly similar to that 

 of Port Desire, but perhaps rather more sterile. One day a 

 party accompanied Captain Fitz Roy on a long walk round the 

 head of the harbour. We were eleven hours without tasting 

 any water, and some of the party were quite exhausted. From 

 the summit of a hill (since well named Thirsty Hill) a fine lake 

 was spied, and two of the party proceeded with concerted signals 

 to show whether it was fresh water. What was our disappoint- 

 ment to find a snow-white expanse of salt, crystallised in great 



