The Englishmen distributed pieces of red cloth, which each recipient immediately tied round his neck. Thanks for these bounties were offered in a series of "clucks," which a horse would assuredly have translated as "gee-up"; and further, by sundry pats on the breasts of the donors. After Captain Fitzroy had been thus patted three times by the chief, it occurred to him to return the compliment, a proceeding which highly delighted the whole tribe. But the most exciting scene was when one of the sailors left in charge of the boat began to sing absently to himself. In an instant the Indians deserted the group of officers, rushed madly down the beach again, and almost grovelled before the singer, considerably to his amazement. "All right; sing up, my man; let'em hear you," cried Captain Fitzroy encouragingly; for the bashful performer had stopped somewhat abruptly on finding himself thus distinguished. "Bear a hand, you lads; he's shy." Thus urged, the grinning bluejackets struck up a rousing sea-chorus, the effect whereof was to make even the important-looking chief stand open-mouthed and wave his hands in wonder and delight. As the first meeting with the savages had been so successful, on his second landing the Captain was accompanied by York Minster and the other two natives, Jemmy Button, now a strapping fellow of eighteen, and Fuegia Basket, already a grown woman, and betrothed to York. The Indians' attitude towards them was one of curiosity as intelligent as such people are capable of. They felt their English-made clothes and compared them half contemptuously with the bright-buttoned uniforms of the officers, and the chief, pointing to a few straggling hairs on York Minster's chin, inquired why he did not shave them off after the Indian fashion. The colour of their visitors was the greatest mystery to them. Jemmy and York were dressed like white men, and had short hair, and yet were not white. York knew their language and Jemmy did not. This was very puzzling. Then--was Jemmy the same colour "all over"? The chief made him strip his sleeve, but while this was being done something else happened to distract the savages' attention. Mr. Bynoe, the ship's surgeon, had been examining one or two bad sores on the face of a native, and now stepped back to a rock-pool to wash his hands. That a man should dream of washing at all was a mystery to the Fuegians (in fact, during the whole of the brig's cruise in these islands the practice never failed to attract admiration, though it does not seem to have gained converts), but the doctor had thrown off his pilot-jacket and rolled up his shirt-sleeves for the performance. This more than staggered the beholders, so that Jemmy saw himself rudely neglected; for the Englishman's arms were a different colour from that of his hands!