courageously forward, hoping every moment to meet with a sudden angle which
would set them in the first direction. What was their disappointment, when,
after trudging nearly two miles, having reached an elevated point composed
of slippery rocks, they found themselves again stopped by the sea.

"We are on an islet," said Pencroft, "and we have surveyed it from one
extremity to the other."

The sailor was right; they had been thrown, not on a continent, not even
on an island, but on an islet which was not more than two miles in length,
with even a less breadth.

Was this barren spot the desolate refuge of sea-birds, strewn with stones
and destitute of vegetation, attached to a more important archipelago? It
was impossible to say. When the voyagers from their car saw the land
through the mist, they had not been able to reconnoiter it sufficiently.
However, Pencroft, accustomed with his sailor eyes to piece through the
gloom, was almost certain that he could clearly distinguish in the west
confused masses which indicated an elevated coast. But they could not in
the dark determine whether it was a single island, or connected with
others. They could not leave it either, as the sea surrounded them; they
must therefore put off till the next day their search for the engineer,
from whom, alas! not a single cry had reached them to show that he was
still in existence.

"The silence of our friend proves nothing," said the reporter. "Perhaps
he has fainted or is wounded, and unable to reply directly, so we will not
despair."

The reporter then proposed to light a fire on a point of the islet, which