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when the three returned to Smith and Spilett.

      The engineer had just wakened from the sleep. The color had come back to his lips. He raised himself slightly, and looked about.

      “Well,” said the sailor, “Mr. Smith, your litter is ready, and we will carry you to our house.”

      “Thanks, my friend,” replied the engineer. “In an hour or two we will go.”

      The reporter related everything that had happened.

      “But,” asked Smith, in a feeble voice, “You did not pick me up on the beach?”

      “No,” replied the reporter.

      “And it was not you who brought me to this hollow?”

      “No.”

      “How far is this place from the reef?”

      “At least half a mile,” replied Pencroff. “And we are very surprised to find you here. But cannot you remember anything that happened after you were washed away by the sea?”

      Cyrus Smith tried to think, but he remembered little. The wave had swept him from the net of the balloon. Then Top had sprung to his rescue. Smith found himself in the midst of the tumultuous sea, more than half a mile from shore. He swum vigorously against the waves, and Top sustained him by his garments; but a strong current seized him, carrying him to the north, and, after struggling for half an hour, he sank, dragging the dog with him into the abyss. From that moment he remembered nothing.

      “It’s strange,” said the reporter. “If someone had rescued you from the waves, why should he then have abandoned you?”

      “That is inexplicable.”

      Towards noon, Pencroff asked Smith if he felt strong enough to be carried. Eight miles had to be travelled, and the wind was still strong, but, fortunately, it had ceased raining. At half past 5 the little party reached the Chimneys.

      Chapter IX

      The engineer had sunk into a lethargy, the result of the journey. First of all, Cyrus Smith was carried into the main corridor. There they were able to make for him a couch of seaweeds.

      The supper that evening consisted of the lithodomes, which Herbert and Neb had gathered from the beach.

      The next day, the 28th of March, when the engineer awoke at about 8 o’clock, he saw his companions beside him, and, as on the day before, his first words were “Island or continent?”

      It was his one thought.

      “Well, Mr. Smith,” answered Pencroff, “we don’t know.”

      “You haven’t found out yet?”

      “But we will,” affirmed Pencroff, “when you are able to guide us in this country.”

      “I believe that I am able to do that now,” answered the engineer, who, without much effort, rose up.

      “That is good,” exclaimed the sailor.

      “When you were carrying me here yesterday, did I not see a mountain rising in the west?”

      “Yes,” said Spilett, “quite a high one.”

      “All right,” exclaimed the engineer. “Tomorrow we will climb to its summit and determine whether this is an island or a continent.”

      “But,” asked Spilett, “whether it is a continent or an island, where do you think this storm has thrown us, Cyrus?”

      “In truth, I cannot say,” replied the engineer, “but the probability is that we are somewhere in the Pacific. When we left Richmond the wind was northeast, and its very violence proves that its direction did not vary much. We crossed North and South Carolina[38], Georgia[39], the Gulf of Mexico[40], and the narrow part of Mexico, and a portion of the Pacific Ocean. I do not estimate the distance traversed by the balloon at less than 6,000 or 7,000 miles. But if this coast belongs to some barren island in the Micronesian Archipelago[41], perhaps we will never leave it.

      “Never?” cried the reporter. “Do you say “never”, my dear Cyrus?”

      “We will know how to act when we first ascend the mountain,” answered Smith.

      “But will you be able, Mr. Smith, to make the climb tomorrow?” asked Herbert.

      “I hope so,” answered the engineer, “if Pencroff and you, my boy, show yourselves to be good hunters.”

      Chapter X

      The three hunters were seated before a sparkling fire. Beside them sat Cyrus Smith and the reporter.

      “Yes, my good fellow,” said the reporter, “a fire, a real fire!”

      “But who lighted it?” said the sailor.

      “The sun.”

      The sailor could not believe his eyes.

      “Do you have a burning-glass[42], sir?” asked Herbert of Cyrus Smith.

      “No, my boy,” said he, “but I made one.”

      And he showed his lens. It was simply the two glasses, from his own watch and the reporter’s, which he had taken out, filled with water, and stuck together at the edges with a little clay. Thus he had made a veritable burning-glass, and by concentrating the solar rays on some dry moss had set it on fire.

      With the help of Neb, the sailor arranged the spit. The engineer and his companion had made good use of their day[43]. Smith had almost entirely recovered his strength. They had a pleasant supper. The engineer said little; he was planning for the next day. After supper, the party lay down to sleep. The morning found them fresh and eager for the expedition.

      Everything was ready. At half past 7 they left the Chimneys, each with a stout cudgel. By Pencroff’s advice, they took the route of the previous day, which was the shortest way to the mountain. They turned the southern angle, and followed the left bank of the river. They took the path under the evergreens, and soon reached the northern border of the forest. The soil was flat and swampy, then dry and sandy. Among the trees appeared a few animals. The engineer was going straight for the top of the mountain.

      The mountain was composed of two cones. The first was truncated about 2,500 feet up, and supported by fantastic spurs. Between these spurs were narrow valleys. On the northeast side of the mountain, vegetation was scanty.

      On the first cone lay the second one, slightly rounded towards the summit. The surface seemed utterly bare. The object of the expedition was to reach the top of this cone, and their best way was along the edge of the spurs.

      “We are in a volcanic country,” said Cyrus Smith, as they began to climb, little by little, up the side of the spurs. They were gradually ascending. At noon, when the little company halted to dine at the foot of a great clump of firs, they were still half way from the first plateau, and could hardly reach it before nightfall. From this point the sea stretched broad beneath their feet. On the left they could see directly north for several miles; but the northwest was concealed from them.

      At 1 o’clock, the ascent again began. The easiest route slanted upwards towards the southwest, through the thick copse. Leaving the copse, the climbers ascended for a hundred feet up a very steep hill, and reached a terrace, almost bare of trees, whose soil was evidently volcanic. From hence, their course was a zigzag towards the east. Neb and Herbert led the way, then came Smith and the reporter; Pencroff was last.

      They had come across large animals, with thick horns, curved backwards and flattened at the end, and with woolly fleece. They were not the common sheep. Their name, according to Herbert, was а Moufflon[44].

      As

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