Harding.  No, it did not seem to him possible that such a man had ended in this vulgar fashion, carried away by a wave, drowned in the floods, a few hundred feet from a shore.  As long as the waves had not cast up the body of the engineer, as long as he, Neb, had not seen with his eyes, touched with his hands the corpse of his master, he would not believe in his death!  And this idea rooted itself deeper than ever in his determined heart.  An illusion perhaps, but still an illusion to be respected, and one which the sailor did not wish to destroy.  As for him, he hoped no longer, but there was no use in arguing with Neb.  He was like the dog who will not leave the place where his master is buried, and his grief was such that most probably he would not survive him.

This same morning, the 26th of March, at daybreak, Neb had set out on the shore in a northerly direction, and he had returned to the spot where the sea, no doubt, had closed over the unfortunate Harding.

That day’s breakfast was composed solely of pigeon’s eggs and lithodomes.  Herbert had found some salt deposited by evaporation in the hollows of the rocks, and this mineral was very welcome.

The repast ended, Pencroft asked the reporter if he wished to accompany Herbert and himself to the forest, where they were going to try to hunt.  But on consideration, it was thought necessary that someone should remain to keep in the fire, and to be at hand in the highly improbable event of Neb requiring aid.  The reporter accordingly remained behind.

“To the chase, Herbert,” said the sailor.  “We shall find ammunition on our way, and cut our weapons in the forest.”  But at the moment of starting, Herbert observed, that since they had no tinder, it would perhaps be prudent to replace it by another substance.

“What?” asked Pencroft.

“Burnt linen,” replied the boy.  “That could in case of need serve for tinder.”

The sailor thought it very sensible advice.  Only it had the inconvenience of necessitating the sacrifice of a piece of handkerchief.  Notwithstanding, the thing was well worth while trying, and a part of Pencroft’s large checked handkerchief was soon reduced to the state of a half-burnt rag.  This inflammable material was placed in the central chamber at the bottom of a little cavity in the rock, sheltered from all wind and damp.

It was nine o’clock in the morning.  The weather was threatening and the breeze blew from the southeast.  Herbert and Pencroft turned the angle of the Chimneys, not without having cast a look at the smoke which, just at that place, curled round a point of rock:  they ascended the left bank of the river.

Arrived at the forest, Pencroft broke from the first tree two stout branches which he transformed into clubs, the ends of which Herbert rubbed smooth on a rock.  Oh! what would they not have given for a knife!