Cyrus Harding and his companions gazed, with a feeling of surprise bordering on stupefaction.  But, although they remained silent, Top, not being troubled with feelings of this sort, uttered barks which were repeated by the thousand echoes of the basaltic cliff.  The engineer even observed that these barks had something strange in them, like those which the dog had uttered at the mouth of the well in Granite House.

“Let us go close in,” said he.

And the “Bonadventure” sailed as near as possible to the rocky shore.  Perhaps some cave, which it would be advisable to explore, existed there?  But Harding saw nothing, not a cavern, not a cleft which could serve as a retreat to any being whatever, for the foot of the cliff was washed by the surf.  Soon Top’s barks ceased, and the vessel continued her course at a few cables-length from the coast.

In the northwest part of the island the shore became again flat and sandy.  A few trees here and there rose above a low, marshy ground, which the colonists had already surveyed, and in violent contrast to the other desert shore, life was again manifested by the presence of myriads of water-fowl.  That evening the “Bonadventure” anchored in a small bay to the north of the island, near the land, such was the depth of water there.  The night passed quietly, for the breeze died away with the last light of day, and only rose again with the first streaks of dawn.

As it was easy to land, the usual hunters of the colony, that is to say, Herbert and Gideon Spilett, went for a ramble of two hours or so, and returned with several strings of wild duck and snipe.  Top had done wonders, and not a bird had been lost, thanks to his zeal and cleverness.

At eight o’clock in the morning the “Bonadventure” set sail, and ran rapidly towards North Mandible Cape, for the wind was right astern and freshening rapidly.

“However,” observed Pencroft, “I should not be surprised if a gale came up from the west.  Yesterday the sun set in a very red-looking horizon, and now, this morning, those mares-tails don’t forbode anything good.”

These mares-tails are cirrus clouds, scattered in the zenith, their height from the sea being less than five thousand feet.  They look like light pieces of cotton wool, and their presence usually announces some sudden change in the weather.

“Well,” said Harding, “let us carry as much sail as possible, and run for shelter into Shark Gulf.  I think that the ‘Bonadventure’ will be safe there.”

“Perfectly,” replied Pencroft, “and besides, the north coast is merely sand, very uninteresting to look at.”

“I shall not be sorry,” resumed the engineer, “to pass not only to-night but to-morrow in that bay, which is worth being carefully explored.”

“I think that we shall be obliged to do so, whether we like it or not,” answered Pencroft, “for the sky looks very threatening towards the west.  Dirty weather is coming on!”