"Among the carving my brother fancied he could trace the design of a tortoise," added Captain Len Guy. "Just so," I replied, "but Arthur Pym pronounced that resemblance doubtful. No matter; the piece of wood is still in the same place that is indicated in the narrative, so we may conclude that since the _Jane_ cast anchor here no other crew has ever set foot upon Bennet Islet. It follows that we should only lose time in looking out for any tokens of another landing. We shall know nothing until we reach Tsalal Island." "Yes, Tsalal Island," replied the captain. We then retraced our steps in the direction of the bay. In various places we observed fragments of coral reef, and bêche-de-mer was so abundant that our schooner might have taken a full cargo of it. Hunt walked on in silence with downcast eyes, until as we were close upon the beach to the east, he, being about ten paces ahead, stopped abruptly, and summoned us to him by a hurried gesture. In an instant we were by his side. Hunt had evinced no surprise on the subject of the piece of wood first found, but his attitude changed when he knelt down in front of a worm-eaten plank lying on the sand. He felt it all over with his huge hands, as though he were seeking some tracery on its rough surface whose signification might be intelligible to him. The black paint was hidden under the thick dirt that had accumulated upon it. The plank had probably formed part of a ship's stern, as the boatswain requested us to observe. "Yes, yes," repeated Captain Len Guy, "it made part of a stern." Hunt, who still remained kneeling, nodded his big head in assent. "But," I remarked, "this plank must have been cast upon Bennet Islet from a wreck! The cross-currents must have found it in the open sea, and--" "If that were so--" cried the captain. The same thought had occurred to both of us. What was our surprise, indeed our amazement, our unspeakable emotion, when Hunt showed us eight letters cut in the plank, not painted, but hollow and distinctly traceable with the finger. It was only too easy to recognize the letters of two names, arranged in two lines, thus: AN LI.E.PO.L. The _Jane of Liverpool_! The schooner commanded by Captain William Guy! What did it matter that time had blurred the other letters? Did not those suffice to tell the name of the ship and the port she belonged to? The _Jane_ of Liverpool! Captain Len Guy had taken the plank in his hands, and now he pressed his lips to it, while tears fell from his eyes. It was a fragment of the _Jane_! I did not utter a word until the captain's emotion had subsided. As for Hunt, I had never seen such a lightning glance from his brilliant hawk-like eyes as he now cast towards the southern horizon. Captain Len Guy rose. Hunt, without a word, placed the plank upon his shoulder, and we continued our route.