"To work," corrected Peter. "We must get the gear out of the boat. The rifle will want drying pretty quickly if it's to be of any use. And the engine too." They set to with a will. The outboard motor was unclamped and carried ashore, together with the precious parts of the secret-rays apparatus, the bedding, and provisions. Several articles that had drifted ashore were also found and placed in a position of comparative security. "Now we can get the boat up a bit higher," declared Peter. "If we can't find the baler we may be able to cant her over and get rid of the water." With a lusty "heave-ho!" the waterlogged boat was dragged her own length nearer the shore, but all attempts to turn her on her side were unavailing. So they contented themselves by making the boat fast and leaving her till dawn. It was a long, dreary vigil. They were without means of making fire, since their stock of matches was spoilt by the water. Bully beef and sodden biscuits provided a sorry meal, and the rest of the night was spent in constantly keeping on the move in order to mitigate the discomfort of wearing saturated clothing. By way of contrast to their previous night's camping-ground, the place was strangely quiet. No roaring of wild animals or splashing of caymans disturbed the solitude. The wind had died entirely away and not even a rustle came from the scanty clump of trees, showing dimly above the brink of the precipitous rock. At last, to the tired eyes of the weary men appeared a pale pink glow in the eastern sky. Five minutes later it was quite light, and the comforting beams of the rising sun were glinting over a distant range of hills. Peter and his uncle were now able to take stock of their surroundings. The gravel beach was piled with their water-logged belongings. A little distance away was the boat with her nose and one gunwale showing; beyond, the now tranquil lake with the furthermost shore hidden in a fleecy mist. They had come ashore in a sort of shallow bay bounded by bluffs of iron-grey rocks and connected by an irregular wall of granite-like stone, averaging fifty feet in height. "The sun will soon dry our gear," said Peter. "We can make a fire by means of one of the lenses of our binoculars. Suppose we climb up to the top of the cliff and see where we are?" "You can," replied Uncle Brian. "I'm as stiff as anything. I'll stop here and start a fire. Don't forget to take your rifle." The rifle had already been cleaned as far as Peter was able to do so; and for lack of suitable oil he had washed out the barrel, magazine, and mechanism with petrol. It was a fairly easy ascent, for the cliff face was covered with horizontal clefts that afforded a secure hold. Nor was the cliff so steep as it had looked to be in the darkness.