We do not assert that John Mitford's reasoning took the precise form of these words, for many minds can think somewhat profoundly without being able to express themselves clearly; but some such thoughts undoubtedly coursed through John's mind, as he moved through that subterranean labyrinth, and finally emerged--through a narrow crack, not so large as an ordinary door--upon the inner margin of a stupendous cavern. With a fervent "Thank God!" and a hopeful leap of the heart, the poor man beheld the waters of the sea rushing up to his very feet; and beyond the cave's mouth lay the grand ocean itself, like a bright picture in a black frame. But what was that projecting from the water, not twenty yards from where he stood? The broken mast of a sunken wreck! Mitford's heart almost stood still, for he became aware that he had made his way to the very cavern, in which the ill-fated _Lapwing_ had met her doom, and around him were masses of wreckage that had been washed up and thrown on the rocks at the inner end of the cave where he stood. An involuntary shudder passed through the man's frame as he glanced round expecting to see the dead bodies of his late shipmates. But nothing of the kind was visible, and the spars, masts, and other wreckage which had reached the rocks had been shattered into "matchwood" by frequent gales. John Mitford now hastened in eager hope along the sides of the cave towards its mouth, intending to go out to the base of the cliffs, forgetting, in his eagerness, that the mouth could not be reached without a boat. He soon discovered this, and was then thrown into another fit of despair by remembering that he could not swim. Oh! how bitterly he blamed himself for having neglected to acquire such a simple accomplishment. He might have learnt it when young, had he not been indifferent, or lazy about it. Often had he been advised to learn it by companions, but had treated the matter lightly and let the chance go by--and now, only fifty yards or so of deep water intervened between the end of the ledges of rock and the outside of the cavern, where he might perhaps find foothold enough to scramble along the base of the cliffs--but those fifty yards were equal to the Atlantic to him, he could not swim that distance to save his life. Once or twice, in a fit of desperation, he had almost plunged in to attempt it, and take his chance. Fortunately his courage failed. Had he taken the plunge his fate would no doubt have been sealed. Returning to the inner end of the cave he searched among the wreckage for wood, with which to make a raft, but it was so shattered that he found no pieces large enough to be thus used. He found, however, a barrel of pork and another of pease jammed into a crevice. These proved an immense relief to his feelings, for they secured him against absolute starvation, which he had begun to think stared him in the face.