This point, of which the distance was increased by the irregularity of the coast, was nearly three miles from the Mercy. The settlers resolved to go to its extremity, and only go beyond it as much as was necessary to take a rapid survey of the coast as far as Claw Cape. The canoe followed the windings of the shore, avoiding the rocks which fringed it, and which the rising tide began to cover. The cliff gradually sloped away from the mouth of the river to the point. This was formed of granite rocks, capriciously distributed, very different from the cliff at Prospect Heights, and of an extremely wild aspect. It might have been said that an immense cartload of rocks had been emptied out there. There was no vegetation on this sharp promontory, which projected two miles from the forest, and it thus represented a giant’s arm stretched out from a leafy sleeve. The canoe, impelled by the two oars, advanced without difficulty. Gideon Spilett, pencil in one hand and notebook in the other, sketched the coast in bold strokes. Neb, Herbert, and Pencroft chatted, while examining this part of their domain, which was new to them, and, in proportion as the canoe proceeded towards the south, the two Mandible Capes appeared to move, and surround Union Bay more closely. As to Cyrus Harding, he did not speak; he simply gazed, and by the mistrust which his look expressed, it appeared that he was examining some strange country. In the meantime, after a voyage of three-quarters of an hour, the canoe reached the extremity of the point, and Pencroft was preparing to return, when Herbert, rising, pointed to a black object, saying,-- “What do I see down there on the beach?” All eyes turned towards the point indicated. “Why,” said the reporter, “there is something. It looks like part of a wreck half buried in the sand.” “Ah!” cried Pencroft, “I see what it is!” “What?” asked Neb. “Barrels, barrels, which perhaps are full,” replied the sailor. “Pull to the shore, Pencroft!” said Cyrus. A few strokes of the oar brought the canoe into a little creek, and its passengers leaped on shore. Pencroft was not mistaken. Two barrels were there, half buried in the sand, but still firmly attached to a large chest, which, sustained by them, had floated to the moment when it stranded on the beach. “There has been a wreck, then, in some part of the island,” said Herbert. “Evidently,” replied Spilett. “But what’s in this chest?” cried Pencroft, with very natural impatience. “What’s in this chest? It is shut up, and nothing to open it with! Well, perhaps a stone--” And the sailor, raising a heavy block, was about to break in one of the sides of the chest, when the engineer arrested his hand. “Pencroft,” said he, “can you restrain your impatience for one hour only?” “But, captain, just think! Perhaps there is everything we want in there!”