“That will come, Pencroff, we will find it,” answered the reporter; “but now let us attend to our work and push on as far as we can get with the canoe.” They continued on through the woods two miles further, the river becoming more winding, shallow, and so narrow that Pencroff pushed along with a pole. The sun was setting, and, as it would be impossible to pass in the darkness through the five or six miles of unknown woods which the engineer estimated lay between them and the coast, it was determined to camp wherever the canoe was obliged to stop. They now pushed on without delay through the forest, which grew more dense, and seemed more inhabited, because, if the sailor’s eyes did not deceive him, he perceived troops of monkeys running among the underbrush. Sometimes, two or three of these animals would halt at a distance from the canoe and regard its occupants, as if, seeing men for the first time, they had not then learned to fear them. It would have been easy to have shot some of these quadrumanes, but Smith was opposed to the useless slaughter. Pencroff, however, looked upon the monkey from a gastronomic point of view, and, indeed, as these animals are entirely herberiferous, they make excellent game; but since provisions abounded, it was useless to waste the ammunition. Towards 4 o’clock the navigation of the Mercy became very difficult, its course being obstructed by rocks and aquatic plants. The banks rose higher and higher, and, already, the bed of the stream was confined between the outer spurs of Mount Franklin. Its sources could not be far off, since the waters were fed by the southern watershed of that mountain. “Before a quarter of an hour we will have to stop, sir,” said Pencroff. “Well, then, we will make a camp for the night.” “How far are we from Granite House?” asked Herbert. “About seven miles, counting the bends of the river, which have taken us to the northwest.” “Shall we keep on?” asked the reporter. “Yes, as far as we can get,” answered the engineer. “To-morrow, at daylight, we will leave the canoe, and traverse, in two hours I hope, the distance which separates us from the coast, and then we will have nearly the whole day in which to explore the shore.” “Push on,” cried Pencroff. Very soon the canoe grated on the stones at the bottom of the river, which was not more than twenty feet wide. A thick mass of verdure overhung and descended the stream, and they heard the noise of a waterfall, which indicated that some little distance further on there existed a natural barrier. And, indeed, at the last turn in the river, they saw the cascade shining through the trees. The canoe scraped over the bottom and then grounded on a rock near the right bank. It was 5 o’clock, and the level rays of the setting sun illuminated the little fall. Above, the Mercy, supplied from a secret source, was hidden by the bushes. The various streams together had made it a river, but here it was but a shallow, limpid brook.