The litter was brought. The cross-branches had been covered with moss and grass; and when Smith was laid upon it they walked towards the coast, Neb and the sailor carrying him. Eight miles had to be travelled, and as they could move but slowly, and would probably have to make frequent rests, it would take six hours or more to reach the Chimneys. The wind was still strong, but, fortunately, it had ceased raining. From his couch, the engineer, leaning upon his arm, observed the coast, especially the part opposite the sea. He examined it without comment, but undoubtedly the aspect of the country, its contour, its forests and diverse products were noted in his mind. But after two hours, fatigue overcame him, and he slept upon the litter. At half-past 5 the little party reached the precipice, and soon after, were before the Chimneys. Stopping here, the litter was placed upon the sand without disturbing the slumber of the engineer. Pencroff saw, to his surprise, that the terrible storm of the day before had altered the aspect of the place. Rocks had been displaced. Great fragments were strewn over the sand, and a thick carpet of several kinds of seaweed covered all the shore. It was plain that the sea sweeping over the isle had reached to the base of the enormous granite curtain. Before the entrance to the Chimneys the ground had been violently torn up by the action of the waves. Pencroff, seized with a sudden fear, rushed into the corridor. Returning, a moment after, he stood motionless looking at his comrades. The fire had been extinguished; the drowned cinders were nothing but mud. The charred linen, which was to serve them for tinder, had gone. The sea had penetrated every recess of the corridor, and everything was overthrown, everything was destroyed within the Chimneys. CHAPTER IX. CYRUS IS HERE-PENCROFF’S ATTEMPTS—RUBBING WOOD—ISLAND OR CONTINENT —THE PLANS OF THE ENGINEER—WHEREABOUTS IN THE PACIFIC—IN THE DEPTHS OF THE FOREST—THE PISTACHIO PINE—A PIG CHASE—A SMOKE OF GOOD OMEN. In a few words the others were informed of what had happened. This accident, which portended serious results—at least Pencroff foresaw such—affected each one differently. Neb, overjoyed in having recovered his master, did not listen or did not wish to think of what Pencroff said. Herbert shared in a measure the apprehensions of the sailor. As to the reporter, he simply answered:— “Upon my word, Pencroff, I don’t think it matters much!” “But I tell you again; we have no fire!” “Pshaw!” “Nor any means of lighting one!” “Absurd!” “But, Mr. Spilett—” “Is not Cyrus here?” asked the reporter; “Isn’t he alive? He will know well enough how to make fire!” “And with what?” “With nothing!”