But, a circumstance rather curious, among those forest productions one would not meet a single specimen of that numerous family of palm-trees which counts more than a thousand species, spread in profusion over almost the whole surface of the globe.

Above the sea-shore a great number of very noisy birds were flying, which belonged for the greater part to different varieties of swallows, of black plumage, with a steel-blue shade, but of a light chestnut color on the upper part of the head.  Here and there also rose some partridges, with necks entirely white, and of a gray color.

Mrs. Weldon and Dick Sand observed that these different birds did not appear to be at all wild.  They approached without fearing anything.  Then, had they not yet learned to fear the presence of man, and was this coast so deserted that the detonation of a firearm had never been heard there?

At the edge of the rocks were walking some pelicans of the species of “pelican minor,” occupied in filling with little fish the sack which they carry between the branches of their lower jaw.  Some gulls, coming from the offing, commenced to fly about around the “Pilgrim.”

Those birds were the only living creatures that seemed to frequent this part of the coast, without counting, indeed, numbers of interesting insects that Cousin Benedict would well know how to discover.  But, however little Jack would have it, one could not ask them the name of the country; in order to learn it, it would be necessary to address some native.  There were none there, or at least, there was not one to be seen.  No habitation, hut, or cabin, neither in the north, beyond the little river, nor in the south, nor finally on the upper part of the cliff, in the midst of the trees of the thick forest.  No smoke ascended into the air, no indication, mark, or imprint indicated that this portion of the continent was visited by human beings.  Dick Sand continued to be very much surprised.

“Where are we?  Where can we be?” he asked himself.  “What! nobody to speak to?”

Nobody, in truth, and surely, if any native had approached, Dingo would have scented him, and announced him by a bark.  The dog went backward and forward on the strand, his nose to the ground, his tail down, growling secretly—­certainly very singular behavior—­but neither betraying the approach of man nor of any animal whatsoever.

“Dick, look at Dingo!” said Mrs. Weldon.

“Yes, that is very strange,” replied the novice.  “It seems as if he were trying to recover a scent.”

“Very strange, indeed,” murmured Mrs. Weldon; then, continuing, “what is Negoro doing?” she asked.

“He is doing what Dingo is doing,” replied Dick Sand.  “He goes, he comes!  After all, he is free here.  I have no longer the right to control him.  His service ended with the stranding of the Pilgrim.’”

In fact, Negoro surveyed the strand, turned back, and looked at the shore and the cliff like a man trying to recall recollections and to fix them.  Did he, then, know this country?  He would probably have refused to reply to that question if it had been asked.  The best thing was still to have nothing to do with that very unsociable personage.  Dick Sand soon saw him walk from the side of the little river, and when Negoro had disappeared on the other side of the cliff, he ceased to think of him.