“Here’s a go!” said he, looking at Herbert.  “The box must have fallen out of my pocket and got lost!  Surely, Herbert, you must have something—­a tinder-box—­anything that can possibly make fire!”

“No, I haven’t, Pencroft.”

The sailor rushed out, followed by the boy.  On the sand, among the rocks, near the river’s bank, they both searched carefully, but in vain.  The box was of copper, and therefore would have been easily seen.

“Pencroft,” asked Herbert, “didn’t you throw it out of the car?”

“I knew better than that,” replied the sailor; “but such a small article could easily disappear in the tumbling about we have gone through.  I would rather even have lost my pipe!  Confound the box!  Where can it be?”

“Look here, the tide is going down,” said Herbert; “let’s run to the place where we landed.”

It was scarcely probable that they would find the box, which the waves had rolled about among the pebbles, at high tide, but it was as well to try.  Herbert and Pencroft walked rapidly to the point where they had landed the day before, about two hundred feet from the cave.  They hunted there, among the shingle, in the clefts of the rocks, but found nothing.  If the box had fallen at this place it must have been swept away by the waves.  As the sea went down, they searched every little crevice with no result.  It was a grave loss in their circumstances, and for the time irreparable.  Pencroft could not hide his vexation; he looked very anxious, but said not a word.  Herbert tried to console him by observing, that if they had found the matches, they would, very likely, have been wetted by the sea and useless.

“No, my boy,” replied the sailor; “they were in a copper box which shut very tightly; and now what are we to do?”

“We shall certainly find some way of making a fire,” said Herbert.  “Captain Harding or Mr. Spilett will not be without them.”

“Yes,” replied Pencroft; “but in the meantime we are without fire, and our companions will find but a sorry repast on their return.”

“But,” said Herbert quickly, “do you think it possible that they have no tinder or matches?”

“I doubt it,” replied the sailor, shaking his head, “for neither Neb nor Captain Harding smoke, and I believe that Mr. Spilett would rather keep his note-book than his match-box.”

Herbert did not reply.  The loss of the box was certainly to be regretted, but the boy was still sure of procuring fire in some way or other.  Pencroft, more experienced, did not think so, although he was not a man to trouble himself about a small or great grievance.  At any rate, there was only one thing to be done—­to await the return of Neb and the reporter; but they must give up the feast of hard eggs which they had meant to prepare, and a meal of raw flesh was not an agreeable prospect either for themselves or for the others.

Before returning to the cave, the sailor and Herbert, in the event of fire being positively unattainable, collected some more shell-fish, and then silently retraced their steps to their dwelling.