Felix now saw that the waters were white with suspended chalk, and sounding with the paddle, found that the depth was but a few inches.  He had driven at full speed on a reef.  There was no danger, for the distance to the shore was hardly two hundred yards, and judging by the appearance of the water, it was shallow all the way.  But his canoe, the product of so much labour, and in which he had voyaged so far, his canoe was destroyed.  He could not repair her; he doubted whether it could have been done successfully even at home with Oliver to help him.  He could sail no farther; there was nothing for it but to get ashore and travel on foot.  If the wind rose higher, the waves would soon break clean over her, and she would go to pieces.

With a heavy heart, Felix took his paddle and stepped overboard.  Feeling with the paddle, he plumbed the depth in front of him, and, as he expected, walked all the way to the shore, no deeper than his knees.  This was fortunate, as it enabled him to convey his things to land without loss.  He wrapped up the tools and manuscripts in one of his hunter’s hides.  When the whole cargo was landed, he sat down sorrowfully at the foot of the cliff, and looked out at the broken mast and sail, still flapping uselessly in the breeze.

It was a long time before he recovered himself, and set to work mechanically to bury the crossbow, hunter’s hides, tools, and manuscripts, under a heap of pebbles.  As the cliff, though low, was perpendicular, he could not scale it, else he would have preferred to conceal them in the woods above.  To pile pebbles over them was the best he could do for the present; he intended to return for them when he discovered a path up the cliff.  He then started, taking only his bow and arrows.

But no such path was to be found; he walked on and on till weary, and still the cliff ran like a wall on his left hand.  After an hour’s rest, he started again; and, as the sun was declining, came suddenly to a gap in the cliff, where a grassy sward came down to the shore.  It was now too late, and he was too weary, to think of returning for his things that evening.  He made a scanty meal, and endeavoured to rest.  But the excitement of losing the canoe, the long march since, the lack of good food, all tended to render him restless.  Weary, he could not rest, nor move farther.  The time passed slowly, the sun sank, the wind ceased; after an interminable time the stars appeared, and still he could not sleep.  He had chosen a spot under an oak on the green slope.  The night was warm, and even sultry, so that he did not miss his covering, but there was no rest in him.  Towards the dawn, which comes very early at that season, he at last slept, with his back to the tree.  He awoke with a start in broad daylight, to see a man standing in front of him armed with a long spear.