"A voyage?" said Gideon Spilett.
"Yes, to Tabor Island," answered Pencroft, "to carry a notice there in case the Scotch yacht should come to take Ayrton off. Who knows if it is not already too late?"
"But, Pencroft," asked Ayrton, "how do you intend to make this voyage?"
"In the Bonadventure."
"The Bonadventure!" exclaimed Ayrton. "She no longer exists."
"My Bonadventure exists no longer!" shouted Pencroft, bounding from his seat.
"No," answered Ayrton. "The convicts discovered her little harbor only eight days ago, they put to sea in her, and———"
"And?" said Pencroft, his heart beating.
"And not having Bob Harvey to steer her, they ran on the rocks, and the vessel went to pieces."
"Oh, the villains, the cut-throats, the infamous scoundrels!" exclaimed Pencroft.
"Pencroft," said Herbert, taking the sailor's hand, "we will build another Bonadventure—a larger one. We have all the iron-work—all the rigging of the brig at our disposal."
"But do you know," returned Pencroft, "that it will take at least six months to build a vessel of forty tons?"
"We can take our time," said the reporter, "and we must give up the voyage to Tabor Island for this year."
"Oh, my Bonadventure! my poor Bonadventure!" cried Pencroft, almost broken-hearted at the destruction of the vessel of which he was so proud.
The loss of the Bonadventure was certainly, a thing to be lamented by the colonists, and it was agreed that this loss should be repaired as soon as possible. This settled, they now occupied themselves with bringing their researches to bear on the most secret parts of the island.
The exploration was commenced at daybreak on the 19th of February, and lasted an entire week. The base of the mountain, with its spurs and their numberless ramifications, formed a labyrinth of valleys and elevations. It was evident that there, in the depths of these narrow gorges, perhaps even in the interior of Mount Franklin itself, was the proper place to pursue their researches. No part of the
