for it was evident that nothing was
to be made of Peterkin in the water. But we could not rest satisfied
till we had seen more of this cave; so, after further consultation, Jack
and I determined to try if we could take down a torch with us, and set
fire to it in the cavern. This we found to be an undertaking of no small
difficulty; but we accomplished it at last by the following means:--First,
we made a torch of a very inflammable nature out of the bark of a certain
tree, which we cut into strips, and, after twisting, cemented together
with a kind of resin or gum, which we also obtained from another tree;
neither of which trees, however, was known by name to Jack. This, when
prepared, we wrapped up in a great number of plies of cocoa-nut cloth, so
that we were confident it could not get wet during the short time it
should be under water. Then we took a small piece of the tinder, which
we had carefully treasured up lest we should require it, as before said,
when the sun should fail us; also, we rolled up some dry grass and a few
chips, which, with a little bow and drill, like those described before,
we made into another bundle, and wrapped it up in cocoa-nut cloth. When
all was ready we laid aside our garments, with the exception of our
trousers, which, as we did not know what rough scraping against the rocks
we might be subjected to, we kept on.

Then we advanced to the edge of the rocks, Jack carrying one bundle, with
the torch; I the other, with the things for producing fire.

"Now don't weary for us, Peterkin, should we be gone some time," said
Jack; "we'll be sure to return in half-an-hour at the very latest,
however interesting the cave should be, that we may relieve your mind."

"Farewell!" said Peterkin, coming up to us with a look of deep but
pretended solemnity, while he shook hands and kissed each of us on the
cheek. "Farewell! and while you are gone I shall repose my weary limbs
under the shelter of this bush, and meditate on the changefulness of all
things earthly, with special reference to the forsaken condition of a
poor ship-wrecked sailor boy!" So saying, Peterkin waved his hand,
turned from us, and cast himself upon the ground with a look of
melancholy resignation, which was so well feigned, that I would have
thought it genuine had he not accompanied it with a gentle wink. We both
laughed, and, springing from the rocks together, plunged head first into
the sea.

We gained the interior of the