explorers to the depths of the ocean.

All that day was passed in a fruitless search. The bed of the sea was a
desert. The day of the 25th brought no result, neither did that of the
26th.

It was disheartening. They thought of the unfortunate men shut up for
twenty-six days in the projectile. Perhaps they were all feeling the
first symptoms of suffocation, even if they had escaped the dangers of
their fall. The air was getting exhausted, and doubtless with the air
their courage and spirits.

"The air very likely, but their courage never," said J.T. Maston.

On the 28th, after two days' search, all hope was lost. This bullet was
an atom in the immensity of the sea! They must give up the hope of
finding it.

Still J.T. Maston would not hear about leaving. He would not abandon the
place without having at least found the tomb of his friends. But Captain
Blomsberry could not stay on obstinately, and notwithstanding the
opposition of the worthy secretary, he was obliged to give orders to set
sail.

On the 29th of December, at 9 a.m., the Susquehanna, heading north-east,
began to return to the bay of San Francisco.

It was 10 a.m. The corvette was leaving slowly and as if with regret the
scene of the catastrophe, when the sailor at the masthead, who was on
the look-out, called out all at once--

"A buoy on the lee bow!"

The officers looked in the direction indicated. They saw through their
telescopes the object signalled, which did look like one of those buoys
used for marking the openings of bays or rivers; but, unlike them, a
flag floating in the wind surmounted a cone which emerged five or six
feet. This buoy shone in the sunshine as if made of plates of silver.

The commander, Blomsberry, J.T. Maston, and the delegates of the Gun
Club ascended the foot-bridge and examined the object thus drifting on
the waves.

All looked with feverish anxiety, but in silence. None of them dared
utter the thought that came into all their minds.

The corvette approached to within two cables' length of the object.

A shudder ran through the whole crew.

The flag was an American one!

At that moment a veritable roar was heard. It was the worthy J.T.
Maston, who had fallen in a heap; forgetting on the one hand that he had
only an iron hook for one arm, and on the other that a simple
gutta-percha cap covered his cranium-box, he had given himself a
formidable blow.

They rushed towards him and picked him up. They recalled h