this lair of Back
Cup were known! Means would soon be found, if not of destroying the
place, at least of starving the band into submission!

_October 20_.--To my extreme surprise I find this morning that the tug
has gone away again. I recall that yesterday the elements of the piles
were renewed, but I thought it was only to keep them in order. In
view of the fact that the outside can now be reached through the new
tunnel, and that Thomas Roch has everything he requires, I can only
conclude that the tug has gone off on another marauding expedition.

Yet this is the season of the equinoctial gales, and the Bermudan
waters are swept by frequent tempests. This is evident from the
violent gusts that drive back the smoke through the crater and the
heavy rain that accompanies it, as well as by the water in the lagoon,
which swells and washes over the brown rocks on its shores.

But it is by no means sure that the _Ebba_ has quitted her cove.
However staunch she may be, she is, it seems to me, of too light a
build to face such tempests as now rage, even with the help of the
tug.

On the other hand, although the tug has nothing to fear from the heavy
seas, as it would be in calm water a few yards below the surface, it
is hardly likely that it has gone on a trip unless to accompany the
schooner.

I do not know to what its departure can be attributed, but its absence
is likely to be prolonged, for it has not yet returned.

Engineer Serko has remained behind, but Ker Karraje, Captain Spade,
and the crew of the schooner, I find, have left.

Life in the cavern goes on with its usual dispiriting monotony. I pass
hour after hour in my cell, meditating, hoping, despairing, following
in fancy the voyage of my little barrel, tossed about at the mercy
of the currents and whose chances of being picked up, I fear, are
becoming fainter each day, and killing time by writing my diary, which
will probably not survive me.

Thomas Roch is constantly occupied in his laboratory manufacturing his
deflagrator. I still entertain the conviction that nothing will ever
induce him to give up the secret of the liquid's composition; but I am
perfectly aware that he will not hesitate to place his invention at
Ker Karraje's service.

I often meet Engineer Serko when my strolls take me in the direction
of the Beehive. He always shows himself disposed to chat with me,
though, it is true, he does so in a tone of impertinent frivolity.
We converse upon