to the verge of the cliff, but he
saw no signs of inhabitants, no smoke, boat, or house. The sound of the
surf beating on the beach was audible, though the waves were not large.
High over the cliff he noted a kite soaring, with forked tail, at a
great height.

Immediately afterwards he ran into another mist or vapour, thicker, if
anything, and which quite obscured his view. It seemed like a great
cloud on the surface of the water, and broader than those he had
previously entered. Suddenly the canoe stopped with a tremendous jerk,
which pitched him forward on his knees, the mast cracked, and there was
a noise of splitting wood. As soon as he could get up, Felix saw, to his
bitter sorrow, that the canoe had split longitudinally; the water came
up through the split, and the boat was held together only by the beams
of the outrigger. He had run aground on a large sharp flint embedded in
a chalk floor, which had split the poplar wood of the canoe like an axe.
The voyage was over, for the least strain would cause the canoe to part
in two, and if she were washed off the ground she would be water-logged.
In half a minute the mist passed, leaving him in the bright day,
shipwrecked.

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.