A hundred feet from the cave, a stream murmured among the rocks, escaping in little liquid threads.
The stones were scattered here, which enabled them to reach the bed of a little stream fed by a cascade that came leaping down to lose itself in the sea.
“There it is! There it is! Good fresh water!” John Block exclaimed, after a draught taken up in his hands.
“Fresh and sweet!” Frank declared when he had moistened his lips with it.
“And why shouldn’t there be vegetation on the top of the cliff,” John Block enquired, “although that is only a stream?”
“A stream now,” Fritz said, “and a stream which may even dry up during the very hot weather, but no doubt a torrent in the rainy season.”
“Well, if it will only flow for a few days longer,” the boatswain remarked philosophically, “we won’t ask anything more of it.”
Fritz and his companions now had a cave in which to establish their quarters, and a stream which would enable them to refill the boat’s casks with fresh water. The chief remaining question was whether they could provide themselves with food.
Things did not look too promising. After crossing the little river the explorers had a fresh and deep disappointment.
Beyond the promontory a creek was cut into the coast, in width about half a mile, fringed with a rim of sand, and enclosed behind by the cliff. At the far end rose a perpendicular bluff, whose foot was washed by the sea.