Again I opened them cautiously.

It was the sun! I staggered to my feet.

Behind me was a shattered wall of basalt monoliths, hewn and squared.

Before me was the Pacific, smooth and blue and smiling.
And not far away, cast up on the strand even as I had been, was--Marakinoff! He lay there, broken and dead indeed.

Yet all the waters through which we had passed--not even the waters of death themselves--could wash from his face the grin of triumph.