Half an hour later Statia was scarcely more than a blue cloud on the horizon and St. Kitts loomed hazy and indistinct, while the towering conical volcanic cone of Nevis lay to the eastward.
Although the boys had been disappointed at not being able to visit these fascinating islands, they had learned much about them from Rawlins and Commander Disbrow. They had heard about the abandoned forts on Brimstone Hill at St. Kitts and about the troops of monkeys which haunt the old barracks and parapets. They had learned, also, for the first time in their lives, that Nevis was the birthplace of Alexander Hamilton and was famous as the spot where Admiral Nelson had been married. But such matters of historical interest appealed far less to the boys than Rawlins’ story of the submerged city of Jamestown which was destroyed by an earthquake and sank below the sea in 1689.
“Say, wouldn’t it be fun to go down there in a diving suit and look around!” said Tom, when the diver had described how the coral-encrusted ruins could still be seen through the water on calm days.
“Yep,” agreed Rawlins. “I’ve often kind of hankered to have a look at it--and at Port Royal, over in Jamaica. That slid into the sea one day--with a lot of treasure in it, too. It used to be a regular hang-out for the pirates and the whole shooting match went under during an earthquake in 1692. Some considerable spell of time since then, but I shouldn’t wonder if a diver could find something there.”
“Gee, I wouldn’t like to live down here where towns have the habit of getting drowned,” declared Frank.
Mr. Pauling laughed. “People who live in earthquake or volcanic countries become accustomed to such things,” he said. “Even St. Pierre, Martinique, where nearly forty thousand people were killed, is being built up and inhabited again, I hear.”
A little later, land was reported ahead and through their glasses the boys saw a rounded, gray mass breaking the sea line. This, the Commander told them, was Redonda, and he added that it was an isolated, barren rock, whose only inhabitants were the lighthouse keeper and a small company of laborers who were employed in gathering the phosphate rock.
Then, beyond, and so green that, as Tom said, it looked like a bit of green velvet, the island of Montserrat gradually rose above the horizon before the speeding destroyer.
“Gosh, that is an emerald isle!” exclaimed Frank.
“Yes, and a little Ireland too,” agreed Rawlins. “If you went ashore there, you’d think you were dreaming. Every one of the niggers speaks with a brogue and there are Mulvaneys and Dennises and Muldoons as black as the ace of spades and some of them with red hair. You see, Montserrat was settled originally by the Irish and the brogue and the names have come down through generations.”