“I see.”
Biff wanted to get his friend Derek’s mind away from such depressing thoughts.
“About the boat again, Uncle Charlie. Why don’t we go around the point, head north along the coast, and find a sheltered harbor where we could hide the boat? Then we could head inland from there.”
“That’s what we’ll do, Biff. And let’s do it right away,” his uncle agreed.
They made a run of about ten miles along the east coast of Martinique and found a small cove between Ste. Marie and Marigot. They beached the boat and covered it with the lacy leaves of the giant fern trees which grow to a height of twenty feet on Martinique. Over the ferns they spread palm fronds. The boat was completely hidden.
From the beach, they could see the peak of Mt. Pelée, rising nearly five thousand feet in the air.
“Boys, what do you say we make Pelée our first goal?” Charles Keene suggested. “Your searches haven’t brought you that far north and east, have they, Derek?”
“No, sir.”
“Okay. Let’s move out then.”
Each of the three slung a pack over his shoulders, and they plunged into the thick tropical growth.