As the whaleboat drew nearer the hoarse grumble of the surf could be heard as it cast itself in long rollers upon the narrow, fragile strip of beach, with the whole weight of the Pacific behind it.
And now, as every feature of this fairy isle unrolled itself before their anxious eyes, keenly they surveyed it all, watching grimly for the dreaded human.
"Nary a sign o' man thar," muttered Broncho. "It shore looks lonesome a whole lot."
"The inhabitants of atolls always live on the lagoon," explained Jack. "They shun the sea strand and consider it the abode of evil spirits and devils."
"Can we land through that surf?" asked Jim uneasily, as he scanned the boiling white water ahead.
"Want a Pitcairn Islander to take us in if it looks as bad as it sounds," declared the rover.
"Me boat-steerer, go in allee-lightee," said Tari quietly.
"We'd better skirt round the island first, and see if we can't find an opening into the lagoon," advised Jack.
The boat's head was turned, and skimming along just outside the breakers, they commenced to circle the island.
All of a sudden as they came opposite the big palm, a man appeared through the brush and walked slowly on to the beach.