He put these thoughts from his mind until the time came, and decided to tackle what was most pressing. The most urgent matter that first claimed his attention was breakfast, and when he reached the bridge he was delighted to see fruits from the island piled in shady corners. These and bread and cheese made up his meal, which he ate while watching the final leaves and fronds put in place on the sides of the Mirabelle.
Captain Blizzard came up to him, his hands clasped behind his back, and nodded toward the men pulling themselves slowly over the ship's side and falling exhausted into the shade to sleep for a few hours.
"They will be fresh enough in a while," he said, "and then we shall one and all row ashore to see what we shall see."
He paused, and Chris, looking up, saw that the Captain's gaze was fixed on Zachary Heigh. Zachary was obviously not only far from sleeping, but was restless, jumping up to look out to sea and then sitting down again. It would be only a few minutes more before up he would jump once more to pace the deck or lean at the ship's rail.
"It would seem," the Captain said casually, "that Zachary has something on his mind."
Mr. Finney joined Chris and the Captain at that moment, and looking down at Zachary nodded his long sad face in lugubrious agreement. Chris opened his mouth to say something to the Captain of what he had seen Zachary doing. Before the words could leave his mouth, he was interrupted by the appearance of red-faced Ned Cilley. Cheerful as a sand flea at the prospect of going ashore, Ned had come from his rest with a small company of the sailors to ask permission of the Captain if they might leave the ship.
"Well, why not?" the Captain demanded. "And why not take along the rest too? We were all to go ashore presently, in any case. Those who still want to sleep can do so even more comfortably on the shady sand under the palms."
So in an instant the decks of the Mirabelle were crowded with laughing jostling men, duties over for that day, tumbling down the ladders to the dinghies in which they rowed ashore.
Chris and Amos were shoved along with their friends, Chris hiking up his breeches to cover the coil of the magic rope around his waist; the leathern bag hanging in plain sight about his neck. The sailors had often teased him about it, saying that he kept his riches there, but they made no attempt to snatch it from him. There had been no time to warn the Captain, but as the last boatload of sailors leaped into shallow water and scattered under the shade of the trees, Chris searched and searched again for three faces among the crowd that he did not find. Zachary Heigh, the Captain, and Mr. Finney were not to be found.
Aghast, as he understood now what Zachary's plan was—to blow up the Mirabelle just as the Venture and its crew came near enough to shoot down the unarmed men—Chris rushed back to the water's edge and stood there hesitating in the powerful sun. How could he change himself to a fish or other shape, unobserved? The sailors from the Mirabelle were everywhere—in the thickets for the shade, as well as along the edge of the cove where he now stood, indecisive. To use the rope was just as impossible, for the beach was broad and Chris was acutely aware that he stood out like a single tree in a field, there on the white sand in the broiling sun.