“And when do you think we will be in sight of Melnos?”
“To-morrow morning, I think, but Gurt will know.”
Leaving Mrs. Dengelton and Eunice in the cabin, the two gentlemen went on deck to see Gurt, who gave it as his opinion that they certainly would sight Melnos at dawn.
“I hope we will find them alive, Gurt.”
“Don’t you fear, Mr. Crispin, sir. Why, I’d back Mr. Roylands against the Dook of Wellingtin himself for fightin’.”
The Rector was much delighted with Gurt, especially when he saw how the sailor worshipped Maurice; and the tale of the siege of the island, as told by Gurt, with Maurice as the hero, was as brilliant and unreliable as “The Arabian Nights Entertainments.” Never being able to hear enough about his dear lad, Mr. Carriston asked Gurt to once more recite his Iliad, which the sailor was nothing loath to do, and the story lasted until all retired to rest.
The next morning at dawn they were in Cretan waters, and the Rector, Crispin, and Gurt were all on the lookout for the island. Just about sunrise they saw its conical shape dimly on the horizon, and Crispin, who had his glasses up, uttered a cry of dismay.
“Why, there’s smoke!” he said anxiously. “Can the volcano have broken out?”
“I hope not! I trust not!” cried Carriston, turning pale. “Let me look, Crispin. You surely must be mistaken.”
Alas! there was no mistake, for, as they drew nearer, even without the aid of the lengthy tube of the binocle, the crest of the island appeared to be topped by a dark cloud of smoke, and they could hear at intervals the muffled roar of the volcano breathing fire and fury.