"Ay," says I, with as stout a voice as if I were telling the truth, "I make no question of our whereabouts, or I should not have spoken so hopefully."
"But you did not seem to know before we started"—with a shrewd glance.
"No, for then I could not see the run of the mountains. Now, when we landed before supper I could not have sworn but we were in Campeachy, or Honduras, or the Isle of Cuba."
"How could you know after we had eaten?" says she.
"Because our thirst led to the discovery of the milk-tree. Then I knew we must be in Guiana, for they grow nowhere else"; adding to myself, "for aught I know."
A little smile of satisfaction played about her face; then she asked eagerly:
"And what have you learnt by the run of the mountains?"
"Why, that we can't be many miles from the Gulf of Paria. For, if you will recall Sir Bartlemy's chart to mind, you will remember that the only mountains in Guiana that run by the sea are there."
"What part of the chart, Benet?" says she, knitting her brows.
"Up at the top, against Trinidado."