There was an exodus to the deck at this, but although the trio searched the rim of the sky they could not make out a sign of land. The schooner was sailing close into the wind, which had abated into a steady though stiff breeze, and she was pitching over the swells with an even, rocking movement.
Doc grinned and pointed over the port bow, and Jarrow came down from the poop, smiling proudly.
"There's our island," he said.
Trask managed to pick it up, but the others could not see it, and went back to breakfast. Trask soon followed, observing that Shope was in the fore crosstrees studying the distant speck with a glass.
"We ought to be up to it by night," said Jarrow.
"Night!" said Trask, surprised.
"Perhaps before dark," said Jarrow, a trifle disconcerted at Trask's manner. "I don't look to hold this wind all day."
"But we seem to be making good time," said Trask.
"Not so good as ye'd think," replied Jarrow. "She's kickin' up her heels and makin' a great fuss about it, maybe six knots now, and enough leeway to choke an ox."
With that he went up and in a few minutes put the schooner on the other tack, but this time she was not sailing into the wind nearly so closely as she had been, and was now headed so that if she held her course, she would clear the island by several miles and leave it to starboard.