“Yes, we must,” said Panton, “for I daresay they’ll be getting hungry as they finish all the fish left in their larder.”
“If it had not been for those reptiles in the pools they would have been getting offensive by now.”
“And when they have cleared them out, you think the crocs will journey down to the sea?”
“I haven’t a doubt of it,” replied Panton.
“Then I hope they will not have begun their journey to-night, for I’m too tired to care about meeting enemies.”
Their row along the narrow lagoon was glorious with the cocoa-nut grove on one side and the reef with its tumbling billows and subdued roar on the other. Then, as the sun set, the long mirror they traversed and the backs of the curling over breakers were dyed with the most refulgent colours, which grew pale only too soon. When the darkness closed in, the croaking of reptiles and night birds rose from beyond the grove, and the breakers grew phosphorescent and as if illumined by a pale fire tinged with a softened green, while the foam resembled golden spray as it was dashed over the coral sand.
The sailors were relieved from time to time as they rowed on with the stars spangling the still water, so that in the distance it was hard to tell where sea ended and sky began; and at last, dimly seen against the sky, three tall trees marked the spot where they ran up the boat.
“Sure this is right?” asked Oliver, as the sharp prow touched the soft, white sand.
“Oh, yes, sir, this is right enough,” replied Smith. “Here’s our marks that we made this morning when we ran her down.”
There was the faintly marked furrow, sure enough, and, all taking hold of the sides, the boat was run up easily enough over the soft, loose sand and then in amongst the smooth, round, curved trunks of the cocoa-nut trees till her old quarters were reached, and the painter secured to a stout stem.