“Oh, yes, sir,” said the mate thoughtfully, “such a ship as this would be a prize for them, and we shall have them again some day, as sure as a gun.”
Chapter Thirty Four.
Billy Wriggs smells Mussels.
That day and during the many which followed the shipwrecked party had plenty of proof of the truth of their theory about the animals and birds migrating from one side of the island to the other in consequence of fright caused by the eruption, for birds came back singly and in little flocks, many of them passing right over the brig on their way to the forest-covered lower slopes of the burning mountain.
It was the same too with insects, while from time to time a roe-buck or two would trot across the wide opening, perhaps, to stand and gaze up at the peculiar-looking object in the middle of the wave-swept plain, but always ready to dart off on any attempt being made to approach them with a gun, for already they were learning the meaning of the report.
Oliver and Panton tried hard to be patient and bear their lot, but they often fell to and had a good grumble and murmur. But soon, as the days went on and they could walk about the deck with less exertion and suffering, they brought up their guns and sat waiting by the bulwarks for the brightly painted birds as they flew over, Panton helping largely to increase his friend’s store of preserved specimens, securing for him several remarkably good lories and brilliant metallic cuckoos. The pot, as Panton called it, was not forgotten either, several large bustard-like birds being shot as they raced across the plain, besides wild duck and geese, which at times passed over in plenty.
At last the happy day arrived when the mate suggested that the patients should make an effort to get a little way from the ship, and with eyes brightened the two young men were helped down the steps in spite of their irritable declarations that they could do better alone.
Oliver drew a long deep breath as he gave a stamp upon the sand.