“Morning,” he said. “Here we are, you see.”
“See? Yes; but what a place!”
“Eh?” cried the mate in surprise; “what, don’t you like the look of it?”
“No; it is horrible. Just a black and grey mountain rising out of the sea. Are we at anchor?”
“No; only lying-to, waiting for the full light, so as to find the opening through the reef. There is no anchorage out here; I dare say the lead would go down a mile.”
“What, so close to the shore?”
“Oh yes. These volcanic mountains rise up suddenly—steeply, I mean, from very great depths, and then the coral insects begin building upon them, and form regular breakwaters of solid stone all round, and these coral reefs rise just to the surface, and keep the waves from washing the sides of the volcano away.”
“What a pity!” said Jack mockingly. “I don’t see any good in preserving a great black-looking heap like that.”
“Don’t you?” said the mate, smiling, and looking back up at the gloomy eminence.
“No, I don’t,” replied Jack, with a touch of early morning ill-humour in his tones. “But isn’t that nonsense? The sea could not wash away an island like that.”