Their halting-place was a pool, at whose head the advance of such salt tide as ran up was checked by a huge wall of volcanic rock, down which trickled the bright clear waters of one stream, while another took a clear plunge only a few yards away right into the pool.
“What a place for a lunch!” said Sir John, as the occupants of the two boats now met on shore, and Mr Bartlett placed one of the two keepers from each boat in good places for observation of sea and land, so as to guard against surprise.
Edward was now in his element, and while men went with buckets to get water from the springs by climbing up the side of the huge lava wall, he spread a cloth for the gentlemen’s lunch and emptied a flat basket.
The sailors soon selected their spot a dozen yards away, and their preparations were very simple.
“Hold hard a minute,” cried Edward to the men as they returned with the buckets filled. “I want one of those. Let’s see which is the coldest. Here, Mr Jack, sir, just you come and try this,” he cried the next minute, and on the boy approaching eager enough, the man plunged a glass into the first bucket and dipped it full of the most brilliantly clear water possible, and handed it very seriously to his young master.
“Oh, this won’t do, Ned,” cried the boy; “it isn’t cold—why it’s hot.”
“Hot it is, sir, but just you taste it. I did.”
Jack took a pretty good sip and ejected it directly.
“Ugh!” he cried with a wry face. “It’s horrible; hot, salt, bitter, filthy, like rotten eggs; and yet it’s as clear as crystal.”
“Yes, sir, it’s about the worst swindle I ever had.”