“Oh, yes, as soon as we can get off.”
The early breakfast was over, and the satchel of provisions being prepared they were soon over the side, each bearing a double gun and a fair supply of ammunition, Bostock carrying, in addition, a small axe ready for use, and Carey hanging a billhook to his belt—a handy implement for getting through cane or tangled thorn.
It was another lovely morning, with the submarine gardens more beautiful than ever; but there was very little wind, and their progress across to their regular landing place was very slow, but not wearisome, for there was always something fresh to see in the sunlit waters. On this particular morning they sailed over sandy openings among the rocks, where Bostock drew attention to the abundance of those peculiar sea-slugs known in commerce as sea-cucumbers.
“Why not try some o’ them cooked one of these days, Master Carey?” said the old sailor.
“Pah! Horrid! You never ate one, did you?”
“No, sir, but the Chinese think a deal of ’em, and give no end of money for a hundredweight salted and dried. We shall have to take to collecting them when we’ve got all the pearl hysters.”
“Why, that will never be, Bob. There’s all round the island to go, and even if we finished them we could sail to first one and then another reef.”
“Yes, that’s so, sir. Strikes me that when we do go away from here, what with pearl shells, pearls, and dried cocoanuts, we ought to be able to lade a ship with a valuable cargo.”
“Look at the fish,” said Carey.
“Yes, sir, there’s plenty; but we’re not going to fish to-day, of course?”