“How strangely he spoke,” thought Carey; “just as if he didn’t like what I said. Of course, I don’t want to stay here, but to go on to Brisbane to see them. Only, after being shut up like a cripple so long, it’s natural to want to go ashore on this island and see what the place is like. I say, Bob,” he cried, going to the side, “do you think there’s a volcano—a burning mountain, up yonder where the clouds hang so low?”
“Might be anything, sir. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised. You never know what you’re going to find in an island where nobody’s been before.”
“Want a hand up?”
“Nay, sir; I can swarm up the rope. We must lower down some steps, though, so as we can haul ’em up again of a night and keep out the savages as might come in their canoes.”
“Savages? Canoes? Do you think there are any, Bob?”
“One never knows, sir. I don’t think there’s any here now, or we should have seen some of ’em; but they goes wandering about far enough, and they might turn up any time. Rather nasty ones they are, too, off the west coast and to norrard there, Noo Guinea. There we are,” he continued, climbing on deck. “Won’t take me long to-morrow morning putting on the oars, poles, and mast, and the bit o’ sail we have made.”
“Then we shall go to-morrow morning?”
“If it keeps fine,” said the old sailor, shading his eyes and looking round. “And fine weather it is, my lad, as far as I can see.”