“All peculiar forms of jelly-fish,” he said aloud, as if he were delivering a lecture, “and all possessing the power of emitting that beautiful phosphorescent light. There you see, ladies, if I had a spoon I could skim it off the top of this bucket of water, just like so much golden cream, and pour it into a glass. Very wonderful, is it not?”
“Look, look, doctor!” said one of the ladies, pointing to the sea, where a series of vivid flashes rapidly followed one another.
“Yes, my dear, I see,” he replied; “that was some fish darting through the water, and disturbing the medusae. If you watch you can see the same thing going on all round.”
So glorious was the aspect of the sea that the conversation gradually ceased, and all on the quarter-deck watched the ever-widening lines of golden water that parted at the stem of the corvette and gradually died away, or were mingled with the glistening foam churned up by the propeller.
For the sea seemed to be one blaze of soft lambent light, that flashed angrily wherever it was disturbed by the steamer, or the startled fish, that dashed away on every side as they swiftly ran on towards the land of swamp and jungle, of nipah and betel palm, where the rivers were bordered by mangroves, the home of the crocodile; a land where the night’s conversation had roused up thoughts of its being perhaps the burial-place of many a one of the brave hearts throbbing within the timbers of that stout ship—hearts that were to play active parts in the adventurous scenes to come.
Chapter Three.
Doctor Bolter cures one Patient, and is left with another.
“Is that Parang, that dim light out yonder, captain?” said the major, pointing to what looked like a cloud touching the water.