As this was going on, Mark stood gazing toward the ship, and as he looked he saw a white handkerchief waved.
It was too far off to be sure who waved that handkerchief, but it was either Mrs Strong, the major’s wife, or Mary O’Halloran.
“It doesn’t matter which,” thought Mark, and taking off his cap he waved it in return.
“Now, gentlemen,” said the first-mate, “load away, and then we had better decide where to go.”
“Not necessary,” said the major, closing the breech of his piece and giving the stock an affectionate slap.
“Not necessary?” said Morgan.
“No, sir. This is an uninhabited island, where there are no roads and nature has it all her own way. We shall have to go which way we can.”
They struck inland, and the major’s words, the result of old experience, proved to be true, for as they reached the belt of jungle, which came within some fifty yards of the shore, it was to find their course stayed by a dense wall of verdure that was literally impassable, the great trees being woven together with creepers, notable among which there was the rattan cane, which wound in and out and climbed up and down in a way that was almost marvellous.
“This is pleasant,” said the major.
“Oh, we can get through, sir,” said Mark. “Let me go first.”