He struck one, and the two men lit their half cigars and sat in the sun smoking, while Mark watched them, the sun begetting a delicious sense of content and satisfaction, making him half-close his eyes as he listened to their conversation.
“Where are we, major! Can’t exactly say. Small coral island somewhere near the track of ships to the east.”
“It must be a good-sized coral island,” said the major, “for there seems to be quite a mountain yonder.”
“Can’t be the mainland,” said Gregory. “Yes, you’re right. That is a hill of some height, and—why, there are clouds upon it and—why, they are only half-way up, and there are more on the top.”
“Why, Gregory,” cried the major, “it’s a volcano!”
“No,” said the mate; “there is no volcano anywhere near where we can be. You’re right, sir, after all. Well, I’m puzzled; for that’s a burning mountain certainly!”
Mark gazed with wondering eyes at the mountain, to see that the clouds which he had noticed when he first gazed shoreward were slowly dissolving away, leaving a line of mist apparently about a thousand feet above the sea; while above that the mountain was visible running up in a perfect cone to quite three thousand feet higher, where the point was hidden in a steaming cloud.
“You don’t know where we are, then?”
“No, sir; perhaps the captain will know when he wakes. I’ve been out here again and again, and never seen that mountain. We can’t, I am sure, be on the mainland, and it seems impossible that we can have been driven anywhere near Java. However, we are safe ashore, and, judging from the look of the trees and the sea, we shall not starve.”
“I shall,” said the major, puffing away at his bit of cigar. “If we don’t soon have food I shall either kill and eat the monkey or Master Mark here! I must have something. By the way, don’t throw your cigar-end down—save it. Tobacco may grow scarce.”