“Oh, it’s right enough, sir.”
“But there’s nothing but a cloud there, Joe.”
“Looks like it, sir, but land it is all the same.”
“Where away?” came in the skipper’s hoarse voice.
“Dead ahead, sir,” replied the sailor, and Rodd steadied the glass again, bringing it to bear upon what looked more than ever like the faintest of faint hazes upon the surface of the distant sea.
“Can you make it out, Rodd?” cried Uncle Paul, who had hurried on deck with the Count.
“Well, I can just see something, uncle, and I suppose it’s land.”
“Oh, that’s right enough, my lad,” cried the captain. “Can’t be anything else.”
“Not clouds?”
“Ah, I don’t say that,” cried the skipper. “You may see a bit of haze too, but there’s solid land beneath. There, sir,” continued the skipper, “that’s what we are looking for. Now the next thing we want to see is water.”