Though drenched to the skin, they all most gladly followed the Queen, up glens, and by zigzag paths, and over wild hills, till at last they came to one of the wildest and most beautiful valleys these adventurers had ever beheld. Now they could understand how the Queen had named it the Isle of Flowers.
A beautiful stream went meandering through the valley with every species of tropical or semi-tropical flowering trees it is possible to imagine growing on its banks. No wonder that Matty, whom Reginald carried in his strong arms, cried:
“Oh, doc, dear, zis (this) is surely fairyland! Oh, doc, I’se dizzy wi’ beauty!”
“Hurry on,” said the Queen; “a keen wind is blowing on this hilltop.”
In the midst of a forest of magnolias that scented the air all around, they found the road that led to the Queen’s palace. A long, low building it was, and seemingly comfortable; but the path that led to it was bordered on each side with human skulls placed upon poles.
Noticing Dickson’s look of horror, she smiled.
“These are the skulls of our enemies—a tribe that in war canoes visited our island a few years ago, but never found their way back. My people insisted on placing those horrid relics there. Had I refused my permission, I should have been deposed, probably even slain.”
Into one room she showed the ladies, the officers and few remaining men into another. Here were couches all around, with comfortable mats of grass, and on these, tired and weary, everyone lay and many slept, till their garments were dried in the sun by the Queen’s servants.
It was afternoon now, but the wind had lulled, and soon it was night, clear and starry. The vessel had gone on shore at low tide, but some time during the middle watch a great wave had lifted her and thrown her on her beam-ends high up on the coral sands.
Next morning, when Dickson and Reginald went over the hills, after a hearty breakfast of roast yams and delicious fish, they found that the sea had receded so far that they could walk around the wreck on the dry sand.