“A Sight I shall Remember till my Dying Day.”
Captain Halcott sat on the skylight, and near him sat Tandy his mate, while between them—tacked down with pins to the painted canvas, so that the wind might not catch it—lay a chart of a portion of the South Pacific Ocean.
At one particular spot was a blue cross.
“I marked it myself,” said Halcott; “and here, on this piece of cardboard, is the island, which I’ve shown you before—every creek and bay, every river and hill, so far as I know them, distinctly depicted.”
“The exact longitude and latitude?” said Tandy.
“As near as I could make them, my friend.”
“And yet we don’t seem to be able to discover this island. Strange things happen in these seas, Halcott; islands shift and islands sink, but one so large as this could do neither. Come, Halcott, we’ll work out the reckoning again. It will be twelve o’clock in ten minutes.”
“Everything correct,” said Halcott, when they had finished, “as written down by me. Here we are on the very spot where the Island of Misfortune should be, and—the island is gone!”
There was a gentle breeze blowing, and the sky was clear, save here and there a few fleecy clouds lying low on a hazy horizon.
Nothing in sight! nor had there been for days and days; for the isle they were in search of lies far out of the track of outward or homeward-bound ships.