“Below there!”
It was a shout from one of the new hands, who was stationed at the fore-topgallant cross-trees.
“Hallo, Wilson!” cried Tandy running forward. “Here we are!”
“Something I can’t make out on the lee bow, sir.”
“Well, shall I come up and bring a bigger glass?”
“One minute, sir!”
“It’s a steamer, I believe,” he hailed now; “but I can’t just raise her hull, only just the long trail of smoke along the horizon.”
Tandy was beside the man in a few minutes’ time. “This will raise it,” he said, “if I can focus aright. Why!” he cried next minute, “that is no steamer, Tom Wilson, but the smoke from a volcanic mountain or hill.”
Down went Tandy quickly now.
“Had your island of gold a chimney to it?” he said, laughing. He could afford to laugh, for he felt convinced this was the island and none other. “There wasn’t a coal mine or a factory of any kind on it, was there? If not, we will soon be in sight of the land of gold. Volcanic, Halcott—volcanic!”