“Keep her away a point or two,” he said to the man at the wheel.
“There were hills on the Island of Misfortune, but no signs of a volcano.”
“Not then; but in this mystery of an ocean, Halcott, we know not what a day or an hour may bring forth.
“Let me see,” he continued, glancing at the cardboard map; “we are on the east side of the island, or we will be soon. Why, we ought soon to reach your Treachery Bay. Ominous name, though, Halcott; we must change it.”
Nearer and nearer to the land sailed the Sea Flower. The hills came in sight; then dark, wild cliffs o’ertopped with green, with a few waving palm-trees and a fringe of banana here and there; and all between as blue a sea as ever sun shone on.
“It is strangely like my island,” said Halcott; “but that hill, far to the west yonder, from which the smoke is rising, I cannot recognise.”
“It may not have been there before.”
“True,” said Halcott. But still he looked puzzled.
Then, after bearing round to the north side of the island, past the mouth of a dark gully, and past a rocky promontory, the land all at once began to recede. In other words, they had opened out the bay.