The open water near to which the Zingara was anchored on the sandbank, or rather bank of clay, was the constant resort of birds of every description, and strange fishes too. More than one whale with calves had come to bask in the sunshine here, and sharks were very common.
Shoals of porpoises too would suddenly appear, splashing and dashing, and making the water boil with the motion their gambols excited. They even emitted a kind of cooing sound, but finally they disappeared as suddenly as they had come.
Barclay, with the weed-cutting boat, had forced his way into this strange open lake several times, and marvelled to find that the water was at least ten degrees warmer in the centre than it was around the ship. He marvelled more one day when all around him, right in the midst of the lake, the water began to bubble. At the same time deep submarine muffled thunders could be heard, and a strong sulphureous gas filled all the air around.
This spot had, no doubt, been at one time an oceanic volcano, and it might burst out at any time.
. . . . . .
One day while fishing with deep-sea lines in this open lake, Barclay saw the balloon slowly ascend from the ship, with Antonio alone on board.
It passed over the boat, and the captain waved his handkerchief and looked down. He was answered by a heartfelt lusty cheer, for there was not a man now in the boat who did not love and revere their weird wee captain.
Barclay continued to fish, while Teenie, who seemed to be in a peculiarly happy frame of mind to-day, lolled back among the cushions, and sung sweet little songs to the crew, accompanying herself on the mandoline.
This was certainly idyllic, and the day was glorious. Not too hot either, for fleecy little cloudlets shaded them from the fiercer rays of sunshine.
Barclay was on good terms with himself, for he had hauled in some lordly cod and other edible fishes, with which the sea here literally swarmed.