It was five o’clock when the anchor was dropped, but before that time our boy heroes were on deck, and had had their bath, and were gazing in wonder at the rugged beauty of this mountain isle. High above all the other mountains rose the lofty sugar-cone Peak of Teneriffe, high indeed above the clouds that rested on his giant breast and that caught the first pink rays of the morning sun.
But the sun had not yet risen, but had just begun to tinge the lower mountain peaks with opal and crimson, when Teenie herself came on deck with Sister Leona.
They were both dumb with delight. So grand a scene had never before been witnessed by them, nor such beautiful cloud effects, not only among the mountains themselves, but even far to the west.
Antonio went early on shore that day, taking with him Archie the mate, Teenie, Sister Leona, and Barclay.
“Now, dearies,” he said to the latter three, “you go and enjoy yourselves all you can, while Archie and I go to engage fresh hands.
“Mind this though, the boat will leave for the ship at precisely five. Adios!”
And the weird wee kindly skipper waved his hand.
. . . . . .
Just at this end of my ower true tale I have but little space to tell you of all the young folks did on this delightful day, and on this delightful island.
I shall tell you, however, one thing they did not do, they did not attempt the ascent of the giant peak. The fatigue would have been far too great for Teenie and her companion, albeit horses take you high up into the mountain ranges.