“Arunga, off the port bow.”
Martin looked and saw, for the first time, the black bulky coastline of Arunga.
“See that cape?” asked Evans.
“Yes. That the port?”
“That’s the port,” Evans said happily. “Go down and see what shape the lines are in.”
“How long before we’ll dock?”
“Couple of hours.”
“Fine.” Martin went below. Outside on deck the wind was cool and direct. The air was clear and he could make out details of the island mountains.
One of the deckhands came out of the focs’le, the ship’s dog with him. The dog sniffed the air suspiciously and then, satisfied, headed for the galley.
“Is that Arunga, Mate?” asked the deckhand.