“They’re just as good like that,” said the Captain, “for Sprengel.”
VIII
SPRENGEL
At seven o’clock next morning Christobal showed up on the far horizon, and by ten o’clock the Penguin was heading for the anchorage, with the Captain on the bridge and Harman beside him.
It was a lovely island.
A broken reef protected the beach from the full force of the sea, and the cliffs showed green with foliage and flecked at one point by the eternal smoke of a torrent. Beyond the beach a white frame house with a veranda showed, and on either side native houses nestled among the cocoanut trees and breadfruits. The faint wind blowing from landward brought the perfume of vanilla and flowers, coloured birds flew in the blue sky above the trees, while the tune of the blue sea beating on the reef came like the song of sleep and summer.
A sulphur-tinted butterfly flittered across the water on the wind, as if to inspect the ship, and flittered away again. On the beach could be seen several natives standing and watching their approach, motionless and seemingly incurious.
“It’s all deep water through the break and beyond,” said the Captain. “We don’t want any pilot.”
“There’s a chap come out on the veranda of the house,” said Harman.