Floyd had stationed a lookout in the crosstrees, and it was his voice that came, high and clear, like the call of a bird.
Next moment the two men were swarming up the ratlines and looking forward in the direction to which the fellow was pointing.
"It's the island!" said Floyd.
Cardon looked.
All he could see at first was a tiny mark on the sea line, a mark no larger than a pin head; then, as his eyes grew more accustomed to the dazzle, another tiny mark appeared close to the first, and then another.
Then these marks became fused together, forming a faint line.
The lookout had a glass with him, and Floyd, taking it, found that it gave scarcely any better definition than the naked eye. The shimmer of the sea formed a veil more impenetrable than the veil of distance.
He handed the glass to Cardon, who was clinging to the ratlines below him.
"It's land, sure enough," said Cardon, "and another hour will bring it right up. We'd better go down and wait on deck; no use sticking here."
In less than an hour the palm tops showed clearly through the glass, and in two hours' time the reef could be made out and the white thread of the foam breaking upon it.