“Earthquake!” roared Turnbull, in tones of mingled rage and consternation; “you don’t mean to say as you’ve had a hearthquake here, do ye?”
“Certainly,” answered Dick, with as much sang-froid as though an earthquake were a mere pleasant interlude in an otherwise monotonous life; “it occurred about three months ago, and gave the place a pretty severe shaking up, I can assure you. It also started that volcano into activity again after ages of quiescence.”
“The mischief!” ejaculated Turnbull, with manifest discomposure. “I must go ashore at once!”
“I am afraid,” said Leslie, gently, “that my mention of the earthquake and its possible effect upon the caves of the island has somewhat upset you. Are you going ashore in the hope of finding any particular cave? If so, I shall be most happy to assist you in your search.”
“Assist! I’ll be—I mean of course not,” exclaimed Turnbull, beginning with a savage bellow and suddenly calming himself again. “What d’ye s’pose a man like me wants to go pokin’ about ashore there, huntin’ after caves for? I’ve somethin’ else to do. I’ve come in here because our fresh water’s turned bad, and I thought that maybe I might be able to renew my stock, I s’pose there’s fresh water to be had on the island?”
“Certainly,” answered Leslie; “there is a most excellent supply, and quite accessible to your boats. It lies over there,” pointing toward Mermaid Head; “and falls over a low ledge of rock into deep-water. You can go alongside the rock and fill up your boats or tanks direct, if you like.”
“Ah, that’ll do first-rate,” remarked Turnbull; “I’ll give orders for the men to start the foul water at once. And now, as I see that the sun’s over the fore-yard, what’ll you take to drink? I s’pose you’ve been pretty hard up all these months for drink, haven’t ye?”
“No, indeed,” answered Leslie; “on the contrary, I found an abundance of wines and spirits aboard the brig. The only thing that I have lacked has been mineral waters; therefore if you happen to have any soda-water on board it will give me great pleasure to take a whisky and soda with you.”
“I believe we have some sodas left,” answered Turnbull, doubtfully. “You won’t mind takin’ it up here on the poop, will ye?” he continued. “Fact is there’s a man lyin’ sick in one of the cabins below, and I don’t want to disturb him with our talk.”
Of course Leslie, although he had his doubts about the genuineness of the “sick man” story, readily acquiesced in the suggestion of the other, and seated himself in one of two deck-chairs that were standing on the poop, while Turnbull retired ostensibly for the purpose of quietly hunting up the steward.