I cannot attempt to describe the extraordinary feeling which came upon me at this discovery.
“Can it be possible,” thought I, “that this is the island upon which the Amazon was cast away, and am I about to have the inexpressible joy of seeing my beloved father once more, and so unexpectedly as this?” I again had recourse to the glass, and being now somewhat nearer, I no longer had any room for doubt; the individual who sat in the stern of the canoe, and who, I now saw, was steering the craft with a paddle, was undoubtedly white. I now observed, too, that the canoe was passing through an opening in the south-western edge of the reef. The passage would have escaped my notice in the then position of the cutter, had it not been for seeing the canoe passing through it, for it was broadside-on to us, as it were, and the unbroken water was therefore not easily detected. I turned my telescope upon the island, and now saw a thin film of light blue smoke, as from a wood fire, rising from among the trees; but there was no sign of a wreck of any description within view, and if anything of the kind existed, it must be on the other side of the island.
The canoe was by this time in open water, and I saw that she was paddling along the edge of the reef towards us. Bob now made her out from the deck, and hailed me, asking if I saw her. I answered that I did, and, in an uncontrollable tumult of excitement, descended to the deck. I directed Bob to keep the cutter away for the canoe, for, strangely enough, the thought never entered my head that her occupants might be enemies. I ran down below and got up our club ensign, which I hoisted at the peak, and as it blew out in the fresh morning breeze, we saw the figure in the stern of the canoe rise to his feet and wave his hat. I took up my glass once more, and was now able to make out that this figure was tall, deeply bronzed by the sun, and had grey hair and a thick bushy grey beard.
“That is a white man, Bob, in that canoe,” said I excitedly.
“A white man!” exclaimed Bob; “then it’s the skipper, Harry, for a thousand pounds.”
“No such luck, Bob, I am afraid,” replied I; “this man is grey-haired, and my poor father’s hair was dark brown, if you recollect.”
“True,” answered Bob; “but if not the skipper hisself, it may be somebody belonging to him.”
“That cannot be, either,” I returned; “for according to the account we received from the seaman, there was no one left with him but the chief-mate, who, I presume, was Winter—who, you will recollect, was put into your berth when you met with your accident; and Winter was quite a young man—scarcely thirty, I believe.”
“Well, whoever it may be, we shall soon find out all about him now, for we shall be alongside the little hooker in another five minutes,” remarked Bob philosophically, but with evident disappointment in the tone of his voice.
This was true, for we were nearing the canoe fast. I again had recourse to my telescope, and, with its assistance, was now able to see with perfect distinctness the occupants of the canoe.