At this moment the dinner gong sounded, and the little party retired below.
When Jack went up on deck next morning, as the ship’s bell was striking eight, he saw that the yacht was running along, with her head to the eastward, within about half a mile of some low land, dotted with trees, which stretched ahead and astern of her for several miles on their port hand, terminating at each extremity in a low headland. Inland, at a distance of about twenty-five miles, rose a long range of hills, or low mountains, which appeared to rise to a height of something between two thousand and three thousand feet.
“Good-morning, Jack!” cheerily exclaimed the skipper, as Singleton ran up the ladder on to the top of the deck-house. “Glorious morning, isn’t it? But it is going to be roasting hot a little later on; the sun has a sting already, in spite of this piping easterly breeze.”
“Yes,” agreed Jack. “And if it is hot here, what must it be ashore? But where are we now, Skipper?”
“Pretty close to our destination, I’m thankful to say,” answered Milsom. “That point astern is Cape Corrientes, the point ahead is Mangle Point, four miles beyond which is Cape Frances, where we shall run in upon the Bank, or shoal, which extends eastward for something like one hundred and sixty miles to the end of the Jardinillos. Those hills, inland there, are called the Organ Mountains; though, to my mind, the name is much too grandiloquent for such insignificant elevations. I hope that pilot chap who is to take us into the lagoon will be keeping a bright lookout for us; I have just been having a squint at the chart, and I tell you, Jack, that I don’t half like the idea of taking this little beauty in over that precious Bank, where it would be the easiest thing in the world to rip the bottom out of her on some unsuspected upstanding coral snag. I mean to go dead slow all the while that we are on that Bank, I can tell you, although I happen to know the greater part of it as well as I know my own back garden. And it is perhaps because I know it so well that I like it so little. Ah!”—as the yacht swung round the point which she had been approaching, and opened out for another about four miles farther on—“there is Cape Frances; and there is the Bank showing up plainly enough. That is it, where the colour of the water changes from dark blue to almost white. And now it is time for us to hoist the signal by which the pilot is to identify us. Mr Perkins, have the goodness to bend on Y and run it up to the fore truck, if you please.”
A minute later, Don Hermoso and Carlos made their appearance on the top of the deck-house, just as Y—a rectangular flag composed of red and yellow diagonal stripes—went soaring up to the fore-mast-head.
“Good-morning, Jack! good-morning, Captain!” said Don Hermoso. “Is that red-and-yellow flag the prearranged signal agreed upon for our identification by the pilot and the people on shore?”
“It is, Señor,” answered Milsom. “There is Cape Frances, on our port bow—no doubt you recognise it—and if your pilot is keeping a proper lookout, he ought to spot us immediately upon our rounding that point.”
“And no doubt he will, Captain,” returned Don Hermoso. “So that is Cape Frances? No, I do not recognise it, Señor, for I have never before passed it at sea. And those are the Sierras de los Organos yonder, and the Sierras del Rosario farther on to the right. I recognise them, of course. And—yes, surely—just to the right of that isolated peak I can see what must certainly be the town of Pinar del Rio! We are not far from home now, Carlos, and if all goes well with us to-day we ought to-night to sleep in our own casa, and see dear little Isolda once more. The child will rejoice to have us with her again.”
“Yes,” said Carlos, “and I shall not only rejoice to see her again, but to know that you are once more on the spot to look after her. In her last letter to me, received at Key West, she mentioned that Don Sebastian Alvaros has been a most persistent visitor to the house ever since we left Cuba, and I have my doubts of that man. I did not mention the matter to you when I received the letter, as I did not wish to make you feel uneasy; but now that we may hope to be at home to-night I think it only right that you should know.”