I soon fell into a deep sleep.
The terrible strain upon my nerves since leaving the Cape, caused by the half mutiny of the crew, the insanity of the ship’s master, and the long watches through which I had lain and listened for the cry of land, had at last told upon me.
The sun was several hours high when I sprang out of my hammock and rushed upon deck.
Could it all have been a dream? Should I find the noble temple, staircase of marble, and all the towering statues melted away into thin air?
Ah no!
That beautiful shore was still there, unrolled before my wondering eyes like some fair picture full of light and grace and delicious coloring.
“Man the launch!” I called out and in quicker time than it takes to tell it, I was on my way to the shore of the Sculptors’ Isle.
Faithful Bulger sat beside me, his eyes bright and expressive as he gazed into my face.
Landing at the foot of the marble stairway, I sprang lightly out of the launch, followed by Bulger, and bounded up the marble steps.
There were three landings before I reached the level of the temple, from each of which the outlook grew more and more delightful. In truth, it was a glorious approach to produce which art and nature had fairly outdone themselves. At length I cleared the last flight of steps, and with a throbbing heart crossed the tessellated court and paused in front of the entrance to the temple.