“Where away?” came Lake’s roar from above.
“Two points off’n the sta’bo’d bow,” came back the answer from somewhere forward.
As the castaways, excited by the sensation that the end of their strange voyage was in sight, sprang up the companion stairs, Tom noted one thing.
The cabin was empty of life. At the foot of the stanchion, to which the Chinaman had been tied, the ropes which had bound him lay in an untidy tangle. But the man himself was gone, nor did they ever see him again.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE ISLAND.
But the sight that greeted Tom’s eyes as he emerged on deck speedily drove all other thoughts from his mind. The wind had died down, and, although a heavy swell was still running, the sea was by no means rough. Across the gray waves, not more than a mile or so from the schooner, was visible the outlines of a rocky island.
Under the pall of gray sky, and surrounded by the leaden, sullen seas, it looked a dismal spot of land. So far as Tom could make out, it was craggy and mountainous in the extreme. On the side by which they were approaching it, the island was wooded down almost to the water’s edge.
Tom found the professor at his elbow. He began to talk to him at once. There was no fear of any one overhearing them. The crew and the leaders of the gang were far too busy scanning the island. In the lee rigging Simon Lake hung by one arm, while, with his free hand, he held a pair of glasses to his eyes.
“What land do you suppose that is?” asked Tom, as the schooner plunged onward toward it.
The professor thought a moment before answering. It was evident he was making some sort of mental calculation. At last he spoke, and by this time Mr. Chillingworth was one of the group about him.