Monday subsided instantly. A vacant look crept into his eyes, which an instant before had been dancing excitedly. His companion also relapsed into apparent listlessness. In many ways these natives of the South Seas were fully the equal of any white man in their quick perception and keen insight. They were quite as much in possession of the facts concerning Lake and his crew as were the rest.
As the professor’s sharp eye had noted, Lake had clambered down from the rigging a few minutes before. His face bore a satisfied look as he came toward the castaways.
“Waal, thar’s your future home,” he grinned, as he approached the little group.
“Perhaps you can tell us if I am correct in my assumption that the island is one of the Queen Charlotte group off the coast of Canada?” inquired the professor, adjusting his spectacles and turning to Lake.
“I ain’t sayin’,” was the sullen rejoinder. “It’s enough fer yer ter know thet we’re bound fer thet island, and ye’re a mighty lucky lot not to be at the bottom of the sea at this minnit. I tell yer I hed a hard time persuading Zeb Hunt and ther crew not ter finish yer off.”
Tom shuddered at the rascal’s calm tone. He spoke without the slightest concern. As he gazed at the rapacious face of the leader of the Chinese runners, Tom did not doubt that the unfortunate Chinaman at that moment reposed where, according to Lake, Zeb Hunt and the crew would have liked to see them.
As the schooner drew closer to the island, Tom perceived what Lake had noticed through the glasses some time before. This was, that on the beach, flying from a tall, white flagstaff, was a square of red bunting. What this meant he was presently to find out in an odd manner.
Lake and Hunt went below as the schooner approached the island. Their heads were close together in deep consultation as they entered the companionway. Tom wondered what they could be discussing—the fate of the castaways likely.
The island, seen at closer range as the schooner drew nearer, appeared even more uninviting than it had from the distance. Tall, bare hills, rock-ribbed and cloven with deep crevasses, ran back from its shores, piling up to a mass of rugged peaks and inaccessible-looking precipices. At the foot of these hills—or rather mountains in miniature—was a dense growth of dark, melancholy looking trees, of dark green and blackish foliage. These Tom learned later were mostly pine trees and other conifers.
It was the part of the island immediately about the flagstaff, though, that interested him the most. Here quite a clearing seemed to have been made in the dense forest, and a cluster of rough huts could be seen, with several figures moving about. Against the dark background the red flag floated out like a flame.