Then passing to another idea,—“Think,” said he, “how astounded Jonathan Forster and his companions must have been when, next morning, they found the place empty, and the machine flown away!”
“I am utterly indifferent about knowing what they may have thought,” said the reporter.
“It was all my idea, that!” said Pencroft, with a satisfied air.
“A splendid idea, Pencroft!” replied Gideon Spilett, laughing, “and which has placed us where we are.”
“I would rather be here than in the hands of the Southerners,” cried the sailor, “especially since the captain has been kind enough to come and join us again.”
“So would I, truly!” replied the reporter. “Besides, what do we want? Nothing.”
“If that is not—everything!” replied Pencroft, laughing and shrugging his shoulders. “But, some day or other, we shall find means of going away!”
“Sooner, perhaps, than you imagine, my friends,” remarked the engineer, “if Lincoln Island is but a medium distance from an inhabited island, or from a continent. We shall know in an hour. I have not a map of the Pacific, but my memory has preserved a very clear recollection of its southern part. The latitude which I obtained yesterday placed New Zealand to the west of Lincoln Island, and the coast of Chile to the east. But between these two countries, there is a distance of at least six thousand miles. It has, therefore, to be determined what point in this great space the island occupies, and this the longitude will give us presently, with a sufficient approximation, I hope.”
“Is not the archipelago of the Pomoutous the nearest point to us in latitude?” asked Herbert.
“Yes,” replied the engineer, “but the distance which separates us from it is more than twelve hundred miles.”