“Come, then,” said the elder De Jiminez; “let us walk to the forest yonder. We shall find better shelter there, if nothing more.”
“Wait a moment, please!” I exclaimed, for I had been watching Bryonia and Nux, who stood apart eagerly conversing together.
“Why should we wait?” demanded Alfonso, annoyed at my interference.
“Because these blacks are natives of the South Seas,” I replied, “and they think they recognize this island. Let us therefore counsel with them before we act.”
“Bah! Any of these islands is safe enough,” persisted the boy.
“I am not sure of that,” I responded. “We are far from the usual path of ships as we have been blown from our course by the gale. This island is not marked upon any chart, I am sure, which means that there is no record of a white man having ever visited it.”
This statement had its influence upon our passengers, for they cast uneasy glances around and I am sure De Jiminez had no desire to risk the safety of the women by acting recklessly.
Presently our blacks came toward us with grave faces. Bryonia approached my father and said:
“We pretty sure this Faytan Island, the home of the cruel Pearl People. If that is so, we no safe here, and better go away.”
“What, and leave the Seagull!” exclaimed my father.