It was a marvelous thing, this high beaching of the Seagull. The wave that carried her ashore must have been a monster, for the ship stood at least twenty feet above the water level and she had been gently placed between two huge rocks in a cavity that seemed especially made to receive her. She stood level as a die, stern to the island and bow to the sea—the sea that she was likely never to sail again; for no human agency could ever launch her from that altitude, with a double row of sharp reefs between her and the deep water. As a seagoing vessel we admitted that the career of the Seagull was ended; but as a place of refuge—a residence and a fort—the ship in its present location would prove invaluable to us as long as we were obliged to remain upon the island.
We found the rocks that supported her so steep and difficult to climb that we sent Joe and Ned Britton ahead, they being as sure-footed as cats. On reaching the ship they found only a loose rope hanging over the side to enable them to get aboard; but Joe managed to mount by this means and at once let down a ladder. A few minutes sufficed to gather ropes enough for their purpose, which was to furnish something to assist us in mounting to the ship. It was not easy to get the two ladies up, but Lucia was as active as a boy and assisted her mother even better than we could.
Soon we were all aboard, and to us who had always trod the decks when the Seagull lay upon the bosom of the water it was a peculiar experience to find her stationary and wedged tight between two big rocks. There was more or less disorder on board, as was natural when you consider we had deserted the ship in a panic of fear; but there seemed no especial damage of any port and the men set to work and quickly put things to rights again.
The sea was falling rapidly. After we reached the ship there was no wave of sufficient magnitude to dash the spray over her side, and few that even wetted her. The passengers at once sought their staterooms and put them in order for further occupancy. De Jiminez was delighted at the thought that he had saved his precious cargo, although what good the guns and truck could do the revolution in Colombia was a mystery to the rest of us. Little Jim was in a sullen, silent mood and seemed to think fate was playing him a sorry trick. Perhaps she was; but my opinion is we were lucky to come out of the typhoon as well as we did. It was assuredly the worst storm I have ever experienced.
So far we had seen no natives at all, and Uncle Naboth said to Bryonia:
“Perhaps you’re mistaken about this being the island of the Pearl People. For if them natives you’ve described are as careful as you say they are about guarding their coast, they would have been after us long before this.”
“We quite sure we right,” answered Bry. “But you see, in such storm as this they think no natives of other islands can come here to attack, so they stay at home in their big city. To-morrow they come here, plenty of them; and then we must fight hard.”
This set my father thinking. He turned to Ned Britton and said:
“Do you s’pose we could get the boats around to-night? The sea’s easier now and if we wait till to-morrow we may have the natives on us. We can’t very well afford to lose the boats, for without ’em we’d have no way to leave this island.”
Ned cast a look over the water and then nodded.