It is true that their manoeuvres were seen only indistinctly: and it was not possible for the Catamarans to come to any certain understanding, as to what sort of work was going on upon the island.
It was still very doubtful whether what they saw was in reality an island, or that the figures upon it were those of human beings. Snowball believed them to be so, and emphatically asserted his belief; but Ben was slightly incredulous and undecided, notwithstanding that he had several times “shivered his timbers” in confirmation of the fact.
It was not the possibility of the existence of an island that the sailor disputed. That was possible and probable enough. At the time of which we speak, new islands were constantly turning up in the ocean, where no land was supposed to exist; and even at the present hour, when one might suppose that every inch of the sea has been sailed over, the discovery of rocks, shoals, and even unknown islands, is far from unfrequent.
It was not the island, therefore, that now puzzled the ex-man-o’-war’s-man, but the number of people appearing upon it.
Had there been only a score, or a score and a half, he could have explained the circumstance of its being inhabited; though the explanation would not have been productive of pleasure either to himself or his companions. In that case he would have believed the moving forms to be the shipwrecked crew of the Pandora who on this ocean islet had found a temporary resting-place; while the pickaxes, which were being freely employed, would have indicated the sinking of wells in search after fresh water.
The number of people on the island, however, with other circumstances observed, at once contradicted the idea that it could be the crew of the shipwrecked slaver; and the certainty that it was not these ruffians whom they saw emboldened the Catamarans in their approach.
In spite of appearances, still was the sailor disposed to doubt the existence of an island; or, at least, that the forms moving to and fro over its surface were those of human beings.
Nor could he be cured of his incredulity until the Catamaran, approaching still nearer to the shore of the doubtful islet, enabled him to see and distinguish beyond the possibility of doubt a flag floating from the top of its staff, which rose tall and tapering from the very highest point of land which the place afforded!
The flag was of crimson cloth,—apparently a piece of bunting. It floated freely upon the breeze; which the filmy mist, though half disclosing, could not altogether conceal. The deep red colour was too scarce upon the ocean to be mistaken for the livery of any of its denizens. It could not be the tail-feathers of the tropic bird so prized by the chiefs of Polynesia; nor yet the scarlet pouch of the sea-hawk.
It could be nothing else than a “bit o’ buntin’.”