“I don’t know where to go next in search of that same fleet,” continued O’Hara. “I think we must hold another council of war. Will you oblige me, Tom, darlint, by asking Prince Frisbone, Capt. Fairfield, and Mr. Shakings to step into the pilot-house?”
In a few minutes the council had assembled, and Capt. O’Hara conducted them into the chart-room adjoining. The large-scale charts, which had been procured at Funchal and elsewhere, of the Cape Verds, had been put away; and the “North Atlantic” lay on the table spread out for use.
“I haven’t the slightest doubt now that the fleet went from Funchal to the Western Islands,” said Capt. O’Hara, when the adults had assembled.
“I think we may be sartain of that now,” added the Prince.
“But the squadron sailed from Funchal on the 21st of last month; and to-day is the 8th of this month,—nearly three weeks ago. Where it is, is the conundrum we have to guess at the prisint moment.”
“If the fleet went to the Western Islands on the 21st of last month, it hasn’t staid there all this time, I’ll warrant,” said Mr. Shakings.
“The next isles of the sea the squadron will visit after the Azores will be the Bermudas, I know,” continued the captain, as he took up a pencil, and began to figure on a bit of paper.
“Then all we have to do is to run for the Bermudas. How far off are they?” asked the Prince.
“I have not worked up the distance on a great circle; but I should say the distance was about two thousand miles.”
“Whew!” whistled the Prince. “That is a long distance.”