"Come along, Tab!" cried Jack. "Let's go aloft and have a look at it."
They made their way quickly along the deck, gained the weather-shrouds, and ran up. The watch below had turned out, just as they were, half-dressed and bareheaded. Two of the men had run out to the bowsprit's end, and holding on to the topmast stay were looking over the luff of the flying-jib. Old Gonzague, venerable as Vanderdecken, his white hair stirred by the wind,—for he was as usual without a cap,—had already gained the main-trees, where he stood shading his eyes with one hand while he gripped the shrouds with the other.
"Where is it?" demanded Jerry, when he and Jack had reached the trees.
"There away, sir," Hunter answered, pointing as he passed the glasses to the captain.
With the unaided eye Jack and Jerry could discern, lying low on the eastern rim of the horizon, a faint brownish streak. With one arm about the topmast for support, Jack looked at the land through the glasses. At first, owing to the oscillation of the mast, he could not keep the brown streak in the field of vision, but in a moment he overcame this difficulty, and was able to make out a length of cliff of nearly uniform height, although split by numerous fjord-like bays. By its varied color—for he could see that the ribbon of shore was splashed with reds and blues—he decided that the land-fall was in the neighborhood of Cape St. Vincent.
"Have a look?" he asked, passing the glasses to Tab. "It's the Painted Cape, fast enough,—or close to it."
"What country is that, please, sir?" asked Hunter, in a tone almost of awe.
"Portugal," the captain answered. "Sou'-western point of the land. We'll have Spain aboard before eight bells this afternoon."
"By Grab, sir! Beg pardon, sir, but do them Portigee fishermen ye see to Boothbay an' Boston, do they come from hereaway?"