"You've been moved," declared Andy, pointing to some marks in the grass.
"I plead guilty," replied his father with a smile. "Quexo dragged my couch out in the sunshine. I wanted to take an observation at midday. Just hand me that chart. I've pricked our position. Here it is. Reduced to English degrees the latitude is 21° 4' 15" S. and the longitude 134° 17' 14" W. of Greenwich. As I suspected, we are on the fringe of the Low Archipelago, well away from the Great Circle route between Panama and New Zealand, and equally remote from the regular tracks between the Sandwich Islands and Cape Horn. That means that unless a whaler or stray trading vessel puts in here, or that we make the cutter seaworthy enough for a thousand-mile voyage, our stay here is likely to be indefinitely prolonged."
"I'm sure I don't mind," observed Andy.
"Nor I, if only my people knew we were safe," added Terence, and Ellerton expressed himself in a similar manner.
"Isn't the heat oppressive?" said Andy. "It's like an oven here."
"Yes," assented his father. "I can see we've made a mistake in choosing this spot. It's splendidly sheltered—too much so—for what with the rocks behind us and the palm groves on either side, the air cannot circulate. We must find a more open spot on the next terrace."
"There's no reason why we shouldn't have two camps—one for stormy weather and the other for the dry season," replied Andy. "Once we've finished with the wreck we can set to and build a more substantial home. But what do you say? Hadn't we better unload the boat?"
"I'm game," replied Ellerton.
"What did you bring ashore?" asked Mr. McKay.
"Mostly provisions, bedding, and clothing, though that beastly bull tossed a lot of stuff overboard. We've also brought the rest of the navigation instruments."