"It's as near as we can lie in safety, sir. There's foul ground close to the reef, and the deep water between it and the bank on which we've brought up is far too deep to anchor in. There's no bottom at a hundred fathoms.
"Another freak of nature, I suppose. However, we must make the best of things. Pipe away both boats, if you please, Mr. Wilkins, and we'll start loading up at once."
Delighted with their success, the crew worked with a will, and both boats put off for the lagoon to load up the silver pigs and money-chests, only my father, Dr. Conolly, Yadillah, and myself remaining on the yacht.
In a little over two hours' time we saw them returning through the cutting. The whaler, deeply laden with its precious cargo, was leading, the gig, also carrying some of the specie, being towed astern, with only one man to steer.
"I don't like the look of that boat," remarked the doctor, pointing to the whaler. "She's far too deep in the water."
"Oh, it's safe enough," replied my father. "The sea's calm, and, besides, Wilkins knows what he's about."
We continued watching the progress of the boats as they slowly approached the "Fortuna." They had cleared the seaward arms of the natural breakwaters, and were entering the dark-blue patch that indicated the deep water, when about a hundred or two hundred yards off a column of water flew up in the air, and amidst the descending spray a huge black shape appeared above the surface. "A whale!" exclaimed my father and the doctor simultaneously.
"I hope it won't attack the boats," added Dr. Conolly.
"I think not. I've never known or heard of a whale attacking a boat unless when struck by a harpoon."
"You haven't? Begorra!" exclaimed the doctor excitedly, bursting into a Hibernian expression for the first time during his stay on the yacht. "Then ye'll see it now."