The conversation was interrupted here by the ship rounding a point and suddenly opening up a view of a fine bay, at the head of which, embosomed in trees and dense underwood, stood the native village of which they were in search.
Just in front of this village lay a small but high and thickly wooded island, which, as it were, filled up the head of the bay, sheltering it completely from the ocean, and making the part of the sea which washed the shores in front of the houses resemble a deep and broad canal. This stripe of water was wide and deep enough to permit of a vessel of the largest size passing through it; but to any one approaching the place for the first time there seemed to be no passage for any sort of craft larger than a native canoe. The island itself was high enough to conceal the Talisman completely from the natives until she was within half gunshot of the shore.
Gascoyne still stood on the fore part of the ship as she neared this spot, which was so beset with reefs and rocks that her escape seemed miraculous.
“I think we are near enough for the work that we have to do,” suggested Montague in some anxiety.
“Just about it, Mr Montague,” said Gascoyne, as he turned towards the stern and shouted—
“Port your helm.”
“Port it is,” answered the man at the wheel.
“Steady.”
“Back the topsails, Mr Mulroy.”
The sails were backed at once, and the ship became motionless with her broadside to the village.