“I know it,” answered Rosco.
“There is no good anchorage around it,” continued the mate.
“So you have told me before,” returned the captain, “but it matters not; we shall not anchor.”
“Not anchor!” repeated Redford in surprise. “I understood that we were to land there to ship sandal-wood. The crew thought so too, and I’m quite sure—”
“Well—go on—what are you sure of?”
“Oh! nothing—only sure that Captain Rosco understands his own intentions best.”
Rosco made no reply, and nothing further passed between the inharmonious pair at that time. Next day the gale abated, and, as Redford had predicted, Sugar-loaf Island was sighted in the afternoon.
Running close in under the shelter of the mountain, the barque was hove-to and a boat lowered.
“The crew will take arms with them, I suppose, sir?” asked the mate.
“Of course, though there will not be occasion for them, as there are no natives at this part of the island. I merely wish to ascend the hill to reconnoitre. You will go with me. Put your pistols in your belt, and fetch my rifle. We may get some fresh meat among the hills.”