“Shipwrecked off this coast in the Mary Anne McKim of Baltimore in ‘86,” was the brief reply.
As they drew nearer to land they saw that the coast which faced them was apparently well-wooded. The towering forms of palms and other large trees could be made out some time before any other details were distinguishable.
On closer view, however, they saw that the country was undulating and hilly. A long line of dense forest rose, seemingly, directly from the water. It stretched north and south as far as the eye could reach. It was, in fact, the great primeval forest that clothes this part of South America from the seacoast to the foothills of the Andes, two thousand miles to the west.
“Just as I thought,” grunted Captain Sprowl, laying aside the binoculars with which he had been scrutinizing the coast; “it’s a limber-go-shiftless sort of a place; but at any rate it’s better than nothing. It’s dry land, anyhow.”
They all concurred in this view. It was something to look forward to after their buffeting at the hands of the ocean,—this prospect of setting foot on what the captain called “terrier firmer” once more.
As the Wondership winged its way closer to the coast, Jack began to look about for a place to land. At first sight there was none visible. The massive dark crowns of shady mangoes, the towering forms of the palms and certain stately dome-like and somber trees, shot up everywhere above the surrounding forest, which grew as densely as weeds in a neglected pasture.
On a white strip of beach the surf hurled itself thunderously, spuming and foaming up to the very roots of the trees.
“Doesn’t look very promising for a landing,” remarked Tom, gazing about quite as anxiously as Jack for a landing place.
“I should say not,” was the reply of the boy at the steering wheel.
“Maybe the woods will open out more when we get over them,” rejoined Tom.