“No, nor never will!” retorted Mac, with a clang of despair and triumph in his tones.
The truth was soon plain to all. No buoys, no beacons, no lights, no coal, no station; the castaways pulled through a lagoon and landed on an isle, where was no mark of man but wreckwood, and no sound but of the sea. For the sea-fowl that harboured and lived there at the epoch of my visit were then scattered into the uttermost parts of the ocean, and had left no traces of their sojourn besides dropped feathers and addled eggs. It was to this they had been sent, for this they had stooped all night over the dripping oars, hourly moving further from relief. The boat, for as small as it was, was yet eloquent of the hands of men, a thing alone indeed upon the sea, but yet in itself all human; and the isle, for which they had exchanged it, was ingloriously savage, a place of distress, solitude, and hunger unrelieved. There was a strong glare and shadow of the evening over all; in which they sat or lay, not speaking, careless even to eat, men swindled out of life and riches by a lying book. In the great good-nature of the whole party, no word of reproach had been addressed to Hadden, the author of these disasters. But the new blow was less magnanimously borne, and many angry glances rested on the captain.
Yet it was himself who roused them from their lethargy. Grudgingly they obeyed, drew the boat beyond tidemark, and followed him to the top of the miserable islet, whence a view was commanded of the whole wheel of the horizon, then part darkened under the coming night, part dyed with the hues of the sunset, and populous with the sunset clouds. Here the camp was pitched, and a tent run up with the oars, sails, and mast. And here Amalu, at no man’s bidding, from the mere instinct of habitual service, built a fire and cooked a meal. Night was come, and the stars and the silver sickle of new moon beamed overhead, before the meal was ready. The cold sea shone about them, and the fire glowed in their faces as they ate. Tommy had opened his case, and the brown sherry went the round; but it was long before they came to conversation.
“Well, is it to be Kauai, after all?” asked Mac suddenly.
“This is bad enough for me,” said Tommy. “Let’s stick it out where we are.”
“Well, I can tell ye one thing,” said Mac, “if ye care to hear it: when I was in the China mail we once made this island. It’s in the course from Honolulu.”
“Deuce it is!” cried Carthew. “That settles it, then. Let’s stay. We must keep good fires going; and there’s plenty wreck.”
“Lashings of wreck!” said the Irishman. “There’s nothing here but wreck and coffin-boards.”
“But we’ll have to make a proper blyze,” objected Hemstead. “You can’t see a fire like this, not any wye awye, I mean.”
“Can’t you?” said Carthew. “Look round.”