Bennie rowed on another half mile, and again they looked at the rocks at the water’s edge below Dutton Cliff.
“Why,” Spider said, “those rocks are out in the water. They’re an island.”
“That’s the Phantom Ship. They call it a phantom because it looks like part of the cliff from a distance. You’ll see pretty soon why they call it a ship.”
Sure enough, they did see, in a very few moments. For, as the boats drew nearer, the detached rocks were seen to be much larger than they had appeared from a distance, where they had to be measured against the whole 2,000 feet of Dutton Cliff; and not only were they large, but they were really one solid mass of dark brown lava, much more pointed at the end which faced the lake, and with three sharp spires of lava, almost as sharp as an obelisk, sticking up exactly like three masts. To add still further to the illusion of a ship, they saw, as they drew still nearer, that the patches of green on the lava were really pine trees, which now began to look like sails.
“It is just like a ship!” Spider exclaimed. “It’s a ship made of lava, a three-master, sailing right out from Dutton Cliff!”
“Is it one of those masts we are going to climb?” Bennie suddenly demanded, a suspicion striking him.
“You are—for the exercise,” said his uncle.
“Yes, I am! Say, I’m pretty good, but I’m no human fly. Gee, I don’t see even a finger-nail hold on ’em.”
“Don’t get impatient. Look down in the water a minute. Row slowly. Now let her drift.”
The boys looked down as the boat floated in toward the dark, straight sides of the Phantom Ship, down into the deep blue water. No bottom was visible, though the sunlight seemed to penetrate a long way down.