“What can she intend to do now?” I asked of Fairburn.
“She intends to run between a number of low coral islands, which form the land you see ahead, and so expects to escape us,” he answered. “The navigation is very difficult, and very dangerous for a stranger; but Van Graoul knows them well, and if she goes in we can follow.”
“By all means, let us follow them,” I exclaimed. “Everything makes me think that must be the Emu.”
“I wish that I could be certain,” said Fairburn. “We have a longer cruise before us.”
I asked Van Graoul the name of the islets scattered about in a long line before us.
“They are called the Pater Nosters, because strangers are apt to say their Pater Nosters when they happen to find themselves among them in bad weather,” he answered.
The day was clear and the sea smooth; but I could suppose that in thick weather they must be very dangerous. The brig stood boldly on, with all sail set; and as we saw her, she seemed about to run directly on shore. Our glasses were continually fixed on her. One moment she was before us—the next she had disappeared. An exclamation of surprise escaped from many of the crew.
“Hello! where’s the stranger?” cried one.
“Why, if she don’t beat the Flying Dutchman!” exclaimed another.
“I thought no good of her when I saw her up-helm and run away from us as she did,” said a third, a Yankee, who was one of the oracles of the crew.